Chapter Eight.
Pre-Reapings, Part Six.
Ryland Mercer, 18 years old;
Sector Four Female.
Ryland looked at the chequered blanket, the quaint wicker basket and the assortment of foods and drinks layered atop with both amusement, and a childish disgust.
"Are we really doing this?"
Her parents looked up at her and gave her the usual don't-question-us-Ryland-Mercer-whilst-you-live-under-our-roof-blah-blah-blah spiel and Ryland just shrugged her shoulders. She wasn't exactly one to bite her tongue – whether around family or strangers it didn't matter and quite frankly a picnic was fucking stupid. But also crazily adorable.
Her stomach rumbled at the sight of a steaming pie and she couldn't help but beam like a little kid as her parents took out the paper plates and passed them around. "I call dibs!" Ryland shouted, leaning forwards over Beck's – brother number one – outstretched arm to which she slapped away his fingers and stuck her tongue out at him.
"Really. You're eighteen years old," he drawled.
Ryland shrugged again nonchalantly. Without even a smile on her face to betray the fiery edge swirling behind her eyes, she just looked at him. "Your floorboards desperately need a break. I hear them screaming every-time you leave your bed."
"I am not fat."
"When you stand on the scales, it reads to be continued…"
"Fuck off."
"Make me."
"Mum!"
"Oooo, calling mummy are we. Ickle, bickle Beckle."
The two siblings argued as their parents just watched them exasperated. Neither said anything because Ryland was Ryland and this was their lot. Their other brother was leaning back on his arms, watching the exchange with joyous eyes which only spurred Ryland on further. She'd spent a long, long time beating herself up for not conforming to the point where she had started to become someone completely different.
Unapologetically, she'd drawn a line in the sand and flipped a finger at the world and allowed herself to be who she was. Loud, in charge, the sort of sister that even at eighteen acted about five and argued with her elder brother because it was fun. And why not have a little fun in a country like Panem where even now, looking around the open park her parents had insisted they spend the day before the Reaping enjoying family time, Ryland could see the mechanical life of Two stitched into every fabric of life.
Her muscles almost tingled at the sight of two teenagers sparring with wooden swords. Her biceps ached from all the extra training she'd put in yesterday and with the officials at her own facility having chosen her for this year's Games, even Ryland had known that putting in some added work was essential. Her friends hadn't even asked her to skip class because they knew that it was actually important.
If she had to, Ryland could keep her head down. She just usually preferred not to. And as for zipping her mouth shut, like her parents wanted her to right this very moment by the incredibly stern look they were giving her, that was an extra challenge.
And she loved a challenge.
"Did you make it yourself?" she asked, biting into her own slice of pie now that Beck had resigned to his defeat and instead opted for a cheese sandwich. Warmth trickled down Ryland's throat and her stomach sang with delight. "Mum this is better than sex."
"Ryland!"
"Ew," Torben – brother number two – finally said. "You're like what? Thirteen?"
"I'm eighteen."
"Oh, really? Since when?"
"Since mum decided eighteen years ago that her first two children were such disappointments and she thought she'd shoot her shot at a third. And look – there isn't a fourth. So clearly they struck gold."
Torben's lip curled up in a smirk and Beck just shook his head. Growing up, they'd thrown her around a hell of a lot and Ryland had never been able to stand up for herself. Now – as an actual physical threat – she could roll with the best of them.
As the Mercer family continued to enjoy the weirdly enjoyable picnic that their parents had set out for them, Ryland picked at the crust of her pie and watched the world drift on by. Her feet felt antsy just sat atop the blanket and her fingers were fidgeting to the point where she had to forcefully sit on them to keep them still.
Her stomach was a mess of nerves and she hated it. She knew she was good. Even better than good. And the fact that she'd been chosen had clearly been a signifier for just how damn hot she was with a sword, so she knew deep down she had a lot to back up what was about to become her present day life. But that didn't stop her looking at her brothers and her parents, her boring, run-of-the-mill, yet loving parents, and miss them even though they were sat right in front of her.
