Reaping Part II:
You can't go into the cage and not love it, and you can't go in there unprepared.
You have to prepare.
Imogen Pryor, District Five
Pulling up my duvet and rolling towards the darker side of the room, I lightly wake up from a short hours' worth of sleep. The blinds in my room shut out most of the evening sun, but still on the opposite wall, there are rectangles of light projecting from the gaps. I watch as they turn from natural white to an artificial yellow glow.
Tossing from one side to another, I close my eyes once again – trying to make up for that lost sleep – and consciously breathe rhythmically.
''Wait a minute,'' I say, my eyes widening in surprise. ''What time is it?''
Jumping out of my bed, I quickly throw off my pajamas and begin looking for the outfit that I laid out for the Reaping. Searching in and out, I open up every drawer in my cabinets, throwing other pieces of clothing out of the way. Turning around, I jump into my closet and push through every single thing inside, unable to make out the specific top and faded jeans that I'm looking for.
Then, it dawns in on me. Check under the bed. ''There they are.'' I lazily say, crawling on my bedroom floor and reaching for the pair of clothes. They're wrinkled and look as if they haven't been washed in weeks – granted, they probably haven't...
I throw on my clothes and tie on a pair of low-top, dirty sneakers. After readying myself, I tiptoe through the mess that is my room. Stepping over pillows and kicking at dirty underwear, I make my way out into the hallway and turn to the bathroom, where I wash my face and brush my teeth as quickly as I possibly can.
Suddenly, a sweet, savory aroma wafts through the cool air. My stomach clenches with hunger at the thought of delicious honey rolls. I can imagine the warm, fluffy bun dripping with amber-colored liquid. Even the filter coffee that smoothly glides its scent through the various blends of food is good enough for me. This is the kind of place I can sit in for hours; the air is so perfumed without chemicals.
Turning my attention to the kitchen, I speed walk over there and find my dad playing around with the food, adding a little bit of this and a little bit of that on it. I throw an arm around his shoulder and kiss him on the cheek, saying, ''Good morning.''
''How are you, sweetheart?''
''Eh,'' I groan. ''Tired as ever, as if that answer isn't new, am I right?''
He laughs at my words and shakes his head. ''Well, if you didn't stay up all night every night, then maybe you wouldn't be so tired.''
''And if you paid attention to the honey rolls, then maybe they wouldn't be overcooking.''
His laugh drops as he turns around and catches sight of the fumes coming from the electric mixer. Startled, my dad jumps, and he flings one of the rolls up into the air on accident. It's as if everything moves in slow motion, and when the roll falls back down, it lands directly on his forearm and he shrieks like a schoolgirl.
Running around the kitchen area, he does his best to remove the burning pain from his arm, and the look on his face puts me in a fit of tears – the way he's blowing on his skin and foolishly jogging at the same time is hilarious.
After finally finishing up his act, I say, ''You're such a goof. I could never get enough of you, you know that?''
''Ah, leave me alone.'' Giving me a smile, he adds, ''You're lucky that I love you. Or else I'd have thrown it on you as soon as I had removed it from my own skin. Anyway, why exactly did you take so long getting up?''
''You know that lamp that I've been working on for like, ever now?'' He nods his head. ''I started working on the electromagnetic quanta, thinking about all types of x-rays and gamma lights, and I came to a conclusion that I could possibly create my own lights. The little lava lamps that I have on my counters are cool and all, but I wanna expand on that and have, like, blasting lights that splash color all over my room. So, what I decided to do was look at the wave-particle duality and realize that part of the photons shouldn't be revolved around light as a wave, or even light as a particle – instead, the whole area is profound and could lead to months of probing discussion and thinking, which woul—''
''Okay, Imogen, I understand,'' Dad cuts through my flow. ''I didn't really want to hear all that, but—''
''You asked,'' I shrug, raising an eyebrow at him, ''so I was more than happy to lend you an ear.''
''You definitely got me there,'' he admits. ''Besides, if I let you keep rambling on like that, you'd be late to the Reaping. Hurry up and get something to eat.''
''All right, but after the Reaping, then can I finish telling you about my plans, since you already know why I was up late? District Three isn't the only place full of nerds that can solve intense equations and create their own inventions, y'know? You'd be impressed with what I've done.''
''Damn right it's not, and of course. I bet I'll love it.''
''Good, but, uh, where's Mom?''
''She's in her office, I think – as usual.''
''Cool. I'm gonna go say bye to her and then head out, okay? I'll see you after the Reaping, Pops!''
