District 2 Reapings
(Alexis Corvus and Jett Kowalski)
Alexis Corvus (18)
I am up before the sun. The cold darkness surrounds me, making me feel alive. I breathe in the fresh night air as I walk to the academy. The streets were dimly lit by the lightening pre-dawn sky and my breath fogs as it hits the air.
I shiver, even with my jacket on. I'm almost there, the dark silhouette of the academy building standing out like a giant among the houses of District 2.
I reach the door quickly and unlock it with a heavy silver key. The huge metal door groans as I push it open and let it shut behind me. I flick on the light switch, illuminating the small entryway. I hang up my jacket on a hook and open the door that leads to the training room. The rafters stretch high above me and the sharpened blades of weapons glint in the huge stadium lights. The floor has been swept clean and beckons me to dance with the weapons in a deadly pas de deux* of fighting.
I head over to the knives and choose 5 good ones. I grasp them tightly in my fingers and head to the simulator. Years of training have taught me how to use it. I turn on the simulator and choose my opponents. I pick two, huge men to fight.
The simulator gears to life and the two burly outlines take shape in front of me. I smile and feel the worn handles of the knives pressing into the curves of my hand. I hurl two knives before the shapes even advance on me. Red points appear on the silhouettes where the knives hit. I run forward and swing at the first advancing figure. I duck as the simulated figure throws punches and swings at me. I aim for the head, which some consider unsportsmanlike, but if you're going to win, you can have no rules.
When the first figure fades to nothing after I stabbed it through its heart, I turn to face the second one. It charges and lunges in a flash for my legs. I jump to the side and throw my last two knives into the death spots in the simulation's back. The figure fades and I'm left standing alone amidst fallen knives. I pick them up and put them back in the holder. I haven't even broken a sweat.
The next thing I do is attack a punching bag. I hit the bag with every ounce of strength that I have. My feet follow a set pattern of footwork and my hand motions are basically choreographed. I punch and kick until I'm a sweaty mess. The burn in my muscles is welcome. I stand, panting, and face my defeated foe. The bag hangs limply, swinging gently from side to side.
I take a quick look around. I'm still alone, so I strip off my sweaty shirt, leaving me in a sports bra. My long, dark brown hair is falling out of my high ponytail and sticks to my neck. I opt to practice sword fighting before I have to go back home. I grab a sword and demolish 13 dummies before I decide to head home. I leave the academy messy. Someone will clean it up.
I pull on my shirt and jacket and leave the academy. The sun has risen and people are stirring in the villages. I walk through the streets again, keeping my head straight and eyes focused ahead. Finally, I come to my house. The paint is peeling somewhat and the front steps sit at an odd angle, but It's still home.
I open the door and step inside. The house is dark, but I can hear footsteps upstairs. I drop my jacket on the floor and walk down the hallway and into the kitchen. Mama is leaning against the kitchen counter, her eyes half-closed and a cup of coffee clutched in her hands.
I walk past her and open the cabinet. I grab an oat bar from the pantry and an apple from a fruit bowl on the table. Mama hasn't said a word, so I don't make any attempt at conversation. She's not much of a morning person.
I eat my meager breakfast on the way upstairs and go into my room. My room is small, but it suits me. The furniture is plain and the colors drab, but I don't spend much time in here anyway. I throw my half-eaten apple core on the bed and open my closet. I pull out ripped jeans, a wide-necked gray t-shirt, and a pair of black boots. I dress quickly and go back downstairs.
By the time I've come back downstairs, my brother Titus is already in the kitchen. He is eating a piece of butter bread. I walk by and jab him with my elbow. He jabs me back harder. He was 2 years younger than me but just as tall and just as strong.
"You ready?" He asks. His smile flashes for a second before fading.
"Absolutely." I say confidently.
"You're going to win?" His eyes bore into mine.
"Of course." I respond.
I can see in his eyes, the fear. He doesn't like the games. He doesn't want to volunteer in two years. The only reason he would is that he wants to earn our father's attention.
I want Papa's attention, but I'm willing to do what he wants to get it. I'm sick of him treating me and Titus so poorly. He's always gone with his mob of drinking, gambling, disgusting men who follow his lead to the death. In a fit of rage, he decided that the only way he would acknowledge us as his true-blood children is if we returned from the Hunger Games. Titus hated the idea, but I had accepted the challenge. Mama never quite forgave Papa for his speech, but I was already adamant. I would return and show Papa that I was his true daughter. Ruthless, cunning, smart, and strong.
Mama came down the stairs, her face blank. She's dressed in an old dress that was once brightly colored but is now faded.
"Let's go." She says and walks out the door, not caring to see if her children are following.
