Lyndie Franklin, 12
"Just because I'm often alone doesn't mean I'm lonely. I don't mind the isolation."
(Six Months Before the Reapings)
(TW for mentions of rape, kind of graphic descriptions of death)
Lyndie isn't used to walking home alone. After all, everyone in her family knows just how dangerous it is for a girl like her to wander around alone, in the dark, on the streets of District 8. There are people who lurk around every corner, ready to do so many ungodly things to a little girl like Lyndie…
But Lyndie isn't "afraid", per say. She just isn't prepared to wander around all alone. Three of her older brothers are down with the flu, making Lyndie the only one to go to that particular factory today. And it being in the full-throat of winter, Lyndie is virtually alone.
It's not that Lyndie minds it. She tends to enjoy being alone, in fact. She just isn't the most social person in the universe. She likes her privacy, which is an unfortunate characteristic for a girl from District 8 to possess.
And besides, it's winter. It's cold outside. It's snowing. Lyndie herself is shivering as she walks, her hands jammed into the pockets of her too-small coat. Her family hasn't had the money for a new one since she was nine-years-old. It's weathered to the point of being nearly paper-thin, but there isn't much Lyndie can do about it. She just has to keep working, and maybe next year she'll get a new coat.
The sidewalk is slick with ice beneath Lyndie's feet, and her hand-me-down shoes provide little traction. What can you expect from a pair of shoes that has been worn by three boys before being given to her?
Lyndie nearly slips and falls as she walks. Once she catches herself on a nearby bench, she grins and starts to sliding down the sidewalk. It's rather dark out, it being nearly five o'clock at night, but Lyndie doesn't really mind. She slides her way across the ice on her worn, traction-less shoes, dodging the occasional obstacle in her way. She wishes there was a lake around here that would freeze, and that she could she skate on it. But there are no lakes in District 8; it's just an endless sea of factories and weather-worn buildings.
The lazy snowflakes that drift toward the ground make visibility even worse. It's dark. It's cold. It's late at night. Lyndie is in the middle of the poorest part of District 8, where most people use candles and kerosene lamps to light their homes at night. Besides, people tend to draw their curtains. No one wants to know what goes on late at night on the streets of 8, and the best they can do to avoid it is to obscure their view outside.
"Please! Don't hurt me!"
Lyndie pauses, looking around with her head tilted to the side. It's nothing new to for there to be shouts of people, begging for mercy all over District 8, but Lyndie has never heard one this close. She remains frozen for a moment, staring off into space and listening for more sounds of a struggle. All is silent, a rare occurrence for District 8, and it only makes Lyndie feel more on edge.
After a moment, she spurs her legs to start moving again. Home is just a few blocks away.
She passes by an alleyway and hears more noises, just to her left.
"Please! Sto—stop!" There's sounds of a scuffle, of whimpering and pain.
Lyndie freezes on the spot, hidden in the shadows created by the lack of streetlamps and moonlight. She listens for a moment, a knot of dread creeping into her stomach. After a moment, fear joins the knot, twisting and churning around and making her feel like she may be sick.
She takes in a deep breath and slowly turns her head to the side. Down the alleyway, she can just make out two figures on the ground, one on top of the other, shifting around in the snow.
Too afraid to move, Lyndie stands and watches for what feels like an eternity. She knows the kinds of unspeakable things people want to do to little girls but…but…she never thought she'd see it! Her breathing speeds up, which makes it infinitely harder to not be spotted, but it seems as if the victim's attacker is too…preoccupied, shall we say, to notice her presence at all.
All at once, it feels as if Lyndie's mind wakes up and her body comes back to life. And she does the only thing she can think of:
She bolts.
The ground is slick beneath her feet, making her slip and slide all over the place, but Lyndie keeps running. She runs until her home is in view and quickly skids to a stop, peering over her shoulder to make sure she hasn't been followed.
Nothing but the darkness of the night stares back at her. She breathes a sigh of relief and enters the house.
