A/N: We have District Five here today with Jayce Newman and Bernie Areli! Enjoy!
Trigger Warnings: none I think? XD Hooray!
I am not a man
I feel more like
emptiness, solitude
I am not a man
I feel more like
chemicals coming through
Why are you whispering so politely
when all around me the house is falling down?
the house is falling down
Jayce Newman, 17
District Five Male
Delilah and I walk towards the pens together, hand in hand. I stayed out late last night with her, and we slept in an abandoned lot and stared at the stars. She asked me when I was going to tell my parents about it. I didn't respond and pretended I was asleep. I've just had a bad feeling for a while now about this Reaping. I think it's probably just the illness taking its toll. I feel a little weaker every day, a little slower, a little less alive. It feels so cliche, but it seems like the world around me's speeding up and I'm slowing down. I'm dying and there's nothing I can do but have fun until the last moment comes.
Delilah and I break, and the next moments blur together for some reason. A prick of my finger, walking to my pen, escort and mayor coming onto the stage and speaking, a crying little girl, and then, "JAYCE NEWMAN!"
Something lifts off of my shoulders; I have no idea why. As I step onto the stage however, a small smile squirms its way onto my face. I feel a little lighter, and the fear and dread pumping through my body makes me feel a little more in tune with everything around me. Delilah stands in her pen, frozen in shock, and my mother cries into my father's shoulder far off in the distance at the edge of the square with the other parents. The smile slips off of my face, but the damage has already been done; everyone, the thousands of members of my District, are looking at me with different mixtures of distaste, confusion, and contempt. My heart sours and everything feels cold and blank, and I realize I've completed one of my bucket list items.
Feel the truest fear imaginable. Check.
We walk back stage, and Peacekeepers grab me roughly and tear me away from our Escort Ambrosia Heavenfall and the weeping little girl whose name I didn't catch when she was Reaped. She doesn't look a day over 11 or 12. She goes down a different hall than I do with her own duo of Peacekeepers. One of the Peacekeepers opens a seemingly random door and the two of them shove me inside. The door clicks closed smoothly behind me.
There's a bench and a tiny circular window, dirty with dust and grime accumulated over years without cleaning. Murky light streams through the tiny window. I collapse on the bench and hold my head in my hands, sighing. I feel tired. I want to sleep. The door opens, smacking against the wall, and there's thin, supple arms around me and Delilah is lifting me to my feet, sobbing like crazy.
"Jay-jayce!" she whimpers. "We have a month left, I thought! I needed that month, Jayce!"
"What are you two talking about?" my father inquires from the door way, my sniffling mother behind him. He looks curious and a little suspicious, and he treads in carefully, standing near us, my mother still clinging to him. She's glaring at Delilah; she thinks Delilah's the person who's started this whole change in me. If anything, I was the one who changed Delilah, and I feel sort of guilty about it.
"Nothing. She's sort of hysteric," I murmur back, pressing my girlfriend's face into my chest and letting her cry. I smooth out her hair and kiss her cheek and then she backs away, wiping away her tears and trying to calm herself down. She stands in the corner, quivering, trying to regain control, as my parents rush to my side to comfort me and talk to me. I bite my lip.
My mom starts weeping again, and she clings to me like there's no tomorrow, squeezing me so tight I can barely breathe. I instinctively shove her off of me and gasp in a breath. She looks wounded and hurt, and my father backs away.
"Jayce, what is going on?!" my father booms. My mother wraps herself in his arms, looking at me like I'm some gangster with a bright pink afro and golden teeth masquerading as her son. I shiver as her eyes cut down to my soul.
"I-I..." I can't tell them. I just can't. The veiled truth comes too easy. "I'm just a mess. I'm going to die."
"No you aren't. You're going to come back to us," my mother whispers without conviction, hugging me again, not as tight this time. My father hugs me as well, and then they leave me to have my last couple of minutes with Delilah. She looks a little miffed as she strides over and stands in front of me, arms folded across her chest, her beautiful chestnut colored eyes narrowed as she glares at me, tear trails still glistening on her cheeks.
"You didn't tell them about you disease," Delilah whispers.
"I don't have to. I'm going to die either way," I growl, looking at my feet.