Even as I'm walking, I can feel my eyes trying to close – but they won't, and they can't. My heart won't stop beating so fast, and the dark space in my mind is endless in this sleepless prison of mine. I don't wanna drift off into a dream because I love the fast pace of my life, but dreaming would be a nice escape from the worst event that occurs every year.
When I enter my mother's office, though, what I find doesn't surprise me. There's a half-full shot glass on her desk, and an open whine bottle that looks like it's about to tip over with the position it's placed in. My mom... well, she's completely knocked out and in a state of deep sleep. There are all sorts of work project paper prints scattered everywhere, and I guess it just got to her – the stress, that is, but she's always been like this: distant, reserved, alone...
I've never understood my mom, and that sucks, but I'm happy with our current situation. She's never been – or had – a problem, and I hope that she'll be just fine for... well, forever.
''See you, Mom,'' I whisper, only after picking up her papers and stacking them up on one pile and adjusting her bad posture – with the way she's sleeping, she'll wake up with a cracked neck.
''I'll see you when I get back.''
Sota Shirai, District Four
The anticipation of running up to the stage and volunteering is killing me on the inside. It tingles through me like electrical sparks on the way to the ground, gathering in my toes and shocking me up to my skull.
Today, I go back to my roots – back to where my life took an uphill turn, but then tragically descended and crashed. The smile that cracks on my face hasn't been this wide since my stardom. I just have a good feeling, that when I get back to the Capitol, the reactions that I'll receive will be spectacular!
Nothing that feels this right could possibly go wrong. It just can't, especially not with someone like me.
''Why are you smiling so much?'' some kid next to me asks. Looking to the left, I puff out my chest and stick out my tongue.
''Because I'm going back to where I belong, duh.''
''The Capitol?''
''Yes, the Capitol,'' I reply. ''I'm a star. When I make my grand return, Panem will be in shock. Just wait and you'll see.''
''Yeah, right!'' he mocks me. ''Just because you're volunteering today doesn't mean that you're a star. If that were the case, then every past volunteer would be spoken about over and over again.''
''That's not what I'm saying,'' I roll my eyes. ''You wouldn't understand. Or maybe I wouldn't understand you, since you're nothing but dirt poor, while I was momentarily rich with fame, love, and happiness – everything that your unintelligible mind could only desire.''
''Uh huh, and the sky is green.''
I open my mouth to say something slick, but then I pause. ''You act like I didn't know that. You thought you were smart by trying to play tricks on me, didn't you?''
''I was being sarcastic. It's blue, you idiot,'' he scoffs. ''My God, you're honestly so stupid. Someone like you wouldn't last three days in the Hunger Games. You're a pathetic excuse for a Career.''
''You're gonna eat your words when you see me come out victorious in a few weeks,'' I declare. Getting in the kid's face, I grit, saying, ''I don't need you believing in me, because I know that I'm coming out alive. I'll reach heights that you can only dream of. When I'm getting interviews and bathing in cash, I'll come visit just to tell you, 'I told you so', and then laugh in your face!''
''Confidence is key, unless you're an asshole,'' he retorts.
''I may be an asshole, but you were one first. At least I'm not one hundred percent a total dick.''
''I volunteer!'' I hear a female scream at the top of her lungs, and my head snatches back to the front of the Square, where a girl on the darker side of skin color mounts the stage with quick agility.
''What's your name, honey?''
''Odessa Adria,'' she answers. Odessa, huh? I haven't seen her around these parts that often, but maybe she's one of those broke girls who don't stand out much, unlike people of my magnitude.
''Is there anything you'd like to say before leaving?''
''This one's for the people who believed in me, and for you assholes who tried to stop me.'' She says this so frankly, not backing down one bit.
She's ballsy, and I like that. I stare directly at the Escort as he paces over to the males' bowl. Digging his hands deep in there, he picks out a folded envelope, removes the slip from the inside, and then reads out the name, ''Jenston Alure.''
''I volunteer!'' I scream those words out, as well. He scopes out the crowd, looking for me, but he can't seem to catch sight of my moving frame. I basically hop from one foot to the other as I make my way up to the stage, not ashamed one bit when I receive thousands of stares.
I wanna run, I wanna shout, to tell everyone what's about to happen... but I have to wait. I can't sleep, can't eat, can't laugh. Not until everything is said and over with. My mind is like a butterfly, whatever distraction I choose for myself, my mind keeps fluttering back to the goals that I'm going to accomplish. Then, I get that tingly feeling all over again.
I'm deliriously happy – giddy, even.
When I ascend onto the stage, it takes the Escort a few seconds to look me in my eyes and realize who I am – it takes a few seconds for the information to sink into his head, even though it's right before his eyes, larger than life. Then, I see his lips stretch wider into a gaping grin, and his eyebrows arch for the sky.
