TRIGGER WARNING: lots of these POVs discuss abuse. You have been warned.
Remus O'Bannon, age 18
District 6 Male
Not very many people liked me. I had no idea why, though. I was perfect! Okay, maybe once or twice I had laid the details of my luxurious life on a little to thick, but that wasn't my fault. I had simply gotten taken away. There was nothing wrong with that, right?
I ran my fingers through my brown hair that I loved so much. Not only was it luscious and impeccable, but it just made me all the more attractive. It was just fabulous! I was good-looking, I had enough food to survive, and I was athletic. What's not to love? Nothing. It was a simple fact. Some people just didn't see that.
Some boy was giving me weird looks, but looking away every time I glanced in his direction. He certainly wasn't anything special. With the stick-thin frame, sloppy hair, and sunken face, he looked like he was going to drop dead any minute. Eventually, I couldn't take it anymore. I turned on the boy and whisper-shouted at him, "What do you want, freak? Huh?"
The boy backed up a little, a frightened look in his eyes. "Sorry," he muttered. His sight settled on my stomach, which wasn't small and shriveled like his. "I..I just haven't seen somebody who didn't look hungry for a long time."
I laughed, and, on stage, Sicily looked at me funny. "Of course you haven't!" I said. "You live in the alleys, don't you? Ha! I live in a nice home, with enough to survive. But that's too bad for you!" I looked back at the stage without checking the boy's reaction. Sicily had an unfolded slip in her hands.
"The first male tribute is Mister Remus O'Bannon!" she announced cheerfully. What? Was that me? Surprise washed over me in waves, and I tried to remain emotionless as I headed up towards the stage.
Why was I reaped?
Axel Booker, age 13
District 6 Male
I stood awkwardly in the corner of my section, my hands folded in front of me, biting my bottom lip. Being near people made me uncomfortable. All people, except for my older sister, Jessica. She was the only person who really cared for me. My mother died two days after I was born, and father has spent my whole life in a bottle. I guessed that made me slightly uncomfortable around people I didn't know.
Sometimes, I wished I knew my mom. Jessica always said she was a very sweet, kind woman, even during dark times. She sounded amazing. Much better than my father. To be honest, I'm not even sure he knew my name. He's been depressed my entire life, and he rarely acknowledged anybody.
Just watching the reaping made me nervous. Especially this one. There were so many kids picked this year, and so rarely did any of them some back. Just the mere thought that I could be up on stage with those kids left be shaking in my shoes. There was no way I would be able to survive the Hunger Games. The anxiety that rose at the fact at the fact that I was in contention to be a tribute made me panic. Then I took a deep breath. No freak-outs. Not this year. I forced myself to look back at the stage.
Sicily was at the boy's reaping bowl, swirling the slips around for extra dramatic effect, before abruptly pulling her hand out, a piece of paper in hand. My chest heaved from fear. Even if I had any courage to do anything, the sight of the perfect square paper in Sicily's hand made me terrified. If it was me...
Don't do that to yourself, Axel.
Sicily walked back to the microphone; the sound of the paper being unfolded echoing across the dead-silent square. She cleared her throat and read, "Axel Booker!"
I froze in place, trembling. As slow as possible, I started walking through my section, overcome with fear. Tears streamed down my face as I hit the center aisle. I was going to die.
Toomin Sindig, age 12
District 6 Male
Why did the Capitol do this to young kids? Why were they forced to compete in the Games? It was crazy. Only one really young kid had ever won the Games: Clementine Niagara from District Eleven, who won when she was thirteen. But she was lucky. Most of the Careers in her Games had died early on. Or so I heard. Kids in the Children's Home enjoyed making up stories to trick some of the younger ones.
I'd lived in the Children's Home for my whole life. At least, I don't remember living anywhere else. It's pretty cool there. It's better than the community home. We get enough to eat, clean clothes, a place to sleep. Honestly, I thought it was better than the rest of the district. It probably was, too.
I lifted up a small portion of my shirt, and rubbed the blanket I had underneath. It was my good luck charm, and the same blanket I was dropped off at the Children's Home in. I usually kept it under my shirt, tucked into the pants so that it wrapped around me. It probably wasn't the best idea for the middle of summer, but I felt like I needed my charm for today. Your first reaping is always the hardest. That was the saying all around Panem. Everybody took it as a fact, so I figured I should, too.
But shouldn't the last reaping be the hardest? During the first one, you had the least chance of being picked. The last one was when you had your name in the most. So why was the first one the most difficult? Was it because of the nerves? Or was it the paranoia? Maybe it was because of the newness of it all. I didn't know.
"The third male representing District Six is Toomin Sindig!" Sicily said. My hand fell to my side, tears pooling in my eyes. They came loose and I couldn't hold them back. I stood in my section, crying, until the Peackeepers came to get me. It didn't take very much. I was a wreck, and I couldn't fight Peacekeepers. They brought me to the stage, and the whole time I wondered, again, why young kids had to compete in the Games.
So much for a good luck charm.
Henry Sorens, age 13
District 6 Male
Even during terrible times, you just had to smile. There's no choice. While the food ran out, I smiled. As my father, high on morphling, raised his belt for another lash, I smiled. While life tried to beat me down, I struggled to climb back up, a fake smile on my face.
