Chapter Three.
w w w. breaktheicehg. blogspot. c o m
Donegan Ward
District Ten, 17 Years Old
"This one looks tasty!"
Before Cadmus could taste the berry, Donegan quickly swat Cadmus' arm down, knocking his glass of a red substance out of his hand. The liquid spilled onto Cadmus' white shirt and stained it, and although the other guests chuckled, Cadmus was not amused. His face scrunched up and he blinked rapidly, in shock that the clothes he spent days picking out for this vacation were now ruined.
"How could you?!"
"No," Donegan replied, ignoring Cadmus' taunt and shaking his head. The frustration in Donegan's voice was evident, but he still smiled and helped Cadmus. "Yellow is poisonous. You cannot eat yellow."
Realizing that Donegan saved his life, Cadmus became less angry, but still murmured insults under his breath. Donegan ignored him, moving onto the next exercise. He went on to teaching them how to identify edible leaves. He preferred to let the students learn themselves, rather than him lecturing them, but in instances where they could kill themself, Donegan had to step in.
"Not that any of this matters to us!" Cadmus bellowed, tossing back another glass of wine. He turned to his friends, and as the barn echoed with laughter, Donegan swallowed what he really wanted to say to them.
It matters to me.
The guests feigned interest in Donegan's lesson and he knew they were more interested in seeing the animals in the barn. The guests eyed the barn doors, poking each other and pointing at the sight of a chicken.
Please pay attention.
Donegan was not impressed with this round of guests from the Capitol.
A few years back, the Capitol wanted to humanize the Hunger Games by making it a real-life experience for those who usually just watch it on a television from their couches. Capitol citizens had the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to not only be closer to nature, but to experience first-hand how those in the outer Districts live and the types of situations tributes in the arena were presented with. District Ten opened up facilities, dubbed 'Ranches,' where Capitol citizens learned basic survival skills such as making fires, building shelters, purifying water, and identifying berries.
Donegan figured people in the Capitol needed downtime just like everyone else; he wasn't sure what kept them so busy for the other parts of the year, but during the summertime, Capitol citizens would flock to District Ten.
In a way, Donegan enjoyed working at a ranch. He made a decent amount of money from it and worked on the outskirts of District Ten, nowhere near the crowds in the center of the District.
Today's lesson was almost over, and the guests continued to drink, leaving the workbench a mess. Berries were squashed on the ground, staining the wood floor. They sauntered towards the barn door, looking out at the rolling hills of District Ten and commenting on how picturesque the scenery was and that it reminded them of an arena from a few years back. They all laughed and Donegan shivered.
The death of the District's children was still a joke to the Capitol. That would never change.
"Cheers!" Cadmus exclaimed, and they all raised and clinked their glasses. "Here's to another successful day!"
Successful? You almost died from poison.
He kept his thoughts to himself as he was on all-fours, scrubbing the berries off of the ground. The guests continued to drink and point their fingers at the animals that passed by them, mooing and naying at the cows and horses.
Donegan generally enjoyed his job. He often had to remind himself sometimes that his options were limited in District Ten, but he still enjoyed it nonetheless.
The Peacekeeper in the corner of the barn carefully watched Donegan clean up the table and the ground. Donegan eyed the gun in his hand, and although he got used to the feeling of being watched, the sight of a gun still made him feel uneasy. The presence of a Peacekeeper reminded him of his past constantly, something he wished he could easily forget.
He was born into a typical family from District Ten, where his father and mother worked as farm hands tending to cattle. His parents grew up during the time of the rebellion, and although the citizens and victors of District Ten were unscathed from the rebel and Capitol bombings, the victor's purge, and the rebel assassinations, his brother, Hart, harbored resentment towards the Capitol. He grew more disillusioned as he got older, honing in on his rebellious side, and what started out as graffiti on the Mayor of District Ten's residence led to one night where Hart had the ingenious idea to set District Ten ablaze.
Only a few fields that the Ward family lived near ended up going up in flames, including Donegan's parents' house. Their house burned down and they perished in the fire. Hart didn't intend to set his own home on fire, but Donegan saw it as an unconscious decision. Hart resented his parents, the Mayor of District Ten and his cronies, and the Capitol.