I made it; I'm here.
''Fizzy?'' he says into the microphone, his voice cracking. ''It really is you, isn't it, Fi—'' he stops himself mid-sentence, retracing his steps and being smart about his choice of words. ''I'm sorry, but what's your name, young man?''
Grabbing the microphone from his hands, I confidently announce, ''I'm Sota Shirai, but you can call me Fizzy Pop. Whatever hope that any competition out there believes they have, they can immediately scratch that off of their plates because I'm emerging victorious, and there's nothing anybody can do to stop that!''
Handing the mic back to the Escort, he fumbles with it in his hands and cries into the input device. ''I-I don't doubt that. Your success almost seems inevitable, but, uh—'' once again, he stops himself from saying something he shouldn't bring up. ''District Four, here are your tributes: Odessa Adria and F— Sota Shirai!''
He turns to the both of us as the audience begins clapping, and gestures for us to shake hands. Looking at her with a condescending smile, I place my hand out for her to grab – and she does, but her firm grip is vice-like, and she cracks a few of my bones.
''Just because you squeezed my hand roughly doesn't mean jack,'' I whisper, staring her straight in the eyes. ''I'm better than you, okay? I am. Don't look at me like you're confused, like you think you stand a chance. I could beat you in my sleep, in fact. And how do I know that, you might be wondering? I know from comparing your clothes to mine, your shoes, your hair – everything.'' When I see her lips part, like she's prepared to tell me off, I quickly interject with, ''Sorry if it hurts, but it's true. Go crawl to your waiting room and cry, because you won't ever see your loved ones again.''
But I will, I realize, managing to block whatever she's saying out of my head. Ursula's in the Capitol, and she's a stylist – a Head Stylist, at that. And for District Four, too. Well, she was. For all I know, she might have moved on to something else. I just pray she still has that profession. When I see her, oh, man, it's gonna be a special reunion.
Amazement doesn't even quite cover what I'm feeling. It's like someone just pulled out my sparks of wonder and poured kerosene all over them. The smile I show on the outside can't adequately reflect what I feel inside; it's like every neuron of my brain is trying to fire in every direction at once – this is definitely the best kind of feeling imaginable.
I'm going home, back to where I belong, and everyone will hear about it. I can already see the headline: Fizzy Pop enters the Hunger Games to reclaim his former glory!
Gideon Alvaro, District Three
''Hurry and get going, Gideon. It's better that you get the Reaping over with and we go back to our normal routine,'' Eren suggests.
''Yeah, you're right, but... I don't want to continue,'' I admit, like she doesn't already know. Eren softly places her hand on my shoulder, a fake smile plastered on her face. The corners of her mouth are threatening to drop, and the tugging is extremely obvious.
''But you have to, and I have to, as well,'' she sighs. The dull look on her eyes shows me that she's just as fed up as I am. ''Look, I managed to snatch a few necklaces and watches from some guy's briefcase. I don't know who he was, but I'm guessing he's one of the high counsel members. After the Reaping, I'll tempt a few store owners with them so that we can get something we need.''
''Like?''
''Like food,'' she replies. ''We both know that damn community home isn't doing enough for either of us. Just look at you, Gid. If I didn't know better, I'd say that you were malnourished – but you're not, and I'm thankful for your well-being.''
''...The thing is, though, I think I have to meet up with someone.'' Lowering my head to my chest, I don't dare to meet my sister's gaze. I hate, hate, hate it! ''D-Do you want me to meet up with you af—''
''I'll wait outside,'' she states. ''But, just don't get distracted, okay? You're doing what you need to. We're both in an unfortunate position, but we can manage. We have each other, and that's enough to survive.''
Growing closer to me, Eren alights her lips on my cheek like a dew-freckled petal caught in a breeze, her kiss so soft and with the smallest hint of coolness.
''I'll meet you in the middle of the Square after the Reaping, but while waiting, I'll go see if I can snuggle anything good from as many people as I can.''
''Just be safe!''
''Don't worry about me,'' she smiles faintly. ''By the time anyone notices that their items are gone, I'll be far, far away.''
''You promise?''
''Of course. It'll be the same as always – I grab, leave, then repeat. I'll be just fine – worry about yourself other than me for once. Now get going, kiddo.''
With that, I let go of Eren's hand and march over to one of the rows where kids are getting their fingers pricked. The line dwindles quickly, and when I make it up to the front, my heart sinks.
In her white hazmat suit, I accidentally make eye-contact with Diandra – one of the few female Peacekeepers in Three. She removes her helmet as soon as she sees me and lets her brunette hair flow, smiling devilishly at me. ''Don't be shy, come on down.''