…
The next morning, Lyndie walks into the kitchen after a long, sleepless night and finds it nearly deserted, save for her mother. She takes a seat at the table and picks up the newspaper.
YOUNG GIRL, ESTIMATED TEN, FOUND DEAD IN ALLEYWAY NEAR DAUPER'S FACTORY, NO SUSPECT CAUGHT
Lyndie stares disbelievingly at the headline for a moment. Dauper's Factory. That's the factory she and her brothers work at. That's the body of the girl Lyndie saw last night.
For a long moment, Lyndie finds it difficult to breath. She finally takes a shaky breath and starts reading the article.
Early this morning, an unidentified girl, estimated to be around the age of ten, was discovered dead in an alleyway seven blocks from Dauper's Factory. Her body shows signs of rape before she had her throat slit. Anyone with knowledge of a suspect or the identity of the victim is urged to step forward to help with the investigation.
Lyndie doubts a suspect will ever be caught. That's the way District 8's Peacekeepers work. Someone dies, they put an article in the newspaper, asking for information, then shelve the case the next day and never speak of it again.
"Mom," Lyndie says, setting down the newspaper and looking up to her mother. "Why do things like this happen? Why do people think that it's okay to do that?"
Her mother looks up, seeming to take a moment to collect her words. "There are many people in this world who believe there is no God, Lyndie. They believe that they can do such unspeakable acts and that there will be no consequences. They are wrong, Lyndie. Comeuppance waits for them at the gates of Hell." A smile breaks across her mother's face, seeming odd in the wake of her dark words. "But good people like you and me will go up to heaven when we die. After all, we haven't done anything wrong." Lyndie is ninety-nine, point nine-percent certain she hears her mother add "yet" to the end of her sentence.
Lyndie can't make herself agree that both she and her mother are good people who have done nothing wrong. After all, just one night ago Lyndie allowed such unspeakable acts to be committed on a girl younger than she is. She saw it happening, perhaps could have even put a stop to it, and simply kept walking. Lyndie has never been the most lionhearted person, but she can't help but wonder if the pearly gates are what awaits her now.
"Is the Hunger Games our ancestors comeuppance, Mom?"
"Much too long of a comeuppance, Lyndie," her mother agrees. "But you know of the Capitol's opinion on religion of any form."
"Of course I do," Lyndie says in a rather matter-of-fact tone. "They consider religion treason."
Her mother nods slowly. "Yes. The only God we are to believe in is the President." She shakes her head, staring down at the table.
Another thought strikes Lyndie, while she is here with her mother's undivided attention. "Mother, what do you think will happen if I get Reaped next year?"
Her mother appears taken aback by the question. "I see no reason for you to worry about that."
"I've taken tesserae," Lyndie reminds her. "Ten times, my name is in there. So I'll ask again: what do you think would happen if I were Reaped next year?"
After a moment, her mother says, "I think you would try your hardest to return home to us."
"But in doing so, I would have to kill."
"God would be understanding of your fight for survival, honey." Her mother goes to stand, likely to check on Lyndie's brothers, but she calls out to stop her.
"What of the other twenty-three? Would they not deserve life as much I do?" Lyndie demands.
Her words have, unknowingly, backed her mother into a corner. "Like I said before, Lyndie—the Hunger Games is a punishment that has lasted far, far too long. So yes, none of the children who are forced into these Games deserve their deaths."
Lyndie opens her mouth to question her mother further, but instead is cut off by a shout from one of her brothers, "Mom! Grant's throwing up!"
"I'm coming!" With that, her mother leaves the kitchen without seemingly giving Lyndie second thought.
Lyndie sighs and folds up the newspaper. She sets it back on the table and heads toward the living room, where she has been camped for the past few days so she doesn't catch whatever her brothers have. Since she shares a room with the three sick ones, it's just easier to sleep on the couch instead of risking her getting sick too.
