Cassius Fleur

District 3 Male, 15
District 3 Central Square
Reaping Day

"Our male tribute is… Cassius Fleur!"

Our escort, Vienna, as I remember her name in a strange moment of absolute clarity, pronounces my name succinctly and clearly into the microphone. Now, here's the issue. A part of my brain, probably the rational one, understands that "Cassius Fleur" means that I've been reaped because that's my name. I'm going into the Games. Another part of my brain though, the overwhelming one at the moment, is just screaming mindlessly and I almost succumb to the utter panic that grips me. Fuck. Fucking fuck, I'm going to die.

"Cassius Fleur, please come on stage!" Vienna brightly exclaims and I know I've got precisely twenty seconds to go up those steps before my already-low odds of survival start plummeting lower. No one likes a freezer.

I actually zone out, kind of like when I was climbing the stage when getting my utterly insignificant diploma at the age of twelve, which marked the end of my primary school education. I graduated at the top of my class, and it had seemed like such a big deal. My mom had been so proud back then, but I only remember the crippling anxiety that gripped me as I anticipated crossing the stage.

Now, as I find her in the crowd, she looks absolutely mortified with tears streaming down her face. Instead of a shiny diploma and a clap on the back, I'm getting shipped off to a death match. All my little moments, all my accomplishments, they all lead to this.

I'm going to die soon, I realize numbly as I struggle up.

My mom can't stop this. I look up at the screens in a panic, and see a pair of eyes identical to hers, reflecting the same kind of pure fear staring right back at me. That's me. That's me, projected everywhere for the entire nation to see.

I'm really really scared.

This shouldn't be happening; this isn't the kind of thing they should be doing in this country. This is what my dad fought against because he'd known it would degenerate into twenty-three kids dying every year. This is so screwed up.

I'm already on stage, and I try to stop my legs from shaking in vain. I look desperately into the crowd, hoping someone is going to volunteer for me. Anyone. And then I realize something. My brother Ryland, he's eighteen, still. I find myself frantically looking through the crowd, searching for Ryland, because he might help me.

He might still save me. That's what he's always done, whenever bullies tried to take my food or when the physical education teacher called me out in the middle of class and ridiculed me. It was always Ryland that resolved these kinds of issues, not my mom.

I find his face and reach out feebly with my arm.

I know everyone is looking, but there has to be a way out. If he volunteers, then he's the one who will look strong and I won't have to worry about anything. Ryland is strong, angry and can fight, he can win these Games. I know he can win, and I know he'll make it back home.

The seconds stretch on and through the blur of my unshed tears, I see a distorted version of Ryland. He appears to be crying, but that can't be. Ryland never cries. He was the one comforting me when our dad died, he's the angry and feisty and pissed-off one.

Please Ryland I can't do this, I whisper under my breath, hoping he'll understand. He's not moving. I look back at my mom, and at the back of my head I am weirded out by how long this moment is taking. It never seems to take this long on television, usually. Why isn't Ryland volunteering for me?

Vienna clears her throat and that when I know it's over. Ryland didn't volunteer. This really can't be happening, oh god. All the sounds become muffled and I have to squint to make out what is going on. Somewhere along the line I realize my legs are shaking worse now.

Vienna calls a girl's name, one who looks even more terrified than I do and who bursts into tears. I don't know her.

And suddenly there's noise. A tall, dark and lean figure stalks out of the seventeen-year old's, with a resolution that almost makes me recoil. I know what's going to happen next, and I can't suppress the wave of helplessness that takes over.

She volunteers, loud and clear, to the amazement of the entire district.

Why couldn't someone volunteer for me?

When she comes near me, I see that her eyes are wide, but her facial expression is calculated. She knows what she's doing, and for some reason that sends chills down my spine.

We shake hands and her grip is almost-painfully firm. She looks me dead in the eye.

"Nice to meet you, partner." She almost looks…excited?

There's something not right with her, but I can't put my finger on it. She's way too determined, lacks any sort of restraint and I had no idea I could be any more terrified, but my heart drums on at a speed that feels like a pending heart attack.

I'm so screwed.

The crowd actually cheers for us a little bit before we are carted off to the Justice Building. I can't help but feel that the cheering is for the girl. My district partner now, whose name I missed, because I was too focused on not collapsing in a puddle of tears on stage.

The worst part is that as soon as I became old enough, my mom let Ryland and I watch the Games after school, to remind us of the kind of violence the Capitol made us inflict on each other, as punishment for trying to do the right thing. My mom was big on that whole deal, making us read through the bullshit and know the kind of evil that permeates our society. So I am certain that I've watched the Games at least seven times, and I theoretically know by heart how this goes. Despite that, I find myself unable to recall a single detail, a single clue that could give me an edge and calm me down.

It's like the uncertainty is about to drown me.

I find myself alone in a room and I start crying.

A knock at the door announces my mother's arrival. She bursts in first, followed closely by my brother. They are both crying almost as hysterically as I am.

"Cassie, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," my mom keeps repeating and I cling to her.

This sucks so bad.