Slowly taking a step forward, I stick out my finger and allow her to grab a hold on my wrist. She grips it like she's trying to hold me still, and a heavy silence settles over us, growing thicker than the uneasy tension in the atmosphere. I glance around unceremoniously, trying to see if anyone notices how clingy she is to me.
But no-one does, and I shift uncomfortably in my stand. Slowly, she trickles her fingers up my forearm and says, ''You know, when I was deployed here, I thought it was going to be boring as hell. Stuck in a District like Three, with nobody except for a whole bunch of geeks roaming the streets, it really didn't sound like fun. And the fact that I can't have any kids until after my twenty years of service to the Capitol is done, well, that made it even worse. But then I met you, at the young age you were of sixteen. You surprised me, Gideon, with your Two-ish looks and gorgeous body. You were so young back then, but now you're all grown-up, and you're even better than before.''
She tries to reach up and push her fingers through the locks in my hair, but I quickly yank my hand away from her and run off into the eighteen-year-old section. Before I can get too far, though, I hear her shout, ''See you after the Reaping – if no-one else has an appointment with you yet!''
As soon as I arrive to the back of my section, the Escort goes to pick out a female. I can't stand my life. Thoughts begin flowing, engulfing me in a depressing mindset. I'm tossing myself around like some toy for everyone to play with, but what do I get out of it, just another day in life? ''Is it even worth it?!'' I mumble.
Diandra's gonna chew me up like a piece of steak, like she always does. You'd think that a woman of her caliber, three years more mature than me, would be morally encompassed and not do the things she does – just like all the others, who force it even after over three times of being with them. It should just be a one and done deal type of thing, not over and over and over and over and over again.
…I sometimes wish that she would go back to District Two, but it's not just her fault – I play fifty percent in the role, allowing myself to do it, because I need the support and money that she provides; that all of them provide.
When I raise my head again, there's a girl stuttering on the stage. A few other females in the background are screaming and crying, yelling out the name, ''Chayona!''
''All right, then,'' the Escort rolls her eyes, moving away from the sobbing mess that is Chayona. She swipes up one of the top envelopes in the males' bowl, and then reads out, ''Gideon Alvaro!''
As quick as can be, everyone's eyes find their way to me. Every single male in front, to the sides, and back are staring straight at me, surprised. Even a shriek from the females' section goes off. People shuffle their feet against the dirty ground while judging whispers swirl in the air around the Square. With all of this attention on me, I feel painfully out of place – like a pepperoni mistakenly making its way onto a vegetarian pizza.
My face contorts into a hen-pecked look, and my shoulders hunch together like I'm trying to disappear inside myself. Even from the outside, I can feel my dark eyes trying to roll upwards so that I can't make out anything in front of me.
Deciding to not waste time, I totter my way out into the aisle and keep my head up, trying to look as determined as I possibly can. I can do it, for Eren and for myself. I can't just leave her out in the streets alone while I rot in an arena and die.
''Gideon?'' I hear, and as I turn, I notice a familiar face – a girl in the eighteen-year-old section that I'm accustomed to seeing on occasional 'meetings'. ''Fuck.''
Stepping onto the stage, I raise my shoulders and fix my posture, scanning the sea of people to find my sister. There's a faint screaming in the background, and I figure that's her.
''Is there anything you want to say, Gideon?'' the Escort chuckles, looking me up and down. ''What a piece of cake!'' Nearly speaking into the microphone, she barely manages to avoid being caught. Although, I heard her.
''I... I just have to make it back to my sister,'' I decide. ''She needs me, and I need her – we thrive off each other more than ever, and it's going to be difficult without her around, but I'm going to make it back. Eren, I promise – I'll do everything I can in order to make sure that I return, and nobody's stepping in my way.''
And I mean nobody.
Mackenzie Ellesemere, District Ten
''Mommy!'' I cry, being wrapped into the tight hold of my mother. She gives into the enormity of her grief, sobbing into my shoulder and allowing the tears to drip over my clavicle. Her breathing – just like mine – is ragged, gasping, and the strength of her legs are weak.
''I'm sorry that they picked you, p-pumpkin,'' she snivels. Sinking to her knees, she becomes height level with me and lets the carpet dig into her knees. ''I tried so hard to convince them that you're too young! They wouldn't listen to me, and no-one, no matter how hard I begged, wanted to take your place. They threatened me with death if I didn't stop!''
''I-It's okay, Mom,'' I stroke her hair, shivering as I place my left hand around her back. ''I-It's not all that b-bad... B-But... d-do you think that t-they chose me b-because I s-stole things?''
