Chapter Four.
w w w. breaktheicehg. blogspot. c o m
Rhea Shetler
District Ten, 17 Years Old
Morning of the Reapings
"Good morning, father."
Rhea walked into the kitchen and kissed her father, Jacob, on the cheek. He was flipping through today's newspaper and 'District Ten Reaping' was written across the front page in bold letters. He angled the paper away from Rhea so that she couldn't see what it said.
"Good morning, mother."
Rhea kissed her mother on the cheek as she was pouring baking ingredients into a bowl. The sun shone through the opened windows and the light breeze wafted in the smell of freshly cut grass from outside. The smell mixed with the sweet smell of the blueberry muffins in the oven and Rhea felt tranquil, inhaling deeply at the smells and sounds of the things she cherished dearly.
"What are you wearing today, dear?" Her mother asked while whipping the ingredients together. Jacob perked up at the question, peering over the top of the newspaper to look at Rhea.
"The white dress that father picked out for me," Rhea replied, and both of her parents nodded. The options in her closet were limited, consisting mostly of long-sleeved, floor-length dresses that were either white or beige. She appreciated the simplicity.
"Good girl," he murmured, turning the page. Last year, she asked if she could wear a necklace to the reaping, but her father declined. She never asked to wear a piece of jewelry again. "It will look beautiful on you."
On the next page, 'The Legacy of District One's Murder,' was written across the top in big, bold letters, spanning across two pages. Jacob read the text carefully, groaning at the more provocative comments. The ostentatious display of wealth and status in District One irked him. He hated the clothing, the food, the architecture. He thought it was a bad influence on District Ten to see how the other Districts lived, and Jacob vowed to shield his precious daughter from anything that could corrupt her.
Jacob continued to read the article, rolling his eyes and murmuring something under his breath. He didn't understand why people were still talking about the murder of the District Three victor that happened nearly a year ago. Rhea's father detested sensational media, and ever since the Capitol allowed each District to produce its own weekly newspaper, Jacob's aversion for the liberation of District Ten grew more intense. The Capitol was slowly lessening their grip on the day-to-day life of District Ten and Jacob vehemently disapproved.
He yearned for what once was.
Rhea reached to grab the newspaper, but her father snatched it away, rolling it up and throwing it away. She smiled and reached for a muffin instead. Her father and mother made small talk about what spices and dried fruit she was going to put in today's muffins, and Rhea watched them, smiling. Her father told her to never worry on reaping day, but as the years passed and her name was in the bowl more, she began to reflect on what could happen.
Jacob didn't explain much to Rhea, but she had a basic understanding of the Hunger Games. Rhea knew children were taken away. She knew some – if not most – never returned.
She didn't know much more than that and she never wanted to. She trusted her parents with choosing what she needs to know in life. Through home-schooling, they raised her to be the woman she was. She was grateful for them.
She was content with where, what, and who she was.
"Like I say every year, Rhea," her father said, taking a sip of his morning coffee. Rhea smiled and leaned forward, intently listening to whatever her father had to say. "You don't need to worry about today."
Rhea nodded. She genuinely thought there was nothing to worry about and that today was just like another other day in District Ten.
She never questioned what life was like outside of her family's farm. She never questioned having to stand in rows and watching children her age crying and screaming as they get ripped apart from their families. She never asked where the children go and what happens to them after their names get called, and from a young age, her father told her to not ask such things.
Jacob told her that she knew all she needed to know. He told her that the reaping was something that she didn't need to worry about. That she would never be ripped apart from her parents like the other children at the reaping.
That her life was in District Ten and it always would be.
Nereida Beck
District Four, 18 Years Old
Morning of the Reapings
I volunteer.