He never understood why Hart did what he did, and to Donegan, it wasn't Hart's battle to fight. After witnessing all the destruction and bloodshed across Panem during the rebellion, District Ten embraced the Capitol, and Donegan didn't understand why Hart didn't see it like that.
Hart not only ruined his own life, he ruined Donegan's life too.
Donegan had nowhere to go. His brother was publicly executed by District Ten, invoking the sense of anxiety and panic that swept across District Ten during the rebellion. The savagery of the rebellion was long forgotten, but Hart couldn't let it go. Hart's name lived on in District Ten, and for Donegan, he was known as the brother of a rebel; a rebel that didn't target the Capitol, but one who targeted District Ten.
Donegan was the brother of a criminal who jeopardized District Ten, and every day, Donegan had to live with that reputation. When he walked down the street, he watched those around him point and whisper about him. He swallowed his pride, put his head down, and kept to himself. He was the lucky one; he was alive, unlike his parents and brother.
He was hated in District Ten and he understood why. He hated himself for his past too.
But, that was no way to live.
If he wanted to live his own life – if he wanted to be his person and not associated with a teenager who tried to set District Ten on fire – he had to forgive Hart and move on.
The Capitol visitors would never have to use these skills, but Donegan liked being a teacher. He liked teaching them what the difference between the yellow and red berry was. He liked teaching them how to tie a knot and how to treat a bug bite. It's not like they would ever have to be in an arena and use these skills to survive.
Donegan didn't have that privilege, however; it was a possibility for him, and if he was ever reaped, he was prepared for the arena.
He was prepared to survive.
Denali Felder
District Eight, 16 Years Old
It was like any other day in the Harker household; the father was locked away in his office, the mother was sunbathing while reading magazines and sipping a fruity cocktail, and the maids were scurrying to clean up the house from the party last night.
Denali ascended the extravagant staircase and took her time with every step, running her fingers along the mahogany handrail and digging her feet into the lush carpet runner. As she approached the top of the staircase, she intently stared at the large painting hanging on the wall. It was a family portrait, showcasing a man holding the hand of a woman with a teenage boy to her side. The man and the teenager were clad in a black and white tuxedo and the woman had a white dress with a fur scarf draped over her shoulders.
Denali thought it looked incomplete.
And she knew exactly what was missing.
Denali envisioned herself in that family portrait, standing next to her boyfriend. Or would she stand next to the mother? Would they rearrange everyone altogether and include a chair for the father to sit in? She pictured the father sitting in a velvet chair in the center of the portrait, with the mother and Nero by his side. She would be holding Nero's hand and wearing one of those fancy dresses from the catalogues that his mother kept on her nightstand.
They have been dating for almost four years, so it was only a matter of time before Nero would propose to her and her fantasies of being in the family portrait would become reality. She'd finally be able to look down at those walking up the staircase.
Denali snapped out of her thoughts.
She turned the corner, approached the door to Nero's bedroom, and stared at it as her hand grabbed the doorknob. Before turning it, she paused to admire the fine details of his door, which she expected was mahogany once again. She remembered to take a mental note as she pretended to listen to Nero's mother drone on and on about what type of wood was in this season. Everyone was trying to get their hands on mahogany from District Seven.
Denali wasn't sure who everyone was, since most of District Eight probably didn't even know what mahogany was, but if Nero's mother liked wood, then so did Delani.
As she stood at the door, she knew she was stalling and chuckled to herself. Maybe this charade was finally getting to her.
She batted her eyelashes, put a smile on her face, and swiftly opened the door. Her boyfriend – she used the term lightly – was frantically rummaging through his dresser, picking out different shirt and pant combinations.
"Hi," she said sweetly.
"Hi," Nero replied, and when he looked up from the clothes that were now scattered on his bed, he noticed Denali standing at the door and his smile contorted into a frown. "Oh. It's you."
"Don't sound so excited," she said, sauntering over towards his bed. He picked up a purple shirt and a brown pair of dress pants, holding them side-by-side. She shook her head and he went back to surveying his options. "How are you today, my love?"
"Stressed," he said, sounding utterly defeated. He held up a red shirt and the same brown pants. "What about this?"
"Red? On reaping day? That's taboo!"
"Ugh!" Nero grunted, throwing up his hands. He continued to hold up different items of clothing, but Denali shook her head at each, and at a certain point, she was doing it to humor herself. She might have been jealous of all the clothes he had, but she knew that one day, she would have just as many options, if not more. She's fantasized about window shopping with Nero's mother in the shopping corridor of District Eight.