I am being crushed by her so hard that I feel like my lungs will collapse. Or it might be the fear enslaving me in a vice-like grip.

My mom keeps on sobbing, "I'm so proud of you, I'm so sorry." It's nauseating because these are the last things I will ever hear from her. I risk a look at Ryland who is almost hunched over, sitting on the chair.

Before I can stop it, a pang of resentment courses through my entire body.

"Ryland..." I start and I know he feels it too. Like he's failed me, he's failed our family because he didn't take up the opportunity to protect his little brother. I know objectively that it's not fair to ask so much of him, but I'm just so scared and I don't want to die. Our family already has lost so much, and I can't bear to leave them.

My brother gets up and hugs us, both of us. We sink to the floor and we just cry together.

I don't know if, once I die, my mother will blame him for what happened, for not volunteering in my stead. Once again, my logic is split in two. A part of me hopes she won't, what's the use, really, but another selfish part of me expects it. Does he not love me as much as he claims he does?

After my dad and uncle started participating in the fight against the Capitol, my mother was against taking a specific side. She said it would backfire and turn this family to ashes and we'd never see it coming. She believed that neutrality was key to survival. My dad waved off her concerns, stating that the Capitol would lose in a matter of months and that her unborn child would live in a world free of their dictatorial grasp. And I was born, and the fight exploded into a full-on war conflict, and I remember spending years in our makeshift basement, my mother, my brother and I.

I remember being almost as scared as I am now. Even with my father's execution, my uncle and aunt's deaths, this is somehow infinitely worse.

"Stephane, you need to leave, I don't want to be forcing you guys out. It won't look good if I do," a faceless Peacekeeper mutters as he opens the door, clearly uncomfortable. He knows my mom then, if they're on a first-name basis. That's good, that means they won't hurt her when I have to leave.

I can't bear to let go though.

"Mom, please don't leave, I can't go, I can't go, I can't –" I sob into her shoulder.

"It's going to be okay baby, I love you."

"I'm so sorry Cas, I can't believe this is happening, I didn't want this to happen," my brother stutters as the Peacekeeper takes my crying mother by the shoulder and takes her away.

"It's okay Rye," I utter but it sounds hollow even to my ears. Why didn't you volunteer Rye, my brain keeps hammering at the very back, but I keep that part to myself.

And just like that, my mother and my brother are ushered out and I'm left completely alone.

I wipe my eyes, and new tears spring up. I don't think anyone else is going to come.

I knock on the door and another Peacekeeper opens.

"What's up kid," he says jovially, almost trying to make up for the somber atmosphere.

"I think I'm done now, can I go on the train?" I ask nervously, sniffling a little bit.

"I can't do that yet, protocol and all that, but I can call in Pulse, I know he wanted to talk to you."

Pulse, that's our latest District 3 Victor. I'm guessing he'll be mentoring me, so I nod. Pulse comes into the room, cane in hand. He smiles at me, almost apologetically.

"This sucks hardcore, amiright?"

I laugh, a little pitiful sound.

"Yeah, it really does."

He snorts and sits down. He's clearly in a lot of pain, even if he pretends like he isn't. I remember he won at a pretty young age, so he's supposed to be seventeen now? Eighteen? He doesn't look it, he looks so much older. My heart breaks a little bit.

Before I can stop it, I blurt out "I thought you were going to be grumpier."

Pulse must see my absolutely-mortified expression because he waves it off, a chuckle escaping his lips.

"I'm pretty sure everyone thinks that. Even me. I live to surprise."

He seems to get where my thought process is headed.

"Hey, no one thought I could win either. I'm pretty sure I was freaking out worse than you were, back there," Pulse says, grinning. I can't help but feel at ease with him. It's true, now that I'm not panicking as much, I remember he won at fifteen too.

"When's your birthday?" I ask, randomly. Pulse laughs.

"Of all the questions to ask… I was fifteen when I was reaped and I turned sixteen a week after my victory," he concludes, wiping his glasses.

"It doesn't mean that if you're younger, you've got no chance," he hastens to add, noting my crestfallen expression. "You just need to know what you're good at and stick with it. You never know! We've gotten lucky before and I'd definitely not write you off."

I know he's trying to cheer me up and it's working, to a certain degree but I can't feel but get the crushing feeling that there's no hope for me.

I sit down.

"Hey um... Pulse, did they choose you because your parents were rebels?" I venture.

He frowns.

"Nah, I just got really unlucky. My parents have like, a million kids. I just happened to be the oldest and the only one pulling my weight."

"Oh."

He gives me a look.

"You think you got reaped because of your dad's shenanigans?"

Now it's my turn to stare.

"I don't mean to pry, I just saw your mom come alone and I assumed the old man kicked the bucket. And then you asked about rebellion so I just figured…"

"Yeah, that's it," I interrupt him, before he can go any further. "My dad made weapons for the rebels, and my uncle was a medic. Both were shot, along with my aunt. My brother respects them, but I kind of don't really give a shit anymore. I just don't want to die because of someone else's mistakes."

It's not entirely true, but to a person who I've literally met 2 minutes prior it'll have to do.