''No, of course not!'' she looks up at me, the tears blinding her vision and turning her eyes into a deep shade of red. ''I-It's absolutely normal for children your age t-to be fascinated in t-taking things that a-aren't theirs and d-doing the things you do. T-They c-could never rig it l-like that!''
''M-Mom, I-I want to t-thank you f-f-for everything that y-you've done for m-me,'' I try to speak. ''Y-You tried to h-help me get away from the n-negativity, a-and you've always stood b-by my s-side. I can't thank y-you enough.''
''Baby,'' she raises her hands up to my face, her nails brandishing against my cheeks. ''Y-You're not going to die, I p-promise. T-There have been twelve-year-old V-Victors before – n-not many, but it's happened. You can be added t-to the list! Y-You're c-curious and smart, so y-you'll be able to f-figure something out.''
''W-Will I, really?''
''Yes!'' she coddles me, lifting my tiny body up into her arms and caressing me like a baby. ''I-I'll be doing everything that I can to g-get the District to pitch in and s-send you as many sponsor gifts as possible!''
''W-What about the other t-tribute?''
''She's not as important as you, honey,'' Mom says, quite loudly. ''Y-You have so much to live for! T-This is w-why I've t-tried s-so hard to help you e-escape the real world; the one t-that doesn't care about you like I do.''
Wiping my tears away, I smile at my mother and reassure her by saying, ''I'm g-going to do e-everything that I can to w-win for you. I-It's gonna be hard, but your love is enough to drive me to victory.''
Suddenly, a Peacekeeper throws the door open and tells my mom to leave. ''Give us a few more s-seconds!'' she pleads, but he threatens her by pulling out a gun. She cries until no more tears come out, but still, the emptiness and sorrow remains. Steadily putting me down, she kisses my forehead and waves me goodbye, walking off with the Peacekeeper.
When the door closes, I hear her muffled screams as she shouts, ''You terrible, terrible people, putting a twelve-year-old boy in the Games! Have you no sympathy? What is wrong with you stupid Capitol supports?! You're delusional and crazy if you think that putting a child, who hasn't even hit puberty yet, in a death match is right! You disgusting sons of bitches!''
Only a few seconds pass by before Levon – my slave – comes to visit me. ''Hey,'' he waves rapidly, standing at the entrance of the room awkwardly.
Fires of hatred and fury start smoldering in my small, narrowed eyes as I weigh the pros and cons of the various and creative means available to me for exacting revenge – but screw the deep thinking!
My breath turns from quiet and regular to a panting gasp. Sucking the air like it has suddenly become thick and is too difficulty to draw in, I become deaf to the soothing words of Levon, rapidly backtracking on his oddly uncomfortable stance. But as he begins to give me a weird look and apologize, I know that it's irreversible.
The first thing I grab is a purple vase that I snatch off of a platinum desk and chuck it at him. It cracks against the wall with a sudden burst as he ducks, and I explode. Charging straight at him, the tears dripping from my eyes, I pummel him to the ground, hitting his head with a fury of punches, kneeing his stomach, and biting at the arms that he raises to defend himself.
They say that we can't feel the pain of others, but Levon's scream is the same agony that I feel right now, seeping into my skin. I take it in, letting myself feel it, and stay there to reciprocate the same action.
High-pitched and raw, my scream is the kind of sound that bypasses your logical thinking and goes straight to your emotional response – it's the sound of a child in pain. ''You let me go up there and didn't volunteer for me! You want me to die, don't you!?''
If hatred was visible, the air would be scarlet right now. There are no-holds-barred when I attack. I pull out Levon's hair in handfuls, headbutting him and slamming his head into the carpet multiple times. There's an immediate bruise that forms on the bottom of his eyelids, causing them to swell, and blood drips from one of his nostrils and down to his chin.
''Give me your shirt!'' I bite, pulling the top off of Levon's head. He lies there, allowing me to tug at his clothes. ''And your stupid jewelry!''
Grabbing his neck, I rip off a pearl necklace and watch as the beads free fall and bounce off of the floor. ''M-My dad gave t-that to me,'' he croaks.
''Shut up, bitch!'' I spit, smacking him across the face. ''You're a stupid piece of shit for not helping me out!''
The door swings open, and I jump off of Levon. As it rapidly moves, the corner of it smacks him on top of his head, and he lies there, his thinking paralyzed. He shuts down in a fetal position, attempting to protect his vital organs and ride out the storm.
The Peacekeeper stares at me, and then averts his eyes to Levon. ''What?'' I ask, sniffing my snot back up. ''Just get him out of here!''