Nereida grabbed a knife, repeating the words in her head. It was reaping day, and soon, she would be able to finally vocalize those words as she ran for the stage. She knew exactly how she would outmaneuver the other girls that she was competing with. Those vying for the spots as District Four's tributes always ran down the center aisle, leaving the side aisles exposed. Nereida knew it was smarter to avoid the crowd and run down the side. That way, she'd reach the stage quicker than everyone else and wouldn't have to push or claw to get up the stairs. She would let the others savagely fight one another, and before they would even notice, Nereida would already be on the stage.
She prepared her whole life for this exact moment. She was more than ready to volunteer.
As a child, Nereida gladly embraced training, committing the majority of her free-time to it. Unlike many of her peers, her parents never pressured her into it; instead, Nereida wanted to train, and from the age of twelve, she knew she wanted to volunteer. She learned how to be competent with every weapon, taught herself basic survival skills, and watched previous Games to cover her bases.
Every day, Nereida strived to be better, constantly training, brushing up on skills she was confident in, and challenging herself to learn new ones. Nereida picked up another knife, swiftly throwing the blade, and the knife landed close to bullseye, but not close enough.
Try again.
"Who do we have here?"
As Nereida threw the knife, she flinched at the sound of a voice shattering the silence in the gymnasium, messing with her aim. The knife landed in the last ring of the target. She gritted her teeth, frustrated at both herself for losing focus and at whoever interrupted her. If she wanted to win, she couldn't get distracted.
Focus, Nereida. Focus.
Nereida readied herself with another knife, but the sound of the person's footsteps got louder and louder, and she turned, pointing the knife at them. "What do you want?"
In front of her stood Caspian De Ponte. She sighed and lowered her arm. Nereida and Caspian trained at the same training center for several years, and she was not fond of him. She was not one to judge, but he was not the type of person Nereida chose to surround herself with – smug and sleazy, just like most of the other boys in District Four. He was known for flirting with anything that walked on two legs.
"What's your name?" Caspian said, looking Nereida up-and-down. Nereida writhed as she watched him lick his lips. "I don't think we've met before."
"Caspian," she replied, sighing. This was not what she had in mind when she came to the training center that morning. He looked taken back that she knew his name, as if she was one of his one night stands that he couldn't keep track of. "We've trained together for years. It's Nereida."
"Oh, right! Nereida!" Caspian said, nodding his head. Caspian couldn't remember who she was, since he was sure that he would remember someone like her – he had a soft spot for brunette, brown-eyed girls. "What are you doing here this early in the morning?"
"I wanted some alone time," she replied plainly, her tone not matching the friendliness in his. She wasn't there to talk, she was there to make the most out of her remaining time in District Four. "Why are you here?"
"Ah, you know," he said, shrugging and running his hand through his hair. "I wanted to get out of the house. I needed some alone time too."
Nereida and Caspian stared at each other, neither one of them saying anything else. Nereida valued her alone time and Caspian was encroaching on that. Nereida, still wanting to be alone, pointed to the clock on the wall, insinuating it was time for her to go. She grabbed her belongings, walked past Caspian, and gave him a friendly smile.
"Leaving so soon?" Caspian quipped, frowning. Nereida could feel him intensely staring at her as she walked away. "Hopefully I'll see you on stage later."
Hopefully. Nereida chuckled.
Nereida heard rumors that Caspian was going to volunteer this year, but Nereida wasn't too concerned with who her District partner would be. Nereida was in it for herself, but she knew she couldn't do it alone, and just in case Caspian was her District partner, she couldn't give him a reason to want to kill her. She recognized the value of alliances, and even though she'd prefer to be alone in the arena, she knew that she'd have a better chance at survival if she allied with someone like Caspian.
Caspian wasn't her ideal ally – she suspected no one from a Career District would, as they were all too cocky for her liking – but he would suffice. For the time being, at least.
"See you later," she said, waving goodbye, and Caspian winked and waved back to her. Caspian couldn't even control his hormones on reaping day. Unlike Caspian, Nereida took reaping day very seriously and had a no-nonsense approach to life.
