Griffin Jagger, 17:
The Peacekeeper in the big Justice Building room smiles tauntingly when Mom comes in and sits down. "So you did volunteer after all. I didn't think you had it in you, but such a pity we can't kill your dear mother over there." He gestures with his baton, and Mom fights hard to not say anything back. This Peacekeeper belonged to the group who burst into the house a few weeks ago, turning everything upside down and searching for items unknown. He himself threatened to have Mom shot unless I volunteered.
This is clearly a dangerous man, and it's no wonder Mom seems nervous sharing a space with him. "Griffin," she says quietly, "You must come home. I couldn't bear it if you died."
"I'll win, Mom. I swear I will. You don't have to worry about me."
"But how can I not worry for my own child? You're going into the Hunger Games. Of course I'm going to be concerned, but I believe in you, and I know you're going to survive." Am I though? Probably not. I don't want to kill anybody, but I value my own life more than anybody else's, so I suppose I'd do it if I had to. I've got to win if I ever want to see Mom again.
"Thanks, Mom. I can win, easy." It's obviously a lie, but it seems to make her feel a bit better.
"That's right. You can train at the Capitol. You'll have an escort to coach you in demeanor, and a stylist to make you stand out, and a mentor to give you advice and rustle up sponsors for you. You'll have a lot of people on your side, too." That's encouraging too. These people's jobs literally involve making me look as appealing as possible, presenting me in a positive light, and keeping me alive. They'll not only be willing to help me, they'll be eager to help me.
"I will. And the Capitolites are going to love me too. I'm going to be the victor, and I can come back soon, and we'll be a family again." The Peacekeeper in the corner laughs. It's obvious he's not rooting for me. He really wants to see me die on television.
"Yes, Griffin. You're going to be the victor and come back, and we'll be a family again," Mom repeats.
"Oops!" interjects the Peacekeeper, "It looks like your time is all up! Say goodbye to your son, Mrs. Jagger!" He gives an overdone frown and wipes away a pretend tear.
"Goodbye, Griffin. I love you."
"I love you too, Mom." I'm worried about how she'll fare while I'm gone, and whether the Peacekeepers will harass her or not. If I die, they're sure to rub it in her face for ages to come.
The Peacekeeper shoves her out of the room hurriedly, and the escort comes in. He's still wearing that terrible outfit, and he still looks slightly annoyed with me.
"Hurry up. The car is outside and I will not be late. That combined with you mimicking my bow earlier? Uh-uh." He shakes his head. "It would kill any social life I have. We simply must be on time if I am to have any good reputation left at all once we reach home." I'm yanked out of the room just as quickly as my mother was.
It's clear that I need to make a good impression tonight, at the Tribute Parade, both to nurse the escort's bruised ego enough for him to help me, and so the Capitolites will start seeing me as an actual contender. If I can train hard, and pick up some supporters with deep pockets, I'll have a much stronger chance of getting back home. And if that means faking Capitol loyalty and sucking up to the horrible prats there, then so be it.
Amiee Smith, 13:
The Justice Building is truly extravagant, with lots of decorations and fine porcelain knick knacks balancing on top of marbled wooden credenzas. I sit in an armchair so huge it seems to absorb me, Marry sits on a plush sofa, and John sits on the edge of an engraved sideboard. Marry is still crying, loudly blowing her nose into a handkerchief.
"Why did you volunteer?" she sobs.
"I couldn't let my favorite cousin, go into the Hunger Games!" I answer. The problem is that I wasn't thinking straight when I did it, and now I've probably condemned myself to a death in the arena. I just hope it won't be painful. It would be awful if someone tortured me, or if I drowned or got eaten by mutts. My hope is that someone will stab me fast and I'll die instantly, or at least without suffering too long.
"But now you'll probably die!" wails Marry in despair.
"Calm down, Marry. Amiee is not going to die," John says calmly. It seems my brother has more confidence in me than I have in myself. "She's going to be okay. She's got a whole lot of things going for her. She's fast, and smart, and sneaky. Plus, she's got a great throwing arm. Remember?" Marry nods, and I do too, recalling a time when my parents were alive and had just given me a new dress. We met up with all of my cousins and were going to have a mud fight, but nobody got to go for me because they weren't allowed to get the dress dirty. I still won, though, and I hit pretty much everybody with a clod of dirt at some point.