Ask and you shall receive, I guess. The door closes with Levon being carried out a bloody, eleven-year-old pulp, nearly unconscious, the Peacekeeper unquestioning.
It's not my fault. When you betray a friend, you deserve what comes to you.
Krissy McCoy, District Thirteen
It's impossible to avoid my family now.
There's a tenseness in my muscles that makes me feel more like a mannequin on this soft chair more than a woman of flesh and bone. I wanna melt onto the soft foam, wrapped in eiderdown, and drift away – but all I can do is sit here and control my feelings, because remaining collected will help me out in the long-run.
The moment of truth arrives when my parents and younger sister are accompanied into my waiting room. I feel it as soon as my father opens up that big mouth of his.
''Krissy, you're going to win. Do you understand me?'' I don't even look at him, but instead just stare at my bitten fingernails. ''No daughter of mine is going to fall at the hands of some privileged idiots. You can win, and you will win. Won't you, Krissy?''
Nothing but silence floods the air.
''Answer me when I'm speaking to you, Krissy!''
''Yes, Father, I'll win,'' I assure.
He nods his head appreciatively, like I've given him my word – but I have. I've always given him my word. The rage that I feel on the inside won't ever subside because I'll never stop handing him what he wants. Not until I die.
''Krissy, I love you, and I hope you know that,'' Mom chatters, already starting. ''Let's just admit that the past was rough. But that doesn't matter now, because we've dealt with it. It's over with, and I can't hate you for what happened. I bet you won't believe me when I tell you this, but, I was so relieved when you came back to us. You're my daughter, and seeing you like this right now... it pains me.''
Get this over and done with, please, I beg inside my mind. I just want them to leave so that I don't have to feel so embarrassed anymore. Facing them is bad enough as it is, but having to hear them relay our past events is torture!
''But just like your father said, you will make it back.'' She says that like it's a fact, when in all reality, my chances of surviving in the Games aren't very high. ''You have a huge advantage over the other tributes! Any injuries that they inflict or receive, you can heal them – you know how to heal them. Everyone's going to want to ally with you because of your skills! We know how it is in the arena – we've seen the Games before. Get yourself in with the Careers, learn a thing or two from them, but be safe and get away when the time is right. You have just a great of a shot at winning as much as they do. My expectations for you are set at the ceiling.''
Yeah, right! I dare to say. What kind of skills? Sewing up cuts and providing minimal surgery to those who need it, without getting squeamish?
''Thank you,'' I force those words out. ''I've screwed up before, but I'll make it up to you guys by w-winning, even if I have to risk my life by trying to get in with people like the Careers.''
''Not just before, but a lot, Krissy.'' Fuck off! ''I wish that you had turned out like Elsie. She's determined and has the nerves to do what we do, but you don't. If she was reaped for this stupid event, I bet she'd give the Capitol a run for their money.''
There he goes again, describing how much better she is compared to me. All my life, I've been told that she was the more capable one – the future of family. And me? I'm the mousy shadow that hides in the corner, while everyone else gathers around to praise her, just like ants do to an unfinished sandwich.
Elsie turns to me and smiles, comprehensibly upset. ''Dad...'' she tries.
''No, Elsie, what I'm saying is true.'' There's a feeling that lingers over my body, showing that no matter how hard I try, I just can't do anything right. My work as a nurse is a mere shame compared to Elsie's future career as a surgeon. My thousands of morphling doses aren't yet adequate enough to get me through the demands of my parents. The raw feeling in my fingers is something to be ashamed of.
I feel... unaccomplished.
And my dad ranting on about how 'I need to change as soon as possible' and that 'I'm not good enough just yet, but will be soon', doesn't help at all.
''Okay!'' I scream, slamming my balled fists against my knees. ''I get it, all right? I get it!''
My yelling seems to encourage a Peacekeeper to enter the room and order my family to leave. There's no patience in the tone of his voice, which makes me feel relaxed – because he sounds serious, and they'll definitely retire from the room if they don't want to cause any trouble.
Mom pats me on my shoulder and rubs my back, telling me how much she loves me, before aiming for the door. Elsie sighs, staring at me with a hint of sadness and uncertainty. There's no reason for me to hate her, but she's always got something about her that's better than me, and I... I can't stand it.
Unlike everyone else, Dad doesn't even spare me a look. It's as if he doesn't even care about how I'm feeling on the inside, but instead just carries out what he believes is right.
The door shuts closed with a thud, causing the picture frames that are hanging on the walls to shake vigorously.