She flops down on the couch, letting her head fall back against the head rest. She shuts her eyes and heaves another sigh, wondering what exactly God would think of her if she were to become a murderer, no matter the reason.
Everett Reed, 17
"I do what I have to do."
(Seven Years before the Reapings)
"Everett, honey? I need to speak with you." It's a certain tone of voice Everett's mother uses that clues him into whatever she needs to tell him. It's a tone of voice Everett knows well, seeing as it's the tone she uses when something goes wrong. And things are always going wrong in the Reed household. There's never enough food, enough money, enough of anything to go around, despite there being only three of them.
"Okay," Everett say slowly as he follows her into the kitchen. He's not sure what exactly has gone wrong this time, but surely something is amiss. "What is it?"
His mother is silent for a moment before she meets his eyes and says, "Everett, honey, I'm going to be having twins."
For one long, horrible moment, Everett can't breathe. He can't think. He can't move. He can't do anything. His mind just fizzles out, repeating that word over and over again in his head like a sick mantra.
Twins. Twins. Twins. Twins. Twins. Twins. Twins.
"…you can't be serious," Everett finally manages to say, still staring blankly off into space, not meeting his mother's eyes.
"Honey, you're just going to love having siblings—"
"I don't care if I'm 'going to love them'!" Everett cries, making mocking air quotes. "Do you have any idea how much two little babies will cost us? We already don't have enough money for the three of us; what in Panem are we going to do with five mouths to feed?"
A few seconds pass before his mother says, "They're going to be your half-siblings."
"….what?" Everett asks, shock and disbelief written all over his face. His mother would never—she couldn't—she wouldn't—his mother is not a cheater! His mother would never, never have sex with another man! She loves his father!...doesn't she?
"Honey, I—"
"Don't you 'honey' me!" Everett exclaims. "You had an affair?"
He's pleased by the shame in his mother's face. She has no clue what she has done. Everett will probably have to drop out of school (not that he ever really enjoyed it in the first place). He's going to have to go to work. He's going to have to help provide for the products of his mother's selfishness.
He clenches his fists at his sides. "I trusted you," he says, his voice deathly calm yet still terrifyingly venomous. "I trusted you. I thought you wanted to keep this family together! You always said nothing could come between this family." Everett's voice cracks, either from anger or holding back tears. "Who would have guessed you would be the thing to break it apart?"
With that vehement note, Everett sweeps from the room, trying to hide the fact that he has tears in his eyes. His mother may very well have just ruined his life.
…
(Four Years before the Reapings)
If Everett's mother announcing her affair and her impending pregnancy was the biggest betrayal he has ever experienced, his father's reaction was the second biggest. His father did not share his anger; his father forgave his mother for her infidelity, to damning their family to having more mouths to feed.
Everett feels alone for the first time in many, many years.
No matter how much of his general dislike for other human beings was always present, at least back then he had his parents. His parents, happy, not having betrayed him in the slightest. At least they were still there, not always worrying about Tricia and Tanner.
Tricia and Tanner are a bit of tricky spot for Everett. He can't quite decide if he hates them or not.
On one end of the spectrum, they made him drop out of school. They made him dedicate his life to work.
On the other, well, they're cute. They're little kids. They didn't ask for his mother to have an affair to bring them into existence. He can't blame them for his problems. If he's going to blame anyone, it should be his mother.
Still, Everett often finds himself wishing things could go back to the way it was. When he lays in bed after a long day of work (which is rare; he's usually up through the night anyway), he wishes he could turn back time.
It's not that Everett can't handle the work load. He could handle it in his sleep, with his arms tied behind his back while fighting a crocodile. He's pretty much exactly what a District 9 citizen should be—minus the lack of money, but honestly, who really cares about that? It's character that should count—strong, determined and dedicated. Everett is never one to back down from a challenge, after all.
So yeah, Everett can handle it. He doesn't really mind handling it, either. But late at night, when the stars hang high above his head, obscured by the ceiling, he wishes for the good old days. Before Tricia and Tanner. Before his mother cheated. Before everything went to hell.
