District Four
Troy Clark, 18.
Troy pummels the punching bag in front of him, the thwacks of the boxing gloves against the bag disturbing the otherwise silent training room. His eyes narrow in determination, breath ragged as he continues and continues to hit, anger fuelling him for longer than he would normally last. But eventually he crashes, his punches getting weaker and weaker until he gives up and unstraps the boxing gloves, tossing them away as he sits down and tries to catch his breath.
Another morning, another argument with his parents. 'You train too much,' they tell him, 'you can't volunteer'. He'll prove them wrong though today, though, when he does volunteer, and he'll prove their first statement wrong when he returns home victorious from the arena, his training put to good use.
What did his parents expect him to do, anyway? Not train? Half-ass it? That wouldn't win him the Games. The careers, as an alliance, had such a high victory rate because of their training. Those little kids from the very outer districts had no chance against the much older, much wiser, much more experienced tributes from the careers. That's why those districts were just bloodbath fodder; because they weren't worth it. Ten, Eleven and Twelve haven't had a victory in years, decades even, and for a very good reason—their tributes have no training, no hope of winning, and no experience. Troy has all of that. He's practically a victor already.
All he needs to do now is win the Games, and that should be fairly easy.
He stands up once he's caught his breath, grabbing a towel from his bag before heading off to the showers. He doesn't want to go back home if he can help it, so he plans to just carry out his morning routine here. It isn't out of the ordinary for him. If he could live here, he would.
The hot water feels nice running down his back, relaxing his muscles. He stays there for a while, eyes closed with nothing but the sounds of the water and the thoughts swirling around his mind. It's not until he hears other people's voices that he actually showers, aware that the morning is dragging on. He dries off once the water has stopped and gets changed into a smart t-shirt and dress trousers. For a while, he'd considered wearing a suit, but he'd decided that he didn't want to look too eager.
There's a lot of chatter in the academy as Troy leaves the showers and heads back into the training room, chin held high. He's aware of people staring at him as he walks through, hears the whispers about him being chosen to volunteer this year, and it makes him feel good to know that everyone has finally realised that he's better than them. That he's going to win the Games and bring glory to District Four once more. It's been a good few years since they've had a victor—One and Two had earned themselves most of the victories in the past ten years—but Troy is glad that he'll get to be the next one.
It's his right as the best student at the academy after all.
Leaving the academy, Troy basks in the heat of the sun as he heads down to the beach. It's barely morning, but the heat is almost oppressive—he's certain it hadn't been this hot when he left his house—but the cold water lapping at his ankles when he reaches the shore is a welcome reprieve. He wishes that he had left enough time to go diving for pearls. His hand instantly goes to the pearl necklace around his neck, made from the pearls that he'd collected over his various diving adventures. He's going to take it in as his token.
He'll have more than enough time to go pearl diving when he's living in Victors' Village.
He has to squint to see across the waves, the sun's reflection off of the water almost blinding. But he stares out, taking in the beauty of the vast stretch of water, until the reaping horn rings out, signalling that they need to start making their way to the square.
Troy takes a deep breath. This is it. This is his chance.
The other tributes don't know what's going to hit them.
Talisa Meeric, 18.
Lucas's voice and fist pounding on her door is what wakes Talisa up on the morning of the Reaping.
She barely has time to open her eyes before the younger boy is in her room, jumping onto her bed. He grins as she struggles into a sitting position, before he leans forward and wraps his arms around her neck.
"It's your day!" He exclaims as she moves to hug him back. "Daddy says you'll be a victor before we know it."
Talisa laughs, nodding against her brother's shoulder. "I will," she says. "But before I can do that I have to get ready for the reaping, meaning that you're going to have to leave me alone for a little while, alright? I'll see you at breakfast."
The nine-year-old nods, leaving the room with a thumbs up at his sister. Talisa can feel the excitement starting to build up as she swings her legs over the edge of the bed and stands up, crossing the room to her wardrobe where she pulls out the blue dress that she'd borrowed from her mom last night. She lays it out on her bed, but before she gets dressed in it she heads out of her room and to the bathroom.
The door is locked when she tries to open it, and she groans, waiting for whoever it was in there to leave. Five minutes later and her other brother, Zale exits, raising his hand for a fist bump. Talisa shakes her head, but fist bumps him anyway. Her brothers can be pains sometimes, but they're well-meaning and she'll definitely miss them when she's in the arena.
She showers quickly and pads back across the hall to her bedroom, changing into the dress that she'd laid out. It fits her almost perfectly, and she's glad that her mom let her borrow it. It was definitely going to help her gain some sponsors at the reaping, that was for sure. It's a lot better than the dresses that she has in her wardrobe.
God. She just can't wait to be victor. It's going to be such a nice change from the simple life that her family lead now.
No more having to help out down at the docks, no more worries when there's a really poor harvest of crabs. Her parents won't have to work anymore, her dad won't have to get sunburnt anymore potting crabs, and her mom will be saved from the gruelling and boring work of making nets. Her brothers will get bragging rights, and she will have the satisfaction of knowing that she's improved their lives for the better.
It's a win-win situation all around, and Talisa has to say that she deserves the win more than the boy who's going to volunteer. She's met him a couple of times down at the academy, and he's been less than pleasant. The only people he considers himself as equal to is the victors themselves, which is saying a lot. Talisa doesn't necessarily hate him, but she hopes he knows that it's going to be her bringing the win to Four and not him.