My brain becomes a violent whirl of stupidity, trying to organize the chaos in my life. It seeks to discover a way to control the capriciousness of my family, to acquiesce and please them so that our encounters are softer, less draining. The task is pointless, though, because I'll be dead in a few days – savagely murdered by the hands of some other kid around my age, or ripped to shreds by mutts.
Even though my conscious brain knows all this, my subconscious remains stubborn in its attempts to protect me, to ensure of my survival.
The stress spreads through my mind like ink on paper. I take in a deep, ragged breath before placing my hands, enclosed together, on my chin.
I wish they hadn't accepted me back into the household. Instead, they should have let me rot on the dirty streets like a dog. I should've died from my wounds a long time ago, but here I am – alive, ashamed, despondent.
Slumping down in the cushion seats, I relax my neck and let my head rest on the comforting pillow.
''Why can't I get nice things in my life?''
Aether Cynephris
It's always the same, a crushing pain just on one side of my head that comes and goes in a pattern. It makes me want to pace about; I can't sit, I can't lie down or relax. One eye waters on the painful side and my nose runs. I hate it, I despise it, I execrate it!
Stop it! I tell myself. Ignore your feelings and get through the pain. Suck it up and stop being weak.
Opening up the door, one of the grand Peacekeepers ushers Escalus – my trainer, my lover, my buddy – into the room. When the door closes, he looks at me in such a seductive way that I can't help but bite my bottom lip.
''Come out alive, Aether,'' he simply says, slowly approaching me. When he's only a few inches from my body, he raises his hand in a second. It smacks across my face, snapping my head back with the force of his blow and causing me to reel sickeningly back into a wall. Black dots cover the center of my vision, and I'm standing in the middle of a room with a man – who has actions similar to a werewolf – holding my arms tightly behind my back, the pain of his hold causing me to let out a startled little gasp of pain. ''You owe me, so don't disappoint. It'd be a real shame if I didn't have anyone else to toy with like I do you.''
''I would rather you take a knife to my skin and speak those cold words at the same time,'' I grunt. ''Strike me, then. Beat me. Do whatever you want!''
''I've poured warmth into you for so long and you love it, I know you do,'' he snickers. ''Every time a new wound, a new scar, is added to the collection, you know that it can never stop you from loving me. But I need you to try real hard to return. I've come too far with you, and I don't want to go back. You please and satisfy me – you fulfill my urges. Don't let it all go to waste. Now thank me.''
I steady my breathing, allowing Escalus to pinch me and bite my shoulder.
''T-Thank you,'' I try.
''For what?''
''For everything!''
His hands suddenly twitch, and I can feel his pulse on my body. Like always, he's prone to anger easily, and he'll take his frustration out on me. ''Be more specific..!''
But then, he's ordered to get out of the room when a Peacekeeper says that it's time to go. Letting go of me like nothing ever happened, he walks away calmly, leaving me panting in pain and agony. But I love it.
I just want a life where I can forever be alone from all the suffering that the world has to offer, away from the violent murders that occur everyday; away from the screaming arguments that I witness out on the streets; away from the social class system that enlists you in specific programs.
But what I want most of all is a perfect utopian society where no-one is ever hurt again. Nobody will go hungry, no child will go parent-less, and no more people will be abandoned and destroyed by those who they believe love them.
Suddenly, the door is opened once again – but this time, Mariam walks in.
''Look what I got today!'' she sings, running towards me with an appearance of excitement written all over her. ''There's a comb, a wallet, and I even got this half-eaten omelet.''
I give her a look. ''What?'' she asks. ''Don't judge. The value of it doesn't matter as long as I'm fed, right? You understand, don't you, since you've been in the same mess as me?''
''I get you,'' I smile at her. ''Do what you need to in order to survive, Mariam. I just wish that you could be taken in somehow, so that it'd be easier to survive, instead of...''
''Living out on the streets? Yeah, I wish so, too, but that's never gonna happen,'' she decides. ''Life isn't that easy or perfect, but promise me that when you win, you'll help me out?''
''Of course!'' I look her in the eye. ''You deserve so much better than this... A little girl like you shouldn't have to go through the struggles that life's throwing your way. Can I tell you a little secret before I go off, though?''
''For sure! What is it?''
''You've always been my favorite person in the whole wide world,'' I nod, ''and I mean that. You're not stuck up like all of the Academy kids, and you have morals – the kind that I can respect. Stay alive for as long as possible.''
''I will,'' she manages. ''Also, do you have a token?''
''No, why?''
''Take this,'' she offers, handing me her comb. Gladly, I take it and thank her – which she repays the gesture by hugging me. But then she has to leave, because apparently time's up, although it seems like she's been in here for a shorter amount of time than Escalus.