…
(Three Months before the Reapings)
"Does he ever stop working?"
"I've never seen him anywhere but in the fields."
"Are we sure he's not a robot from District 3? He has about as much emotion as one."
"I would say I admire his dedication, but it's bordering on an obsession by this point."
Everett hears the whispers. Oh, does he hear them. But, he pretends they fall on deaf ears. It's all just a distraction, one big distraction. Why bother with those whispers when there is still work to be done, money to be earned and daylight to be used? There is always more work. There always be another job, another paycheck, another meal, another job, another job, another job—
Everett likes to go to work. When he's working, all he has to think about is the task at hand. He willingly and dutifully does whatever his supervisors tell him to, ignoring the whining and complaining of the workers around him. Sometimes, he even tells them to shut up. They're getting paid, aren't they? They're doing work, aren't they?
Even when he goes home, he doesn't really sleep. He'll stay up as long as he can, unable to make his mind stop buzzing. Tomorrow, there will be more work, there will be more money, and besides, who needs sleep? He can function just fine without it, thanks.
Unfortunately, he doesn't have the money for coffee. No, he more of stays awake on sheer spite alone. He's spiting the lack of food his family has. He's spiting his mother. He's spiting the people who whisper behind their hands when they think he can't hear them.
Oh, he will spite them all.
After all, when he gets up with the sun the next morning, there will be more work. There will be another job. There will be another task for Everett to set his sights on. Because once Everett Reed decides to do something, it will be done. At the price of his sleep schedule, his appearance and his sanity, sure. But it will be done, or else Everett will be damned.
And it will be record time, of course.
It's on a day like any other that someone poses a question that sounds offhand, but Everett can't get out of his head.
He's just standing there, dutifully working away in the wheat fields when one of his co-workers, a girl around his age—he never bothers with names, names are trivial and waste time—locks eyes with him from a few feet away. Everett glares back at her, pausing for only a second before going back to work.
"Do you ever stop?" the girl asks after a moment, making Everett jump.
Everett resolutely ignores her.
"Have you ever heard the saying 'all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy?'" she tries instead, still unsuccessful in her apparent attempts to make Everett talk to her.
Everett still refuses to even look up.
"All you ever seem to do is work. You don't even look like you sleep. What kind of life is that?" the girl continues. "Is that even a life at all?"
Everett, still not looking up, raises his left hand and flips her off.
The girl huffs indignantly and walks off.
Everett breathes in slowly, glad to have that annoying girl gone. He happily goes back to work, sinking back into his element. No one around him bothering him, pestering him with ridiculous questions and messing up his work ethic. He doesn't really understand why people like that girl even bother to work. It's obvious they are going nowhere in life. They have no dedication, no drive to succeed. They don't care. They're just here by obligation.
Yet, Everett can't get her words out of his head.
Is that even a life at all?
Yes, Everett decides. Of course it's a life. I'm living it right now. I don't mind it. I like living like this.
Everett really just doesn't understand why people think he's so weird. So he works a lot. So he spends his entire day in the field. So he insults people to make them go away. So what if he's a bit of an asshole? It's not anyone else's problem.
Besides, what else is there to do but work? Everett has no hobbies. He has no interests outside of going to work and putting food on the table every night. It's no one else's problem if he works and works and works. If he wants to work that much, let him.
So what if Everett is set on the path to self-destruction? He doesn't sleep, he doesn't eat if it means his father and the twins can have more food. He lives a life most people would never be content living. So what if he's riding a train full speed off a cliff? No one else is on the train. If he implodes, then he implodes. Everyone else will just have to deal with the fallout.
Ashe Illyrian, 14
"You're too smart for your own good, has anyone ever told you?"
(Three Weeks before the Reapings)
Ashe is a wanderer.
Sometimes, a nice, long stroll by the creek is just what she needs. She just needs some time to think, to be alone with her thoughts and her knowledge. She just needs time to process all of the information she absorbs.