She annoyed her mum and dad to no end. It didn't matter that technically they were an authority figure in her life. She'd pissed off as many teachers as she had kids at the Academy. But watching her mum now target Beck, slapping his hand away as he tried to poke her in the ribs with a giggle, Ryland's heart swam in an annoying pool of unsureness and it made her feel sick.
"Alright there, Ryland?"
It was Torben's voice and she clung to it, an anchor for her to pull herself free. She shook her frizzy hair side to side and nodded, forcing a Ryland-esque smile back onto her face. As quickly as those doubts had arrived, Ryland was back and she refused to allow herself that weakness. She'd done the whole insecure weirdo thing, the anxiety-riddled young girl whimsically walking through teenage-hood. She didn't need the hassle.
"I'm good. All good here. I was just watching."
"Anything interesting?" Torben said with a smile. "You don't have to act the fool."
"What do you mean?" Ryland could feel her defences already building up. A mechanism there that had become second nature. "There's some interesting folk around here. And some ugly ones too."
"Well yeah, but you're leaving us tomorrow, and don't try and pretend you ain't at least a little nervous."
"I'm fine."
"Fine?"
"Yes," Ryland said, nodding her head. "Absolutely fine. Now shut the fuck up and eat your cake."
He popped a spoon into his mouth and shrugged his shoulders. "Suit yourself."
Ryland's eyes once again fell on the two teenagers fighting with wooden weaponry and she pictured herself in a week clutching an actual sword, pointing it at another teenager and killing them. It was just her life. A life she'd been conditioned towards. And as someone who was who she was and did not give a fuck what anyone had to say, it felt like a battle was going on in her head between whether this was what she actually wanted, or what she thought she wanted.
It was too complicated and Ryland did not do complicated thoughts.
Shut the fuck up, bitch, Ryland thought to herself. Eat some more pie!
So, she did and she did so hungrily.
It was a good distraction.
And right now, Ryland needed as many as she could get.
Kaia Wilder, 18 years old;
Sector Six Female.
Underneath the oak tree in her garden, Kaia could watch the world drift by happily and nothing more.
She sat with her back on the gentle grass, eyes scanning the fluffy white clouds for shapes that were incoherent yet amused her, feeling the rays of the sun scorching her skin. She took a deep breath and exhaled with a placid smile on her face.
This is the life, Kaia mused inwardly, watching a bird land on a branch and twitter to a fellow bird somewhere in the distance. A door slid open and Kaia's blissful landscape began to flicker at the edges. Her lip curled upwards in distaste as she heard the footsteps on the grass but did her best to ignore them. She didn't want nor need anyone's company. It wasn't that she disliked people, quite the contrary, but on most days she lacked any sort of energy to give them anything back.
The day before she volunteered, when her mind was beginning to fog with thoughts that she'd never really had to experience before, she particularly did not want to be disturbed.
"Kaia."
And did the world ever listen? Ask her mother – beefy woman, alert eyes, glaring down at her upside down. Kaia wanted to laugh but even that was effort so she rolled over, pushed herself upwards using her elbows, and brought her knees to her chin.
"Hi."
"You were napping?" Charlotte – her mother, not her mum, her mum was a much nicer woman – still had her uniform on from a day's work at the Peacekeeper training facility. Kaia, would-be volunteer, champion of the Wilders, cloud-watching? If Kaia cared enough about what that looked like, she'd probably find some sort of deeper meaning to it. "You should be training. Or at least re-watching some past footage. I spent all of last night finding old Hunger Games. You asked me to focus on past District Two failures so you could learn from them."
"Uh, no," Kaia began. "No, I believe that conversation went along the lines of Kaia this is what you're going to do, do this and then that and then kiss my shoe and then…"
"Don't push it, young lady."
Kaia could sense her mother becoming agitated. She didn't wilfully bring this on. In fact, if anything she didn't want the anger that her authoritarian mother wrought upon her subjects. She just wanted the peace of her own company because other people were too much energy that Kaia did not have to use. Deep down, Kaia knew her mother loved her and did what she did for certain reasons that she was sure would make sense. And if Kaia did have the energy to spend on her, she was sure she'd have developed by now some deep-seeded mother issues that would manifest in a variety of rather fun and interesting ways. But that wasn't Kaia.