Nereida knew how Caspian spent his free time. Besides, Caspian's taste was vapid. He was interested in girls who giggled at him and twirled their hair as he explained the difference between a spear and a trident. Nereida wasn't that type of girl. She also wasn't one to worry about meaningless relationships. She would worry about things like that after she was crowned the victor of the 120th Hunger Games.
Nereida handled life one step at a time. As a child, she focused on school, and as she got older, she focused on training. As she neared the age of eighteen, she focused on volunteering, and after the reaping, she would focus on attracting sponsors, forming alliances, and challenging herself to be better.
She would focus on being the best version of herself she could be.
That's the only way she would win.
Caris Layart
District Six, 14 Years Old
District Six Reaping
"Where's mom?"
"Probably at home," Caris' brother, Rayn, replied, shrugging. "I don't think she comes anymore."
Caris didn't blame her, and after so many years, Caris wasn't sure what she expected from her mother. She was absent for most of her childhood, but on the reaping day, Caris hoped that her mother showed up just in case.
Just in case another Layart daughter was reaped again.
The Layart family were too familiar with the reaping. Caris' older sister was reaped just a few years back for the 113th Hunger Games, but Caris, who was only seven-years-old at the time, was too young to fully understand what that meant. She watched her sister get ripped out of their mother's arms, and when Caris said goodbye to her, she was hopeful her sister would return.
Caris watched her sister get stabbed during the bloodbath by the District Two male, who would eventually become victor. Her family was subjected to watching recaps of the 113th Hunger Games on the television, seeing her sister get slaughtered over and over again. When the victor, Rasmus Toft, visited District Six during his Victor's Parade, her parents began to spiral. Her mother isolated herself after the loss of her daughter and her father turned to alcohol and drank himself to death.
Caris was still too young to fully understand what this meant for her, but Rayn took her under his wing and cared for her better than their mother or father could. As Caris got older, they became self-sufficient and mutually dependent. All they had left in life was each other.
Caris and Rayn walked through the gates and found their spots in the crowd. The other girls chatted with one another around Caris, but Caris stood there, silently. She was much more comfortable in her home with her brother than in a large crowd where she was surrounded by girls she didn't know. She distracted herself by thinking of what her and Rayn would have for dinner that night. Ever since Rayn got a job as a custodian at one of the train depots in District Six, they were able to eat full meals every night, not just whatever they found around the District. Food was something her mother and father could never provide for them.
In front of her, the escort walked across the stage and approached the microphone, Peacekeepers trailing behind him. Caris glanced at her brother one last time and gulped, hoping that neither of their names would be called. That they would be able to leave together and pick up groceries on the way home.
"District Six!" The escort exclaimed, waving his arms into the air. "It is time to choose the two tributes who will have the honor of representing us in the Hundredth-and-Twentieth Hunger Games!"
Anyone but me or Rayn. Please, anyone but me or Rayn.
"Ladies first!" The escort dipped his hand into the female's bowl, pulled out a piece of paper, and tore it open before. "Caris Layart!"
Not again. Not another Layart.
Caris frantically spun around, trying to find her mother and brother, but her mother was nowhere to be found. She couldn't imagine what her mother was feeling. Caris' childhood was stunted by the reaction her mother had to her first daughter getting reaped and slaughtered in the Hunger Games, and Caris pondered what her mother's reaction would be once Caris went into the arena.
She spotted her brother from across the crowd and he was just as speechless as Caris was. As she looked at him, she resisted the urge to cry. She wouldn't let herself appear frightened. She would remain strong for herself and for her brother. For her mother, too, wherever she was.
Caris walked to the stage, her hands lightly trembling, but she kept them pinned down to her side. She walked up the stairs, and the escort threw out his arm, gesturing for her to stand next to him. She stood there, closed her eyes for a brief moment to collect her thoughts and emotions, and when she opened them, the escort already chose the male's piece of paper.
"Hardy Ellidan."
