It's me again! I hope you all enjoy this chapter. We've arrived at District Seven! I hope you all like these tributes!
Thanks to Oldflowers for betaing as ever!
Savannah Barker (17)- D7F
The forest has always been my safe place.
Whenever Hunter and I had an argument, whenever school became too stressful, or whenever the sun made it ungodly hot back at the township, I would just run away for the night, find the perfect tree to scale, and sit on a bough for hours at a time. I've gotten used to the bugs and the bark scratching up my skin. I barely even notice the mosquito bites anymore.
This time is different though. I'm not alone. Hunter is here with me, just one branch over, both of us sitting in silence, watching the setting sun cast shadows through the mottled leaves and onto the grass below. I bring my legs up to my chest with a sigh. The material of my sundress drapes over the branch, probably tangled in a bunch of twigs. We'll need to get cleaned up before we go to bed.
It's a hot summer day. Hotter than it usually is this time of year. Still, Hunter and I don't dare to leave our precious tree and return to the real world. Not when the Reaping is tomorrow.
It's soul-crushing to know that I still have to go through this again next year. But after that, the two of us will be in the clear. So will my best friend, Veronica. At least until we have kids, which Hunter and I want plenty of. Then we'll have to go through this again every year. Except it will be worse, much worse, when it's our own children's lives on the line.
I lean back to rest my head on the tree trunk behind me. Hunter reaches over to grab my hand, intertwining our fingers. The small action makes me smile. Hunter can always tell when I'm overthinking something, even without words. And he always knows how to calm me down.
"I've been thinking. We should buy a pie," Hunter says suddenly. "Like… one of them strawberry ones they sell at the markets."
"Really? You're gonna get your Mom to buy one?" I ask incredulously, leaning up to look at him. Pies are expensive, especially ones made with non-local fruits. The most we usually get in terms of desserts are the occasional mulberry tart or those made with maple syrup.
When I look at Hunter, he gives me a small smile, the kind he gives me when he has good news. "Nah. I saved up from the shifts I took last month after school. Thought you might like it."
"Are you kidding? I thought you took those shifts to buy food!"
"Well, yeah, but I didn't say what kind, did I?" He laughs, the sunlight lighting up his beautiful green eyes and freckled nose. But my stomach twists.
"Hunter. How did your parents afford food then?"
Hunter's father has been on leave from an injury to his arm, and his mother can't support them by herself. His eyes dim a bit. "Well, I took out some tesserae, but it won't affect a thing."
I sit up all the way, undoing my hand from his and preparing to punch him on the shoulder, and he shies away, nearly falling from his branch onto the ground beneath.
"Savannah, don't worry! I only took out two this year. I already had 30 slips of paper in the bowl; what's a few more?"
His consolations only make me feel worse.
"D'you think your life is worth a damn pie?" I hiss at him. "What am I s'posed to do if you're Reaped?"
"M'sorry, Savannah," he says, and for what it's worth, he actually looks guilty. "I just… we've been safe so far, haven't we?"
It's technically true. Nobody close to us has been Reaped since the fourth grade, when someone from the town's high school was taken by the Capitol. The wealthier families in town still bring the parents a few meals every year around Reaping time. Living in a large district certainly helps our chances. Last year, we didn't even attend the Reaping. Our town had been skipped over during the selection process.
Not this year.
I reach up to toy with the necklace that Hunter gave me for our one-year anniversary a few months ago. "We should get back soon," I say reluctantly. "I still have homework."
Unlike Hunter, I've never had to take tesserae due to my dad's logging company. Even when they had to stretch out paychecks for weeks or even months, they always made sure I never even suggested it. It was unthinkable in our house. I just wish all the other families in Seven had the same luxury.
I carefully stand on my tree branch, straightening out my dress before beginning my descent. Hunter follows me slowly, clearly not wanting to return to town, but not wanting to be left alone out here in the wilderness.
I drop down to the ground from the final branch and grab the shoes I left in the grass. They slip on easily as Hunter drops down beside me, looking back and forth for Peacekeepers. Technically, we're not supposed to be out here even though we're still in district limits. Supposedly, it's because of safety regulations since the loggers are out today, but they never seem to care about safety when a lumberjack gets into an accident. Or when Hunter's father nearly cut off his own hand on the job.
