Psyche Wells, 18
District 6 Female
"Psyche!" my mother growled as she stormed into the kitchen. She was dressed in her best clothes, a green maxi dress with a small impractical hat upon her head. My brother Polybytes let out a little whimper as he quickly took the teapot off the stove. I took it from him and quickly placed a sleeve on. "Mr. Sheerman is waiting-"
"I know!" I snapped, instantly regretting it by my mother's death steer. I shrank back into myself as I hurried out of the door with my brother, my mother saying a prayer to the Goddess Hestia. I hoped she wouldn't help.
My mother worshiped the Gods of Ancient Greece. I had to admit, I believed in them myself but I didn't believe in my mother's ways. Mr. Sheerman, well, he was one of her twisted ways.
He was my to be husband, married to me just like my older sister Hebe was married off. It was gross and his looks as I entered the living room just made me want to run away. He was a middle-aged man, plump and resembling something that would live under your bed.
However, like my mother had taught me, I walked over to him, trying not to notice his wandering eyes, and placed the tray of tea and scones in front of him. After a few compliments, I gave my thanks and back away to the corner of my room with my little brother.
We watched on in hatred as he nibbled on the scones, making moaning noises as he did so. Then the way he slurped his tea, it was disgusting that I would be married to such a grotesque creature.
"We should have placed poison in the tea," I whispered to my brother, leaning against the wall with my arms crossed.
Polybytes smiled widely like he had just won a million dollar. "Oh, I did something sooo much better," he mumbled with a grin. I had learned not to doubt my brother rebellious ways and this time, my trust was not misplaced. There is no better satisfaction than seeing your future husband struggle to hold down his stomach.
Gary Winslow, 18
District 5 Male
I rocked back and forth on the heels of my feet as our Escort, Flutter, made her opening statement. By my feet, Skitty sat calmly by my feet like she did every year, slowly washing her long, black fur. She was an old girl, not far from the end but every year, she hauled herself free from my room and followed me to the Reaping, like she knew I might not come home. I was always happy for her company, taking a spot at the end of the row so no one would step on her tail. She had become such a regular visitor that even the Peacekeepers had stopped removing her.
I glanced down at her with my green eyes and grinned, using my right hand to stroke my stubble. There wasn't much of it, to be honest, I was never the fastest as growing facial hair so after just a week of not shaving, my chin had gained a small amount of stylish stubble. I mean, I wasn't complaining, it went very well with my white shirt and waistcoat.
Skitty meowed loudly as Flutter tiptoed over to the girl bowl. With a silvery toothy grin, she looked at the audience with happiness, her hand on the edge of the bowl. Making a shocked motion with her lips, she plunged her skinny hand into the sea of names, pulling free a single slip of paper.
I could hear a collective intake of air as Flutter smiled and said the name out into the world. Psyche Wells. It hurt more than usual but that wasn't saying much. I and Psyche were in the same class at school. Admitted, I never paid much attention, instead sketching new engine designs in my notebook. However, she was there, when she turned up and it stung to see someone I had seen in such close proximity to me on top of that stage.
She stayed strong though, closing her eyes and muttering something inaudible into the air. She only opened her right eye briefly to watch Flutter pick the males name. A name I wished she never chose.
You see, I thought I was already nervous until she spoke my name, even Skitty meowed in protest. I was used to driving race cars, I was the best the District had to offer yet this frightened me more than any potential car crash had ever done.
When I mounted the stage, Psyche looked at me and muttered an apology. At first, I thought she was apologizing that I got Reaped but when I looked in her eyes, I realized it wasn't. She was apologizing ahead of time, just in case she happened to be the person that ended my life.
Gary Winslow, 18
Train Rides
Our mentors were pathetic, and that was being kind. Both appeared to be nervous wrecks, the male mentor Cogs twitching as he paced the carriage and Hex shaking as she drank from a teacup. Withdrawal symptoms.
Back in Six, many people took Morphling, it was a common drug but it also had horrid effects on regular users. These two must have lived on the substance to be in such a state, they couldn't have been off it for more than a few hours, they most likely had a shot before the Reapings. Yet, they were acting like it had been weeks since they had touched the stuff. You only got in that state if you become reliant on the stuff.
As I and Psyche sat before her, Hex offered us a smile, the corners of her mouth quivering. "So," she hiccuped. "What do both of you do?"
I was silent for a moment, allowing Psyche time to answer but when she didn't, I went ahead anyway. "I am a racer...I also make engines sometimes...that's about it."
A genuine smile formed on Hex's face. "That is very good," she said like cold water was rushing down her back. She then turned to Psyche. "What about you?"
My District partner gave a sharp intake of breath. "Nothing really, I help my mother around the house."
Hex gave a small nod. "Well, what are you both good at?" she squealed.
Psyche was a lot more talkative this time. "Oh, well I can be a bit sneaky!"
"That's more like it!" Hex almost cheered, clapping her hands. "And you?" she asked me.
"I can handle fear and I am used to taking dangerous risks." It didn't feel as good as Psyches but not only did I not want to reveal all my chickens too soon I had my doubts that it would help me. If I was staring at the blade of a knife coming towards me, Psyche's sneaky nature or my adrenaline junky would help.
Psyche Wells, 18
Train Rides
By the time I had talked over my options for strategies with Hex, I decided to turn in for the night. I couldn't say it was very informative. The most I had learned was it might be best to let Hex calm down from her high before we talked. The most she could say was positive things. Positivity would not bring me home. I needed to grow.
At least my room was cozy. Simple but sweet. A small single bed with the softest mattress I had experience, the lights could change an array of different colours, although I found orange the most calming. By my pillow on the bedside table was a bowl of pink, powdered sweets. It had a nice atmosphere that took you away from the horror which was the Games. Even if it was only for one night.
Once I had locked my door, experienced my first shower, I sat down on my bed, smelling of roses. I almost forget where I was and as I sank into the mattress I didn't care. When my blue eyes flickered over to the digital clock, I saw that it was only ten o'clock. Back home, I would still be helping my mother wash up or on a date with Mr. Sheerman. There was an odd sense of freedom, even if I was possibly heading towards my death. For a rebellious person like me, it was nice.
I could stay up all night if I wanted to, eat as much as I wanted, live my final days on a diet of sweets, waste as much water as I wanted, I had more freedom than any adult back home had. If you forgot about what would await me tomorrow, it was rather nice.
Yet, with all this freedom, I found myself just wanting to sleep. The faint sound of the rain outside and the small rocks from the train, it was the only thing appealing. After tonight, I would be forced to be in love with someone and then later fight for my life. Who knew when I would get such a good sleep again?
"Just because someone is older than you does not mean they know best,"