Chapter Seven.
Pre-Reapings, Part Five.
Manfred Vargas, 17 years old;
Sector Four Male.
In the solitary silence of his bedroom, Manny felt almost at peace.
Within these four walls he had spent a long time over the years trying to blot out the noise of the outside world. If he closed the door, shut the windows and pulled the curtains tight, Manny felt as if Two was no longer there. It was just him and him alone and that was okay. He didn't need anyone – didn't feel as if he had to be anyone else. He was just Manfred – Manny – Vargas and that was fine.
He toyed with the hairbrush on his bedside table and set it down, pulling a long strand of his hair from the bristles and twirling it in the air. If he focused long enough on something so small and so trivial, his heart started to beat less, the sweat on his palms became less claggy, and Manny felt as if he were twelve years old again, happy and content enough with the world to let it drift on by peacefully.
Then he heard it from downstairs, through the floorboards as if it were a hungry, ravaging force trying to seek him out. The noise and the buzz of his family's household – the ring of a doorbell as he heard the singsong voice of his girlfriend, and inside his stomach everything came raging once more through his body, twisting and turning its way through the peacefulness that had started to settle.
He was on edge, both literally and metaphorically, his legs now dangling off the side of his bed as he waited for his name to be shouted aloud. Tomorrow… tomorrow this can all just be… silent. It had got to the point where in some deep, dark and deluded part of his mind, volunteering for the Games felt like the only way to really become the Manny that he wanted to be.
The Manny he had started to forget existed.
"MANFRED!"
The door burst open and the glumness of Manny's sullen grin was replaced almost instantly with a widespread, shit-eating smile that Manny adopted, a switch in his entire physique. His girlfriend arched an eyebrow at him as she leant against the side of the door. Manny admired her for her external beauty, but quickly he'd realised he'd been lulled into a false sense of security. It seemed to always be that way – he let people in before realising who they truly were. And quick as a flash, he found it almost impossible to work his way back out. So, he adapted. The smile on his face was his way of dealing with the girl he'd fallen out of love with almost as quickly as he'd fallen in love with.
"You aren't wearing that shirt, are you?"
Manny's stomach coiled and almost reflexively he looked down at the pale blue shirt that hugged his body. He liked it. A shirt was a shirt in Manny's eyes. "Is something wrong?"
"You know I prefer you in red," Greta said, sidling in closer to Manny, placing a delicate finger against his jaw and tracing it all the way to his lips. It sent a chill down his spine. "Could you change before we go?"
"Of course!" Manny chirped, standing up and turning away from Greta, the smile dropping almost instantly as he rummaged through his wardrobe.
He picked out a shirt he knew Greta would like and regretted being so stupid as to pretend he could get away with wearing what he wanted. Whether it was a shirt Greta disapproved of, or a tie that was askew and didn't suit his father's perception of who he should be, Manny no longer existed in this world as who he wanted to be. Which was why he tried to throw himself in as many different directions as he could, hoping something would stick. If he spent too much time thinking, he'd easily convince himself out of it.
Greta looped her arm through Manny's and pulled him towards his bedroom door as he finally changed. "Perfect! So, how's your day been?"
Manny opened his mouth to speak but as quickly as he formed the first word, Greta immediately spiralled into a verbal overflow of how she'd finished her final exam, had picked out three dresses she liked, and couldn't wait for Manny to get a real job. Because how on earth could he provide for the future Vargases that were to roam the District and make their mark? He nodded along with Greta and made all the right noises, kissing her on the cheek as his father then turned the corner, eyeing Manny up and down as he stood under his scrutiny, only inches from the door and the outside world.
"Your friends were round late last night."
Manny thought back to the booze they'd shared and the cigarette he'd passed around. It still felt clogged up in his lungs. Manny didn't smoke – it was disgusting, made him feel gross and honestly he just did not get it. But with the boys he knew they liked doing it so he did it too. They laughed with Manny when he acted that way and somewhere on the surface it made him feel happy to be accepted by them. And then deep down that acceptance made him feel only more rotten.
