Rhiannon Caster, 15, District Ten Female
I wouldn't want to go to training. I don't know if they could make me if I stayed up here, either. The worst I would get would be those annoying, pressuring looks from the team, the mentors worried, the escort desperate to at least get a high placing tribute, some sort of claim to fame. That is, unless the Peacekeepers came up and dragged me down. I never liked those men and women.
I wouldn't want to go to training if the alternative weren't staying here, that is. Oppressed by this wasteland that I live in, not a blade of grass in sight. I doubt I could go exploring throughout the city; at least, not on any day other than free day. I don't want to go exploring either. It would only depress me by reminding me of the daunting, ugly future of our civilization and bring that fury upon me. I can't afford to break the thin scabs in my palms before going into the Hunger Games. Then, I wouldn't be able to hold a weapon.
Weapons. I need to learn how to use one to kill them, all of those dirty humans. And survival skills stations will at least be a taste of home, too. Not the town, and not the farm, but the beautiful green woods, where the clusters of pine and oak cloak everything in shadow and I can roam freely with my friends, away from all sense of civilization.
"Rhiannon, eat, please."
Bovina sits across from me, premature wrinkles lining her careworn face. I look down at my plate. Void of anything but plants.
"I'm fine."
"Rhiannon, you need to get some more metabolism. Your skinny as a stick right now." She looks deep into my eyes. Hers are watery blue, with that concerned appearance that doesn't affect me any. I stare back into them, nonplussed, and then look back out the window.
I won't tell her the reason that I don't eat. The same reason that I never ate back home. Every time I close my eyes, every bite I take, all I can see is all of the innocent little faces staring up at me, eyes so full of life one second, so full of fear and confusion the next, and then, that point of no return, when they glaze over and the look up into the ceiling, sometimes their heads hanging on by mere threads as the blood splashes over feathers and fur, others completely severed, a fragment of what was once such a pure and wholesome creature. I see them all, alive and dead, thrown onto that dreaded table as Uncle Troilus sneers at me and swings his axe downward.
I want to get back at all of them. Humans don't know what it feels like to be inferior, to watch their friends die with bewilderment, hoping that the blade doesn't fall upon their necks next. I want them all dead. I want to die too, because even though I understand, I'm still one of them.
"Rhiannon, please, I'm begging you. I need you to try, for me. I know meat sometimes tastes bad, but you've got to get past it if you don't want to starve." Bovina lowers her head, her eyes pleading.
I scroll my finger along a foreign and absurdly unnatural device, slowly settling on a soybean thing they call a veggie burger. What Bovina doesn't know won't cause her to plea to me once more and shut her up. She has to have realized by now that I am indifferent to her advice—I don't need it. I don't want to do it her way.
I take it in my hands as she watches contentedly and take a small bite of it as I thrust it nearer my mouth. A crunch reverberates in my mouth as the lettuce is crushed and mixed with the mushy tomato; all the while the soybean patty is scratchy and a foreign, sour yellow sauce melds with it all. More than anything, it tastes gross, but not for any of those other reasons. I still see those animals in my eyes. It feels like a scratchy boulder sliding down my throat, leaving a trail of guilt and disgust in its wake.
I go back to picking at my greens, scooping up a bite to wash down the bile rising up in my throat, and take a sip of water afterwards. Why must we humans be so overly consumptive? I see bulbous men and women talking and chanting excitedly below us, some with binoculars, others looking enviously upon the skinnier of the crowd. I don't want to be fat, I never have, despite the obese being looked upon with jealousy back in Ten. I know what resides in their bulging stomachs, and I don't care about such shallow, immature, human things as jealously.
I'm fine with going hungry despite Uncle Troilus's monetary wellbeing, it's better than becoming like the ones that I despise. I'm better than them.
"Good morning!"
Raihan strolls out of his room, looking oddly well-rested and cheery given the circumstances. Thank goodness he has saved me from taking another bite of the burger.
"How did you sleep?" asks Bovina as she inconspicuously dabs at her eyes and adopts a much more jubilant demeanor.
"Good. It was a dreamless one, and that doesn't usually happen. You?" Raihan chats on merrily, his cheeks rosying up as they touch the sunrise light beaming in through the wall of glass.