We walk hand-in-hand back to town. The forest is lush this time of year, and I can't help but watch the rays of sunlight pass as we walk through the trees. I wish we could stay here forever.
The illusion ends as we emerge from the forest. The edge of town looks uninhabited, but in a few hours when the loggers are off work, the place will come alive. This is where the poorest of our town live. A stray dog digs through a heap of wood and steel. We shouldn't linger here.
As we move deeper into town, the buildings become nicer and the streets are livelier. A few women carrying woven baskets filled with laundry arrive home from the river. A man sits on his doorstep carving a small figurine out of wood. It's not as good as the ones that are made in the north of the district by the professional artisans, but it still puts a smile on my face.
We head to Hunter's house first. The yard is littered with scraps of metal and tires from vehicles that his father thinks he'll be able to find a use for. A few cats hiss and run away as we approach. Hunter opens the rusted chain link gate with a creak. The sounds of his younger siblings playing inside the house reach our ears. He turns to me, still looking a bit guilty.
"Don't be too mad at me, Savannah," he says with his typical puppy eyes. "I was just trying to make you happy."
I sigh, slipping a hand down his back. "I can never stay mad at you, Hunter. Let's just agree not to do this again next year, alright?"
He nods with a small smile, his green eyes crinkling at the corners. After a quick kiss, he disappears into the house. I take a deep breath and stare up at the purpling sky, hoping that this won't be the last day I'll get to spend with Hunter in the woods.
…
Dinner is tense tonight. My parents have a lot on their plate even without the Reaping. Running a logging business on their own is tough, especially during the summer. There's always so much lumber to transport, so many workers to watch over, so many moving pieces to keep track of. I know it well because they've always kept me looped in on business matters. I'm the one who will inherit the whole thing when they retire.
"I think we should postpone the Reaping celebrations until next week," Mom says before taking a bite of the venison stew that she made for dinner. "Everyone will be too tired after work tonight."
The other, unspoken, reason hangs in the air uncomfortably. The lumberjacks will also want to spend the night of the Reaping with their families, celebrating the fact that their child, niece, nephew, or little cousin was spared another year from the Capitol's clutches. They won't want to spend it at a cramped bar with their coworkers, even if the food and drinks are free.
"If you think that is best," Dad sighs. "But this is the only day off we can give them. We have quotas to fill."
Mom stays silent. It's like an impossible puzzle to solve. I stare out the window as this conversation happens. I wish I could be in the woods right now with the lightning bugs and the foxes and the owls. I wish I could run away and live there forever. But I know that even if I had the opportunity, I wouldn't do it. I have to stay behind and help with the business. The workers need me and my parents; good bosses who don't work them overtime and treat them like disposable machines. That's how Hunter's dad ended up getting injured.
Late at night, I'm sitting in my bed reading an adventure novel, one of my favorites about a princess who is whisked away to become a knight, when I hear a tapping on my window. I look up to see Veronica standing there, her brow furrowed. I shake my head with an exasperated smile before getting up and opening the window to let her climb in. She topples inside the large single-pane window with an oof. Our house is large, but still just a cabin that my grandfather built before my dad was born, without insulation or fancy screens to keep out the bugs.
"It's a bit late for a picnic," I say, nodding at the basket that she's carrying.
She grunts a bit, but still looks worried, reaching up to straighten out her auburn braids that were set askew by her climb inside. "C'mon, let's hurry."
I set my book aside, making sure to bookmark my spot, and we both change into clothes that are more suited for our usual nighttime activities. Dark t-shirts, jeans, and even some hats to hide our faces in case we're seen. My dark brown hair isn't that unique, but Veronica's brighter red is easily spottable even in the dark.
Luckily for us, it's a new moon tonight. Only the stars twinkle on us from above as we make our way through the quiet neighborhood and back to the edge of town where we can hear coyotes call in the distance and crickets sing their eternal song.
Veronica finds a good spot to set up the apples she brought with her, while I retrieve our bows from their stashing spot: a hunk of cheap metal and wood that no one will ever look through. It's technically illegal to have weapons here, just like in all districts, but it's a bit harder to enforce in Seven. Most people use axes, hooks, and even spears daily at work, and many of these things can "go missing" from time to time or be sold on the black market. It's not unusual for a family to have an axe or two in their house. Just in case.