Talisa returns to the bathroom to put on a little bit of makeup before she joins her family at the table, grinning at Lucas who's practically vibrating from his seat with excitement. He, Zale and their dad, have been nothing but supportive about her dreams to volunteer, and she definitely appreciates that. And whilst her mom isn't too keen on the idea, she knows that it's something that has to be done.
"Are you ready, kiddo?" Her dad asks as they tuck into the meal her mom had prepared. Talisa nods around a mouthful of pancakes.
"I was born ready," she states, and it's not untrue. Talisa's sense of ambition has been there since she was a kid, always striving for more than she had. She already has some of the top grades in her school, and with the training that she's been receiving since she was ten, winning the Games was a logical next step really.
Her excitement grows with every minute, and by the time that the horn echoes around the district, she feels as if she's about to explode. She's going to start her journey to become District Four's next victor.
Troy Clark, 18.
The heat hasn't eased a bit when Troy reaches the square, impatiently waiting to get his finger pricked. His lip curls as he finally reaches the booth, and is then made to stand with the rest of the eighteen-year-olds once his blood has been drawn. He wasn't friends with any of them; they were all beneath him in terms of training, and he makes no effort to socialise with people like that.
The only people that he actually has some sort of respect for are the victors; people who have sacrificed their own lives to benefit their district, and the only ones who have had the talent to succeed. He doesn't think much about those who volunteer and die—they made the wrong choice, took the spot of somebody else who could have won.
"Watch it!" He snaps as someone jostles him, turning around to glare at the boy. He catches sight of his parents over the boy's shoulder, watching him from beyond the rope. His father shakes his head at him, mouthing something that Troy can't decipher but doesn't want to.
He knows that it's along the lines of 'don't volunteer' or something like that, but it's just not going to happen. Troy can't just give up his chance to shine and become a fisherman or something worthless like that. He was put on this earth to do something with his life, with his talents, and the Games are that something. He hasn't met the other tributes yet, doesn't even know their names, hell, they probably haven't been reaped or haven't volunteered yet, but he knows that he'll be above all of them.
Troy watches as the escort finally takes the stage. His eyes are mostly on the victors sat at the back, the two mentors who will be giving him and his district partner advice in the run-up to the Games. It isn't like Troy will really need it, though, but he's willing to listen to them and try and learn something that he doesn't know already.
The mayor starts his speech, the video is played, and then Troy is rocking back and forth on his heels in preparation for his sprint to the stage. He still has a few minutes; the girls are always chosen before the boys, but he's more than ready to shout the words that he's been dreaming of shouting for years.
Their escort, dressed in a blue frilly dress that looks, in Troy's opinion, absolutely horrendous, takes her sweet time in choosing a slip from the girls' bowl. It's a futile thing, everybody in the district knows that those reaped in Four will never enter the games, but it's tradition all the same. The name that she does choose barely leaves her mouth before a girl breaks out of the eighteen-year-olds' section, shouting that she volunteers.
Troy has seen her around the academy before, but he can't remember her name. It doesn't matter though, because she's not going to be returning home.
The boys' name is soon read out, but Troy pushes and shoves his way out of his section before the boy can even register that he's been picked. His hand shoots up in the air as he runs, bellowing out that he volunteers.
He gives his name, shakes the girls' hand and strides into the justice building feeling nothing but pleased with himself.
His mom and his dad are less pleased when they come and say goodbye, but Troy doesn't care.
"You'll see," he says to them before they leave. "When I'm in living in Victors' Village you'll see."
Talisa Meeric, 18.
The square is bustling when Talisa and her family reach it. Her mother, father and Lucas leave to stand behind the rope, wishing her good luck as she does so, and her and Zale stand in the queue for their fingers to be pricked.
"You're really going to do it?" Zale asks.
"Yeah," Talisa nods. "I'm really going to do it. For you. For mom, dad and Lucas, too. I want more than to just be a crabber, or to weave fishing nets."
"Dad always says that you'll get the furthest out of all of us," Zale shrugs, taking a step forward as the queue starts to dwindle. "Says that you've got the most drive. He's not wrong, I guess. I know you'll come back. Easily."
"And I will," Talisa says, holding out her finger as she reaches the booth. It's not a lie. The two of them move through into the aisle. "I'll see you in the justice building."
Zale gives her a thumbs up and a final "good luck" before he moves to stand with the other fourteen-year-olds. Talisa moves into the eighteen-year-olds section, barely able to contain herself as she waits for the escort to take the stage and the ceremony to begin. This is what her entire life has been leading up to. This moment. Those months of begging her parents until they let her train, those eight years of training every moment that she could.
It was all about to be worth it.
She usually doesn't care about the speech or the video, but she hangs onto every word this year, not willing to miss her chance.
She tenses up as the escort moves to the girls' bowl and then, as the slip is being opened, she races towards the aisle, hand in the air. She's out of breath when she reaches the steps, throat sore from just how loud she'd shouted, but she'd done it; she was a tribute in the games. About to be victor.
On the stage all she can focus on was her parents' and brothers' beaming faces, knowing that over the next few weeks or so she was going to completely change their lives.
They push into the visitation room, hugging her tightly and fussing over her.
Before they leave, Lucas presses a seashell into her head.
"It's from the beach," he tells her. "It'll remind you of Four whenever you look at it. So that you won't forget."
"Thank you, buddy," she smiles, bending down to ruffle his hair. She couldn't wait until they were living in Victors' Village and he had everything he wanted and more. "I won't forget Four, now."
It's nice and cold against her palm as she curls her hand around it, sitting down on the plush couch behind her, watching as her family leaves. It feels good to have made them proud.
A/N: hope you enjoyed!