"I never seem to get enough, I can't help it," Bovina responds, her expression darkening.
"I just try to clear my head beforehand. It always works. What about you, Rhiannon? How'd you sleep?"
He looks at me nervously, though it quickly fades once he sees that I am looking at him.
"Fine."
It was a fine sleep, nothing more. I saw the meadow, the grass swaying in the wind. Dew was there, and we lay together cuddling, carefree.
"That's good." Raihan awkwardly transfers back to his conversation with Bovina.
I stare back up at the red marble ceiling as I let the other two meander on throughout the minutes without me, since I'm completely uninterested, picturing my friends back home, grazing and sleeping and frolicking in the early morning sun and dew. I want to be back there, with none of the two-million of us left to bother me.
This whole event is a model of the human idiocy, human sociopathy, and humans cruelty that plagues the world as we know it. Every one of us breathing on this land brought it about. There is no use moaning, crying, griping. The only option is to kill. To punish the others who would happily munch on a living, breathing animal, who would kill one to fill their bellies and kill each other to be rich and famous.
"Mornin', everybody," says Dirk, entering the room already showered. "How're you doin', kiddo?" He ruffles his large hand over Raihan's head, and the little boy smiles back up at him.
"Good, now that I have this breakfast!" Raihan says as he smiles wide and dollops eggs, bacon, and other unfamiliar things onto his plate. "I need seconds!"
"Make sure to eat as much as you can. A little extra poundage won't hurt you."
"What do you mean?" Raihan looks up at the big cowboy, his dark blue eyes uncomprehending. He reminds me a bit of a rabbit, with those small eyes, his cream-colored skin. He just has that look about him.
"It'll just increase your metabolism for the arena. It's so you don't starve if the sponsors don't like you enough." Daria is at the table now, a new fur coat draped around her shoulders, the ambiguous red fur matching her fake hair. I loathe her for that.
"Wait, what? If the sponsors don't like me, I'll die?" Raihan sounds panicked now.
"Well, no, that's not what Daria was saying." Despite not looking at him, I can tell Dirk's words slide through angrily clenched teeth, and some look of distaste runs is targeted at the escort. "Being liked does help, though."
"But… but what if they don't like me?"
"You can still survive."
"How? I don't want to take my allies' food. What if they don't like them either? Will we have to kill to get food?"
"Well, yes, you'll probably have to hunt and kill."
Raihan is appearing frantic now. His thin eyebrows are knit tight, his eyes wide with fear as tears of some petty overwhelming sensation fall down his round face. Is he just now realizing that we have to kill each other? That the world is a bad place, not a good one? It's time he drops the belief that all people are inherently moral, good souls. We kill, we reap the rewards of murder, we enslave, we pollute, we pilfer, and we torture. Naïveté won't get the boy far.
He takes in large gulp of air as Dirk hands him a glass of ice water and Bovina pats his back. Finally, after two tries, he sputters out the words, "Animals or people?"
"What is the difference?" Everyone stops what they are doing, even the avoxes, to look straight at me. "It's a death nonetheless. It's still slaughter. It isn't like you haven't done it before. We're practically bathing in what it has brought man right now." My voice stays level throughout the speech. Probably the highest amount of words I have ever said in in thirty seconds in years. Since before my mother and father and sister died.
"He has killed." I point a finger at Dirk.
"She has killed." Another one points to Bovina.
Daria looks taken aback as I direct my gaze and my finger at her. "And she enjoys watching us do it to each other every year. She has already killed at least one of us, between me and you, just by Reaping us.
Raihan is gasping in heavy, sporadic gulps. "Does your father kill?" I ask him. "Do you watch it? Do you eat the animal?"
"No!" Raihan's voice breaks as he looks at me, face heated and blubbering. "My Daddy raises the animals."
"Sends them off to their deaths? Exactly."
I stand up and walk away. Everyone stares at me, shocked. Nobody moves to stop me as I enter my room, slowly strolling along. I have time.
We're all killers, myself included. Raihan needs to get a grip. They all do. Their time is coming. Maybe one day, someday, animals can reclaim the earth the way the did all those centuries ago when the meteors struck the seas and the waves threated to wipe away civilization.