Soon, she would get her hands on one of those custom-made dresses from District One.
Growing up in an orphanage and eventually in a middle-class home, she didn't have endless access to the finer things in life. Her parents were unemployed after the rebellion, but as industries and production plummeted in District Eight, less textiles made it to District One for further processing into the high-fashion that was thoroughly enjoyed in the Capitol and less uniforms made it to the Peacekeepers in District Two.
Instead of punishing District Eight, the Capitol saw this as an investment opportunity, and funneled money and resources into District Eight to construct new infrastructure. District Eight embraced the running water, reliable electricity, and proper sanitation.
Denali's parents eventually found a job in one of the factories the Capitol built. A productive District Eight made for a happy Capitol, and they cared solely about what the District could do for them, not for the quality of life in the District. It just so happens that people are more productive in the workplace and are less likely to speak up when they're fed.
However, the revitalization of District Eight had unintended consequences. Besides safer working conditions and higher wages, families now had access to potable water, healthy food, and more time to recreate outside of the factories. This meant that children were becoming healthier, and it was not a sheer coincidence that after the rebellion and the 100th Hunger Games, District Eight brought home two victors.
District Eight was thankfulfor the Capitol. The Capitol helped two children of District Eight survive the Hunger Games and return home. This gave the families of District Eight hope – and the Capitol thrived off a false sense of hope.
Denali was similar to the Capitol in many ways; she thrived off false hope too. She knew how to manipulate false hope into working in her favor. She knew how to get what she wanted.
Nero's hopeful parents genuinely believed that Nero and Denali were in love and that Denali made the perfect daughter-in-law. Denali knew that she was not in love with Nero, nor was he in love with her, but the idea of them loving one another benefited them both.
Nero was a means to an end.
For Denali, she would marry into a rich family. She would bear the Harker name, as well as the fame and fortune that were associated with it. For Nero, he would marry a girl that his parents approved of. It took many years to get their approval, and Denali constantly questioned if she was worthy enough to marry a Harker. It wasn't what Nero wanted in life, but that didn't matter. He lied to keep his parents happy.
The truth was never important to Denali. Lying and deception got Denali what she wanted, and the truth jeopardized that. Nero wasn't truthful with his family or himself – Denali knew Nero wasn't interested in someone like her, or girls at all, really – but he was too scared to tell his parents who he really was, so Nero lied. Denali wasn't truthful with Nero or his family, either.
If she told the truth, she wouldn't be able to attain what she wanted in life.
She wanted all that Nero had and more.
Denali always wanted more.
Caspian De Ponte
District Four, 18 Years Old
Caspian closed his eyes, drifting into a light sleep to the sound of waves crashing against the side of the boat, the smell of salt water, and the hum of motors of fishing boats in the distance. He was comforted by the warm sun beating down on his face and as he breathed calmly, he temporarily forgot about what was to come.
He only had a few days left in District Four and he planned on enjoying it as much as he could. Caspian wanted to make sure he remembered what made District Four so special when he was in the Capitol.
"Get up, son," a stern voice said, and Caspian kept his eyes closed, hoping that it was only a dream, and that his father wasn't interrupting his alone time already. "Laziness is not a trait of a victor."
Caspian heard heavy footsteps walking up the stairs to the deck of the boat and he felt a light kick to his shoulder. He groaned and turned to the other side, and his father kicked him again in the back, this time with more force.
"Get up."
"Okay, okay, I'm getting up" Caspian replied, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. "I'm exhausted from all the training last night."
He knew it was a lie, but his father, Kamaru, believed it. In reality, he was at a bar until the sun started to rise, which was his cue that he needed to return home. Kamaru woke up bright and early every day, and if Caspian wanted to avoid getting in trouble, he had to be home and in his bed before that.
Caspian would prefer waking up slouched over the counter at a bar, but that's not the image of his son that Kamaru cherished. His son was District Four's victor-to-be, not the District drunk. His father wanted him to be training every night and day, and while Caspian told him that's exactly what he was doing, he wasn't fooling anyone except Kamaru.