But in my father's case, it was a bow. The one his grandfather gave to him when he took over the logging business, and the one that he gave to me.
After Veronica sets up the apples, I pull back the bowstring and set an arrow in place, aiming it for a few moments before letting it fly. It finds its home in a green apple, knocking it off its little tree stump. Veronica grabs it and pulls out the arrow before taking a bite.
"Let me," she says.
Her shot manages to hit two apples at once, something that I can never quite master.
"Great job," I whisper. We always try to be as quiet as possible here in town.
Sometimes we go hunting in the woods, just for small things like squirrels and rabbits, but we hardly catch anything. It's more for the sport than anything. But tonight is just for the satisfaction of the arrow hitting the apple, for the distraction of anything other than the Reaping.
"What age do you think they'll be tomorrow?" Veronica asks abruptly, taking me by surprise.
"What does it matter?"
She shrugs, but I can tell something is bothering her.
I sigh. "What's the point in worrying? Let's just try not to think about it." I know my words are a bit hypocritical given my conversation with Hunter earlier today, but that's beside the point.
Then Veronica abruptly asks, "What'll happen if I'm chosen, Savannah?"
I look over at her. Even in the darkness, I can tell she's spiraling. I'm always the one there to comfort her, and I can't let her down now of all days.
"Then I'll volunteer."
She glances up at me, shocked. "What?"
"C'mon, you heard what I said."
I grab the bow and take another shot, this time almost missing, barely scraping the skin of the apple with the arrowhead.
I sigh in disappointment. "It's too dark to see anything."
"Savannah…" Veronica shakes her head at me. "You can't just say things like that."
"Why not?"
I understand what she means. In a way. But I'm not lying. If someone I cared about was Reaped, I'd volunteer for them in an instant. Veronica, one of Hunter's little sisters, even Hunter himself if I could. I know deep down that it wouldn't be that easy, but two years in a row the male tribute has volunteered to save someone they loved. Raven Lavalee wasn't able to save his sister last year, but at least she died with her brother beside her. And the little boy that Seb volunteered for two years ago is still alive and well.
Veronica shakes her head, placing a hand on my shoulder. "Savannah, don't be a hero."
Timootee "Des" Conway (18)- D7M
The wind that blows off the sea is cold as ever, even in the middle of the summer. It chills me to the bone and my teeth start to chatter. I pull my fox fur coat tighter around my shoulders and gaze out over the horizon where, in the distance, the rig slowly disappears. Their clan wasn't chosen to attend the Reaping this year, so the glacier harvesters won't have to worry about missing their children being Reaped. They'll return in a week from now, just after the bloodbath. I can imagine them all huddled around the tiny TV on the rig watching the Games. Even out at sea, it's required of them by law.
Most people have the day of the Reaping off from work, but not us. Here in the north of Seven, we don't take every opportunity to sit around like so many of the southerners do.
"Des!"
The shout of my name turns my attention away from the shore. Maybe twenty feet away are the ice docks, where the newly-returned flock of rig workers stand waiting for transportation. Fishermen line the docks, heading out for today's catch. My brother, Ekarak, is standing up on the road by his truck that is overloaded with lumber. He'll be headed for Farflit and then to the central town in Seven, often called The Glen. It's where I'll be attending the Reaping today.
I lumber over to Ekarak with a wide grin that is hidden behind my mask. Today's mask is a geometric one in the image of a bear cub, made by our cousin Tuqiqi who is a master in wood carving. As I approach Ekarak's truck, I spot the tiny wooden figurine of a mountain lion on his dashboard. It makes me smile even more.
"It's a good day for harvesting!" I say to Ekarak as I approach. He returns my invisible smile and claps a hand on my shoulder, just above my prosthetic arm.
"It is. Clear weather." Ekarak glances out over the horizon for a moment, then back to me. The bear pelt that's wrapped around his shoulders moves gently in the wind as he looks into my eyes, the only part of my face that is visible through the bear mask. "I'll see you at the Reaping, alright?"
Ekarak is the oldest of my seven siblings and is far past Reaping age, but since our parents won't be able to make it and he's headed there anyway, he's the one who's been tasked with making sure we behave at the ceremony. Of course, they'll also be under my watchful eye.
