Salamandra Mitch

District 3 Female, 17
Sector 7, District 3
1 Day before Reaping Day

I hear echoes, voices, screams and suddenly smoke is penetrating the enclosed space from the ceiling. I can't see where I am, I'm disoriented. I recognize the screams as those of my mother and I rush down the hall even as the smoke descends upon me, almost suffocating. I run and run, as fast as my legs can carry me, but the hallway distorts, mounds of dark earth appearing on the ground, blocking my path and I can't get there in time.

"Sally, close your eyes Sally, please don't look!"

My mother is crying, cradling my father in her arms. There's so much blood, and another man is lying on the ground and I'm absolutely horrified. My mother's dark curly hair is matted and there is a huge bloody spot right near her temple. Her belly looks like it's about to burst out of her sleeping gown. That's my future sister in there, all of this can't be good for the baby. I am rooted on the spot as I see liquid leak from between my mother's legs, and I have no idea what's happening. My mother vomits and keeps crying, as my father gasps for air. His neck is punctured, and I can see the remains of his torn trachea flapping back and forth in his struggle for air. God, it's that image that keeps recurring more than anything. It's the flapping of the torn skin, the wheezing and my mother's cries of agony as she goes into labor that drown me as I fall back, into nothingness.

I wake up. The time is 3:47AM. The Reaping is tomorrow, in a little bit less than one day and 9 hours away.

I haven't slept properly in days and I'm clearly agitated.

The truth is that I am haunted. I'm damaged beyond repair. I was four, almost five, when I saw my parents die in front of my eyes, and I can't erase that memory from my brain as much as I want to. Our father, I tried to explain to my little sister Nambie a few times, he was killed by a rebel who broke into our home. Rebels tried to kill us all, due to our affiliation to the Capitol, but our father got him first. He sustained fatal injuries in the process and died right there, in the middle of my parents' bedroom. My mother died there too, a few horrible hours later.

My little sister Nambie, she was conceived during the war, and our family should have been protected from the atrocities that we were subjected to, from this nightmare that haunts me all these years later.

We were a great asset to the Capitol, supplying weapons and secret messages through advanced tech. I still struggle to understand the logic behind the mess that transpired that night I keep reliving in my dreams. I don't understand why we weren't notified of what couldn't have been anything but a planned assassination attempt. We owned the tech, after all, we should have been the first to know. On the days that I let myself, these poisonous thoughts turn deadly, and I need justice for what has been to us. I crave revenge, and I'm boiling over. I want to rip apart anyone who supports the people who wreaked havoc on our family. It might be sickening how hateful I've become, but that's the only way I can operate now.

Our mother, she was small, thin and the war had done her in. With the stress of the attack and my father's violent death…it was too much for her. She was nine months pregnant when the attack happened. Nambie was so big, too. If we had had access to a hospital, I am convinced she would have survived.

The rebels though…they had the district on lockdown. The hospitals that hadn't been bombed were full of rebel soldiers. No one would have wanted to help traitorous scum like us. Our side won, but my family lost it all. My poor mother died in agony, delivering Nambie. I was four, and I wished so hard I could be a little older, I wished I had known what to do. I wished I could have saved my dad. Killed that monster who attacked us. Wishes didn't get shit done though.

For a lack of actually applicable skills, I did the next best thing.

I called great-uncle Ioh, who lived on the other side of town. I begged him to come help, god, I still remember that awful call. The fact that our telephone line was still working gave me so much hope that my five-year-old brain fully believed he would be able to revive my dad and save my mom. He was reticent, but he came. He was clearly moved by a child's pleas for help. That was the last time I ever begged anyone for anything.

Ioh was a trained nurse, and he told me there was nothing that could be done for my father. He then took a blunt knife, and essentially carved Nambie out of my mother. I don't remember whether this is an overdramatization, whether my child-brain had made up additional horrors to punctuate the absolute nightmare that event was, but by the time Ioh was finished, my mother was a mess of lacerated flesh and blood. She expired before Nambie could be properly delivered, drawing her last breath as the newborn baby drew her first.