When she exits, I'm all to myself again – where I want to and dream to be.
I made Mariam a promise, but what if I can't keep it? What if I'm not good enough to succeed in the Games and die early? What if the other Careers, or another tribute, manages to take me down when I'm vulnerable, and she has to live in misery for the rest of her life?
Why did you do it? Why'd you make a promise that you know will only be broken in the end?
''Why can't I focus!?'' I question myself, rapidly slamming my head against the wall repeatedly. ''Why is it so hard? What is it that I'm even feeling?''
I want such a good life for myself and those around me, but it seems so fruitless – so unachievable. And it hurts...
'It's heavy' is the only way I can describe it. I have to carry it around even though I don't want to. It's always over me whenever I have to deal with my indulgent dreams, casting in its shadow on my life. Like a thin thread, it hangs, too fragile to hold something so heavy. It's strange, yet all too familiar.
I wanna smile. I wanna laugh at my thoughts and continue to believe in hope, but something in me grabs my heart tightly and crushes it to pieces. The brightness inside of me – that I long to discover – is pushed even deeper into the darkness that gulps me up. No, I'm wrong to say that it's dark. It's actually empty...
And nothing else.
A/N: Ayeee! So I temporarily forgot that Friday was off, and because of that I was able to get a head start on this chapter. Studying, playing sports, finding time to manage with friends and writing hasn't been as hard as I assumed. I've made time for everything that I'm obligated to do, so it's a major stress reliever. Anyway, sorry that this chapter came out so long. The only reason why it turned out like this is because I decided to go with six POVs instead of five. Six because sooner or later, I'd have to write six in order to get everyone's first point of view distributed appropriately. And so I decided that this chapter was the best for that. Honestly, it was hard to choose who I wanted to write. I thought about giving Pavel a POV here, Aspen, too, and Millet, as well. Lucretia, even. Can't forget about Eloise. Basically, a lot of tributes had amazing family relationships, or just great reactions to being reaped, so much that I wanted to write them all, but I like the group I ended up with here and have decided to switch a few things up.
I hate to make people wait and keep them anxious to see their tributes, so if you wanna know when your special guy/girl will be shown, just shoot me a PM and I'll let you know. Some don't get one until the game festivities, because I figure that it suits them best. Also, speaking of game festivities, this is how the whole story structure is laid out: two reaping chapters, one train ride, one Capitol session where they prepare for the Chariot Rides, then the Chariot Rides, and lastly, the first day of training, which will cap off every tribute. After that, it's the standard routine until the Games begin - and by then, honestly, not everyone will have two POVs, so there'll be a twist. Can't wait to reach the Games, really. You know how every SYOT usually has that initial Victor that the author has planned out since day one or so? Yeah, well, for this story, I think it's honestly anyone's game. I've gotten questions asking if I had needed fodder Bloodbath tributes, and fr fr, anyone can die in the Bloodbath, so keep that in mind. I could knock off three Careers if I really wanted to, but we'll see what happens. Hopefully that lifts the spirits of anyone who's doubted their tribute going far. Anyway, questions?
Favorite tribute, and why?
Least favorite, and why?
Opinions, if you'd like to share them?
You go to get your finger pricked, and a Peacekeeper of the opposite gender is teasing you like you've never been teased before in your life. And honestly, you're mad uncomfortable with how they're caressing you. Do you say something? Do you expose them by calling something out loud? Do you simply stand there and kinda brush it off? Wyd?
Alright, well that's pretty much it. Also, these tributes were honestly pretty hard to write for. Like I said in the chapter before this, everyone has such detailed personalities that it's hard to showcase all of it. I try to at least get in two paragraphs worth of personality in every POV, and I hope that it was enough. When writing tributes, I try to picture myself as them and write how I would feel or what I'd do in that position, and I aim for it to work out well. Been sticking with that momentum since day one, so I'm optimistic enough to hope that it doesn't let me down now. Tbh, though, I struggle with proofreading my chapters, so chill if mistakes pop out like hell. I'm lazy asf, and honestly, I don't wanna pay an online site to do it for me or have friends go through that - I think it's my burden, and I'm a bit stubborn at times when letting others do things for me, so yeah, just a little thing that I've noticed about my writing over the, like, two years of this hobby. I loved all of your reviews, btw, and they always put a smile on my face. Seriously, I can't thank y'all enough. I hope that Good Friday has been an amazing day and that Easter Sunday will be even better for you guys, if you celebrate them, and even if you don't; but either way, have a great time doing whatever it is that you're planning. Besides that, not really much else to say. See y'all next time! ^-^