Until then, I'll do my best to eradicate them when I can: In the arena. Maybe this was a blessing in disguise. I can kill them, now, and those inhumane sadists will like it. Why does inhumane mean what it does? Shouldn't it be humane? After all, we are the true villains, the ones who pride ourselves on false dignity and civility, all the while gleefully watching our kind slaughter each other and the better races surrounding us.
Rowan Hunter, 14, District Seven Male
I have yet to make up my mind about what I want to do about the whole alliance situation, and the decision is rather dire, seeing as Tessa and I are standing in the elevator right now as it zooms downward. Both sides have their perks.
On one hand, there is safety in numbers. More people will also mean more people to talk to, less quiet, always noise. And also more strength, of course, with the likes of Sierra, Nerissa, and even Bolt.
I'm strong too, though. Stronger than any of them think. I've kicked the asses of my fair share of bullies. I could defend myself and Tessa sufficiently, at least against mutts and loner tributes.
There is also Raihan and Tabitha, though, who, though they both seem like nice kids, would definitely be weak links. Less food to eat for me, too. And I only trust four of those people. Nerissa seems a little… off. I don't know what it is though. Something sinister, sure as I am that I am sticking with Tessa, no matter what.
She might be hard to convince to leave. She may be easy, though, if she trusts me enough. I think she trusts me enough.
Shit. Do I even want to leave, because I think that I'm leaning towards that option?
Yes, I want to leave. The only problem is getting the words out, something that usually doesn't pose much difficulty for me. This less-than-fortunate scenario changes everything, though.
"Anyways, so that's why I wanted to go to the climbing station. What do you think?" Tessa looks up at me expectantly, having been going on about why she wants to go to the climbing station, a nice backdrop to my thoughts.
"I like your style." I smile at her, but she must see that something is on my mind with those piercing electric blue eyes of hers that nothing seems to get past—except Nerissa.
"Rowan? What are you thinking about? Is something holding you up?"
"Oh, come on, am I really that dumb?" I ask, smiling. "So thoughtless that you can tell whenever something doesn't pass through my head?"
"No, Rowan, don't be so hard on yourself. You're more than just brawn, you know. I sure couldn't come up with all of the jokes that you do, that takes good wit."
The doors swing open to the marble floored and walled lobby and the imposing metal doors. Tessa steps out before looking back at me feet behind her. In a split-second decision, I grab her elbow and pull her away from her doors to the wall behind a curvy pastel green vase containing a cactus of similar color and figure.
"Tessa, before you object, let me just ask you something." I don't want to walt directly into the rest of our current alliance.
Her momentarily shocked face softens into a calm, expectant curiosity.
"Well, say it. You can't leave me hanging."
"You probably won't be a big fan of this, but I want us to leave the big alliance. I guess that wasn't really a question. What do you think? There, that's one."
"Why? What's wrong with the situation we have right now? Everybody is so nice."
"I just have a bad feeling in my gut, Tessa. Have you noticed anything weird about Nerissa? Like the time that she insinuated that she would make it the longest out of us at lunch? Did you notice that? And I saw a dirty look she gave to Sierra."
"Is that really all that you have to go on, Rowan?"
I do realize now that this doesn't sound like enough to justify splitting from her, but I hold my ground under my ally's unimpressed gaze as she looks up at me.
"I know it's not a lot, I just have a hunch."
"I don't have a hunch. Nerissa has been perfectly friendly and sociable, not volatile in any way. You could have been mistaken, Rowan. I'm pretty observant, I have to be to make a living. And you aren't the only one too wise for their years, either. I trust you, and if you leave, I'd rather be with you than the five of them put together, but… but I just don't see why."
"Thank you, Tessa, and I know, but you—"
My words are cut off by the very person we were talking about—and Bolt, who has been nothing but friendly but is probably the least likely to be convinced to leave of all of us, stepping out of the other elevator.
"Fancy meeting you two here," I say, stepping out from behind the vase and startling Bolt. Tessa follows after me sheepishly, a guilty look on her face.