As we walk through the streets to the bus stop, I duck my head. It would be bad for anyone to see the volunteering tribute to be walking with her family. As far as they were concerned, I had no family. I was winning so that I could be recognized and save my brother from his greatest fear, the Hunger Games.
The bus arrives and we climb on. I leave Titus and Mama to go find a seat. I stand near the front of the bus, near the door. I want to get off alone. Sure, I care about Titus, but I need to focus on winning for him. I couldn't let anything distract me.
When the bus drops off a load of people in the square, I am one of the first people off. The square isn't quite full, but the noise is already immense.
I stride into the gathering of children confidently. No distractions. As soon as I make this resolution, I nearly collide with someone. Because of the crowd, I can't catch myself fast enough and nearly fall to the ground. I regain my composure quickly and look straight into Luciano's eyes.
"Hi Alexis," he says. "Sorry I didn't see you."
"No, no, no." I say quickly, averting my eyes. "It was my fault."
Luciano shrugged and ran his hand through his shock of messy, but somehow perfectly kept, blonde hair. The muscles in his arms rippled and flexed.
I kept my eyes averted. No distractions. But how could one not look at him? He was pretty much perfect, from his physical appearance to his kind disposition.
"Good luck." He said suddenly as he turned to walk away. He winked.
Butterflies erupted in my stomach and I bit my tongue. "Thanks." I said. He was already gone. I was so mad at myself. How could I become so distracted already? I stalked over to the table, checked in, and marched to my section. This was it, my chance to prove myself. I couldn't throw it away for some boy. I took a deep breath and put Luciano out of my head, for good.
Jett Kowalski (15) - D2
The punching bag sways away from me after I hit it. Adrenaline courses through my veins as I let out punch after punch. Overhand, underhand, around the side, I let out all of my emotions through boxing.
I am so sick, so tired of being controlled. I'm so tired of trying to be perfect and falling so far from my parents' expectations. I'm sick of it, sick of pretending to be fine, to be composed, when in reality, I felt like I was crumbling.
I throw a punch so hard at the bag that it rattles loudly on its chain and swings away in protest.
This was the only way to feel in control. To fight, to win. I was in control of the fight, and if I wasn't, I was defeated. That would never happen to me, ever. This was the only way to glue my reality back together so that I could face it like a man.
Finally, the punching bag rips and lets a torrent of grain and rice fall out of the gaping hole. I turn around and leave it, bleeding on the ground, still swaying softly.
I un-tape my hands and sit on a bench. The basement is my hideaway. There are no windows, so the light comes from bare lightbulbs on the ceiling. The walls are cracked and the stone floor stained, but it might as well have been a fancy bedroom for all I cared.
I ran a hand through my auburn hair. Sweat dampened my hairline and beads of it dripped down my temples and nose. I tried to wipe it away, but the effort was useless. I sat, blankly staring at the wall across from me. It was cracked and old. You could see the stone lines through the light blue paint. I closed my eyes and cleared my head. Today was important, you see. It was reaping day, and I was going to volunteer.
I didn't give a crap that I was only 15 years old and some 18-year-old from the academy would be wanting to volunteer. Too bad so sad, I was the one going to the Hunger Games. I would prove that I'm not perfect. Some wealthy son from rich parents who has nothing better to do than snivel and snob. I am a fighter, a hunter, a killer. I am strong, not weak. I would prove to my parents that they couldn't control me. They couldn't fit me into their perfect box of life.
Anger filled me so suddenly that I turned around, walked to the wall and banged my head and fists against the stone wall. Pounding and snarling, I banged my head into the wall until blood streamed down and my fists were bleeding.
I pulled away, the rage seeping out. I had to stop. Thinking about it didn't change it. I had to do it, to take action. Tears mixed with blood streamed down my face and I did nothing to wipe them away. I grabbed my shirt and walked up the basement stairs. I came out of the basement and into my perfect house.
Everything was immaculately clean and shiny. Simple and practical. I stood there, bloody and sweaty, in the midst of it. Like my mind, my physical body didn't belong here either.
I walked through the kitchen and climbed up the side of the house to get to my bedroom. No one was awake at this time of the morning. I slid in through my unlocked window and into my bedroom. It was like me in the fact that it looked out of place. It was a mess. Clothes and books were strewn everywhere, posters from previous Hunger Games hanging half off the walls, and dirt literally impressed into the carpet.
