Alysanne Audren- District Six female (15)
We'd sorted through all the supplies at the Cornucopia and laid everything out. Now that we knew where we stood and also knew where the cafeteria was, we didn't really need to stay in the Cornucopia anymore. We could find the executive suite or something and sleep somewhere more comfortable than the floor.
"What should we do with the stuff we can't carry?" Arroyo asked.
"Let's chuck it out the window," I said. Arroyo smiled wickedly. It wasn't every day we got to destroy stuff and that was kind of what a Career lived for. I wasn't a Career but I could imagine.
Quarla walked to the wall and tapped the full-length window. "Do they open?" she asked.
"Oh, they open. The question is if they close afterward," Arroyo said. He rolled a desk chair toward the wall.
"Hold on, let's see if they actually open first," Quarla said, waving him and his battering ram away. She ran a hand all around the border of the window, standing on her toes to get as high as she could. "I don't think they open," she said.
"We'll see about that!" Arroyo said. He picked up the chair and swung it at the window like a bat. It bounced off the glass with a disappointing clunk.
"I think they're bulletproof or something," I said. "You know, like super strong so people don't fall out."
"Everyone stand back," Arroyo said. He picked up the biggest mace in the pile of weapons and threw it at the window. We all put up our arms against flying glass, but it was for nothing. There was a sad little clunk and the mace bounced off.
"Well this sucks," Arroyo said.
"There has to be an opening somewhere, like to let fresh air in," I said. We started feeling along different windows hoping to find a smaller window that opened.
"I got it!" Quarla said. She waved us over and pointed up to the top of the window she was facing, where a smaller pane about a foot tall was marked off.
"We'll have to stand on a chair and dump a little out at a time," I said.
"That's not nearly as fun, but I guess it will work," Arroyo grumbled.
Oaken Mushroom- District Seven male (17)
It had been three days and the only water we'd had was a what we'd sucked out of our shirts after splashing them when we drank from a fountain on the way to the elevator. We were going to have to go out again, and this time we'd have to take an even bigger risk and stay out long enough to get some sort of container.
"I'll go get water and come back," I said, flipping myself onto my stomach to scoot to the edge of our hammock.
The shifting doubled as I scooted. "Oh, nu-uh. I'm coming, too."
"No. You stay here," I said.
"What, because I'm a girl?" Claire asked.
"No, because you're my sister. I'd still do it if you were my brother," I said.
"Well I'm glad to hear you're not sexist, but that's still not fair. You're not worth less than I am," Claire said.
"No, just..." I tried to think of words that weren't those to say exactly what those words were saying.
"We should both go so we can both keep looking for Careers," Claire pointed out.
"Can't you just stay?" I pleaded. I knew I couldn't really force her if she'd made up her mind. I couldn't tie her up or anything because it was an unforgivable line to physically take away someone's choice and autonomy. Also Claire was freakishly good at wiggling around and untying knots, as we'd discovered during a game of cowboys and Natives.
"Nope," Claire said.
"Fine," I said. I looked down into the shaft and saw an air vent about seven feet below us. We shimmied down the ropes to it and climbed in, untying our ropes once we were safely inside.
"This is just like every movie ever," Claire said from behind me, having had enough mercy to let me go first. We crawled through the gray metal vent that was just large enough that I could lift my head a few inches from my position wiggling on my stomach. The size of the vent, coupled with the fact that there was somehow enough light to see, made it clear that the Gamemakers had definitely put them in for this exact purpose.
"Maybe we can spy on other Tributes," I said.
"Doesn't sound travel well through solids?" Claire asked. "I hope there isn't someone like right below us who can hear us moving."
"Guess we'll find out if a spear suddenly shoves up," I tried to joke. Up ahead I saw light from the passageway branching off into a room below us.
"Hey, there's a room up ahead," I said to Claire. We squirmed up to it and Claire crowded up behind me to peek over my shoulder.
"Woah, what happened?" Claire asked. I'd been trying to figure it out myself. The wooden desk was pockmarked with scorched holes, and so was the floor. The leather chair had strips of material hanging off and the inner stuffing was also pocked.
"Let's not go down in there," I said. We shimmied on until I saw another room. It was just like the first.
"Bro, I think it's the whole building," Claire said. She bumped her head against the ceiling as a sudden thought hit her. "I bet it has something to do with that fire alarm."
"You think that's what killed those three cannons?" I asked.
"I bet," she said.
"If one of us did this, mad respect," I said.
"At least this one has a coffee mug," Claire said, looking down at the lidded cup sitting on the desk.
"I'll go down and get it," I volunteered. "You should stay because it will make more noise if we both go down and also it will take us longer to get back up if someone comes."
Claire tilted her head down and looked at me with that "I know what you are doing but shall permit it" look. "Fine."
Quarla Hydrargyrum- District One female (16)
For so long, being in the Hunger Games had seemed like an impossible dream. People like me didn't get to go to the Games in One. People like me didn't even get to exist in One. I only scraped by because I stayed out of sight and did work fitting for a person as ugly as myself. But now I was in the Games and with half the Careers gone already I had a real chance. It was bringing up things I hadn't been brave enough to face.
What if I do win? Glory and prizes and all that, sure, but what about what I would be able to do? Anyone in my position would think about it. The surgeons in the Capitol could turn a woman into a cat. They could make me... I didn't want to say beautiful. It seemed so shallow. Just because One cared so much about looks didn't make it right. People always said everyone was beautiful in their own way and that looks didn't matter. They never seemed to think about how contradictory those statements were. If looks don't matter then why is it important that everyone is beautiful?
I didn't even care about being beautiful. What the Capitol surgeons could do was make me look normal. There's a difference between not being beautiful and not even meeting the bare minimum to have people not stare at you and call you names. People like to pat themselves on the back when they see pictures of disfigured people and bravely say "oh she's so beautiful this is what true beauty looks like". But they wouldn't switch places with me. Ask them if they'd want to be "truly beautiful" and they break eye contact and mumble excuses. Someone like me is not an equal. They are an object of charity and noble magnanimity for someone who says that really they're equals.
I tried so hard to make the best of things and not dwell in self-pity. But this time I was going to do something I always said was selfish. And it really wasn't selfish at all. It wasn't unfair for me to want to not look like this. I didn't want beauty. I wanted what everyone else never even thought about.
What do I want to look like if I win? For once I let myself imagine it without guilt. I could have asked for anything in the world but my wants were almost laughably small. I actually didn't mind being bald- it would have looked kind of cool without the scars. So I wanted either dirty blonde hair like my mother or for my scars to be removed so I could rock the bareheaded look. Mostly that was what I wanted: my scars removed. And my missing fingernails replaced. And maybe green eyes. I always thought green eyes were pretty.
No deaths this time either. With only a few killers running around in a very easy to hide in Arena things will be moving slower.