"What were you two doing?" asks Nerissa, her smile wide and charming. Really, she isn't that bad. Tessa is right, I don't know what I was thinking, trying to leave the alliance. "Come on, say it," she prods, and this time I catch a faint hint of annoyance under all of that sugar-coated amiability.
"Come on, Nerissa, don't cut 'em off like that." Bolt smiles and gently punches his friend's shoulder. She looks at him, smirking playfully.
Tessa looks up at me, her eyes readable and nervous, questioning me nonverbally in that painful cloaks of awkward silence that goes on as Bolt and Nerissa await our answer, one nonchalantly, the other possibly pretending to be so. Should we tell them? Should we?
"Tessa and I were talking, and we decided that we want to leave the alliance. Just know that it isn't because of either one of you, we just think we'd work better just the two of us. Plus, less mouths to feed for the four of us."
There it is. It's out, and now it can never be taken back. It hangs in the air, seeping into the Threes' brains as looks of hurt and disappointment show on their faces. I've always been impulsive, and sometimes it works for the better, but I don't know now.
"Oh. That's cool. Five is still a good number." Bolt gives a strained yet still genuine grin as he smiles at us.
"Yeah, that's fine," Nerissa says, still maintaining her normal charisma. She reminds me of myself, sometimes. "We'd still love to have you if you changed your minds, though," she adds tantalizingly.
"We're really sorry," Tessa says. "We don't want to let the two of you down."
"Yeah," I add. "Don't take it personal, like I did when this one heckled my time on the ropes course." I elbow Tessa, and she laughs.
"You'll both have a spot in the group if you still want it, or if we find each other in the arena," Bolt says.
"We may need each other's help," Nerissa suggests. "Anyways, see you two around, the four of us should really be getting in so we'll have more time to practice today."
"You're right," I agree. The four of us walk into the cathedral of a room, and we part my district.
All of the careers are already there. The Fives and Sixes are off practicing with weapons while the girl from Eight hones her trapping skills, the Eleven boy anxiously practices survival skills, and a station to his left, the Nine boy's gaze flits guiltily from his shelter to some station to some other one. Sierra awaits us, smiling quizzically, and I see her point a finger our way, her loud words muddled by the distance.
"Are you sure we made the right decision?" Tessa asks worriedly. "I'll stick by you whatever you want, but…" Her eyes meet Sierra's for a brief second before her head turns to face the climbing and agility sector, her cheeks pink.
"No. But as there is no such thing as time travel, we can't change it. And who knows, maybe we will meet up with them in the arena. We could help each other out."
"You're right. I have confidence between the two of us, though. We'll do good either way."
I smile at her. "Thanks. I feel the same."
I'm glad I'm with Tessa. I would choose her over the stronger tribute her—which would be the Nine girl, who I'm fairly sure most here would pass up as an option, or any other. I feel happy with her, like I'm still with Ash and Aaron, or Dad… Like I'm not alone. We're a team. And I don't ever intend on betraying her, or leaving her, or anything like that. I hope she knows that. I hope she feels the same.
"We'll take the arena by storm," I say to her. She laughs. "Just like I will you in our climbing race!"
I start running to the unoccupied climbing station fifty feet away.
"Hey!" she says, still giggling as she sprints to catch up. "No fair!"
I need her, too. I need someone, just someone to be there, because I can't be alone. I don't care if it's somebody who protects me, or somebody that I need to protect. And Tessa is that person. I would protect her with my life.
Imperia Crimson, 18, District Nine Female
Father said that the most important parting of training was asserting your dominance, both in the career pack itself and the other tributes.
'If you don't show them to be scared of you, they won't be. If they are scared of you, they are weaker. It would make your duty a lot less difficult. You must show off with the weapons, insult them, snarl at them. Anything to scare them. But, most important, you must bully them. The careers do it every year, and they come out of the arena two times out of three. You must remember.'
"Yes, Father," I mutter to myself under my breath so that no one but he can hear. I know he is here, watching over me, awaiting my triumph over this crowd of district scum. I have Capitol blood. That's what Father says. That's where he is from, and Mother has been liberated from her sin by marrying him.
I want to make him proud. I want to make them proud. The Capitol.
My goal seems to already be a reality. The pre-Games have been quite splendid, as I knew they would be.