"I'm sorry if we disturbed you," Manny said, feeling Greta's burning eyes scolding his cheek. Stand up for yourself! Don't let that horrid man walk all over you! As if Manny didn't allow Greta to walk all over him as well. It was a double-edged sword no matter how he looked at it. "I can see if we can go around theirs next time."
"Yes, yes," his father said, dismissing it immediately. "I found this by the way in your mother's things. Not sure why she kept it if I'm honest."
When his father handed Manny a screwed-up roll of paper and stalked off, before Manny could even unfurl it, Greta had dragged him outside the front door and towards the pathway outside. He heard birds chirping but usually when Manny marvelled in the natural beauty surrounding him, a distraction from everything else, he could only focus on the bundle of paper in his hands.
I have to… "Sorry, babe. One sec."
She scowled at him as he unlinked his arm but if something was going to make it possible for Manny to ignore her stares, it was a memory of his mother. His breath caught in his throat as his eyes hovered over the paint strokes of yellow and the pale blue that matched his shirt from earlier. A burning red sun in the sky with delicate swipes of pink and purple. And in the bottom, a badly scrawled bit of writing in Manny's younger penmanship.
To Mum, I painted this because I know you like the sky. And because we were asked at school to do something we like. Get better soon, Manny.
He could feel something in the corner of his eye. It felt like a tear. Do NOT cry! He could still feel Greta staring at him but beside her, the younger version of Manny stood watching him, a version of Manny that was a quiet boy, who loved colour and creativity. A boy that just wanted to paint and read and enjoy his life.
"What an ugly painting. Thank god you don't do that anymore!"
Greta's laugh pulled Manny from his thoughts and for a moment, a brief moment that disappeared immediately, he thought about telling her where to stick her opinions. About how unhappy he was. About how all he wanted to do was be who he wanted to be.
But he didn't, because Manny no longer knew how to stick up for himself.
"Yeah," Manny said, laughing. "Fucking dreadful."
He scrunched it back up and put it into his pocket.
Being with Greta, as much as he disliked it, also made him feel validated in a world that toppled over the weak. It was a cruel system, but a system he was now a part of if he didn't escape somehow. Call it deluded, call it whatever you liked, but he knew what he was about to do.
It felt like the only true freedom, regardless of the result.
He missed his world of colour.
To Mum…
I'm sorry.
Palatine Linott, 16 years old;
Sector Six Male.
At the top of the staircase, Palatine felt himself pause and look down to the hallway that led to the front door.
In his arms, tucked to his chest, he carried two books of human anatomy that Kyana would want soon returned. He knew that was where he would head first, never one to miss a deadline and let someone he actually cared about down, but right now it was putting one foot onto the top step that he weirdly found strenuous.
Downstairs he could hear his parents talking over their lunch, distant words that drifted into earshot about the principal of Palatine's school, his latest report card that he'd handed over yesterday and this and that and this and that and… ugh. Not for the first time, Palatine wanted to run with the books still held to his chest back into his bedroom and slam the door.
Just once, he wanted his parents to simply not care about a stupid letter. Not care about a percentage next to his name and a subject that he'd disregarded as non-important long ago. In their mind, everything mattered, even the mundane things that would get him nowhere in life. For Palatine, he genuinely loved school, but he wanted to be the best at the subjects he actually enjoyed. Not the ones that would get him the best career in life.
I'm sixteen… sixteen and they've created the path I'm supposed to walk on without even talking to me… they talk at me…
The books were an anchor for him, interesting tomes that told him a lot about the human body that he surprisingly didn't already know, and down he started, step by step until he reached the hallway. He hoped they wouldn't head towards him but Palatine already knew he couldn't leave without saying anything. Maybe his mind told him that he wanted to be free from their pressure, but he still loved them, and always wanted to make them proud.
"Mum, dad! I'm off out!" he shouted, waiting for their hurried footsteps that soon echoed down from the kitchen. His mother was the first out, rounding the corner and staring down at him. She was a huge busy-body, micro-managing every aspect of Palatine's life, but she still cared and he could tell by the way she dusted down his shoulder and smiled at him.
"Finished them already?" she said, eyeing the books in his arms.