"Yeah!" says Marry, cheering up a little. "I bet she'd be great at throwing knives!"
"You really would be," John says, turning to me. "You've got to win, you know. You can't die on us." Both of them would be so sad to see me go, and I absolutely can't do that to them. Family is the most important thing, and I have to get back to them.
I immediately start thinking about what I can do to be the victor. Should I try knife throwing first or go for a different approach? What's more important, practicing defending myself or learning survival skills? What do I want people to think about me, and how can I get them to?
I just want to hide from all of this. Wait-hide! That's what I can do! I'll try to just get away from the Bloodbath quickly, and steal food from the Careers, and hide safely away for most of the Hunger Games, until the older, stronger tributes have killed each other off.
It's a solid strategy, I think. Unless one of the Careers gets me first. That's a terrifying thought. They're huge, brutal, and bloodthirsty. They're loud and bullyish, always yelling at one another, always showing off their skills, and mentally cataloguing a list of tributes they want to kill. Whatever I do, I've got to be careful not to end up on there.
"Amiee, please. You've got to win, okay?" Marry says.
"I know," I assure her. "I've been coming up with a plan." I relay it quickly, and John nods his head in agreement.
"That's a very good idea. Stick by that and you'll be just fine." I don't want him or Marry to go, but the Peacekeeper makes them say goodbye and walks them out anyway. The nice red-haired escort who visited the diner this morning raps on the door and comes in to collect me.
"Wait here," he says, and he strides off down the hallway. He quickly reappears with my district partner, Quinten. He's smiling a little, and even though he's tall and obviously tough, judging by the bruises and busted lip, he seems friendly enough. "Come on, we're going to the car," says the escort, and when I look at Quinten again, something occurs to me.
I need to find some allies.
Rafe McClellan, 18:
Bennett, Pierre, and Elias all stroll past the Peacekeeper into the large room of the Justice Building, laughing amongst themselves and cracking dirty jokes. The second they dogpile onto the massive corner sofa, they immediately start heaping praise on me.
"You're set to win it, Rafe!"
"You gotta lead the Career Pack, my man, you run circles around those runts like it's nothing!"
"Rafe, you gonna hit it with a Capitol lady or what?"
I wave a hand graciously. "I know, I know, and of course," I answer. It's obvious that I'm going to really dominate once the Hunger Games actually start. I have a decade of harsh, rigorous Academy and at-home training, and no outer-district tribute will be able to compete with that.
I doubt any of the other Careers will either. I'm the strongest of the strong, and I can use pretty much every weapon in existence with finesse. It's one reason why none of my murders have ever been traced back to me. All of them vary in method and location and are committed with different weapons and in different intervals, so there's no traceable pattern or style.
"So Rafe, what do you think about the twist this year? Mentors from Eleven, pricier sponsor gifts, fewer supplies?" asks Bennett.
"No problem. They might be from a poor district, but they'll still know something about how best to win. The sponsors will cough up as much money as it takes, just as they do every year, and we're sure to take the cornucopia, just as we do every year. It'll have plenty of supplies, the other tributes are the ones who'll need to worry about that."
It's true, the sponsors will probably be even more generous than usual because it is a Quarter Quell, and the Gamemakers will probably introduce some never-before-seen, arena-specific items. Raising the prices will make the gifts seem particularly alluring, and sponsors will definitely be tempted to buy them. This twist is directed towards the poorer districts. Sometimes citizens group together and try to raise money for sponsor gifts when no Capitolites will buy them, but the new prices mean that's no longer an option.
The Capitol will be even more instrumental in my quest to become a victor than it would be normally, so I'll obviously have to hold off on talk of torture and murder. If I seem too gleeful about the prospect of killing people, the Capitolites might be put off of supporting me. I'll have to hang on to a traditional Career front, I decide. Charming, arrogant, but with a touch of extra class.
That's how I'll win the audience over. Be a classy, self-assured prick like Markus was before I murdered him for fooling around with my girlfriend behind my back. I smile at the anticipation of getting to kill again so soon. Usually I'd wait months before bumping off someone else, because I like to play it safe when it comes to dealing with Peacekeepers, so this is a real treat.