The pack, down to four members, let me in with not so much as any sort of contradiction. Wise of them, seeing as I am the strongest one of all twenty-four of us. Weapons training was the perfect demonstration of my fearsome prowess with the whip and dagger. But now comes the real show.
I've been excitedly awaiting this moment the whole time. Finally, my time to tear into those outlier fools, those monkeys which I loathe so much. This isn't just a game of killing, Father said. It's a game of manipulation.
'A kill only means so much if you don't have fun with it. Prolong it. Make it so painful they scream. That is what they deserve, Imperia. They are traitors who must pay for their sins. Food tastes so much better if you play with it before you eat it.'
I want to do Father proud with his. I hope that he likes what he sees. I've been practicing this for so long, my entire life, and now I'm finally in my element. It's my time to shine once again, to show him that he is the best teacher, the best father in the world, all while we stand united against the rebels.
In comparison, the knife throwing is quite boring.
The ones that I throw hit near the bullseyes nine times out of ten, just as good as or maybe even better than Marvel, who claims this is his primary weapon. Is that the best that they have in One? Talisa has picked it up quickly and is doing well. Arlo and Scylla, not so much.
"Listen up," I command loudly, and all four, plus the nearby trainers and tributes, look up at me, stopping what they were doing. I lower my voice some, so that only my allies crowding around me can hear. "It's time to play some mind games."
"What do you mean when you say that?" Talisa asks bluntly. She seems to be the smartest of the Four. A good asset, and trustworthy. She doesn't appear to be the type that would betray anyone. Beside her, Marvel is looking excited. The One boy is a good hand, expendable, friendly, trusting. On her other side, the Twos look curiously at each other, a sense of foreboding spreading across both of their faces that betrays their inner weakness. No one weak ever wins the Hunger Games.
"I mean that it's time to squeeze them into submission. Watch them squirm as we press down our fingers onto their sorry, district traitor asses. Assert our dominance even further than we could just by sheer intimidation as we hone our mastery with weapons. Of course the four of you all know, coming from Academies, what careers do every year, have been doing for over a century since the Games have come into existence?"
"Bully. Scare them." The Two boy, Arlo, answers me, not meeting my eyes.
"Yes, bully them, if you want to put it like that," I say.
Marvel nods, Talisa looks somewhat apprehensive—silly girl, not wise enough to see the job that she must do, eradicate the arena of rebels, of outer district filth, and in that way ensure a worthy victor (me) steps out of that arena alive—and Scylla's face has darkened, obscured by that inexplicable and idiotic blue paint darkening her complexion further under the gap in light. Arlo does not meet my eyes when I look over to him to commend him, and he does it purposefully. What, does he think himself not worthy to meet my gaze, or, more likely, me not worthy to look at him. Has he gone soft, or weak scared to respect me or have enough dignity to look his leader in the face?
"Look at me," I say, spitting out the words with that venomous, booming tone that commands attention from the criminals, the one that Father taught me. It gives me that amazing thrill, that addictive rush of power. Father would be proud to hear me use it so effectively.
Marvel and Talisa inch back as Scylla does the same, her big, scared blue eyes meeting mine. Arlo slowly turns his head in my direction.
"Look me in the eye, Two. Show respect."
"I'm sorry, I do better from now on." He gulps, but his eyes meet mine now, that green turned steely, unreadable.
"Now, let's get to it, shall we?" I'm so excited for this. A smirk of a smile spreads across my face—I'm about to show these outliers why they don't deserve the mercy of the all-forgiving Capitol, our savior—it will only help to strike fear into their hearts. I can see their silhouettes, some close, some far off. Most having fun, or at least as close to it as they can get as they near their deaths, others hunched over glumly, and others practicing weapons alone.
"Who should we go to first?" Marvel asks as I walk forward and the rest follow. I look back at him. Just as I thought, he will be the most reliable. The most pre-dispositioned to retribution for their sins. The readiest to kill.
None of the others speak up as I focus my gaze on the large clump of competitors huddled around the edible plants station—honestly, why must the outliers constantly waste their time on such nonsense—and say, "Them."