"Yep!" Palatine said, proudly reshuffling them so they didn't slip to the ground. "Might get some more on the old military tactics. They're always pretty interesting."
"Well the more knowledge in that sharp head of yours, the better."
It was a funny relationship he shared with the knowledge he loved. Because he genuinely did enjoy stuffing so much into his head that he felt like he was going to explode – especially the bits and pieces about strategy and how people work and the best ways to overcome them without having to be the strongest person in the room. It had been the former that had scored him top marks in several classes at the Academy, and the latter that had lost him his sponsorship and out from the Academy he had been instructed.
It had dented his pride a little, but it wasn't the end for him. There were plenty of other opportunities in Two to make a living. It wasn't as if everyone volunteered for the Hunger Games.
But the knowledge in his head was also becoming so overbearing because he just wanted to be… sixteen. When his father peered over his wife's shoulder, he smiled at his son but there had always been a disconnect. It felt disingenuous and Palatine could read it like the book in his arms.
"Linney will be here shortly. Maybe go with her?"
Palatine thought of his newest and best friend and nodded his head, realising he'd forgotten. He liked her a lot for her personality, and his parents liked her a lot for her deep pockets. Especially his father who longed to be on the same level as her family and yet seemed never to quite grasp a higher rung.
"Well… I'm off!"
Palatine bid his parents goodbye and quickly left the house, flinging the front door shut a little harsher than he intended, and he walked down the pathway to the open road with almost a spring in his step. Most people completely ignored him as he made his way to the Academy where Kyana ran her library. Whilst he couldn't spend his time actually training, she had made certain arrangements so he could still use her library. Mainly because no one else really wanted to.
He didn't mind being ignored. Most people looked at him and saw a stereotypical bookworm and that suited him just fine. Stereotypes worked in his favour anyway because it meant he was overlooked and being out of the centre of attention was exactly the place Palatine thrived. There was less pressure coming from the outside and away from his parents' insurmountable burden, he felt a sense of relief outside that he didn't with them.
"Palatine!"
He brightened up at the arrival of Linney, a girl who had also left the Academy for reasons linked to the fact she was probably the nicest and least hostile person he'd ever come across. She was the gateway into a life outside of train, read, train, read that Palatine hadn't realised he'd been missing. A life of simple luxury.
That luxury being genuine friendship.
"I'm guessing we're headed to grab some more books?" Linney said with a bright laugh. When Palatine nodded sheepishly, almost embarrassed for some bizarre reason, she nudged him playfully with her shoulder and the two continued down the road, watching the buzz of District Two play out from the side-lines.
People were genuinely so absorbed with the Games that it was mind-boggling to Palatine. He wasn't against them per se, but they were easy to read when he had watched them. Especially the tributes from Two – like so many people around him, they were so simple to pick apart he could read them front to back.
Linney didn't seem to mind and pointed at a huge banner strewn across a bakery's front door. "Bit morose that red colour but I suppose it's fitting."
"What are you doing after tomorrow's Reaping?" Palatine asked.
She shrugged. "Might get some drink in, maybe have some people round. Parents will be out at a party, so I've got a free place."
Palatine felt his heart start to beat quicker. The invitation was there, though not explicitly said, because Linney was always trying to get Palatine to do fun things that teenagers did. And usually, as much as he wanted to say yes, he typically said no. This time, however… no. Fuck my parents.
Woah, he thought. It was a weird thought that ran through his mind.
"I'll see if I'm free," Palatine said.
He tried not to focus on the eye-roll Linney exaggerated because it made him feel guilty and angry and everything that he always felt. Instead, he thought back to the pages inside the book, and as they walked, he rattled off fact after fact after fact that both interested him, and made him feel silly.
One day, Palatine was sure he'd figure it out. He always did in the end. But as each day passed and he was more and more set on the fact that he wanted to just be himself, he knew that no matter what choice of career he made in life, every action and every word he uttered would matter.
Because it always did. Nothing was ever taken for granted.
He looked at Linney and marvelled in the freedom she exuded and Palatine could feel the walls starting to cave, only a little, but the tremor was there.
And he was scared of the earthquake.
The inevitability of it all crashing down upon him.
Everything becoming nothing.