It often feels as if her mind thinks too fast for the rest of her to comprehend. Her siblings like to joke that she was born in the wrong district. But if Ashe came from 5 or 3, where would she wander? There would be no creek, no forests and endless fields of crops to amble through.
Her mind just never stops. She thinks and she thinks and thinks, and it never stops. While she's working in the fields? Thinking. While she's eating meals? Thinking. While she's sleeping? Thinking. There are so many ideas and thoughts and ambitions in Ashe's mind that it just never stops. It's a swirling hurricane of thought, and Ashe stands in the eye of it. She picks out the pieces she wants to see, the little bits of information she has gathered during the day, and works to process them when she wanders.
And so as Ashe ambles along beside the creek, she sighs in contentment. The sun is setting on the horizon. It bathes the valley in golden light, reflecting off the water beside her.
Eventually, Ashe comes upon her favorite spot on the creekside. She settles down and takes off her backpack. She quickly unzips the bag and pulls out her notebook.
After flipping to the page she left off on, Ashe reaches for the pencil she keeps tucked behind her ear. She puts the lead to the page and starts writing.
It's another thing she has come upon to help her process her overworking brain. She has seven notebooks back home with every page full of words. She just writes whatever comes to mind. Sometimes it's just random little notes. Sometimes it's names she has heard through the day, or little snippets of conversations she caught in passing.
Today, I met a girl named Kitty. It made me think of those cats that live near my house.
I heard a girl get proposed to around lunch time. I believe her name was Celiana? And if I'm not mistaken, her now-fiancé is named Alderson. What he said to her was really sweet. If I had been able to hear him more clearly, I would probably be writing it here, but I know he told her that she was the reason he got out of bed in the morning.
She taps her chin with her pencil, waiting for another thought from the day to come to mind. After a moment, inspiration strikes and she continues to scribble away.
I'm starting to wonder if Lucas might have a crush on me? I would hope he doesn't. I don't think that would work out very well. I just don't see him as anything but a friend. Maybe a brother? Definitely not a boyfriend.
Satisfied, Ashe tucks her pencil back behind her ear and puts her notebook away. The sun has nearly set by now. She can just barely see the top of it peeking over the horizon in the distance, its light nearly gone for the evening.
With a small sigh, Ashe gets to her feet and starts back down the path. Her parents have one rule about going out alone; you just have to be back before dark. It makes wandering in the winter rather difficult, but it means Ashe can be out for hours during the summer.
As she makes her way back home, Ashe makes a list of everything she has to get done tomorrow.
First of all: help Stevie with his school project.
Second: head to work, start planting the sunflowers.
Third: visit Lucas.
Fourth: take a nice, long walk by the creek.
It's another thing that helps Ashe keep everything in order. She just has to know what she needs to get done in the morning. Even a short list gives her preparation for a long day ahead of her.
As she walks back through town, she glances toward the Mayor's Mansion, thinking of her sister, Julia. Two years ago, she married the mayor's son, and neither of them have spoken to each other since. Ashe doesn't mind not speaking to Julia; she was never her favorite sibling, anyway.
Ashe pulls out her housekey and turns the lock. As soon as she opens the door, her little brother, Stevie, bowls her over, laughing and talking a mile a minute. Even Ashe has difficulty following what he's saying.
"Hi, Ashe! How was your day? Did you see Lucas? Did you see Julia? Did you plant any pretty flowers? Do you harvest any pretty flowers? Did you meet anyone new? Did you buy anything? Did you get paid yet? Will you help me with my homework? Can we play a game later? Ashe? Ashe, are you even listening to me?" Stevie starts laughing mid-sentence as he grabs Ashe's hands and pulls her into the house. Their older sister, Melody, chuckles and shuts the door.
"Hello, Ashe," Melody greets. "How was your walk?"
"As soothing as always," Ashe answers, sliding her backpack off her shoulders and setting it down beside the door. "How were the Harringtons?"