"Dude, why are you smiling so big?" asks Elias.
"Oh, just thinking about my future as a victor. With riches and girls and all that."
"Will you share your riches with us?" Bennett asks hopefully.
"Don't be a tool!" Pierre says, thwacking him on the back of the head. "Rafe's gonna keep all of his riches, 'cause he earned them, and you didn't!"
"That's right!" I say emphatically. "Any last words of wisdom, boys?"
"Yeah," says Pierre. "When you're a legend, don't forget about us!" I laugh lightly as he and the others start to trickle out at the Peacekeeper's bidding.
"I won't!" I call after them.
"We know!" one yells back. It's nice to have support, especially because they know just as well as I do that I will be victorious, no matter what anyone tries to throw at me.
Harry Striffer, 16:
Once inside the Justice Building, Grandmother plants herself in a squashy armchair much like the one we have at home, but more expensive-looking. She settles in, takes a deep breath, and crosses her ankles.
"As you can probably tell, I'm very worried for you." I nod agreement. Grandmother has spent the past ten years caring for me, and she's obviously very troubled by my being selected for the Hunger Games, where there's a decent chance I'm going to die. Worse still, there's very little she can do about it. My fate is out of her hands. "So," she continues, "Tell me what your plan is."
"Well, I want to win. Even if it means killing somebody."
She gestures her approval. "I don't normally condone murder, but in the name of self-preservation in a giant trap-filled death arena, I think it can be overlooked."
"So I need to stay alive at all costs. I've picked up quite a bit about home remedies and human anatomy from the healer, which might be useful."
"You could use the anatomy to figure out how to attack best," Grandmother suggests.
"Yeah. I can use the first-aid and medicine stuff if I get hurt, and the anatomy stuff to attack. I'm short, but I'm also pretty flexible, plus I can run fast. And I'm good at reading people, and pretty observant too."
"That's good. You can work with that. I don't know much about combat, obviously, but I'm sure whatever mentor you get will be able to turn your skills into an actual technique. I'd suggest keeping track of the other tributes during your stay at the Capitol. How they behave, what they do, who they hang out with. If you know things other people don't, you give yourself an extra edge."
"Yes, Grandmother. I'll do that." All of her advice seems to make perfect sense, and is in line with the things she usually tells me. If you feel uncertain about something, plan for it. If you don't know how to do something, seek out an expert. Be mindful of the world around you. If you're confused about how to approach a situation, think about what you already know and how it translates to the task at hand. The only bit of advice she gives me consistently that she hasn't touched yet on in some way is my personal favorite: don't be a jerk, and treat other people nicely.
"Also," she says, "I know I shouldn't really have to remind you of this, but I'm going to anyway. Don't intentionally antagonize people. If you try to provoke a response out of the Careers, you can't be surprised when they target you. If you tell a weak tribute they have no chance, you can't be surprised when they try to prove you wrong." Ah, there it is. I did already know, because pissing off somebody with a lot of friends and a short temper who could break every bone in your body at a moment's notice is a stupid idea. Still, I thank her for the advice.
"I hope you fall in love," she tells me at last. "Either in the Hunger Games or once you're home safe, I'd love to see you happy with whomever you choose. But whether that happens now or later, I love you, and I'll be here cheering you on."
"I love you too, Grandmother." A Peacekeeper appears to take her outside, and the escort shows up in his place.
"Are you ready to go?" they ask.
"Yes." I fiddle with my locket as I lean back against the doorframe, the escort gone down the hall to fetch Elle, my district partner. I try to think of Grandmother, resilient but fragile, all alone as her unknown ailments worsen. I will win, I will survive these Hunger Games, and incidentally will have access to the very best doctors, who will be able to heal her and keep her with me. For Grandmother, and for myself, I've got to become the victor.
Trey Copper, 18:
My parents and the screaming gremlins they call my little siblings don't come to visit me in the Justice Building. They've never bothered about caring for me, why would they start now? Amanda, on the other hand, does show up, worried to tears.
"Whoa, whoa, slow down. Why are you upset?" I ask her.