Callisto Rius, 17 years old;
Sector Eight Female.
"It's like this, Flavia," Callisto said, gripping her hand tighter around the spear, arching herself slightly backwards as if prepared to throw it towards the tree. "Focus on your target and it'll find its mark. It's honestly so easy, even someone like you could do it."
Callisto watched as the younger girl beamed up at Callisto, clearly enamoured by her to the point of being completely clueless to the insult Callisto had just thrown her way. It was the main reason why she kept her around. The fact that Flavia bought into Callisto's talents so much made it impossible for even Callisto to doubt herself. To allow the insecurities to dig in a little deeper.
"So, remain focused and it'll hit wherever you're aiming for?" Flavia asked.
Callisto nodded and then rolled her eyes. "C'mon you gotta use those elephant ears for something. Otherwise I'm wasting my breath. I could be using this golden advice on someone who actually might make it into the Games but I'm bestowing it upon you because you're my friend."
Friend. As if.
Callisto leaned back, eyed up the thick mossy tree trunk, and threw the spear forwards with as much force as she could. It whistled in the wind and as Callisto's heart began to soar, it plummeted down her stomach and out her ass as it skittered against the bark and disappeared into the undergrowth.
Fucking-balls-shit-fuck. Callisto looked at Flavia whose eyes were now meeting her eyebrows, risen in confusion. Callisto waved a hand and brought it through her blonde hair, flipping it over her other shoulder with a bright laugh. "And that Flavia is what happens if you don't focus. Merely a lesson in what you shouldn't do."
"Ooooohhhh! Thanks, Callisto. That makes sense."
Callisto looked at Flavia, looked at the forest scene in front where her spear was nowhere to be seen, and the words of her lesson circled in her mind. She focused so hard on what she'd just said that the anxiety that flushed her veins soon dissipated until she actually believed what she had just spoken. Callisto would not miss. She didn't do something so damn right stupid as missing. It was a lesson. A lesson for the less-fortunate.
"What should we do now?"
Callisto shrugged. "Go and get my spear. Obviously."
As Flavia nodded and scampered off, Callisto sat down on a small boulder just behind the two girls. She listened intently to the birdsong chittering away through the trees and felt the lovely breeze against the bare skin of her back, where she wore a sleeveless baggy training top that made her look and feel more the image of who she had tried to convey and believe she was her entire life.
Her weapons were scattered in the grassy clearing that they were stationed at. Two girls united in their dislike for the Academy. Callisto refused to enter those doors. She had done at one point. Back when her desire for the Games first started – when she first realised she was destined for greatness. But slowly as she watched more and more people who she believed lesser than her, climbing that ladder, becoming more and more skilled, Callisto couldn't do it.
Every time she sparred with them and they threw her over their shoulders, onto her back looking like a completely useless fool. Every time she practiced weaponry and received just slightly above average scores. It was too much. It did not match with the reality in her head, so Callisto decided to change her reality. A different setting for her training had reinvigorated Callisto to the point that when she thought about tomorrow, her future, she felt so secure and safe in it that she hoped time would just hurry up and she could be up on that stage.
It was time the world saw Callisto Rius and believed in her as much as she believed in herself.
Coming from a family of dead-beat businessmen and women, people who had no ambition in life but to stay put, made Callisto hunger for this even more.
And people like Flavia helped her take it to that next step. The reality was Callisto was on fire. She would win.
"Sorry!" Callisto heard the singsong voice of Flavia echo out from the treeline and she straightened her back, wiping the first drop of sweat that dared brim just above her eyebrows and watched as the girl clambered out from the trees, a spear swaying in the breeze by her side. "Took a while to find it. You've got a damn good throw, Callisto."
"I know that," Callisto said, extending her hand and waggling her fingers. "I think that's enough spear throwing for today though." In the back of her mind, the image of her missing replayed over and over, but it was so far back, that even Callisto had forgotten it had happened. "It's better to be a versatile trainee rather than sticking to just one thing. Spears aren't always going to be the most efficient weapon. Sometimes a knife might be a better choice. Or a sword. Or even your fists."
Flavia's mouth slackened and formed a perfect 'o.' "You mean you could kill someone with just your fists?!"