"Make sure Fern and Flox don't try to kill anyone again," he says with a sigh, referring to two years ago when Fern had tried to drown me in the river near Farflit. After a good beating from his parents, he hasn't tried anything like that again. But you never know with Fern.
"I will," I say cheerfully.
He gives me another smile and reaches up to tousle my brown hair. "I'll see you later."
He's never one to waste words. I wonder if he would have different ones for me if he knew of my plan. It's no matter. We'll still have another chance after the Reaping. After our quick goodbye, he gets into his giant truck and drives off. I wait for him to be long gone before moving, just in case the ice cracked under the weight of the wheels. It's second nature to those of us who live up north.
After a few moments, I quickly return to the docks. I struggle a bit to walk on the uneven wood. My lopsided gait makes everything a bit harder, but I've adapted well to my unique circumstances. I'd rather be independent and know my restrictions than constantly rely on others for everything.
"Hey, Timootee," says one of the fishing captains, motioning for me to come over. Most people call me Des, after my middle name Desslar, but those who don't really know me tend to stick with my given name, Timootee.
I eagerly hurry over to him. His face is lined with grease and his nose is red from the cold.
"The fishing farm near the city's gotten their harpoon machine clogged again," he complains. "They say you're the only one strong enough to unplug it."
"I'll be right over there!" I say cheerfully.
The truck for the ice harvesters will be here soon and I can catch a ride with them. The fishers and the rest of them give me not-so-discreet glances as I pass, eyeing up my mask. Their judgemental looks used to bother me, but now I tell myself that they're reminders of my patriotic duty. Besides, without the mask, the looks would be worse. The scars underneath are what scare people the most.
The ride back to Farflit only takes about twenty minutes, during which time I plot out my day more carefully. I know that the escort will be delighted to have another volunteer, just like we've had the past two years. I can't say that they didn't inspire me somewhat, even though they seemed a bit ungrateful to the Capitol when they were in the arena. Still, Seb nearly won the Games two years ago, and his memory forever lives on in honor.
As for Raven and Sparrow…
We had all been cheering them on last year, everyone in Farflit watching together on the huge screen in the middle of town. It was disappointing when Sparrow died, but even more so when Raven gave up. Flux eventually convinced him to keep living, but he died anyway.
All in all, our performances these past couple years have been disappointing. We haven't had any true victor potential since Johanna Mason seven years ago, when she made Seven proud. I intend to change that.
The fishing farm near Farflit is hardly a "farm." It's barely three yards in diameter, only a large hole in the ice with a huge harpoon machine that catches anything from dolphins to grouper. Still, the couple that run it makes good money feeding the rest of town.
They're pleased to see me, and stand back as I use my good arm to unclog the machine easily. They thank me with some free whale blubber that I know my Mom will be happy to have, and off I go back to the main city.
The heart of Farflit itself is inside the huge derelict building that my family calls home. Looking like a steel beehive on the outside, the inside of the abandoned machine serves as the home of most of the families and several businesses. It's a maze that no one other than nature can navigate.
I hurry to the middle of the building, where I find the rest of my family already waiting for my return. Despite the cold, the insulation of the building keeps our home warm and toasty, so warm that most of my siblings are sitting around naked or only in their underclothes, either roughhousing or sleeping.
"Nana, I got whale blubber for dinner, look!"
"We've been waiting for you," she says, snatching the basket of blubber out of my hands. "Start wrangling up the kids, Des! You'll need to be there in four hours."
I dutifully begin rounding everyone up, even heading to my cousins' homes to find the family members that have dispersed over the last few days. Usually our homes are considered more or less public places where we can visit each other.
I can tell that the littler ones are itching to get this over with and to go climb trees and swim in the river, but one lift of my mask is enough to frighten them into listening to me. I don't like seeing their scared faces, but I was told to make sure they behave, and I have to do my duty.
After everyone has been wrangled into shape and into the truck with the rest of Farflit's eligible children, we leave without another goodbye. I'm well aware that this may be the last time I could see my Nana, but she'll have plenty of opportunities to see me on TV. I know that she'll be proud of me, as will everyone in Farflit, just like after the explosion.