Immediately, a dark-skinned boy raised his hand, and the other boys around him stepped out of the way as he stepped out into the aisle. His dark brown shirt and black pants matched his black hair and brown eyes. Hardy walked to the stage with a stoic look on his face, carrying a brooding aura to him. He ignored the escort's gesture and stood to the side of the stage.
Why isn't he scared?
Caris was intimidated. He was taller and older than Caris. Her mind drifted, thinking of whether or not they would be allies and if Hardy would want to ally with her at all. She was young. She wasn't as physically strong as he was. Caris shook her head, ridding her mind of any negative thoughts. Instead, she convinced herself she could win, that anything was possible. Fourteen-year-olds have won before. If she intently listened to her mentors, picking up on any advice they gave, she could win. If she learned how to handle weapons and how to survive in the outdoors, she could win. She was going to try her hardest.
I'm agile. I'm smart. I can do this.
Caris drowned out the closing remarks from the escorts, tightly gripping her pants. She glanced at Hardy, who was standing upright, staring out into the crowd. Caris was scared, but she mustered up the courage and the confidence to stand firmly on the stage, unwavering. Hardy wasn't crying and neither would she.
Caris forced a confident smile for the cameras and locked eyes with her brother standing among the older boys in the crowd. Caris widened her smile, resisting the urge to cry. She couldn't cry. She couldn't show her brother that she was terrified.
If she showed him she was scared, he would worry, and Caris didn't want him to worry. Rayn and she would do whatever it took to reunite with him.
I need to win.
I need to come home.
Ciana Mavaro
District Seven, 15 Years Old
District Seven Reaping
Wait up for me!
Ciana trailed behind her family, watching her siblings playfully joke around with their father. She watched her father pick up her younger brother and spun him around in the air. She watched her father rustle his hand through her younger sister's hair. She watched him give his children one last hug before they had to find their spot in the crowd – all except Ciana.
Ciana's mother counted each of her children, pointing for those too young to be reaped to stand to the left and for those of-age to go to the right. Ciana was still a few steps behind them, and the mother nodded her head, ushering the children that were of-age for the Hunger Games to go through the gates. Her mother and father took the others off to the side without noticing that Ciana wasn't counted.
She wanted to be hugged by her father. She wanted to laugh and smile. She longed for that attention and affection that only her siblings seemed to receive.
They all walked through the gates, abandoning Ciana, and she sighed at the feeling that was all too familiar for her. She walked through the gates alone, turning to face her two seventeen-year-old brothers as she passed them, hoping that they would notice her. As she walked past them, they glanced in her direction and waved. For a moment, Ciana thought it was for her and waved back, but she quickly realized they were looking at her one brother's girlfriend.
They'll notice me soon. Everyone will.
Ciana stood among the other fifteen year-olds, tugging on the sleeves of her shirt. As she watched the escort approach the microphone, she took a deep breath. This was the moment she's been waiting for. This was the answer to all of her problems.
"Welcome, District Seven," the escort's voice boomed into the microphone, emitting a screeching sound from the big speakers on the stage. "To the reaping for the 120th Hunger Games!"
Ciana gulped and closed her eyes. The reaping consumed her thoughts. It's all she could think about. She could no longer focus in school. She could no longer pretend to enjoy spending time with her family. She could no longer force herself out of bed in the morning to not be acknowledged when she went downstairs for breakfast.
"Ladies first!"
The escort dipped her hand into the bowl, mixing the paper slips around in a circular motion. Ciana's legs were shaking, her hands were clammy, and her heart started to pound in her chest as thoughts raced in Ciana's head. When the escort tore open the piece of paper, Ciana realized she had a split-second to make up her mind.
She didn't want to be in the Hunger Games.
I want to be seen. I want to be heard.
She didn't want to kill. She didn't want to die.
It's my only option.
"I volunteer."
She instantly covered her hands over her mouth. She didn't want to volunteer, but she felt like she had to. Like there was no other way to escape.