To everyone except his father, Caspian was recognized more for his promiscuity than his training. It was said that if he spent as much time with the swords in the training center as he did with the sword in his pants, he would have volunteered and won by now. He preferred life's greatest pleasures and comforts.
Kamaru had different plans for him.
Kamaru was a wealthy investor and landowner in District Four, and when Caspian was born, Kamaru placed all his bets on his son. Kamaru disregarded his daughter, Delta, and focused solely on Caspian.
Kamaru deemed Delta useless. She was too shy, too small, to be a victor. There was nothing Kamaru could do to make her a victor, and as Delta and Caspian grew up, he focused all of his attention on Caspian. He received the best education and the best training, while his sister, Delta, was mistreated.
Caspia despised his father for the way he treated Delta, but there was nothing he could do. Until he won the Hunger Games, at least. Then, he could buy a boat house and him and Delta could live together, far away from their father.
If only it was so simple.
As Caspian watched his father pull the boat into the dock, he gritted his teeth and clenched his fists. He despised his father for everything he was. He was selfish and pretentious. He was a wretched human and Caspian owed him nothing, but Caspian had his hands tied.
Kamaru demanded that Caspian would volunteer for the Hunger Games. That he would win. To Caspian, his family already had it all. They had the fame, the fortune, so he never understood what more his father wanted.
If he didn't volunteer, Kamaru would disown Caspian. He wouldn't receive a cent of his inheritance.
When the time came for him to train, Caspian knew from the moment he stepped into the academy that the life of a trainee was not one he had any desire to live. He hated the humidity, the smell of sweat, the aggravating sounds of swordplay that seemed to bounce off the walls with no end.
His eyes wandered, lingering more on the bodies of the trainees rather than the dummies he was supposed to be hitting. When Caspian wasn't getting berated by his father, he indulged in his hedonistic side, frequenting the frowned-upon side of District Four. He knew his father would disapprove, but that didn't stop him from sneaking out of the house late at night and visiting the bars and alleyways that his father said were off limits.
Kamaru said they were bad influences on him. That they would distract him and cloud his judgment. His father disproved of those weak-minded enough to succumb to drugs and alcohol.
That didn't stop Caspian from doing what he wanted, though. Nothing did.
"Let's go, son," Kamaru called, peering his head out from below the deck of the boat. "You need to get a few more hours of training before next week."
Caspian sighed. He couldn't say no. He knew he had to volunteer.
The only thing that got him through training that night was going to his favorite bar and meeting up with his latest romantic partners afterwards. Caspian wasn't going to sit around and brood like the other trainees he saw wandering around the academy in their shoulder-slumped malaise. He still had a week left in District Four and he was going to make the most of it.
To Caspian, that meant another night of binge drinking at a bar.
If nothing else, he had a bottle of liquor to look forward to.
Renour Malvigne
District Two, 18 Years Old
The Head Trainer of District Two, Adonis, tapped on his clipboard with the microphone. The chatter in the crowd quieted down, and Renour perked up in his chair, trying to focus on Adonis, but his mind kept wandering.
The prospect of being selected as the volunteer this year made him jittery.
District Two was the only District that hand-picked volunteers each year. District Two was the most rigid and regimented of all the Districts. In the other Career Districts, the training academies let the trainees fend for themselves. Districts One and Four enjoyed witnessing the spectacle that was tributes running to the stage, topping over each other, just to be that year's volunteer. While in District Two, the volunteers were selected a week before the reaping and were given special attention by the Head Trainer.
"Welcome to this year's tribute selection," Adonis said, and there were murmurs in the crowd as everyone eagerly awaited this year's decision. Renour lacked that enthusiasm, holding his breath and hoping it would be someone else.
Everyone told him he would be the tribute. That he was the perfect tribute.
But, no one ever asked if Renour wanted to be the tribute. Everyone assumed he would.
He never voiced any opposition.
"This year's female volunteer will be," Adonis began, and before Adonis could continue, a girl in the front row of the crowd stood up. Renour could only see the back of her. She was tall, standing confidently with perfect posture and her hands crossed in front of her. Adonis locked eyes with the girl, and the girl waved her hand, gesturing for him to continue by rapidly waving her again. "Georgia Aurello."
The crowd groaned. Renour was familiar with Georgia, since they both frequented the training academy often. She tormented the girls that Renour was friends with, but Renour managed to fly under Georgia's radar and never was the target of her hard-hitting insults.