As the truck speeds down the icy roads, headed to the Glen, I lead the kids in singing the anthem of Panem and then of District Seven. The icy winds whip past our heads, nearly drowning out the sounds of song, but our Panem pride is strong enough to survive anything. I know the words by heart. I'll never forget the ceremony that the mayor had for me at the Justice Building, where I'll stand again after I volunteer. The mayor had called me a hero and a true patriot. I hadn't had my prosthetic arm yet, nor could I really walk, but I still stood the best I could, gazing out over the crowd and feeling prouder than I ever had before.
The so-called horror of the Hunger Games that the rest of the district abhors so much will be nothing compared to the trauma I've already been through.
The journey takes the full four hours. It's rare that we make the trek from Farflit all the way down to The Glen. The last time was two years ago, when we had to attend the Reaping as well. The Square looks exactly the same, only the decorations having changed to reflect the new year of the Hunger Games.
We make it just in time. It would be horribly disrespectful to the Capitol to be late, so I usher all the kids out of the truck and into line. Our hair is mussed from the ride and we're dressed in furs and seal skin, sticking out like sore thumbs here in the Glen, where everyone is dressed in their collared shirts, dresses, nice shoes, and ties. They think of us as savages, yet they're the ones who constantly complain about their lot, take tesserae to feed their families instead of working, and rebel against the Capitol, our providers. They were the ones who, last year, nearly burned down the lumber yards in the Lavallees' hometown following the Victory Tour. As if we northerners would ever do something as stupid as bite the hand that feeds us.
We're among the last in line to get our fingers pricked. I can tell the Peacekeepers are a bit put off by our rugged appearances, and probably our smell too. I've been told that we smell like fish and blood.
I receive more looks than anyone else due to my mask and my fake arm, but at least most of them are in pity instead of disgust. I usher all the kids through the line, limping after them as quickly as I can. I barely register it when the Peacekeeper pricks my finger. When he blots the blood, I see my name appear underneath it. Timootee Conway.
The Peacekeeper does a double take, still noticeable despite their helmet. Their visor turns up toward me, then they stamp my name and let me pass.
As I hobble into the eighteen-year olds' section, I notice Fern and Flox trying to sneak away from the seventeen-year olds', snickering as they push through the crowd, thinking themselves clever. I haul myself over to them and grab Fern by his collar. Fern yelps while Flox gasps in shock, eyes widening before looking at the ground like he always does. Flox is always afraid to meet peoples' eyes. Several of the other kids shy away from us as I drag Fern back to his spot, Flox following along with his head down.
Once Fern is safely placed in the middle of the crowd, I turn Flox's face to meet my eyes with a finger on his chin. "Don't embarrass us." He nods, immediately looking away again.
Once satisfied, I return to the eighteen year olds with my head held high. If the twins knew what was about to come, they wouldn't be trying to sneak away. They wouldn't want to miss a single second of it.
District Seven has had seven victors since the creation of the Hunger Games, and five of them are still alive. They stand in their respective gendered corrals on stage, dressed in their Capitol best and gazing over the crowd like gods surveying their dominion. One day, I hope to join them. But if I don't, at least I'll have died a glorious death in service of Panem.
The mayor steps up to introduce the propaganda video, which I'm excited as ever to watch. I mouth all the words as it plays, feeling pride and patriotism flow through me.
"Ladies first!" the escort trills, barely able to hide his excitement.
I wonder absentmindedly who my partner will be. Hopefully she will be strong and smart.
"Savannah Barker!"
The name is definitely not one from Farflit. Instead, an older girl with dark brown hair braided around her head stiffly walks to the stage. Yes! She's seventeen, and seems able-bodied. When she turns to face the crowd, I can see the nervousness in her eyes, but she doesn't let her voice shake when she introduces herself.
When the escort asks for volunteers, the Square is eerily silent. The Capitolite woman seems delighted.
"Now, what a beautiful young woman!" he trills. "I can't wait to see you dressed for your interview! I know you'll look just wonderful!"
The silence is deafening now. I certainly don't care about something as senseless as fashion, but the district could at least have some enthusiasm about seeing the tributes that will be representing them.
"And now… for the boys!"
I stand up straighter, a grin attempting to spread across my face, the skin of my scars pulling as my lips move.