Everyone gasped and scanned the crowd to see who spoke. The escort was taken back, perplexed by the voice of a teenage girl. District Seven had a volunteer here and there, but never a fifteen year old girl. The escort hesitantly placed the card back into the bowl and remained silent. Slowly, everyone realized who it was, and all eyes were on Ciana. She flicked her head from side-to-side, looking back at everyone staring at her. For the first time in her life, everyone was looking at her.
They see me. They finally see me.
"Please come up here," the escort said, breaking the silence. Two Peacekeepers approached her, but Ciana stepped into the aisle before they reached her. She stood there for a second, glanced at the Peacekeepers who were getting closer to her, and walked forward. "What's your name?"
As Ciana walked up the stairs to the stage, she spotted her family in the distance, their eyes widened and mouths agape. When she saw her parents standing alone, she knew her older siblings didn't even bother coming, and she overlooked her younger siblings in the crowd of eligible children. She didn't want to look at them – it was all about her at that moment.
"Ciana Mavaro," she said softly, and the escort put the microphone in her face. Ciana stood there, staring out into the crowd, resisting the urge to look back at her parents. "My name is Ciana Mavaro and I volunteer."
"Wonderful!" The escort exclaimed, shimmying her shoulders and stepping over to the male's bowl. She dipped her hand into the bowl and picked up a piece of paper. "The male tribute for District Seven this year is… Orion Adarna!"
A tall, lanky boy stepped into the aisle, and as he walked down the aisle towards the stage, tears built up in the corner of his eyes and Orion rubbed his eye, feebly smiling through the distraught expression on his face. It was clear that he didn't want to cover up how he was really feeling, no matter what that looked like to everyone in District Seven and across Panem. Ciana wished she could express her emotions like that.
On stage, she wanted to cry and scream, but nothing came out. She was left speechless by her own actions. She volunteered for the Hunger Games, and there was no turning back now. She might have done this to herself, but she didn't regret it. She would have regretted not volunteering. She couldn't risk living another year feeling lost and unimportant. She couldn't be a face in the crowd any longer.
Volunteering was an opportunity for Ciana to be something else. She wouldn't simply be one of the twelve Mavaro children anymore. She would be the Mavaro child who volunteered. For the first time in her life, Ciana did something for herself.
Volunteering made her special. It made everyone look at her.
She hoped it would finally make her parents acknowledge her. She thought that if she was gone, they would finally miss her. That her parents would finally love her if she was in the arena fighting for her life. Ciana wasn't naive enough to think she could win; she anticipated dying, and that made her want to volunteer even more. If she was on the verge of death, she hoped that her parents would cry for her and wish she was back home, but she found that hard to believe.
For most of her life, her parents made her feel invisible. They were always working, cleaning up after her younger siblings, or going to her older siblings' apartments for dinner. They never spent time with Ciana.
They don't care about me.
No one will miss someone who's already been forgotten.
Alden Kellett
District Eight, 15 Year Old
Goodbyes
"My son!" His mother wailed, throwing her arms around Alden. "My poor son!"
Alden held onto his mother tightly, keeping an eye on his father, expecting him to come and console him. He didn't want to be reaped. He didn't want to say goodbye. He wanted to stay in District Eight.
"I don't want to go," Alden whined, stomping his foot on the ground. "Isn't there something you could do? Someone you can talk to?"
"There has to be!" His mother exclaimed. She was in hysterics, with tears streaming down her face as she wrapped her son tightly in her arms. "He can't go!"
Alden's family was well-connected in District Eight, with his parents having an excellent relationship with the Mayor. Alden assumed that his father would be able to pull a few strings, that he would be able to call someone in District Eight or even in the Capitol. Alden expected his father to try his hardest to ensure another boy is sent to the Capitol, instead of Alden. Alden could think of several boys from school that had no future. There were several boys that wouldn't contribute something meaningful to District Eight and Alden felt as if they should go instead of him.
"That's not how it works," his father mumbled, standing in the corner of the room, away from his wife and his son. Alden knew this is how his mother would react, but he was offended by his father's apathy. "There's nothing I can do."