I want to take them down first, just to prove to the rest of them, and those saintly Gamemakers watching above and ready to be amazed by me, that I am vicious. Those Capitolian eyes watching with expectant grace as they point their fingers to me jovially, their laughter, oohing, and ahhing obscured by the soundproof walls. I want to put on a good show for them.
"Just follow my lead," I mutter to the four following behind me. "I know what I'm doing."
'Don't just insult them, mere name-calling will fade away. Allude to their deaths in various painful manners: torture, mutts, your whip, the likes. Make them scared. Prevent them from sleeping that night. Give the o'holy Capitol the entertainment that they need. Give them the satisfaction and revenge that they desire.' He looks down on me now, as I crouch on my hands and knees by the altar, and he stands over me before the pond of petals flowers surrounding the shrine. 'Repay the debt that we all carry. Give the Capitol the greatest gift that you can, your ultimate subservience and service to them, just as I have done. Do them proud. Do me proud.'
'I will, Father. I'll remember everything that you tell me. I'll make them wet the bed, and I'll make everyone proud. Except the rebel monkeys. I don't want them to be proud of me.'
He looks down upon me, and gives the slightest, rarest smile.
I want to do you proud Father, as you told me. I want to make a legacy of patriotism and heroism, to be recognized as a model to what any district citizen should be by the Capitol.
He is watching me now, egging me on as I get closer and closer to the unwitting quintet. He would be so overjoyed to see me now. It is time for him and them all to watch me assert my dominance, the Capitol's dominance.
Now the Eleven girl's head turns at the noise and she looks nervously at me, shaking the boy from Three beside her on the shoulder as she points up at me and my subordinates following along. Seconds later and they all are looking up at us fearfully as we stand over them.
I laugh, seeing the fear on their ugly little faces, so insistent on their brainwashed ideals of heroism. I am the hero here. The Capitol is the hero. And I want to see their treacherous, unruly, despicable bodies burn and bleed. A sacrifice, a model to what should happen to them if not for the gracious Capitol.
"What a fun little alliance we've got going on here," I say coldly, and, though my voice doesn't betray it, I am giddy on the inside.
If it's a good show the Capitol wants, then I will sure as hell give it to them. They deserve it.
I have to. Because if I don't, what will those district people think? The Capitol will shake their heads at me, be not angry but disappointed. But Father will be angry, because I've been so promising, his little patriot. And I'll never see him again. The shame and disgrace would be incomprehensible!
No, I will. There's no chance I'll lose, not as I stand over these vermin with pack of almost-as-dangerous sheep behind me to do my bidding. Just the first few of many, these stupid kids are.
I can't let them all down. I won't. I'll tear all twenty-three of my rivals limb from limb until is step out of that arena with their dirty district blood smeared all over me, and even they will admire me. Father will praise me. And everyone will have to bow down to the almighty Capitol.
Bolt Dattery, 15, District Three Male
Imperia is standing over us with a triumphant look in her eyes, as if she has already won the Hunger Games. Behind her, Marvel stands, eyes gleaming with malice. Talisa, Arlo, and Scylla are behind him, their faces dark and stoic, their expressions unintelligible.
"I could have sworn there were seven of you," she says.
"Oh, you can count. Good for you." Sierra stands up in a flash, glaring at the only slightly taller girl.
I stand up to, and so do Nerissa and Raihan behind us. Tabitha squeaks and recoils, staying hunched over on her feet as if trying to hide.
Unperturbed by Sierra's comment, Imperia continues on: "What happened to the other two. Jumped ship, did they? Yours in sinking fast."
The ten of us all look over to Tessa and Rowan having fun in the swimming pool, unable to hear us from the other end of the room and the water clogging their ears, though it feels like that is impossible. Sierra and I are left temporarily stunned by that and unable to think of a comeback. Is it true, what she said? They said they thought they would work better alone, but of course there was more to the story. I could tell they were lying. But our ship isn't sinking.
"We didn't need them," Nerissa says, coming to the rescue. "Just like we don't need an idiot and her pack of sheep trying to taunt us into getting ourselves in trouble with subpar insults."
The group looks unphased. Imperia continues on: "It's a shame, really. Only five to kill at a time instead of seven. At least we can still prolong them, make the count. And we have much more efficient weapons than those silly thumbscrews and canes back there for the task. Five less steps to victory."
