It's only then that I hear Gloria's continuous pounding of her knuckles against the door that I've been in the bath for too long. The water has lost its warmth and I shiver as I exit out of the barrel, my sopping wet fur sloshing with sudsy water. I quickly pat myself down with a towel and slip into a white button-up and a pair of pants we had found at a local thrift store. It's dotted with moth-eaten holes, patched back together with red and black checkered strips of cloth. My shirt is wrinkled like an old tissue, lengths of string trailing the cuffs. I cut them off with the side of my claws. As I'm finishing up with combing out my mane, Marty steps in, donned in his own outfit: same trousers, same shirt, a wool blazer too small for him.
"Hey, Al." He says as he leans against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest. He's lost a lot of weight in the past few years. His belly, cheeks, and legs have thinned to nothing but skin and bones. His once fine coat of vibrant black and white stripes have dulled, almost to a grey. If he were to run past me, I'd see nothing but a streak of steel grey.
"Hey, Marty." I return, setting the comb down on an old chest. I sit down next to it, clasping my paws together between my legs.
The friendship Marty and I once had; the unbreakable, brotherly love that had bonded between the two of us; had done the most unexpected, impossible thing in the history of friendships: it had broken. We weren't the same animals we once were all those years ago in New York. We were no longer lively, fun, bumbling pair of besties who's relationship would only go stronger for they were, what was playfully coined, thick as thieves. Instead, we've only grown apart. With everyday that passes in this damn town, the farther we distance from one another. Marty has committed himself to being Melman's personal nurse and works just as hard-if not more-as the giraffe. And try as I might, I've done nothing but let him slip from my grasp as I venture deeper into the woods.
We remain in one another's presence in awkward silence, devoid of empathetic emotion, when I suddenly remember. "Oh, I got something for ya." I announce, pulling out the pin from my pants pocket. I stand and fasten it onto his jacket before he can see what it is. He gives me a questioning look upon seeing the golden mockingjay beaming up at him in all of it's sparkling wonder.
"What is it?" He asks, his hooves fiddling with it.
I smirk wryly. "It's a pin."
He returns it with a light chuckle. "I know that, but why are you giving it to me?"
To be honest, I'm not sure why I got it in the first place. I've never had any need for a pin, never once felt the need to buy one before and the same goes for Marty. Finding it better to sugarcoat rather than to flat out explain that I was clueless, I go with the first thing that comes to mind. I say, "This pin will protect you from harm. Keep you safe." I know Marty won't believe me, I don't even believe me. But saying it like it's some kind of magical emblem or enchanted weapon makes the circumstances seem less serial. Like it'll be the key to exiting from this treacherous nightmare; a shrapnel of enlightenment on this dark, foreboding day even if said shrapnel is the illusion that a pin from a black market will protect you from the wrath of a tyrant. It's better than facing reality.
"You seriously don't believe that do you?" He asks me. I shrug my shoulders, grinning at his expression. He too grins knowingly and shakes his head. It's good to see his smile again. They've become rare.
After a good, yet unappetizing breakfast of berries and fish, we leave the house and walk to the reaping. We pass others who hold hands, paws, hooves, whichever. They share glances out of the corners of their fear-stricken eyes, nodding abut never smiling. I guess everybody feels a little closer, especially considering today's events.
The town square is full of people and animals adorn in white dress clothes. The storefronts lining the cobblestone streets are chipped and slightly mangled, but overall in good shape. Yet they are veiled by the lines of Peacekeepers who stand shoulder to shoulder, ushering the people of my district forward. It's a pity the reaping is held in the square. On most days, it's usually packed with merchants shouting their sales, children running around and pressing their round faces into the store windows, women of all ages talking amongst their friends as they shop. And in the springtime, flowers are strung across the lampposts and the fresh scent of daisies dances in the air, the sky a clear, almost pale shade of blue.
Yet today, no one flashes a smile when we pass by. No one talks or greets us even though they have done it everyday before. And really, why would they?
We get in line for the sign in. I stand behind Melman and Marty's behind me. As I wait for my turn, I can practically feel Marty shivering in fear. He hates blood. Hates seeing it, feeling it, even the word makes him green, in the metaphorical sense, of course. It's extremely hard for him when the most serious of injuries are brought to Melman, but he seems to manage. I can only hope he can hang in there for the next 30 seconds.
"Name?" The Peacekeeper asks in a bored tone.
"Alex Lyon," I respond.
That's another thing. We have last names, too. It's not too bad, I guess, but it does make me feel like the Capitol still has us in the palms of their prissy, gloved hand. Controlling us like little pawns in their sick game of chess.
He takes my paw, pricks it, and presses it onto a piece of paper with my name printed in small font, leaving a smudged red dot. Then I watch Marty get checked in.
"Name?"
"M-Marty Stripes." He stutters. I can't help but flinch when he gets his wrist pricked and pressed.
We are then both shoved into a large group of animals and suddenly we lose each other in the vast, moving crowd, swept away like a wave on the ocean and we have no choice but to follow the thick mass of bodies that is the strong current. When we finally stop moving, I scan the majority of heads for Marty's face only to see him all the way on the other side of the square.
He'll be fine, I hope.
On stage, I can see the mayor, a brightly colored woman, and an empty chair. I know of the two people present, but the one and only victor of District 12 is absent. How typical. As if the guy would miss an afternoon of getting drunk.
The anthem plays and the mayor, Mayor Undersee, starts going on and on about the history of Panem, the rules of the Hunger Games, yada yada yada. I never listen to the speech, most of us don't either. We've heard it a million times by now, during other occasions besides the reaping. We usually just stand there in deafening silence for what feels like an eternity. Not gonna lie, I nearly doze off every five minutes.
Then the woman known as Tooth Fairy for obvious and unsaid reasons walks up to the stage wearing her signature flashy dress made of shimmering, emerald green feathers that reach all the way to the tips of her fingers to her tiny toes. A crown of long, elegant feathers adorns her brow and parts of her face like a Mardi Gras mask straight from New Orleans. She gives us a bright, toothy smile that stretches over her face almost painfully. It's way too wide for any means of comfort; practically forced. She flutters her way to the microphone and introduces herself.
"Welcome, welcome, to the seventy-fourth annual Hunger Games!" She exclaims in her exciting accent. No one returns her greeting, or they're just not willing. Either way, we just stare back dully. She gives an unsettling chuckle and continues. "I cannot tell you what an honor it is to be up here representing the... unique District 12."
Yeah, we're all so ecstatic about being on the edge of a cliff you and your Capitol forced us on and plummeting down it with a smile on our sorry faces cause that's basically what you're doing!
As you or anyone who even remotely is intact with their common sense have noticed, I am over a little bitter against the Capitol. Yet I guess I have to give her little credit, though. At least she's trying to stay positive. As positive as she or anyone can be.
"Let us move on to the selection of our tributes." Tooth's voice booms into the microphone. "This year, we'll spice things up and start off with the boys. Good luck and may the odds be ever in your favor!" She strolls her way over to the large glass bowl on her left and digs her delicate hand inside. She pulls out a slip and oh so aggravatingly slowly, opens it. I clench the hem of my shirt in suspense, claws ripping holes into the fabric.
Please don't say my name. Please don't say my name. Please don't say my name!
I quickly do a 360 and spot Tigress a few yards next to me. She tries pulling a ghost of a smile out of her scowl, but by the thin line of her mouth I can tell she's scared. Just like the rest of us.
Tooth Fairy finally unfolds the paper and announces the name."Marty Stripes."
Author's Note: Sorry, this chapter was a little short. But hey, there's more to come. Keep reading!