Because that's what you have to do when life beats you up.
Other people who knew about my situation at home pitied me. They thought I was strange for always trying to look on the positive side of life. How could I? I wasn't anything special. My parents had told me to build on that angle, use other people's sympathy as a resource to gain a status in this district. My two siblings did the exact same thing. Cater, my older brother, could use his wits to get himself a good job someday, and my older sister, Tracet, should be with other disabled children, because she was a born mute. Not attacked and abused every single day of her life.
Another question I'm asked a lot was why I stayed with my parents. They were horrible people, so why didn't my siblings and I just leave? The answer was simple: it was only place we knew. It may have been an awful place, but at least there, we knew where we stood. The streets of District Six weren't safe for anybody, especially not three malnourished children.
As Sicily clipped her way over to the boy's reaping bowl for the next name, I forced myself to smile. It probably wasn't the time or place, but when was it ever? Sicily selected a slip, walked back to the microphone, and read the name, "Henry Sorens."
My smile died. Before I knew it, my body lurched with sobs, but I didn't move. I was going to stay in this spot for as long as possible. I wasn't going to go until I had to. But I knew I couldn't stay for long. Eventually, the Peacekeepers would find me. They would take me to the stage. And I would be in the Hunger Games.
I hoped Tracet and Cater weren't hurt too much while I was gone.
Cooper Crosses, age 16
District 6 Male
Riley volunteered. Why would she do that? She actually had something to live for, a loving family that didn't hurt her. She actually had friends, an older brother. She had everything I didn't have.
But I wasn't jealous. Not at all. How could I be jealous of the girl I liked?
She was so nice. I saw her everywhere, ever since the day she saved me from the bullies making fun of me for my parents and the bruises on my face. She was everywhere, and she was about to die. Just like Ryan. I couldn't lose anybody else close to me.
My brother was eighteen when he was reaped and killed in the Games. He was the only person whom I completely trusted. We even had a plan to escape the district together, to get away from our parents who worked us to death. Everything was perfect. We were going to leave after the reaping.
But Ryan never came back.
I lived a sad, lonely life, in constant fear of my abusive parents and bullies at school. It wasn't a way anybody should live.
Sicily was at the microphone, and unfolded the fifth slip of paper. "Okay, the fifth male tribute is Cooper Crosses!"
As soon as I heard my name, Ryan's reaping replayed in my head, how he walked up to the stage confidently. I tried to mimick that appearance, but I knew it was hopeless. I was a nervous wreck. And that showed on my face. There was no way I was going to win.
But at least I would get to spend time with Riley before I died.
Martin Roger, age 15
District 6 Male
This was so boring. The reaping always took forever, but this year, it was even longer. In the time it would take for this to finish, I could have done so much. Run a few laps around the community home, crush some little kid's hopes and dreams, get into trouble with the headmaster. There was so much to do and so little time to do it.
There really was no logic to my bullying. Maybe it was my parents' fault, even though they had disappeared thirteen years ago. Maybe that was why I was so bitter. But it was fun. People had said I was annoying and I knew I was. It didn't bother me.
To help myself pass the time, I thought of this morning, when I'd told a little nine year old girl she was never going to leave the orphanage. "Why would anybody want you?" I had snarled, and her face fell, eras building in her eyes. "To them, you're still a street rat, who'll die in her own time." After she ran away, I had smiled.
There was endless fun in this, even though other people thought you were a horrible person afterwards. But, like I said earlier, I didn't care.
I watched remorselessly as Sicily dug her hand in the boy's bowl for the final name. She held one up, and called out the name, "Martin Roger!"
"Shit!" I yelled. I was reaped? No, I couldn't be! The other kids started cheering, and I felt my face get red. I spun around, screaming, "Screw you! Screw you all! I'll come back, you watch me!" This made the Peacekeepers much easier to find me. They grabbed my arms and dragged me to the stage. I was too busy trying to get my anger under controlll to fight them.
The Games were the perfect place to intimidate others. Maybe I would do better than I thought.
This chapter was a lot harder to write than I initially thought. Sorry to these tributes' submitters if I ruined them. Thanks to:
Foxfaceisthebest for Remus,
CandleFire45 for Axel, Cooper and Martin,
SparkALeah for Toomin,
and HoppsHungerfan for Henry.
I hope I did them all justice. Chapter's song: Supermarket Flowers by Ed Sheeran (it's honestly so depressing, if you can get through it without crying, you have no soul.)
A few announcements. First, the D4 poll is still up. Go vote if you haven;t already!
Secondly, to the guest who as been commenting about Luna Blackburn. Fanfiction is a plac for writers of all ages and capabilities to share there work, including their characters. Just because you don't know somebody on this website doesn't make it okay to make fun of them. Everybody here should be accepting and supportive of one another. I may have been unwillingly (and unknowingly) helping this bad behavior by accepting these guest reviews, and I know that's a mistake on my behalf. But they need to stop. To Luna's submitter, Fire'sCatching, I'm deeply sorry if these omens have, in any way, hurt you. If you don't want to participate or review anymore, I understand. This is partly my fault.
So there's my speech for the day. Be nice to one another. Please. With that, I'll see you all next time in District Seven!
-D9T