"As expected," Georgia replied, patting herself on the back. She turned to the crowd and puckered her bottom lip and dragged her pointer finger from her eye down her cheek. "Don't cry, ladies. There will always be next year."
She could be my District partner.
"Except for you, Arista. I know how badly you wanted to volunteer for the Games this year," Georgia sneered, staring at Arista, who was a few rows back with tears streaming down her face. This was Arista's last year that she was eligible for the Hunger Games. "If only you listened to me when I told you to lose weight. The extra padding weighed you down on the obstacle course."
"That's enough, Georgia," Adonis deadpans into the microphone. Georgia sat down and turned to face the crowd, staring at the girls behind her.
"Do you have something to say, Dalia?" Georgia continued to taunt the others, laughing at her own insults and at the looks on everyone's faces. "I see you whispering to her. I'm not blind like you, four eyes."
"Enough, Georgia," Adonis repeated, and this time, his voice was stern enough for her to be quiet. Georgia sat back in her seat, swinging her legs back and forth, eager to see who her District partner would be.
Renour envied how brazen she was. How confident she was.
"This year's male tribute will be," Adonis said, and Renour held his breath, unsure of what he wanted to hear next. It could be him, but he didn't know if he wanted it to be him. "Renour Malvigne."
Shit.
Renour's hands and legs were shaking uncontrollably, and as Renour scanned the room, everyone was looking at him. Everyone was clapping and shouting for him. He was going to be District Two's volunteer this year, whether he liked it or not.
"Do you have anything to say, Renour?" Adonis asked, extending the microphone out in front of him. Georgia stood up, smiling from ear to ear, and walked over to Renour. He didn't know what to say. He trained only because it was customary in District Two, but he prepared for this exact moment nonetheless.
This was what he should have wanted. It's what his family wanted and he was desperately trying to convince himself it was what he wanted too.
"I…," he uttered, tensing up as Georgia approached him. "I accept."
Get it together.
"You'd be stupid not to," Georgia whispered, snatching Renour's hand and holding it up in the air. Renour was relieved that Georgia took the attention away from him. "We are honored to represent you, District Two."
Renour should have seen it coming. In a District where brute strength, force, and determination was everything, Renour was seen as the perfect candidate for victor. Standing at well over six feet, he towered over everyone, and no one questioned whether or not he was skilled or if it was just brawn. He was tall, strong, and handsome. He had the charisma and wit to attract allies and sponsors.
At least, that's what District Two saw him as.
When Renour looked into a mirror, that's not what he saw.
Renour smiled and shook his head, feeling scatter-brained as the claps and cheers got louder. When the crowd started to quiet down, Georgia tightened her grip on his hand. Renour was not entertaining the crowd as much as Georgia was.
"I'm not going to hurt you just yet, Renour," Georgia sneered, dropping Renour's hand, and he pulled it back and held it against his chest. "You really need to moisturize."
Renour couldn't concentrate on Georgia's words as he was trying to take it all in. He was going to the Hunger Games. Everyone was going to get what they wanted.
It didn't matter to Renour. None of this did. It mattered to his family. That's why he did any of this at all.
Renour didn't want to be in the Hunger Games. His father forced him into training because that is what the wealthy, educated, prominent people of District Two had their children do. If a child didn't train, it was looked down upon. Renour was encouraged by the trainers and his parents to keep up with training and everyone constantly touted him as the best in his class.
He felt ungrateful that he wasn't as excited and confident as Georgia. District Two chose him as the volunteer, and he had to oblige.
He couldn't disappoint District Two. His family. He had to volunteer for them.
It didn't matter whether Renour wanted to or not.
It was never about what he wanted.
Author's Note:
Hi :)
Moving forward, every tribute will have 2 POVs. This chapter showcases some of the tributes before the reapings and the next chapter will be the day of the reapings for some tributes.
What do you think of these four tributes?
Lately, I've been thinking about the Districts in the Hunger Games. I feel like some of them are very similar and overlap. Does anyone have another industry they would like to see as a District or one that would have made sense in Panem?
Also, at what point do people get bored of reading? I aim for 1,000 words for each POV. Is that too long? Idk. Let me know.
tear that cherry out posted an SYOT, so please submit to A World Alone. The prologue is pretty decent (I guess…)