All Kaia wanted to do was fall back down, stare at the clouds, and maybe nap for a little bit. It was a chock-full schedule that her mother was interrupting.
"I think mum made a cake. Maybe go inside and enjoy that."
"I've seen it," her mother said, waving a hand dismissively. "It looks like your sister after one of her outings and she's vomited onto a plate. Not exactly appetizing."
"I never pegged you for a food snob."
"It's not snobbish if it looks like sick."
Kaia shrugged her shoulders and blew a strand of hair that fell in front of her eyes. "Honestly, mother, I don't really feel like training right now. I've done enough of it under your ever-so-attentive watch and right now, if I'm about to volunteer and march my way into a battle to the death, then the least you could allow me is some peace and quiet." When her mother just glared back, Kaia sighed. "Please?"
For all the highly regimented, incredibly taxing training schedule that Kaia had been under for so many years, it hadn't really made Kaia resent her mother. She didn't waste her time feeling many things like anger or sadness or anything negative like that. If she disagreed with something her mother said, then everyone knew that Kaia was the type to just say it like it was and try to move on.
Grudges were for the prissy bimbos at the Academy who thought the world was out to get them and their hairbrush.
It looked as if her mother was about to refuse, when she raised a finger, stared for a few seconds at Kaia's dark eyes meeting hers, and sighed, lowering her arm. "Fine," she said. "Fine, fine, fine, fine. Heaven knows how you get away with this all the time." She gestured for Kaia with her fingers, wagging them forwards and Kaia wanted to cringe inwardly, but rolled her head with exaggeration and wobbled to her knees, sloping towards her mother.
When their arms intertwined, her mother rested a hand against the back of Kaia's head. It was a moment of affection that even Kaia felt something in her heart flutter at. She did love her family. Deeply and fiercely. And part of Kaia, somewhere in her gut, was absolutely terrified about what tomorrow would bring and the next day and the next and then in a week… oh my god what am I—
"Kaia. I'm so proud of you."
Her heart stopped pumping so furiously and the foreign flourish of emotions in Kaia's chest settled and she pulled away from her mother, staring into her eyes. "You're who now?"
"Proud."
"Proud?" Kaia said, testing each letter in the air. "P-R-O-U-D? Are you feeling well?"
"Oh stop it," her mother said, punching her in her shoulder. "You're a pain in my ass but you're my daughter and both myself and your mum are and always will be very proud. What you're doing tomorrow is a very honourable thing. Just know – we'll always be watching."
"Yeah. Thanks, mother."
Kaia didn't know what else to say so she just sank back into her mother's arms and let the world drift by in those few seconds her authoritarian mother allowed herself a momentary break from the world's expectations. They were heavy on the woman's shoulders and when this moment was over, Kaia had no idea when it would ever happen again.
She thought of the clouds and looked up briefly. The grass beneath her feet, the trees whistling in the breeze, the birds fluttering around in the sky without a care in the world. That was Kaia's existence for the time being. Losing herself in the distraction of not having to care about anything.
Caring was effort and effort was not something Kaia cared to expend when she didn't have to. In the heat of the moment, when something was demanded of Kaia, sure she would do her best.
But right now – no, no this is me time. "Ok, ok, mother. Go get some vomit cake and I'll see you later, yeah?"
"Yeah," her mother said, pulling away. "We'll get some last-minute training in tonight. 8 sharp. Do not be late."
"Yes, sir," Kaia said, saluting and allowing herself a smile and a giggle before plummeting to the earth again.
Left alone once more, Kaia closed her eyes shut and felt the world rotate beneath her. Each breath she took, her body relaxed more and more and more and…
She fell asleep and in an existence hovering above the real one, Kaia swam in the light and could pretend no expectations were on her shoulders.
That she was at peace.
Just the way she liked.
Valdis Solgren, 18 years old;
Sector Seven Male.
The weed clung to the soil like an addict to a bottle.