"What makes you so sure that you'll win?" Sierra asks angrily.
"Think you have a chance, district monkey? Want to go back and see your family again, or are they dead too? It's better that way, less of you worthless disgraces to Panem. If they are still alive, I doubt they'll be able to recognize you once I'm finished with you. I'll kill you last, so you can watch all of your little friends die one by one, slowly, after hours and hours of pain and suffering, and all that's left of them will be a few stray limbs and other extremities and blood. You won't be able to tell discern who is who."
I gulp, and I can hear behind me Raihan shaking, his jaws clackering, in fear. Tabitha is silent, but her face is ghostly white with a greenish tinge. Nerissa's face is angry, though resilient.
"Don't be so cocky," Sierra says, stepping forward. "Or you might just find yourself dead in a ditch."
"Is that a threat, Eleven?" Imperia asks with derisiveness, laughing. "Am I supposed to be afraid of that, afraid of a mannish looking girl who looks so dark she could be seen in one of Twelve's coal mines, a ditsy looking slut, and three little things that I could kill with one punch? You'll be the first five to die, and you'll be cut into so many pieces that you mothers and fathers and sisters and brothers won't be able to see you because you'll be cut into so many pieces."
"Raaagghh!" Sierra screams and is about to run at Imperia when Nerissa and I run forward and grab the back of her outfit.
"Save it for later," Nerissa whispers in her ear.
"She's too cocky. It'll be her downfall. Just play her little game," I say in her other.
Sierra stops resisting, but, still trembling with rage, she gives the Nine girl a death stare.
"See you in the arena." Imperia walks off with a smirk of apparent victory, her allies behind them.
"Bolt?" I turn around to see Raihan standing in front of me, his eyes wet with tears threatening to fall. Beside him, Tabitha looks horrified. "I'm scared."
"I know," I say as I walk over to place a hand on his back. "We all are. Who wouldn't be in the situation that we're in? But don't ever let them see you cry again." I take my voice down low, so that only he and Tabitha can hear, and I place another hand on her shoulder. "It gives them power you don't want them to have. Don't let them take your power, because you are powerful. You just do that and everything will be alright."
"Ok," Raihan whispers, and Tabitha nods, not meeting my eyes.
"Good."
I don't what I'm doing, what I'm saying to them. Flashbacks play in my mind, horrible memories of clutching Bug as Mommy and Daddy get lashed, even after the life fades from their eyes, and telling her it all will be okay if you just look up and smile. Watching them as they do the same to Cord as he stands there over his wife's dead body with baby Lumen in his hands and they tell us all it was a bad delivery.
It won't all be okay. Not when four of us, and probably five of us, are all going to lay dead in the dirt in that arena in mere days.
No. I can't afford to think like that. I have to be optimistic. Because that is what's gotten me through everything. It's never failed yet, so why should it fail now?
Maybe… maybe because I don't really want to win. I can picture my family already, Cord furious at me, Bug saddened, and Lumen just confused, all desperately urging me to try—well, maybe not Lumen, but the other two. I just don't know if I could live with myself if I had to kill someone else to win. I wouldn't kill someone else to win. Except for maybe one of the careers, because they volunteered for this.
I know that deep down I would rather one of the four standing with me, the five of us united, step out alive. I'll protect them with my life, that's for sure. Maybe that will be a win, then, too. Maybe we could all make it out. I know it's farfetched and impossible, one of those fantasies floating around in my head as I sit at a school desk urging the class to be over, but it would defy everything about the Hunger Games. Everything about the Capitol. They're the true enemy. They're the ones that killed my parents.
Death would be better that way. If I died for someone, or for something, or for both. If I started a movement, a revolution. Then I don't think my family would be so sad, and Mommy and Daddy above would be proud of me, and I would finally be able to see them again. It's been so long…
"I want to kill that bitch so much!" Sierra says, her face as red as possible and her fist clenched tight.
"Relax," I say, drawn out of my thoughts. "And don't go charging after her when the gong rings. It never works out for that kid who does it every year."
"I don't need any relaxing."
"Yes, you do, now calm down. Save it for the arena."