"They've picked you for the Hunger Games," she cries. "What if you die? What if one of the Career brutes kills you? What if you succumb to dehydration? What if a giant beast eats you, or a volcano blows you sky high? What if you-"
"Amanda. I'm going to be fine." It's an absolute marvel that she hasn't heard about what I did to those kids three years ago, but then again, she doesn't know anything about anybody. Our parents have decided she's their full-time nanny, and she's so busy taking care of the miniature monsters that she almost never leaves the house. If she did know, she wouldn't be concerned for me right now, but it's not like I'm going to tell her.
"Really? How do you know? Have you ever even used a weapon before?"
"Well," I say, making sure to choose my words very carefully, "I've occasionally been in fights. I know how to defend myself. And you know our father gave me a switchblade for my work on the ranch, so of course I'm familiar with that."
"Oh." Amanda breathes a sigh of relief. "Then you'll be fine, I'm sure. Self defense skills go a long way in the arena, you know."
"Yeah, totally. And besides, I'll have a bunch of people to help me. Stylists and the escort and whatnot. The sponsors are gonna love me too, just you wait."
"Really? What sort of angle are you thinking of going for?" I scratch the back of my neck, pretending to be thinking about it as I stall and try to make up a convincing lie.
"Um, I'm actually not sure. Probably just be friendly and cocky and stuff. You know that the Capitolites really like nice tributes. And I'll mention you, of course. And with my self-defense experience, I'll pull a high training score, and hopefully the prep team will be able to turn this into something appealing!" I gesture at my face, and she laughs at the self-deprecating joke.
"Trey, don't say that! You look fine just the way you are!"
"I'm kidding. But I just have to act like the sweetest person in Panem, and they'll believe in me enough to send me presents in the arena. Weapons and medicine and maybe some gourmet food if they really like me."
"You don't have to be the sweetest person in Panem, you're already the sweetest brother in Panem!" She tries to plant a big wet kiss on my cheek, but I wriggle away, so she pinches me instead.
If only she knew who I actually am. I'm far from the sweetest brother in Panem. I'm a murderer and I'm positively itching to kill again. I just hope she'll think it's an act when I get in with the Careers and start torturing people in the arena.
"Goodbye, Trey," she says, slinging an arm around me. "Win for me, okay?"
"I will." Amanda leaves with the Peacekeeper, and the escort barges in.
"Ready to head out?" he asks.
"Yeah." As I follow him down the corridor, I trace the outline of the folded-up switchblade in my pocket. My time in the Capitol will pass excruciatingly slowly, but once my boots hit the arena floor, it will be well worth the wait.
Needless to say, Emily will be my first kill. This time, there'll be no escaping me, and there will be no need to hurry the torture along, lest I be discovered, and once I'm just about finished with her, she'll be positively begging for death.
Amethyst "Thys" Kurono, 16:
I have a few friends, but none are close enough with me to pay me a visit in the Justice Building before I'm shipped off to the Capitol. My only guest is the Old Man, who eases slowly onto a puffy couch, knees creaking.
"Thys," he says, "Why did you have to do that?"
"Why did I volunteer?"
"Yes, why did you have to volunteer for that girl?"
"It seemed like the right thing to do. Besides, I go to work with her dad, and I don't think I'd be able to face him if I let his daughter die."
"Better someone else's kid than mine!" he says irritably. "Now I'm probably going to have to watch you die. So you'd better start coming up with a plan of attack if you want to survive this." He's got a fair point. Knowing how to beat somebody up just doesn't cut it when there will be six sword-waving Careers ready to hunt me down.
"Oh, alright. I'm sure it'll all be fine." I'm sure that I'll be able to win if I learn some weapons skills and brush up on basic survival techniques. I'm not afraid of confrontation, and I'm perfectly willing to get in the thick of it and fight if I have to. I don't think there will be many outer-district tributes who can compete with me, just because my job involves knocking people out on a regular basis, and I can already use a knife fairly effectively.
"You won't be fine unless you ensure you will be. Talk to your mentor, get advice. Try new things. If you play stupid games, you win stupid prizes, so you'd do well to remind yourself that you have to go into these particular Games smart. Be prepared, okay?"
"I will be prepared," I clarify. "I'm going to make the most of training, and learn a new weapon, and practice fire starting and knot tying and trap setting and hunting and plant identification and all of the other things people forget to try. But you've got to remember that I'm not going to freeze up in fear, and I know how to deal with unpredictable people."