Valdis dug his nail into the mud and felt the roots burrowed beneath the paving stone. It was a clingy bastard and as soon as he pulled it up, another would take its place. Yet, despite it being an eye-sore, Valdis found something sturdy and routine about the weed.
His mother hated it. Her front garden was her little pocket of sunshine. Valdis wiped the dirt from his nail onto his trouser leg and stood up, stretching his arms out with a yawn, feeling his shoulder pop, and grinned contentedly with the burning sun scorching red into the back of his neck.
He side-stepped the weed and moved for the front gate. "Leaving already?" With one hand on the mossy wood, the other mid-air, Valdis halted and gazed back over his shoulder in the direction of his elder sister, Siguna.
"What possibly gave that away?" he said jokingly, not unkindly.
Her eyes flickered towards the grass, the choppy flowers and the single weed blooming out from its patch, a parasite to the beautiful world in all its belligerence. "I wouldn't recommend becoming a gardener, Val'. She won't like this."
Valdis shrugged with a lop-sided grin and pushed open the gate and inwardly winced at the horrific creak the rusted hinges gave. His house was barely a house but the Solgrens at least had something. The gate had needed fixing for over a decade. It had moved steadily down Valdis' priority list.
"If she wants it done her way, then she should have done it."
Siguna didn't like that and furrowed her brow. Valdis had learnt a long time ago that despite his love for his family, he wasn't really like them. And that was okay. Being like everyone else was boring. "You know she's in one of her moods. She can barely see straight. Breakfast didn't go well."
"Is that what I can smell?" Valdis quipped. "Look, I'm off now, ok. I'll deal with her precious garden when I get back."
"You better."
"Threatening me now?" Valdis laughed aloud. "That's not like you."
"Oh please," Siguna waved Valdis' comment away. "Just be back soon. And if you come back with another black eye, I swear to god I'll make sure your face is symmetrical."
"Cheers."
Valdis left Siguna at that and whistled to himself, swinging his arms back and forth exaggeratedly, revelling in the chill of the breeze that whipped through his messy brown hair. As he passed his neighbours house, the little old chap that lived there gave him a huge wave and Valdis was more than happy to return the favour. It was almost animation the way Valdis moved with merriment down the path, a skip to his step, a jump to his feet, as if a song was about to break over invisible speakers.
It was just the way Valdis felt in this moment. His shirt was way too big, patchy with different colours that attacked the eyes of anyone with a remote sense of taste in fashion, yet Valdis didn't care because it was quintessential Valdis.
His shoes were painful and he knew when he took off his socks he'd have blisters but again, Valdis did not care. The Solgrens didn't have much and a long time ago, he'd done the whole bitter thing about his place in society. Yet nothing changed, would change, or probably ever would, so he'd stayed focused on his path and so far that had been alright. Not amazing, but alright. And alright was good enough for Valdis.
A lot of people didn't think Valdis took things seriously, but just because he wasn't doing them the way they thought he should, didn't mean he didn't care. Like the weed, he clung tight to anything he set his mind too, and most of the time could he rarely be swayed to let go.
As he reached the junction in the pathway, the road weaving to another pocket of suburbia, and the other towards the row of shops central to this sector of Two, Valdis froze as he saw him sat there, on the bench, one leg crossed over the other, perusing a book. If it had been anyone else, Valdis would have cracked a joke over the fact that it was held upside down, but for Valdis, where he had only seconds ago been filled with a contended warmth, he now felt an icicle mark small pinpricks in the beating of his heart buried inside his chest.
It wasn't like Valdis to hate someone. Or feel anything remotely negative. But when someone he liked – truly, truly liked – could do something so callous and dark and so damn cliché, then Valdis felt the shake in his fist before he could even stop it.
"Cassio."
Valdis' voice sounded foreign to him, a distant echo, an out-of-body vibration. Yet his feet had taken him towards the boy he'd once considered a friend and there was nothing he could do to stop himself. His enthusiasm for the good was also an enthusiasm that drew him towards confrontation. He couldn't help it.