"They're going to want an explanation for why you've been acting out, Jayce."
"That explanation is you, and if you try to tell them the truth, they won't believe you, Delilah."
Delilah looks at me, half shocked, half bothered. She walks towards the door without a goodbye kiss or embrace, her cheeks burning red with fury.
"You should have told them forever ago, Jayce. Maybe this all wouldn't have happened if you hadn't been so careless and tarnished my childhood."
"Don't get started with your karma crap-" I begin, but Delilah's already gone, slamming the door behind her. I slump onto the bench, tears pricking the corners of my eyes. What was that? Did I just scream at my girlfriend and pretty much blame her for my problems? I don't know why Delilah puts up with me. At least now she won't have to put up with my antics any longer. I'll be dead before we can make amends, either from the disease or from the Games.
I shouldn't try to win, should I? I should be selfless and sacrificial, find a good little girl or boy to ally with and save them, shouldn't I? That would be the right thing to do. My disease is terminal. I'd last a week before I got out of the Games. There's no point in me winning. I should help save someone else. I hope I'm brave enough to do it. I hope I won't give in to my impulses and be selfish like I have been for the past several months.
The door swings open soundlessly, and I don't realize that the Peacekeeper is here to take me to the train until I feel his gloved hand on my shoulder. I start; damn, they really do grease the hinges on these doors. I jump to my feet, and I don't look at either Peacekeeper as we walk through the halls. In a couple of minutes we reach the back doors, and we walk out to the train platform, where one of the Peacekeepers is kneeling by the younger girl who is sobbing quietly, trying to comfort her. We step onto the platform, and I try to ignore the sobbing child next to me. Maybe I can protect her. Wouldn't be of much use, would it? She'd die ten minutes after I died. But still. It's the sentiment that matters, right?
I see the train come whooshing down the tracks, and the breath is knocked out of me. I think back to another one of my bucket list items, and a small grin fights its way onto my face. I bite my lip to keep my smile at bay. Maybe these Games won't be entirely bad.
I want to ride a train. Check.
In the jungle, the mighty jungle
The lion sleeps tonight
In the jungle the quiet jungle
The lion sleeps tonight
Near the village the peaceful village
The lion sleeps tonight
Near the village the quiet village
The lion sleeps tonight
Bernie Areli, 12
District Five Female
"It will be okay, honey," the woman Peacekeeper murmurs, stroking my head. She's taken off her helmet; her velvety black hair and dark brown skinned face are wrinkled by age, and she has a motherly disposition. I try to stop crying, but I can't. It's just a fear reflex. And while this woman is being nice I don't want her near me, I don't want her touching me, strangers scare me. I curl myself in a ball, crouching low to the ground. The smiling boy from the stage comes up next to us, and I quiver in disgust. How could you smile at a time like this? As the train approaches he smiles again and my gut lurches. He must have something wrong with him, too. That's the only reason he'd be grinning like it's his birthday as we board the train.
I hate feeling feeble and weak, but I am. I hate feeling so young; it bothers me when people act like I'm too young for everything, like I'm pure and innocent and I'm five years old. I might by twelve and shy, but I know things. Just because I'm not a teenager doesn't mean I'm an innocent little baby that needs to be swaddled. But that is how I feel right now. As I walk onto the train, I see Anneliese Petrova, our only Victor, and our Escort Ambrosia sitting at the table in the dining car. I want to keep myself together, I want to be mature and confident. I don't want to be that little girl that everyone pities. I don't want to be the oh so cute little kitten that, when placed to fend for itself in the wilderness, dies immediately. But I can't control myself. I'm still crying, although at least quieter than before, as I sit down. The boy, Jayce his name must be, takes one look at the food and turns his head away from them. Anneliese munches on a small piece of spiced fruit, and Ambrosia picks the olives out of a salad an Avox has just brought for her carefully, ignoring us. Finally, I manage to stop crying.
"S-sorry," I choke out, wiping my face with a soft, cushy white cloth napkin. The little bit of eyeliner Aunt Aly had me put on for the Reaping comes off. "Sorry for ruining the nice cloth napkin. I set down the soiled napkin.
