I decided to do shorter POVs this time so I could fit more people.
Queenie Hesperaloe- District Ten female
I have no one to blame but myself. I'm the one who said we should let her volunteer. It's my own fault I have to cart her around to 'show her the Games building'.
In hindsight I should have gotten a wagon. Queenie was bulky. Her pot was almost too big for me to wrap my arms around it. I had to carry her little stretches at a time with rests in between. I would have gotten an Avox to do it, but Queenie was my cross to bear. I wasn't going to foist her on some mutilated Districter who had enough to worry about.
"Oooh, is that Queenie?" a high-pitched voice came from ahead of us. I stretched my neck around her fronds and saw four young teens decked out in the latest fashions.
"Oh, I want to meet her!" what seemed to be her gentleman friend said. He ran up and almost smashed into her pot.
"Can I have your autograph?" the first teen said.
"Excuse me, but Queenie cannot write," I said.
"Awwww I want her autograph," she said.
"It's okay, I'll get you one!" her boyfriend said. He reached out and plucked one of Queenie's leaves.
"Hey!" I protested. I yanked here pot back protectively.
"I want one too!" the other two teens said almost at the same time. One snatched a leaf before I could evade her.
"Stop that!" I said. I balanced Queenie's pot on my hip so I could slap at their hands.
"Ooh, Queenie's giving away autographs!" someone in one of the shops shouted. More people started coming toward us. I turned and awkwardly waddled away toward the elevator, pursued by would-be autograph hounds.
"SECURITY!"
Fryderyk Zielinski- District Eight male
I read a book once where there was a character who went to war and came back to find his entire family had died while he was gone. He started to walk, and when he was finally done walking, he made candies. He took all his sadness and put it into the candies, so they tasted like root beer and strawberries and one other thing that was hard to put into words. In the same way I slid my pen along my paper and wrote my requiem. It sounded like verdancy and cherries and dying.
A-flat major. An unconventional choice for a requiem, but the right one. Each piece was its own rightness and the composer merely found it. Like my mental state, the music was full of change, almost to the point of dissonance. It was adagio throughout, with abortive little dolce vivaces that faded before they reached their fullness. Sometimes I paused for a moment, and when I did, I could see the shine of the ink and how its newness faded into permanence as it bled into the page.
One night wasn't enough to write a death. My requiem was only a few bars when I set it down for the first and last time. It was written by me and for me. It was me written. It was unfinished, and in that it was my perfect reflection.
Angus Pastor- District Ten male
It was midnight and none of us were sleeping. We had one night to be sure we would be alive. I was sure that none of us, intentionally or not, were spending it sleeping.
In all the thoughts swirling in my head, one rose to the top over and over. It was regret. Maybe not exactly regret, because none of this was my fault, but it was a feeling of loss, of something we all wish hadn't happened. I didn't know which of us it was, but come tomorrow, many of us would be gone. Many of the children I'd met and mingled with in this building just... wouldn't be. I hardly knew anything about any of them. I didn't know if maybe Siobhan made brownies every Sunday with her mother and her mother would never be able to eat brownies again. I didn't know if Tony would have grown up to adopt three abandoned children that would never have a father now. Or if none of us would ever have done anything but we were all still people and we had value just because we were alive.
That was what was lost: what we were supposed to be. We were supposed to be children. We were supposed to be getting milk mustaches and playing MASH and making those folded fortune-tellers. We should have been getting our first crushes and turning eighteen and deciding what to do with our lives. But weren't going to do anything with our lives. Only one of us had one.
Joy Wincenty- District Twelve male
Maybe I was too young or too sheltered to understand the Hunger Games. No one could really understand it who hadn't been there, even the Careers. I was pretty sure I didn't, anyway, because I wasn't really scared. Probably I would be when it started. But here, trying to sleep on the night before, I was just really wired.
Most little kids daydream about being in some dangerous adventure like the Arena. We wonder how we would survive in the wild and all the cool things we could do if we didn't have to worry about school and rules. We all knew it was just pretend and that real life wouldn't be so much fun. But it wasn't real life yet. It was tomorrow.
I knew it was dangerous and I even knew I would probably die, even though I didn't really accept what that meant. But still... there could be so much in the Arena. There had been Arenas made of candy. Arenas with dinosaurs. I could see a dinosaur. The Gamemakers had so much imagination. They made whole worlds. Panem could be so magical if they used it for something good.
Aurelia Jackson- District Five female
Dear Zeus...
That one didn't last long. Zeus may be the head god, but he's kind of... a terrible person. I didn't think he cared much for me, since I was too young for the only thing he pretty much ever did.
Dear Ares, please remind the Careers that I am very small and weak so it is not really war to kill me, it's just killing. Please tell them to fight among themselves and not waste their efforts on me.
Dear Athena, please help me come up with an idea that will get me out of the Arena. This should be a really fun challenge for you since I am very helpless. Since you are very smart I think you will enjoy the challenge.
Dear Poseidon, I don't think you really apply here but I didn't want to leave you out so how are you doing? Oh sorry I got distracted. Someone was making a bunch of noise outside my window.
Dear Hades... I'll probably be there in a few days so I'll just tell you face-to-face.
Siobhan Hearse- District Six female
Arthur and I were huddled in the crack between my bed and the wall. This wasn't really something Tony could be a part of. He was a lot bigger. He had a chance to win outside of a miracle. I'm sure he was scared too, but not the same way as we were.
"Have you ever seen someone die?" I asked.
"Three times," Arthur said. "One because she got beat so bad. The other two got heatstroke."
"I saw my grandmother's body in the coffin, but she'd already been dead. She looked like wax," I said.
"So do fresh dead people," Arthur said.
"Where do you think they went?" I asked.
"I never thought about it," Arthur said.
"I think they went somewhere," I said. "I don't know where, but somewhere better than this."
"Why?" Arthur asked.
"People are just special. We do things animals don't. We wouldn't be special like this if we didn't have souls," I said.
"Then why did we make the Games?" Arthur asked.
"Because humans are special," I said, with far less reverence.
Harper Newman- District Twelve female
Before I left, Uncle Kennard told me to be good. He said he knew I was good. He said remember what we'd talked out- how if I couldn't see the person who was saying something, it was probably one of the not-real voices. Aicalzaara said it was Uncle Kennard who wasn't real.
I tapped my head with my fist like I did sometimes when I was trying to know what I should think. I started tapping my head against the wall when the thoughts got louder. Aicalzaara was telling me that when the Games started, I should kill people. He didn't say who. I guessed that meant everyone. Everyone else would be killing people too. They finally figured out I was right the whole time. Maybe Uncle Kennard was the crazy one. That was kind of funny. He worked all day with crazy people and he was actually the crazy one. I still missed him, though, him and Mom. The only time I ever felt like I was where I was supposed to be was when I was with them.