A hush settles over all of us, tense as we all think about what is coming in a few days. We could all be dead before the week is done.
"Come on, you guys, we'll do great! We have nothing to fear, not even death." Nerissa puts one hand on the back of Sierra and another on Raihan's, trying to lighten the mood. Nerissa has been such a light here. I wouldn't mind dying for her, she seems so genuine. I wouldn't mind dying for anyone of these four.
"You're right," I agree. "We can do this. We can survive. We just have to be optimistic. We can't let the Sevens leaving or Imperia trying to scare us affect us that way!"
"Are you sure?" Raihan stares at me, nervous and with fearful eyes. "Bolt, I really, really don't wanna die. I want to see my family again."
"You're not going to die," I tell him, giving him a hug.
This is all so ridiculous. I know that only one of us can survive, all of us do. And yet, we are all playing along. Possible because it just helps to comfort us all in some weird way, pretending like our doom is nonexistent. We stand there, huddled together at that training station while the trainer sits there awkwardly, having not said a word for the past ten minutes, under that bloodred cloud of death that hangs over us, threatening to drop at any time in the near future.
I hate this so much! How can all of these people here in the Capitol—and even in fucking District Nine—be so psychopathic? It's pure evil, this. I want to do something about it. I don't care if I die a martyr or just so Nerissa, or Raihan, or any of the others lives. Or even if I survive, because then some damage could really be done.
But never mind that. There are times to fight, and there are times to love. This is a time to love. And so, I loop myself into the impenetrable circle where it feels like we are all untouchable now and forever, like there is no tomorrow. Maybe there never will be.
Alliance List:
Careers: Marvel Silver (D1), Arlo Maddox (D2), Scylla Frigard (D2), Talisa Riwland (D4), Imperia Crimson (D9)
Two Crazy Names: Turquesa Miracelest (D1), Aquatico Espovera (D4)
Nerissa's Whittled Down Band of Merry and Manipulatable Misfits: Bolt Dattery (D3), Nerissa Doppler (D3), Raihan Everstow (D10), Sierra Hay-Fields (D11), Tabitha Declan (D12)
Awkward Teen Romance: Elior Gobel (D5), Konani Sowka (D5)
Good Cop and Bad Cop: Carroll Heinback (D6), Keeley Axel (D6)
Sweet Selfless Sevens: Rowan Hunter (D7), Tessa Oakhart (D7)
Sad Bean Loners: Cassius Heart (D8), Mystic Archeron (D8), Coleus Yarrow (D9), Rhiannon Caster (D10), Aleyn Garsow (D11), Rooker Hilt (D12)
Hey, so I'm back! Here is the twentieth (*o*) update of this story, which completely blows my mind. We are officially halfway through round three of four of POVS. In this chapter, Rhiannon shocked her team with a monologue for the ages, Rowan and Tessa made a controversial decision to splinter, Imperia continued to ride her ego trip on poor, weaker tributes (and Nerissa), and Bolt played team cheerleader. These chapters are getting longer and longer, and it's crazy to think that half of my intro POVs were 1000 or less words, and now my minimum is 1400.
PLEASE review, they always mean so much to me, and I love to hear your feedback. If you do, try to make a chart on which characters you like from most to least and such (see reviews from Paradigm of Writing, DracarysWolf, Rune Whisperer, or Bribooks13 if you are confused as to what I'm talking about. They really help! Also, for those of you who haven't answered the check-in question, it is "If your kid(s) were alive in the year 2021, what would be his/her/their favorite movie(s)." Yes, there is a check-in. I hope you guys answer, and thank you to Rune Whisperer, DracarysWolf, Nautics, TheBigLew21, and curiousclove for answering it last chapter! For those of you who haven't answered the poll up on my profile, go do that, it takes about ten seconds and is really beneficial to me, and is a good way to make sure your favorite tributes make it a bit longer.
Questions:
Are there any tributes that you want to see more of, especially in other characters' POVs?
What non-breakfast food did Rhiannon eat to appease Bovina?
I should have the next chapter out in a week or a bit more, and I plan to be into the last round of pre-Games POVs by the end of the summer. Be on the lookout, and have a wonderful rest of the day!
-Mills