After that night, I never saw Ioh again. If I'm being honest, I'm not sure how Nambie didn't die and how I was able to feed her, clean her, and keep her alive on my own. There are so many details that are fuzzy now, as though I was an automaton and my memories of subsequent actions have been erased. All I knew was that I loved Nambie more than anything in the world, more than myself, more than I had loved my parents. It was an awful time.

When I was younger, I used to pretend I was over this tragedy. I was convinced I was protecting Nambie this way, protecting myself. It didn't stop the bullies and the discrimination we had to survive, as we bounced around the district after the war.

No one wanted us.

What this taught me, above all is that we don't get to choose, we're born with a side picked for us. I didn't ask my parents to support the Capitol, but that's what I got regardless, and I stand by their decision. Now, I just need to do right by them, and keep their legacy alive. I am proud of what they've accomplished, and they deserve to be remembered as heroes in someone's eyes. I really try my best to convey this to Nambie.

No one ever wanted us, and I hate the world for it, but that's just how things go sometimes. God knows I'm strong enough to deal with it. Now that I'm older, even with my limited perspective in this shithole world, I know for a fact I'm not over what happened to me when I was a child. What I've learned is that maybe I don't have to be, maybe if I lean into it, give myself fully to the rage, I can ascend to a life I deserve. A life Nambie should have gotten from the get-go. A life my parents should have gotten to experience while their enemies rolled in their graves, instead of roaming about the entirety of Panem.

As I lie in my cot, I realize I have a test today that I hadn't studied for. It won't matter, in the grand scheme of things but the fact that I forgot something makes my annoyance spike. Since sleep is clearly not in the cards for me tonight, I get up and flip absentmindedly through the pages of my notebook. I know this stuff already.

Weirdly enough, I've always had trouble sleeping, as far as I can remember. Any psychoanalyzing asshole can probably diagnose me and attribute this to the trauma of my childhood, but I'm pretty sure it's just my thing.

The nightmares don't help, strictly speaking, but regardless, sleeping doesn't come easy. In a way, I'm grateful for it, I have more time on my hands to do other stuff. I'm not the nicest person around, not by a mile, but I've got a lot on my plate and if I wasn't smart and a quick learner and something of an insomniac, I don't think I would have had the semblance of a normal life my sister and I had now. No one likes me, but at least we've got shit under control now.

Everyone likes Nambie, at least before they hear her family name. She was always nice, a little on the simple side, but I say this as a fact, not as an insult. She never really possessed the sharp keen mind I have, but she has other qualities I sorely lack.

Still, it's not kindness that keeps people off our case. Nambie shares too much. She gives away our food, she talks, and I'd be lying if some days it didn't drive me up the fucking wall.

I mean, not to toot my own horn, but I sacrifice a lot for her, I've done it all my life and I'd do it again, but for the meager scraps of food I put together to go to some snotty brat I don't even know? Is it too much to ask for my shit to not be given away for free halfway across the district? That's where most of my arguments with Nambie stem from.

I look at the time again. It's 6:40AM already. Time flies when you're overanalyzing your own existence.

I flip through the pages of my book one last time, close it, and wake up Nambie.

I'm in a good mood today, so we walk to school together. Her stomach audibly grumbles.

"Sorry Sal," she says apologetically, her hands automatically circling her tiny waist. She's barely thirteen, but she looks younger just because of how small she is. She reminds me of our mother, in some distant way.

"It's okay Nam, I've been really busy lately, I didn't find us a breakfast," I reply, getting slightly pissed off at Nambie for having such a demanding appetite. I know it's not her fault, but this girl eats, and I have no idea why she's still so thin and hungry. Then I stop myself. No point in getting pissed off at an issue that isn't anyone's fault.

We arrive to school and I give Nambie a quick hug.

"Don't get into trouble now," I caution her in a faux-concerned voice. She giggles, giving me a kiss on the cheek and I smile. It's a joke between us, because out of the two, I'm the one who is the most likely to get fucked up by one issue or another. She's too nice for that stuff, and again, people actually like her. That's a whole deal, since we live in a society and all that crap.

I wave at her as she runs to join her classmates, and head to my own section of the school. As I round the corner, I see an agglomeration of girls standing and seemingly waiting for me.