I walked into my bathroom and took a shower, washing off the blood, sweat, and tears from my boxing session this morning. I dress in the suit and tie that my parents are forcing me to wear. As I look at myself in the mirror, I shudder. I look like my dad. I quickly rough up my dripping hair and roll up the sleeves of my suit coat. My parents wouldn't control me after today. I finish getting ready and go downstairs. I avoid my dad's study, as well as the living room. I go straight to the kitchen, grab some food and head outside.
Outside is misty and gray. The sun has hardly risen over the district and a quiet hush is over the whole place. I walk down the streets, eating my bread slowly. I love the mist. It's so mysterious. I walk up to Victor's Village. It's always gloomy here. The houses are well-kempt, but all the windows are dark, and the fog makes the gray houses look even gloomier. I walk down the streets of houses until I reach the one that I want. It's on the very edge of the district, with the fence outside the district in the backyard. This was where I would live after I won the Hunger Games.
I sit on the front step and watch the sunrise until it's time to head to the reaping.
In the District square, everyone was gathered. I stride confidently among the teenagers and check-in. The reaping in District 2 is a cheerful place. Everyone knows that someone will volunteer, so none of the children are worried. The 12-year-olds chatter like sparrows with their friends in the front, while the 18-year-olds stand solemnly in the back.
I step into the 15-year-old section and stand close to the center aisle. This will give me an advantage when it comes time to volunteer. The place is rapidly filling up. I can see the victors assembling on the stage, ready to speak. I can't wait to be one of them. I turn around to catch sight of my parents before the reaping starts. I can see them, looking for me in the crowds. I look away, I don't want to see their pinched faces or their soft, unscathed hands. They'd never beaten me. They were too important. They also had the money to hire people to beat me up and send my bleeding, alone, to my bedroom. They didn't, however, refrain from using verbal weapons against me. Those hurt worse sometimes. I turned away, a determined scowl coming over my face. I wouldn't let them say goodbye to me. They hated me enough already.
The escort walks out onto the stage. He's a young man dressed in a gray outfit that matches everything in District 2. He conducts the ceremony with ease and I watch impatiently. I want to be on my way to the capital. On my way to victory.
Alexis Corvus (18) - D2
I stand, waiting for the reaping to begin. I'm so ready for this moment. I shift my weight from one side to the other and my hands start sweating in anticipation. I'm not nervous, just excited.
Finally, the escort walks over to the girl's bowl. He doesn't even bother picking out a name and calls, "Any volunteers?"
"I volunteer," I shout confidently and hurry to the stage.
"And what is your name?"
"Alexis Corvus," I say with a grin into the microphone.
The District applauds and I can feel their energy rising in me. I realize then that I don't know who is volunteering for the guys. It must be Juno. He's the strongest, bravest, and most brutal kid at the academy. He'd be the perfect tribute for the games. I can see Juno, standing heads taller than anyone else in the back of the square. He's smiling in a way that highly suggests his motive. I smile to myself. I know Juno and his weaknesses. That could be helpful in the games.
The escort walks to the boys' bowl and calls for volunteers. Before he's done speaking, and before Juno can open his mouth, a voice calls, "I volunteer."
Jett Kowalski (15) - D2
As the girl walks up to the stage, I watch her carefully. She's tall and strong. I know her. Alexis Corvus is the daughter of a popular mob boss in District 2 who does some of the peacekeepers' dirty work for them.
I turn around and catch my parents' eyes. They are looking at me with death stares, telling me that I had better not even try. I smile. They can't help it.
The escort calls out from next to the boys' bowl, "Any volunte-?"
"I volunteer," I shout.
I run up and jump onto the stage. The escort looks surprised. "What is your name?" He asks slowly.
"Jett Kowalski," I say with a grin and step back. The District applauds and I catch my parents disbelieving eyes. I am my own person and they can't control me anymore. I shake Alexis's hand quickly and don't make eye contact. I'll not be making friends today, thank you very much.
Alexis Corvus (18) - D2
I'm still caught off guard by Jett volunteering. I step forward to shake his hand and he doesn't even look me in the eye. I know Jett, but not well. He's only 15. His long, auburn hair covers his face as he looks away. I don't know why, but I get the feeling that he is a killer who will stop at nothing until he wins.
Hello readers! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I would like to thank blank and blank for these wonderful tributes! This SYOT is nearly closed! We have one slot left open and it is the District 6 female slot. It's a first-come, first-served slot so the first person to claim it will have the rights to it.
Anyhow, I hope that everyone is doing well during this wild time of quarantine. If you want, in the comments, let me know what you've been up to or in what ways you've changed during this stay-at-home, social distancing time! For me personally, I've been writing, reading, learning the ukulele, and doing school. One thing that's changed about me this quarantine is probably that my patience and tolerance level has increased immensely! Let me know your answers in the comments! See you soon!