Callisto clenched her fingers to make two fists and nodded. "Even with my perfectly manicured tips, I could punch a bitch into a bloody pulp. That's why it's important you train in everything. Don't be a one-trick pony."
Callisto stood up and pointed to Flavia to collect all the weapons. The girl could barely see Callisto as she led the way, a sword, spear and a bag full of smaller weapons and targets piled up to her eye level. Callisto walked with nothing in her hands and swayed them by her side to and fro, whistling to herself as she marvelled in the beauty of the forest around her.
Two was so damn noisy back in the hubbub of Sector Eight. Besides, she hated being in Sector Eight anyway. Even before they'd been made, being so far out of the centre of the District just made her feel like she didn't belong. Someone of her calibre was meant for the middle. The inner ring. The upper echelon.
In a Games where half the tributes would come from the inner-Six, Callisto couldn't wait to meet them all. The butterflies that started to flutter in her stomach were because she was hungry. Not because the idea of those tributes suddenly made her feel nervous. She had trained for this – in her own unconventional way in fact.
"Come on, Flavia. You're dragging your feet."
There was a panting of breath and Callisto shot daggers over her shoulder in the direction of Flavia as her foot caught on a root and she fell face-first into the dirt. She spat a wad of blood from her mouth and grinned red at her. "Sorry, Callisto. I'm a clumsy idiot."
"Yes, you are." Callisto bent down to where Flavia's hand was extended and she picked up a solitary knife. "Ugh. I have to do everything."
She then turned her back and continued onwards, back towards her home. It was true that she carried everything and everyone around her. It was just the way someone like her, of her calibre, had to be in a world where she overlooked the masses.
It was a small price to pay for greatness.
And the rewards would be bountiful.
Her name in lights.
Sivan Arcuri, 17 years old;
Sector Twelve Female.
"Sector Twelve. I mean – Twelve. That's like District Twelve."
"We're nothing."
"I hate this Quell."
"Fucking Capitol."
It was all Sivan could hear as she slurped at the lukewarm soup from the corner of the facility's dining hall. Tucked away near the mountains in the outer ring of Two, close to the harsh wastelands that separated them from the rest of the country, lived Sector Twelve. A newly drawn up, easy-to-forget, slum of such a proud, vicious District. It served Sivan just fine – she didn't really understand why so many people were despondent over it, or bitched, or whined, or complained. Sector Twelve was still District Two. And they still had a facility to train, though it was much smaller.
Sivan had no time for the typical people that walked through those doors. But the feeling was mutual. Because most people didn't have time for Sivan either. It suited her just fine.
A tray slammed down beside Sivan and she almost jumped up, furrowing her eyebrows in momentary frustration until her eyes landed on Tati, perhaps Sivan's only real friend left in this world. She winked at Sivan as she slowly calmed herself down and sidled up close, ripping into a bread roll with her teeth and gazing out at the rest of the facility's inhabitants.
"Annoying, aren't they?"
Sivan nodded almost instantly. "Very."
"It's not like any of them want to volunteer anyway. We're not exactly the best people for the job."
Tati was correct in that. Sivan knew some stuff by being here, but training in these halls was almost like a hobby, an extra-curricular activity. It was just part of living in Two – most people picked up training at some point for various different reasons. When she thought about who she had first signed up with, the other Arcuri sister, it still left Sivan feeling a sharp pain through her chest, and then an irrational anger at how goddamn stupid my sister was!
Tati could sense Sivan's bristling anger. Sivan didn't do things in halves. If she was angry, it radiated off her. If she was happy, Sivan's laughter was like gentle sunlight. As much as Sivan was the type of person who just lived her life and did her best not to care what other people thought of her, the people around her made it very hard to forget.
She placed a hand on Sivan's shoulder and tried to smile pleasantly at her. "We could go for a milkshake after this? Or head back to my place. My parents are out."
Sivan knew what that might be suggesting and whilst she loved the freedom of her relationship with her best friend, knowing nothing else was ever going to happen, right now Sivan couldn't really focus on any of that. Across the hall, somewhere nearer to the centre, a group of very stereotypical bitchy mean-girls had obviously gathered because they were the type to claim the middle table. One of them – Supreme Bimbo Madison – was staring at her and Sivan's palms grew sweatier.