"Look who it is…," Regina mutters under her breath, thinking I can't hear her, "It's the Mitch Bitch."

I smirk.

"Aren't you the sister of the poor asshat whose face I ground into the pavement yesterday?"

I know exactly who she is, but I like fucking around with her. She's such a piece of shit, and so is the rest of her family so I don't exactly feel bad.

Regina frowns, crossing her arms.

"My brother isn't an asshat and he did nothing wrong. You took his food, after bullying him. He told me he didn't even fight you and you still punched him. We're all fucking hungry, I get it, and Capitol-supporting scraps of garbage like you and your sister shouldn't be entitled to taking other people's shit."

The way she puts emphasis on every other word makes me want to punch her too.

I put on the creepiest disconcerting smile I can muster and strut right up to her face.

"Re-gi-na, there must be some sort of misunderstanding, he gave me his food, and then when he didn't like the way I thanked him, he tried to take it back. I can't stand people who go back on their word."

I don't emphasize the fact that the dude is literally older and bigger than me, because that would just add salt to the injury, and I feel like flaunting my skills any further is just unnecessary at this point. Regina becomes three shades redder, her cheeks slightly puffing out. She's pissed off because I'm mimicking her, I beat up her brother and I am entirely unapologetic about it. She knows I just don't give a shit. Dealing with entitled morons that think they can teach me a lesson is my specialty. As I like to say, this ain't mama's first rodeo.

I stifle a laugh, slinging my bag behind my back and crossing my arms too.

"Liar!"

She actually lunges at me. I swiftly kick her right in the shin, and she falls like a sack of bricks. I reposition myself in a fighting stance, like I've practiced a million times. I bring my fists up, putting my elbows down to protect my exposed ribs.

Now, if there's one thing I know, it's that Regina comes from a shady part of town. She knows her way around in a fight. Luckily, I do too.

I'm going into the Games this year, I want to warn her. No one knows yet, but I've trained for this for years. I know I'm no Career, but I've got the necessary rage, the strategy and the drive stored in my heart to make up for it. The rage that makes me forget about pain, about sadness, about everything except the need to make the asshole on the other side of my punches pay. And I'm no mindless idiot, either. You have no idea the thought that goes into a fight until you practice.

She headbutts me, and everything goes red. She doesn't know this is what gets me going. She doesn't know that's what gives me incentive.

"Come at me, you stupid whore," I slur, spitting blood on the ground. "you have no idea who you're messing with."

I let muscle memory take over as a fight erupts right there, in the middle of the recreation designated area.

Professor Yanine stops me as I collect my things and prepare to walk out of her office.

I wipe my bloody lip. That's the only injury I sustained during my fight, which is highly impressive, if I can say so myself. The same can't be said of Regina. Pretty sure they'll have to scrape her off the pavement. Maybe not, I'm definitely exaggerating, but she was quite the mess when I was pulled off of her. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't satisfied with the result.

"Salamandra, you are aware that this is your third transgression this month? This is your third physical altercation…I can't stress enough how unacceptable it is," Professor Yanine elaborates, as I stand there.

She continues, "I don't understand this… this need for violence. You have so much potential in you, Mrs. Mitch. You have the highest marks in mathematics, you are the most brilliant student I have had since the war and I am proud to be your teacher. I have heard only praise of your intellectual skills, and must I remind you that our school is one of the most competitive institutions in the country, except for the Capitol."

I nod, because what else is there to say? Yeah, I know I'm smart. It's not like what we're being taught is advanced nuclear physics, which, by the way, I'm sure I could probably grasp in a tenth of the time anyone else at this stupid school would. I respect Professor Yanine though, so I don't start any bullshit. I just keep nodding.

She's the principal of our school, but she also teaches calculus, and I genuinely think she's one of the most competent people at our institution. She insists on the students using her first name too, so she's not one of those pretentious assholes that pretend like they're so much better than you.

Her expression turns sad.

"Salamandra, can you help me understand why you do these things? You have a bright future ahead of you. I am not allowed to say this usually, but I have seen many people looking into your file due to your exceptionally high scores, only to back away at the last second because of your…reputation. Why do you do these things? I am worried and heartbroken, that's why I am asking, not as your principal, but as a person concerned for your wellbeing."