"You're not trying hard enough!" Alden shouted, pointing his finger at his father. "You want me to die!"
His mother screamed incoherent words through her tears and his father's frustrations grew more intense. Alden was mad that his father seemed to not care at all, that he wasn't consoling him. He wanted him to scream and cry like his mother.
"Mom, he wants me to die!" He blubbered, hugging his mother's waist tightly. The room was full of his and his mother's tears and sobs, and his father was growing impatient. "My own father!"
"You're being dramatic, Alden," his father grunted, not concealing his frustration. He was mad at his wife for entertaining Alden's theatrics. To his father, this was always a possibility, one that he already came to terms with. He loved Alden, but was much more stoic and practical than his wife. "Please calm down. We will send you gifts. We will make you sure you're well-fed in the arena."
Alden didn't want food. He wanted to stay in District Eight. He didn't want to go to the Capitol.
The door to the office swung open, and three boys stormed in, bumping into each other to hug Alden. Alden's father groaned as he watched the three boys throw themselves at Alden, all of them already sobbing. His father rubbed his head as the sound of crying was amplified. He wasn't fond of his son's friends, Halder, Bryce, and Merrick. They were the only other kids in District Eight that put up with Alden, but he always wished Alden found more mature friends to surround himself with.
"He's going to die!" Halder exclaimed.
"He's going to die!" Bryce repeated. Alden glared at him, wanting him to be more sincere than that. Bryce was always a copy-cat and Alden hated him for it, and Alden knew Bryce only hung out with him and the other boys because their houses were bigger. He was one of those boys that Alden could suggest to replace him as the District Eight tribute. Alden would rather send Bryce into the arena than himself.
"He's going to die! He's going to die! He's going to die!" Merrick chanted, and Alden's tears subsided, and he let out a chuckle as Merrick danced around the three boys. "At least Denali is cute!"
"She's too old for you," Halder bantered, grabbing Alden's cheeks. "You could be her son! Baby Alden!"
Alden watched Bryce force himself to laugh at Halder. He was going to miss Halder and Merrick, but he was not going to miss having Bryce follow them around everywhere. All of the boys were laughing, and his mother let out a high-pitched shriek, drawing the attention back to her. His father was consoling her in the corner of the office and he grabbed a tissue for her to wipe the black streaks from her mascara off her face.
"We're never going to meet his girlfriend! We're never going to see him get married!" His mother shrieked, and Alden blushed, embarrassed. "He's never going to have babies! He's going to die!"
Alden's friends continued to laugh, while his father held his weeping wife in his arms. There was a knock on the door and two Peacekeepers walked in, meaning that Alden had to say his final goodbyes. Him and his friends performed their secret handshake one last time, and as he watched his friends leave the room, he wished he could go with them. That they could go back to one of their houses and watch whatever was on the television, making fun of the accents and outfits of people from the Capitol.
His mother wrapped her arms around him one last time, kissed him on the cheek, and his father had to pull her away. She walked out of the room, still hysterical crying, and when the door slammed shut behind his father, he stood up and walked towards the window. He stared at the sky, watching the birds fly by, not turning around when he heard the Peacekeepers come back into the room. He pressed his hands against the window pane, watching his parents and friends go their separate ways, and he desperately wanted to be with them.
He wasn't ready to leave District Eight. He was never going to be ready. This is where his life was, where his friends and family were.
He didn't want to be in the Hunger Games.
I'm going to die.
Author's Note:
Bit of a longer chapter here; I've tried to give each tribute a POV where I think I can best introduce them as a character. The next chapter is going to be the Train Rides, where I'll introduce five more tributes.
What do you think of these five tributes?
Also another random question because I like hearing what y'all think: What character from the Hunger Games do you wish was explored more? Mine's Cashmere, of course.
Some shoutouts. Please submit to tear that cherry out (it's his first SYOT, submissions close April 30) and bobothebear (submissions close May 1).
See you later!