"I'm serious. Be safe," says the Old Man. "That means not leaving your supplies to run after an animal. That means concealing yourself with brush or mud before you go to sleep. That means constantly evaluating whether your allies are still on your side, and that means always weighing the costs and benefits before you act. You're far too impulsive, volunteering today proved that, but you can't throw out all common sense. It's the Hunger Games. Only one person survives. So it might actually be best to avoid confrontation when you can. If you're not in fights, people can't hurt you."
"I guess you have a point."
"I do. And it's an important point. I know you can't resist being the hero, but the arena is not the place for bravery and gallant rescues. It's about being sensible and making compromises. It's not worth getting stabbed over a packet of matches, and it's not worth getting speared because you wanted to save your ally. You have to put yourself first for once. So no fighting over supplies, and no snatching strangers from the jaws of death. Nobody is your friend, and you can't afford to act foolish."
He's definitely right about that, but foolishly rushing into situations while unprepared is kind of what I do. Instead, I remind myself that I can't do that anymore, and I need a better mindset if I want to win the Hunger Games, which I do.
"I won't do anything foolish, I promise."
"That's great. Please do come back, Thys."
"I promise that too." The Peacekeeper standing by the door helps guide the Old Man out, and the escort comes in, light glinting off the gold orbs on the hem of her dress.
"Sweetie, aren't you excited to come to the Capitol?" My district partner, Ryan, glares at her from the hallway. He's clearly no great fan of the Capitol, but he ought to keep that quiet if he wants to live very long. Instead, I smile softly at the escort.
"Can't wait."
Ellie "Elle" Callas, 15:
Mother and Father and Via all hurry into the giant Justice Building room together, talking in quiet voices with nervous expressions. The room contains untold luxuries, fancy furniture and intricate tapestries, fine tablecloths on every surface. I wish I had time to examine them and get a closer look, but I don't. I only have five minutes, and they will pass quickly.
The first thing Mother does is hand me a necklace, a beautiful blended gem of gray and green set in the tarnished copper center of it. "A good luck charm," she explains. "We were planning to give it to you later as a present, but now is just as good." As I fasten the chain around my neck, she begins to impart some words of wisdom.
"You are going to win the Hunger Games, Elle. I promise. You are smart enough and fast enough and with Sylvia's gymnastics lessons, you're sure to be very agile as well. You've got a caring nature and a sweet temper, so you mustn't allow yourself to go soft. No matter how well you like people, they have to die, because there is only one survivor and that will be you. Understand?
"Yes, Mother." She's certainly right about that. She doesn't know that I stay up at night practicing gymnastics, but that only means I'm more skilled than she thinks, which is a good thing. And long ago, I learned to weaponize my kindness and make it difficult for people to say no and refuse me things. Those techniques of manipulation aren't things I use often, but they do come in handy now and again, and it seems like this is one of those times. The Hunger Games are definitely an appropriate place to be cunning and deceitful.
"And remember," puts in Father, "That you are your own best resource. You don't need fancy equipment to find food, water, and shelter if you learn those things in the Capitol center. Material items can be stolen, lost, or destroyed, but the knowledge in your head will always be with you."
"Very true," says Mother. "You don't have a naturally fantastic memory, but if you study those skills like you would notes for a test at school, then you'll be able to remember a good bit of information. Your greatest strength lies in the things that set you apart from the other tributes. Those are the areas in which you have the advantage, so you want to keep to them as much as possible. I know I love to tell you to try new things, but this is the time to stay in your comfort zone. You mess up less often when you do things you're familiar with."
She's right. When I darn clothes, weave sheets, and hem dresses, I never make mistakes, because I've had so much experience doing that. I make mistakes a lot when I try to embroider, or sew on certain fastenings, or try a more advanced weaving pattern, because I've had much less practice. If I stick to things I know, I won't have to worry about accidentally doing something that will get me killed.
I really want to come back to my family. I love them so much, even if Via sometimes gets assigned a better chore than me, and even if weaving is tiresome, and even if Mother is strict. I don't want to die, and I'm terrified of being forgotten by the people I care about most. I want to rush back to the cushy life I have at home, where I never want for food and my parents are around the corner in the next room over, ready to run to my aid if I need help.