"So what can I call you?" Pulse asks, changing the subject.

"Uh…my mom calls me Cassie, Cas….my actual name is Cassius… I don't really care, for real," I stumble over my words, taken a little off-guard.

Pulse chuckles, patting me on the shoulder.

"Hey, at least your name isn't Pulse. What were my parents even thinking? Cassius is a good name though…it's got a strong feel about it. Lots of strong and powerful people were named Cassius you know."

I stay quiet, interested by what he'll say next. I never really asked myself about the etymology of my own name but now that he mentions it, I'm quite intrigued.

"There was Cassius, a roman Senator. I think he's one of the guys that shanked Caesar," Pulse states matter-of-factly. I know the story, and I stifle a laugh because of the way Pulse said it.

He picks up on my amusement right away, getting more into it.

"There was also a Cassius who was nicknamed the Lion of White Hall. That dude was …well he was something of an anomaly during his time because he fought against slavery, so you can say he was something of a rebel too." Pulse grins, and I can't help but be absolutely mesmerized by his knowledge. I wonder how he knows so much about a world whose fragments are scattered. Whose history is shrouded in mystery, in part due to the destruction that came with the war but also due to the heavy censorship by the Capitol.

"And then, there was a guy named Cassius who was the father of the greatest boxer of all time. Muhammad Ali was a legend, something like Sujax or Glenn, in the old world. He really knew how to fuck someone up using his fists alone."

I nod because I've heard of the infamous boxer. He was quite the fighter, at least I've heard, because no footage remains of his exploits.

"See? Your name… it means something. It has a history and you have to hold on to what all these guys did. They made something or their lives and you can too."

"I'm only fifteen. I can't fight and I just don't know…" I start, getting worried again.

Pulse interrupts me.

"Cas, you need to believe in yourself. Your age, your strength. It matters but then it doesn't. You just have to know how to spot an opportunity and take it."

He pauses momentarily, appraising me with a look, and continues.

"Oh, and you clearly were out of it, for what I can't blame you, so I'm going to tell you what I noticed and I suggest you start paying attention from now on but…your district partner, Sal-something, she's clearly got something going for her. I haven't figured her out yet, and I told Eli right away I wanted to take you on. So I haven't talked to the girl yet. But people don't volunteer for no reason. My recommendation is to stay on good terms with her, but not to underestimate her."

"Wasn't planning on it," I say, trying to make it into a joke but it falls flat.

"She kind of freaks me out, from the five seconds I interacted with her," I admit after a second of deliberation.

Pulse purses his lips, smiling flatly. "Yeah I was going to say the same thing, but I didn't want to plant any preconceived notions in your brain in case I was wrong."

He thinks for a second.

"I saw her saying goodbye to a little girl, but still. If there's one thing I can't tell you enough it's that everyone in the Games is your enemy. It's important to stay sharp, Cas. I'm telling you this because I saw you almost-freeze before coming on stage there. You snapped yourself out of it, and that's great, that's why I want to work with you, but you need to make sure to stay sharp. You partner certainly seems to be."

I can't help but agree with him. I also can't help but smile at the fact that he chose me, that he wasn't just saddled with me because Eli jumped on Sal-whatever at the first opportunity.

I'm not a second choice and it feels good amidst the horror.

He gets serious again.

"Let me just tell you something straight kid. I know it's scary and it's awful. I've been exactly in your place and I can guarantee you that there was nothing more that I wanted to do than to crawl into a hole and wait this out. That's not how this works though. You need to grow up and you need to do it fast," Pulse says, his hand on my shoulder.

"I'll be here for you, but you need to do most of the heavy-lifting yourself. People your age got handed weapons and killed during the war. This is just your war, you know?"

I nod. I understand. I can't pretend that I haven't been sheltered during my life. My brother Ryland, my mom... they took care of me. The three of us, we've always been a little quieter, a little sadder, a little more paranoid ever since the war ended and dad died. But we've always taken care of each other.

Now it's time to take care of myself. I need to do my best to survive, and as Pulse said, it's not a lost cause.

I'm smart, I'm logical. I can do this.

First though, I need to grow up. I glance up at Pulse and he nods. I think he sees the resolve appear in my eyes and that's why he's smiling. The smile is a little sad, a little tired. But he's not crying, and I shouldn't either.

We can do this.

Notes: Here's a younger baby, Cassius Fleur from District 3!

Did you think his reaction was realistic? It's been a while since I've been 15, so any feedback concerning his narration is greatly appreciated. I was hoping to convey a more sheltered-nice-a-little-immature-but-smart kid vibe with him, and I would love to hear your opinion on his short but insightful interaction with Pulse. I am in the middle of nowhere, in a tiny town in Vermont where I have zero internet connection at my house, so I uploaded this in the middle of a storm near our library…. so I apologize in advance if there's more mistakes than usual. I didn't wanna get struck down by lightning in case the world was against me publishing fanfiction while I'm on vacation. SUE ME FOR BEING UNHEALTHILY EXCITED ABOUT POSTING.

Next up, Salamandra Mitch. I'm pumped!

Peace and love.