"Emmaline and Neo nearly electrocuted themselves, but they're just fine," Melody answers.
Ashe raises her eyebrows, thinking of the two little kids that Melody babysits most afternoons. It certainly would be an issue if they had managed to shove a fork into a power socket. At least, that's the easiest way Ashe can think of to electrocute yourself. Well, you could drop a plugged-in toaster into a bathtub, or maybe stick a fork into said toaster. But she can't imagine two little kids plugging in a toaster, dropping it into a filled bathtub and not managing to die. Although she could see Emmaline and Neo deciding to stick forks into places they don't believe.
Ashe decides she needs to write a note about Neo and Emmaline in her notebook after dinner.
Davis, Ashe's final sibling, is nowhere to be found. It's not that Ashe is complaining. Out of all of her siblings, Davis the one Ashe likes the least, even compared to Julia. Julia got married. Davis still lives in their house, yet is a jerk to anyone who dares to speak to him.
"Ashe! You're just in time for dinner," Ashe's mother says from the doorway to the kitchen. "Tonight, we're having a rare delicacy—chicken!"
"Ooh!" Stevie exclaims, hopping to his feet and running into the kitchen, nearly knocking both Melody and Ashe over in the process.
The Illyrian family has a little tradition that has gone on for as long as Ashe can remember. Every night when they sit down to eat, her father goes around the table and asks each of his children how their day was.
"How was your day, Davis?"
Davis, as per usual, shrugs and says nothing. When he catches Ashe staring at him from across the table, he scowls at him before looking down at his plate like it's suddenly become the most interesting thing in the world.
"And how was your day, Melody?"
"Well, it was good up until Emmaline and Neo tried to stick a fork into an outlet," Melody says, her smile small and polite.
Called it, Ashe thinks.
"But, they're okay, and I've made sure they won't do it ever again," Melody continues. "I can't really fault them, since they're only two and four. Kids that age aren't really going to understand the danger, you know?"
"And your day, Stevie?"
"My day was great! My friends at school and I played soccer at recess and we learned about the seasons in which certain crops are planted! I also saw a stray cat on the way home and she let me pet her on the head! I really like that kitty and I wish I could have kept her because she was just so sweet! She had pretty fur and a green eye and a blue eye! Oh, I also learned about the colors of tulips that sell the best!"
"And you, Ashe?"
Ashe swallows before she answers. "My day was fine. It was a nice, average day. I did meet a new girl named Kitty though."
From beside her, Stevie gasps. "Like the cat I met?"
"No, this one is a human," laughs Ashe.
The Illyrians (minus Davis) continue on with their conversation over their meal, moving onto talk of the Reapings in a few weeks. The Reapings really don't worry Ashe; everyone always says there's only going to be one person you'll ever know who is Reaped. A few years ago, one of Melody's friends was Reaped. Although, Ashe is smart enough to know the possibility is not completely destroyed; she's a rational girl, despite being slightly idealistic at the same time.
But still, the Games don't worry Ashe. They don't really worry most people her age. And besides, she's only got a few more years to get through anyway. After that? After she survives all the Reapings, she'll have her whole life ahead of her.
A/N: First of all: most of the religious stuff in Lyndie's POV is probably, like, extremely incorrect. I'm not religious, so I don't know a lot about that kind of stuff, but I felt like I should include it anyway.
Second of all: I'm not happy with Everett's POV or Ashe's. I feel like they're really bad introductions to the characters, but I suppose I'm far too lazy to rewrite them.
Third of all: man, it has been a hot second since I last updated! It's a long story; basically, my nearly finished original version of this got deleted, so I had to rewrite it all.
1. Thoughts on Lyndie?
2. Thoughts on Everett?
3. Thoughts on Ashe?
4. Which of these three is your favorite?
Random Question of the Chapter: do any of these three seem like Victors to you?
So, next up is Liesel, Bayou and Sterne. Don't ask me when it will be out, because I have no answer.
-Amanda