"Oh, Valdis," Cassio spoke with such confidence and verve that even now, Valdis felt in awe of the boy that had taken his spot as volunteer and got him kicked out the Academy. "Out for a stroll?"
The extraordinary feeling of drifting above his body would have made it very easy for him to launch himself at Cassio and punch the smugness from his face. Instead, Valdis took a deep breath and forced both sides of himself to meet once more and his lips twitched into the best grin he could muster in such a situation.
"Nah, I thought I'd just come here and stand for a few hours. You know how it is."
"Funny," Cassio remarked, wiping the sweat from his upper lip with the back of his hand. "Look. No hard feelings, right? You know what it's like in the Academy. It's dog-eat-dog. I couldn't let them choose you."
Another fucking cliché. "Sure. Whatever."
"I still like you, Val'. I don't want anything to be between us when I come back from the Games."
Valdis just stared at Cassio and thought about everything he'd once felt about him. Even Valdis couldn't really make sense of those feelings because feelings were annoyingly complex and Valdis wasn't the most intelligent person in the world. Complexity was far too complicated. But he knew he liked Cassio and after the rumours started, after he lost everything he'd fought for, Valdis took it harder than he'd ever taken anything before.
It hurt.
"Yeah," Valdis said, trying another smile, but knowing he had to leave as quickly as he could. "See you around."
Before Cassio could say anything else, Valdis was off, launching himself down the path towards the row of shops. Anything to take his mind off of what he'd left behind and the future that had been snatched from him. Valdis thrust his hands into his baggy pockets, whistled again, and did all he could to draw himself back into the mind of the person he loved to be.
Without caring so much about the worst things in this world, Valdis had found his little niche and loved living there.
I won't let Cassio ever make me become someone I'm not, Valdis thought to himself. I won't lose me.
He swore it to himself, as he continued skipping merrily, distracting himself.
Yet loss bore heavily on Valdis.
He wasn't the type to forget.
Damali Zahrat, 18 years old;
Sector Ten Female.
Does everyone feel this way when eyes become knives?
I feel a look on my back and scars open and burn and fester. I look at a mirror and there is a nightmare staring back. Imperfect. An ugly thing. A stare stabs and hooks its way into my mind because I am but the product of someone's opinion.
It does not matter what I think of myself because those thoughts are tainted black. I see only crude shapes and murky waters.
I see someone worthy of nothing.
Damali wiped at the make-up that coated her face. It was like thick mud refusing to wash away. She could feel the hands on her skin even though that had been last night and she wasn't entirely sure if anyone had actually touched her during the show. Sometimes so many of those evenings blurred into one messy picture of self-hatred that Damali couldn't tell a Monday evening from a Saturday matinee. It was the story of her life.
"I think you look pretty," Moris spoke with such a softness that at first, Damali wasn't sure she heard him correctly. And when the words slotted together like puzzle pieces, the compliment didn't make sense and yet Damali felt a glow in her stomach nonetheless. And the glow felt alien. "You shouldn't feel like the girls will look at you funny."
They were sat in the changing room of the Academy. Maybe Moris wasn't supposed to be sat next to her, but he didn't seem to care, and Damali didn't want to deal with the idea of being alone just yet. It had taken all her strength to will herself up off her bed this morning, the ache in her belly both physical and something manifesting from her brain that made nonsensical noise. But once she'd made her way outside she didn't want to be by herself any longer.
Not today, anyway. Moris was distraction and she felt almost bad that at its most basic form, their friendship was distraction, but she loved him all the same. Her best friend in this horrific world.
"I don't think it's appropriate to look this way when I'm training," Damali said in response, smiling a delicate smile, the sort of smile that would drive a middle-aged man crazy with her demureness. So many thought it was just her act – the other girls, scratching at her with their unkind words. It was never an act with Damali. She was just the sort of person that couldn't say a bad thing about anyone because all that poison she saved for herself.
There was never enough to pour onto another soul.
"Minerva is a bitch," Moris said with a dry laugh. "You shouldn't seek her approval."