"Don't worry honey, it's okay!" Ambrosia says in a too sweet voice, and I sigh as Ambrosia snaps her fingers and stiffly orders an Avox to take the napkin away. How can a woman be so nice to me but so mean to an Avox? They're people too, aren't they? My parents are people, I hope. Well, I don't know much about my parents, but all I know is they did something bad, and the best I can hope for is that they're Avoxes and not dead. But those thoughts are pushed from my head as Ambrosia leans over and dabs at my face, cooing like I'm a little baby that needs to be squeezed and hugged and watched constantly. I pull away and start eating a chocolate chip muffin, ignoring everyone and stuffing my face full until my cheeks are filled up like a chipmunk's.
"Swallow, dear," Anneliese instructs, and it's not in a light, sugary sweet voice that's secretly mocking me. She doesn't chime with laughter like Ambrosia is currently. She's serious. She takes another bite of spiced fruit and swallows, and I do the same.
"You're so precious!" Ambrosia titters, fanning herself with a painted hand. She reaches over to squeeze my cheek, and I recoil. Only two people do that to me: Mrs. Theardie and Mommy. Mrs. Theardie is dead and I have no idea where my Mom is. I'll probably never find out. Ambrosia snorts and turns away, and I hug myself and stare at the whorls in the mahogany table, gnawing on my lip nervously. I think of my cats, listing their names in my head over and over, imagining myself stroking their fur over and over...I imagine that they're here with me, and so is Mom and Dad and Aunt Aly and Uncle Daw and Mrs. Theardie and my best friend, Samantha. I imagine that everything will be alright, even though I know it won't be.
"I'm going to go take a nap if that's alright!" Jayce says too happily, saying the first thing he's said in the past ten minutes. He stands and leaves without another word, and Ambrosia rolls her eyes and continues to pluck olives from her salad, focused on her task. Anneliese looks at me with her big, round green eyes intensely, not realizing that her looking is bothering me. I shiver and stand up and walk over to the next car, which is a sitting room. There's a window, and I sit by it, watching colors fly past and blur together. I hug my knees to my chest, sitting on a cushy red and gold chair. The door into the car creaks open, and Anneliese steps in, trying to smile, her eyes still wide and curious. She's willowy and pale, like a ghost. She pulls up an ottoman and sits at my feet.
"You need to be better," Anneliese whispers, looking up at me. She squeezes my foot, and I look at her.
"Go away."
"Do you like to knit?" she asks, and I see a basket she has brought in that I didn't notice before. She heaves it onto her lap, and pulls out a bright yellow ball of yarn, knitting needles, and a half finished tapestry with various intricate patterns on it. I think back to a couple of months before.
I sit in the living room of Aunt Aly and Uncle Daw's house, shivering. Aunt Aly pulls out a knitted quilt and lays it over me gingerly, and I see tears pricking the corners of her eyes. I look at her, confused, and I take her hand.
"Did I do something? Is something wrong?" I inquire.
"No, nothing's wrong honey, that's just...your mother made that. She loved to knit."
"Oh. I knew that. I did live with them until I was nine, Aunt Aly."
"I know honey. It feels like they've been gone forever, though."
"I know."
I snap out of my reverie, and watch as Anneliese takes the knitting needles and shows me how to work them. I let her teach me and work my hands, and I watch as my creation blends with hers, and it actually looks rather nice.
"What would you like to make?" Anneliese asks. "We can knit anything."
My first impulse is to say a cat, my second a butterfly. But I need to grow up, don't I?
"I want to knit a happy family," I mutter, and Anneliese takes my hands and shows me how.
A/N: Ooh, District Five was definitely fun. I really enjoyed writing these two, and I can see lots of ways to develop them more. Ah, development. My favorite part of SYOTs besides the killing, and not being sarcastic xD and actually the killing sucks. Never mind.
I wanted to show more parts of these guys, especially Bernie. I wanted to show she's not just the hapless cat breeder, although that is a big portion of her. She has more depth and I hope we'll see even more of that in the future.
Who did you like better here, Jayce or Bernie? Have your thoughts on them changed?
Jayce (1 pt.): What are the two things Jayce checks off of his bucket list in this chapter?
Bernie (1 pt.): What does Bernie say Anneliese looks like when she comes in and sits with her in the sitting room train car?
Until Next Time,
Tracee