The escort tiptoes over to the boy's bowl and reaches deep inside, swirling his hand around dramatically. The atmosphere in the Square is tense. It seems like everyone around me is holding their breath. Little do they know, it won't matter at all which name is Reaped.
The escort finally picks a name and returns to the microphone. He slowly unfurls it and clears his throat before announcing, "Fletcher Kousa!"
A boy near me, from the seventeen year old section once again, begins to meander up to the stage. The crowd lets out a breath of relief as well as pity, a sentiment that I reject. The Hunger Games are meant to be an honor, a way to prove ourselves and represent our district, to weed out the weak and cull those who are parasites on society. Those who take tesserae instead of working extra hours. Those who are too weak to fight their enemies to defend Seven from rebels.
The Reaped boy, Fletcher, is clearly a lumberjack in training, just like most of the older boys who live here in the southern part of the district. His arms, though covered by his sleeves, are clearly bulging with muscles, and he is taller than either the escort or Savannah. But when he gazes out over the crowd, I don't see pride or excitement in his eyes. There's only confusion, anger, and most infuriating of all, fear.
"Now, is there anybody who would like to volunteer for this young man?"
There's a beat of silence, and the escort opens her mouth to continue just before I call out, "I volunteer as tribute!"
The silence throughout the Square is suddenly broken as whispers flow through the crowd, everyone sent into a flurry by yet another volunteer for the third year in a row.
I slowly step out into the aisle, struggling a bit to walk through the crowd. They part for me like butter, all staring at me like a zoo animal. I'm used to people staring at me with pity, amazement, and curiosity. I thought things would be different this time. Surely the district must be proud of me or inspired by my devotion. But instead they give me the same looks they've always given me. Confusion. Fear. And, in the eyes of the escort, even anger.
"Well…" he clears his throat as I lumber up the stairs, trying to keep my balance.
Fletcher looks the most pleased out of everyone, his eyes wide with shock and relief. He scrambles offstage as fast as possible, and the escort looks after him nervously, like he wants to call him back.
"Um… alright. Let's… uh…" He looks back and forth at the victors, who hardly seem surprised by this turn of events. Johanna Mason, my favorite victor, is laughing. Blight Bythesda, my mentor, watches me closely, his dark brown eyes inquisitive. The other victors look shocked, as if this isn't the third time in three years they've seen a male tribute volunteer. The other times, they always seemed sad, but proud, even though Seb and Raven both volunteered not for district pride, but for their own selfish reasons.
So what's so different about me?
The escort sighs and beckons me over to the microphone. He doesn't look me in the eyes, instead muttering to himself and rapidly shuffling through his speech cards.
I limp over to the mic and grab it with my good hand.
"Hello District Seven," I say into the mic.
I'm met with blank stares from the audience. It's miles away from the reception I had when I stood here before, right in this very spot. After the incident, the mayor brought me up on this very stage and gave me the "Seven's Own" award for my bravery and heroism. It was a disgruntled oil rig worker who had started the whole thing. Someone who hated the Capitol and even Seven's government, all while taking their handouts and expecting to be coddled like a toddler. A group of Capitol scientists had come to research our process of oil mining, and the ungrateful toddler had seen their opportunity.
I barely had time to rush down to seal off the bomb-proof door to prevent the entire rig from going up in flames. I was the only survivor outside of it.
The perpetrator died in the explosion, as well as twenty other workers. But the rest of the rig's employees had survived, as had the Capitolite researchers.
I lost my arm and some of my face, and I'll never walk without a limp. But all of it was worth it when the mayor stood me here in this very spot and announced that I was a hero, a true devotee of Seven and of Panem. That was when I knew that I wouldn't be satisfied with only one acknowledgement of my love for Panem.
Then you should volunteer.
The whispers of the doctors who treated me still crawl through my ears as I look out over the crowd. The Capitol scientists who I saved, who visited me in the hospital as I was being fitted with my prosthetic arm. They gifted it to me in return for saving their lives on top of paying for my medical bills. They all lauded me as a hero and a champion on par with a victor of the Hunger Games. Now I will finally live up to that title.