But I don't have that option anymore, so I first hug Mother, then Father, and lastly Via, who's been quietly wringing her hands this entire time and hasn't said a thing.
I love you, I want to tell them, and thank you for caring for me and nurturing me and always being there, but the Peacekeeper is already walking them out and there's no time left, so the only thing I can manage to choke out is "I'll come back."
Livieoula "Livi" Carnelian, 18:
Every member of my family fills the room of the Justice Building, making it feel much smaller than it actually is. Father, plus my younger sisters Beth and Velma, plus my older sister Aravala and her son, my nephew. Other than me, only Beth was eligible for the Reaping this year, but she wasn't worried at all. She knew I'd volunteer this year.
And volunteer I did. I'm as tough as they come, and I'm definitely prepared to win this year. My family's pedigree will ensure that I have plenty of sponsors, and along with all of my skills, I'll be unstoppable once in the arena. My self-discipline and vigorous training program are going to really prove handy in time. I'm not too worried about the outer-district tributes, the actual threats will come from people in the Pack with me. But they are disposable, and I can discard them easily when they outlive their usefulness in helping me to victory. I have very little respect for weak Careers, and the moronic boy in the next room over-Owen? Oliver? No, Oscar-will learn very quickly that he is the runt of the alliance, and he'd better get out of my way unless he wants a kick in the throat.
I refuse to tolerate Careers who think they can skate by on charm alone, without contributing anything to the rest of us (namely, me. Frankly, I don't give a damn about the others.) If a glare during a handshake makes him nearly piss himself, his mettle is going to be tested long before the Hunger Games even begin. My advice? Stay out of the kitchen if you can't handle the heat. If you're unable to compete with proper Careers like me, then don't volunteer at all. Still, it was his choice, so I won't mind killing him in the arena.
"Oh, Livi," Velma sighs, "Training is so lovely. I can't wait for you to win, and then in a couple years, Beth will too, and then me, and we'll all be famous! And rich, too! Well, we're already pretty rich. So we'll be richer!"
"That's right, Velma! We'll be the best family in District One!" I exclaim. "But you're only eleven, so you've still got a while to go before you'll be ready to volunteer."
"I bet I'd fare better in a fight with you than any of the other tributes would," she says, winking.
"I bet you would," I whisper conspiratorially to her. We burst into peals of laughter. This is a day for joy and celebration, the day that I finally get to make my mark on the world. The day that, at long last, I'll set off on my path to win the Hunger Games.
"Oh, Livi," says my father, "You're absolutely certain to win. I do want to remind you though, be thoughtful about the decisions you make in the arena. Every misstep could lead to your death, so you ought to be very careful in the arena." Realistically, he's right. I need to be not just smart or cautious, but methodical. My choices are my own, and I can't afford to make stupid mistakes. Then again, I don't typically make mistakes. Mistakes are for people who fail to plan ahead. He makes an excellent point though, so I promise I will be.
"Good luck," says Beth quietly. She's not nearly as eager about volunteering as the rest of the family, but of course she still supports my ascent to victory.
"And may the odds be ever in your favor," finishes Aravala with a chuckle. They already are. Having training and preparation puts me a long ways ahead of the other tributes. My ingenuity is what sets me apart from the other Careers as well, and nobody will be able to match me once in the arena. Aravala holds out her baby, my nephew. "Say goodbye to Aunt Livi!" she tells him. He makes a soft cooing noise.
"Why thank you! I certainly will win the Hunger Games!" I say back to him. It's still surreal to know that I'm an aunt, and this is a real baby, and that I'm related to him. All I know is that although I would love to stay here with my family, I have to get to the Capitol, so after one final group hug, they see themselves out to leave me alone with my thoughts. Well, thought, singular, because only one thing is on my mind.
I am going to be a victor in less than four weeks' time.
Hey y'all! The next chapter will be set in the Capitol, with tributes meeting their mentors. If you'd like to know what the next few chapters will involve, you can check the outline on my profile. Also on my profile are the results of the last poll, as well as a new poll about which tributes you'd consider sponsoring. Thank you for reading and reviewing so much!
~LC :)