Don't come over. Don't come over. Don't come over. Sivan had lived with shame for a while now – people like Madison fed off of it. And as much as Sivan tried her best to stay true to who she was and flip the world the middle finger, people like Madison made it all the more harder to stay true to her values.
Tati looked over to where Sivan was so clearly staring and her shoulders tensed. "Shit."
"Shit indeed."
Both girls knew Madison was the type to look at people like Sivan and remain unable to simply stir the pot. When she twirled her legs out and strutted over towards the girls, Sivan straightened her back and swirled the spoon around her soup carelessly, doing her best to keep her heart as still in her chest as she possibly could.
"Enjoying your soup?" Madison asked.
Oooo bitchy. Ugh. Sivan internally eye-rolled and shrugged her shoulders. "It's pleasant enough. I'd ask what you were having but by the stench you're exuding I'm going to go with something fishy."
Tati snorted and Sivan couldn't help but giggle slightly. Yes, sometimes, girls would be girls and as proud and honourable as Sivan tried to remain, that wasn't always going to happen. She had to remain realistic in who she was. If people like Madison who spent the last few years ripping her to shreds thought Sivan would roll over and let them piss all over her, then they honestly had another thing coming.
Madison bristled and her cheeks went a rather amusing shade of bright red. "Us girls have already made a pact that if your horrible name is chosen, none of us are going to volunteer. It'll be good to see you go the same way as your pathetic sister."
"Don't talk about Vega."
"Weakness in a family runs thick. How long did it take her to die? Like – three minutes?"
Four. Sivan had the number burned into her brain.
Rather than correct Madison, Sivan did everything she could to swallow down her intensifying rage and she lifted her head, feeling Tati's hand delicately land on her knee underneath the table and squeeze it ever so gently. "Madison – don't pretend that the reason why none of you will volunteer is because you want to see me die so badly. Whilst I'm grateful for the attention, the reason none of us, myself included, will volunteer is because none of us want to! A foreign concept I'm sure to District Two – but I train because it's fun. Or at least it was to begin with."
Why Sivan had bothered sticking around after everything went down, she wasn't so sure. But this part of her life was almost stamped into her entire being and it was hard, even with the abuse in the wake of her sister's death, to simply ignore the pull this facility had on her.
"I think what Sivan means is – go blow a dick and leave us alone."
Sivan looked at Tati and nodded her head. "Yeah. Exactly that."
Madison turned away and strutted off. It was petty high school bullshit and Sivan just wanted to enjoy her lunch. As she brought the soup to her lips again, she watched as the girls fell into a very loud and very obvious bitch-fest directed at a girl that refused to become swallowed by the drama of it all.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, she remembered all the grisly details of a death that she'd imagined for people like Madison back when the bullying had been at its worst. Even for someone like Sivan, it had taken its toll, and the District Two in her couldn't help but think what it would be like for all of the horrific people to get their just desserts.
As Sivan tried to stomach all her emotions and place them to one side, those darker thoughts continued to flicker, and Sivan knew they would always be a part of her. She wasn't perfect at trying to be a better person than them all – sometimes, she couldn't help but give in a little.
"Can we grab that milkshake?" Sivan asked, smiling at Tati.
Her best friend – her only friend – nodded warmly and the two girls headed towards the door, ignoring whatever words were thrown at their backs.
Sivan would continue to try her best to make it through life the way her parents had taught her. Through hard work and conviction. It didn't matter if she wasn't near the top of the ladder because she had no aspirations to ever make it there. Day by day, Sivan would live her life the way she enjoyed living it.
And if people had a problem with that, then it was indeed their problem, not hers.
Life was too short to care that much.
Bit of a later update, sorry about that. Being back at work full time is tough but it's nice knowing that I still want to write around that. Again big thanks for those of you sending me your comments and reviews – it's helpful to see what you think.
One more pre-Reaping chapter left and we will have seen all our tributes!
Up next: Ryland, Kaia, Valdis and Damali.