"My name is Timootee Desslar Conway." I pause and gauge the Square's response. A few faces dawn with recognition, possibly recalling the last time I stood here, or remembering my name from the newspapers. They certainly couldn't recognize my face due to the mask. No wonder they seemed so confused at first.
My resolve is suddenly strengthened. I tighten my fingers around the mic and speak into it more forcefully. "I am Seven's Own. And I am the representative of District Seven for the 79th Hunger Games."
Savannah Barker (17)- D7F
The wooden floor of the Justice Building is not the quality I expected it to be. The wood is cracking, the veneer no longer shiny, and it's made with mediocre planks. Not cheap, but not expensive either. I stare at it as the door creaks open.
My parents both rush inside, tears already streaming down both their faces. My heart breaks when I hear them sob into my hair, hugging me tight. "Not my little girl…"my dad trails off, weeping through the words. They're both a far cry from the prim and proper business owners they were last night. I've hardly ever seen them this distraught. Usually they have to put on a brave face for the loggers under their company and the Capitolite inspectors who come twice a year to criticize their lumber output.
It's something that I've learned from them, and something that I won't forget in the Capitol. Or in the arena.
After they leave, the reality of my situation hits me even harder than it did when my name was called. I'm going into the arena and I might never see my parents again. The door shutting after their departure sounds like a gunshot. Like a finale.
But the door opens a few minutes later by a white gloved hand, and the Peacekeepers let in Veronica and Hunter. I'm momentarily disappointed that Hunter didn't bring his little siblings to say goodbye, but then I realize why, and I understand. They're so young that I want their last memory of me to be of us playing in their backyard, laughing and tumbling around in the dirt. Not a tearful and fear-filled goodbye.
"Sav…"
Hunter's big arms wrap around me, so comfortable and familiar. I feel tears prick at my eyes, but I blink them away just like I did during the Reaping. I need to stay strong.
"I'm sorry, Savannah."
I blink up at Veronica, who stands behind Hunter and I. She's blurry due to the tears in my eyes, but I can clearly make out her anxious expression. It's a look I'm well-acquainted with, but it still hurts my heart knowing that I am the reason for her distress.
"What is it?" I ask, stepping away from Hunter for a moment.
"I'm sorry," she sniffs. "I couldn't do it. I wanted to, but I couldn't."
"What do you mean?" I ask, reaching over to hug her, well aware that this may be the last time I get to see my best friend. Her tears wet the sleeve of my yellow and green sundress.
"I wanted to volunteer, but I just couldn't," she says through sobs. "You said you would volunteer for me, but I couldn't do it for you…"
"Veronica, don't worry," I say, pulling back and meeting her eyes with a frown.
"I couldn't be a hero like you," she says, looking miserable.
"Veronica…" I grip her hand tightly. "I wouldn't want you to volunteer."
"Savannah," Hunter pulls at my shoulder, bringing my attention back to him. He seems to have already cried enough, his red and swollen eyes instead looking at me intently, with purpose. "You can win. You just have to stay focused."
"I know," I say, gulping down any residual fear. "I will. Stay focused, I mean. I'll learn everything I can in training, and then…" I trail off, not wanting to think about what comes afterward.
"Make alliances," Hunter says, still gripping my shoulder tightly. "Older people, like you. The person who wins always starts in a big alliance."
It's an exaggeration, but I know what he's getting at. I'll have a better chance if I have people to watch my back.
"I know," I say, reaching up to grab his hand with my own, nodding. "I know, I know."
Veronica walks over, quietly wrapping her arms around my other side that Hunter isn't clinging to. "What about that guy? Who was there when the oil rig exploded? He's Seven's Own. I remember when that happened."
Hunter shakes his head. "He only has one arm and can barely run. He'll just slow you down."
"He must be brave if he saved all those people like that, though."
"No, there's no way she shou–"
"I'll think about it," I say.
For a moment, we're all quiet. There's nothing left to say or do other than soak up the last moments we have together. Then, in what seems like both an eternity and a millisecond, the door opens. Peacekeepers march inside and Hunter reaches for me one last time, planting a kiss on my lips and whispering I love you before he's pulled out along with Veronica.
The silence in the room afterward is deafening. I sit on the wooden bench and run my hand along the warped, ancient wood, waiting, hoping against hope that someone else will show up. Anyone else. Even my old school friends who I haven't spoken to in years, or my neighbor who I barely see, or an old teacher. Anybody who can prolong my time here in Seven before I'm whisked away to the Capitol. Any piece of home I can take with me.