I know she's just pretending to care. That's all people do, to get something out of you. I can't pinpoint what exactly she wants, so I stall.

"I don't know, I guess I have anger issues or something."

She doesn't buy it.

"Salamandra, I know you're too smart for this. Why do you do this?"
She grabs me by the shoulder, and I'm startled by the physical contact. I kind of crack, only for a second.

"Because I'm going into the Games and I don't give a shit about what the people in this shithole of a district think of me. I want to live a normal life and I want to show them that they can't treat us like crap, just because we are right about the way we think!"

Professor Yanine actually flinches away. By the looks of it, I said something she wasn't expecting. Oh well. Honestly, I'm not a huge fan with the way the Games are becoming just purely entertainment, when previously they were used to punish the kids of prominent rebels. I mean, I get it, we're running out of rebel kids because the Capitol has been so efficient at the whole "cleanse the population of rebellious vermin" spiel, but still. That's partly why I'm going in. The fame, glory and money are also pretty sweet. I genuinely think I can pull it off. But people like Regina who make my skin crawl and force their righteous shit down my throat deserve to pay. I don't tell her all of this though.

"Salamandra, please don't throw your life away like this. You are better than this," she cautions me quietly, sadness tinting her voice.

"If I change my mind, will you still give me that suspension?" I joke, rubbing absentmindedly at my chin.

"I'm sorry Mrs. Mitch, beating people isn't the key to solving your problems. I can't just stand by that kind of behavior."

I understand. "I'm sorry Professor, but I'm pretty sure it is. Either way, I've already made up my mind," I apologize back, saluting her and walking out of her office.

Reaping Day

I volunteer. At the top of my lungs, I scream, taking quick intention-filled steps towards the stage. One part of me hopes no one else can hear the desperation, the drive and the unyielding fear that someone else will snatch up this opportunity from me. An irrational fear, no doubt, considering our pathetic district breeding cowards. Another part hopes they do hear it, so they know I'm not messing around. While the Games might be a young institution, I've already seen my fair share of dumb volunteers who do what I've just done by mistake.

I've thought it through plenty. The girl whose place I take is my sister's age, but I don't know her. I don't particularly care either, and I try to not let the relief-filled sobs coming from the section where the relatives are roped up, their children out of reach, break my confident stride. The little girl, the one I volunteered for… her parents must think me some kind of intervening angel. Good, I think. More sponsor money that way, especially if they're well-off or influential. Not that I can't do without it.

I know hard days are ahead, I'm not delusional. I know Nambie won't understand what I've done, and that's exactly why I need to try my damn hardest to get back to her, to explain why I had to leave in the first place. She's not like me, she's not as smart, not by a mile, but she also doesn't have the drive to carve out what we deserve for ourselves, no matter the cost. I love her. That's why I'm going in. At least partly.

But for now, I decide that I can lay my motivations to rest, and bask in the glory of the moment. I did it, I volunteered and I'm a hero to these people for the time-being. If I don't win, if I die, they will forget about me as soon as my cannon sounds. This instant though, I am their beacon of hope.

The escort beckons me closer to him and I almost-recoil before thinking better of it. It's all about my image.

I instead look around, my face filmed from all possible angles and appearing on the screen around the Square. My pupils are dilated to a maximum, conferring me an almost insane-look. I love it.

"We've got a brave one this year! Tell me my dear, what is your name?"

I articulate into the microphone.

"It's Salamandra Mitch."

They will learn to respect that name.

Notes: Fun fact that might or might not be mentioned in the story since no one except for me probably cares: the girl Sal volunteered for was Professor Yanine's only niece, not that Sal will ever know. How shitty do you imagine Yanine felt in that split second before Sal volunteered? What did you think of Salamandra? What about the hardcore case of unreliable narrator? Do you think she's going to get along with her district partner or are they complete polar opposites that will stay far from each other?

So many questions this time around, I would love to hear your input.

We're 1/4th through with all the tributes, which is exciting on its own. Next up, District 4 children, which are quite the pair, let me tell you that.

Thank you for all those reviewing and letting me know what they think. I consistently get inspired from your reactions, and it's great!

Peace and love.