I seek it because approval means someone sees me for something other than dirt on their shoe. It's another sort of distraction. Damali just shook her head with a tinkle of a laugh; a gentle chime in the wind. "She's nicer than you think. She's taught me a lot the past few months."
"You're a million times better than she is and I think she knows it."
"I'm not," Damali said with a shake of her head. "I mean – I enjoy training – I just – I –"
"You are better," Moris said, gripping gently onto her arm, as if trying to shake Damali so she would accept the concrete truth that in her mind was a silly lie meant to compliment her. "Come on. You're hot."
He linked her arm and the two stood up, Damali taking a deep breath, as if about to step onto stage for the hundredth or thousandth time from behind the curtain. She knew her mother would not be happy to hear that she was at the Academy when she should have been at rehearsal, but at this point, Damali's mind was for once too focused on something else other than pleasing the woman that had turned Damali into this self-hating wreck of a human.
It's not her fault… she loves me…
Someone looked at Damali as she walked by with Moris and instinctively, her stomach roiled with fear and she was thankful that her buoyant curls could cover the red warmth blossoming in her cheeks. If she listened hard enough, faint whispers followed her, and once again eyes became knives in her back.
"Biiiitch!" Minerva squealed, breaking apart from her girlfriends and raising an eyebrow at Damali. "Look at you!"
Damali blushed again. "I didn't really do anything different."
"It's something to do with your hair, definitely." Her eyes then fell on Moris and though Damali didn't see it, anyone else who wasn't so internal about their own misgivings, could see the way that Minerva looked at Moris like an ant beneath her boot. Shit in the toilet. "Do you mind if we have some girl talk? Y'know how it is Moris. See you later."
Before he could reply, Damali felt Minerva's arm round her shoulder and the part of her that hated to be touched, that felt repulsed by contact, wanted to scream at her to let go. The other half, the robotic side that was used to hands upon her, whether physical hands or metaphorical gropes, allowed Minerva to pull her away from Moris who looked stunned in the wake of a girl that Damali refused to believe could be anything other than a nice person.
She followed because she didn't understand how to lead.
She was a sheep because at least she could hide behind her wool.
"We were just talking about who might volunteer. For the sake of entertainment, they've let us girls claw our way to the stage," Minerva said, flipping her immaculate hair over one shoulder. "I think I'm going to wait until next year, but I mean – well Damali, what are your thoughts?"
Two years ago, I wanted to kill myself because I'd fallen into a well and couldn't claw my way back up. A year ago, I thought about it again because becoming one with the void felt more peaceful than an eternity of torture under my mother's eye. Last week, I imagined throwing myself from the stage and breaking my neck.
Would anyone cry for me?
"Not sure," Damali said in a stilted, unsure sort of way. Deep down, she had already made her mind up, because it was the only thing that made any sort of sense in the world she was a part of. "I'm not sure how I feel about it all."
Minerva just shrugged as if it wasn't important.
Yet for Damali, it was the most important thing left in her life. If she thought about what might happen next week, if she didn't volunteer and remained in this world, locked away in the chest she'd made for herself, then she had no idea what she might end up doing.
Volunteering meant a future she wasn't sure of and not knowing actually made her breathe properly for once. For that one shot at feeling something then Damali would offer her soul and sign it to whichever devil got there first.
"I might volunteer," a random girl piped up from somewhere behind her.
Just try it. It was the most forceful thought Damali believed she'd ever allowed herself to think. And yet… just try it.
Because this is it for me.
My last shot.
Uh hi?!
It's been a month and UGH I am very sorry to the four submitters that had to wait this long for their POV. Corona's still a bitch but I had to go back to work full time and honestly, my FF motivation became non-existent. At times I even thought about just deleting this story and pretending it never existed. But no. It's now summer and I'm hopefully back properly and can re-focus on ensuring I get through this story!
At this point, I make no promises what the future is going to be like, but what I can say is that I'm going to do my absolute best. That's all I can promise right now.
We have, though, now seen everyone! If you can even remember the rest of this cast, there is a poll asking for your favourite tributes. Please go and vote on that!
And…yeah.
See you with the start of our Capitol chapters!