Instead, no one comes. Everybody who I care about has already come to say goodbye, and acquaintances probably don't want to take up the precious time I'm given to see my loved ones. I reach up to touch my necklace, the one Hunter gave me. It's a heart shape with both our initials engraved on it. It's around my neck all the time, even when I sleep, so I barely notice it anymore. It will be a nice piece of home to take with me, at least.
When the Peacekeepers come for me, I've made sure that any traces of tears have disappeared. There's no place for fear on this journey. I have to become a warrior.
Timootee "Des" Conway (18)- D7M
"I can't say I'm surprised."
Ekarak is the only person who has come to visit me. A huge painting on the wall shows a sweeping vista of a lush green forest, rolling plains, and a winding river. It looks nothing like the Seven that I know. The bearskins worn over work clothes, the icy beaches, and faces lined with grease.
I turn to Ekarak. "I'm glad that you aren't."
He smiles a bit, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He looks a bit like how I used to look before the accident. Sometimes I can see visions of myself growing up with a normal face, able to do a normal job, when I look at my older brother. His darker skin and dark eyes, long hair braided in our traditional way. But I know that isn't a possibility for me anymore. I am Seven's Own, and that's the most important thing I'll ever be.
Ekarak places a hand on my shoulder. "Don't forget where you came from, nuka," he says, staring into my eyes. The word is one that means little brother in our language. We don't often speak the language of our ancestors except on occasions of great importance, something that would honor the harsh conditions our families have endured since before the creation of Panem.
Even through my mask, he can still peer right into me. I can feel the expectations of my whole family, all of Farflit, even all of Seven on me in his gaze. Once he's satisfied that he's communicated everything he needs to, he steps away.
"I thought you might like to take these," he says, reaching down to unravel his bracelets from his arms. They're good luck charms given to him by our parents back when he first started driving trucks. Made of animal skin and twine, they wrap up his arms all the way to the elbow. He hardly goes anywhere without him now.
He looks bare without them, still wearing his trucker uniform. He helps me wrap them on my good arm first, then my prosthetic. The bracelets are reassuring against my skin. Tight, but secure. I look up at him with a smile, hoping he can sense it behind my mask. "Thank you."
Ekarak takes one last look at me, and for a moment his expression turns sad before it dissolves back into pride. "Do your best, alright?"
He doesn't voice the obvious, which is that I am at a great disadvantage due to my conditions.
"I will," I say truthfully. "You'll all be proud of me. Even Tuqiqi."
"Maybe if you win, she'll teach you how to carve wood figures for your talent," he says with a slight chuckle.
Tuqiqi. I miss her already, her sweet smile contrasting with her muscled arms and scarred face from bear wrestling. I hope she won't just write me off as an honorable death rather than victor potential.
But I hold no misconceptions about my chances. I know the Games will be harder for me, and I may very well die. I'm not afraid of death, nor of pain, nor the supposed horrors that await us in the arena. The only thing I'm afraid of is being reduced to nothing, unable to speak for myself or even move. It's what I thought was going to happen to me when I was laying in that hospital bed.
Now I'm going to be heard by everyone in Panem, and I'm going to visit more places than most people in Farflit can ever dream of. If I'm going to die, then I'll do it on my own terms, at my own choosing, in the Hunger Games, all while proving my loyalty to the nation.
Ekarak leaves not long after, and I'm alone once again. I may be leaving my family and the only life I've ever known, but soon I won't just be Seven's Own. I'll be Panem's.
Thank you to Greywolf44 for submitting Savannah! She was originally submitted to Born To Die, and I've been saving her all this time. And thanks to RadioFreeDeath for Timootee aka Des! A very unique tribute in nearly every respect.
Also- for those who don't know yet, Oldflowers and I have started a new story called Much Ado. It's a companion piece to Honeymoon. reviews to Much Ado will also count toward your sponsor points!
Thank you to everyone for reading! Our trip to District Seven is ending. Which district do you think we'll visit next? And what do you think of Des and Savannah? And don't forget to check out the website on my profile to see the faceclaims for them!