Marjoram "Jo" Paella (17)- D11F
I'm awake before anyone else in the house, braiding my dark brown hair in the mirror. There are some light skin people in District Eleven, but my hair is what distinguishes me from pretty much everyone here. I would like to cut it short in order to make it less conspicuous, but my parents always tell me to be proud of my Capitol heritage. Usually everyone treats us with respect because of it, but I know from experience that today will be different.
Reaping day especially is the day that the other residents of District Eleven send us loathing glances as we walk past, avoiding speaking to us. The days that are tributes day in the Games are even worse. A couple of years ago, when both of Eleven's tributes had died in the bloodbath, the town baker had refused to serve my father and called him a murderer. We had to get the mayor involved, and the outcome wasn't pretty. The baker had a few lashes in the town square and the district was reminded that Capitolites are to be treated with utmost respect.
Of course, I'm not truly a Capitolite, being born here in Eleven. But the same rules apply to me and Sage as they do to our parents, though we don't want them to.
Our parents' adventurous spirit is what brought them to Eleven to be teachers, but they weren't adventurous enough to live the full Eleven experience, living in squalor and poverty with little food and space. Our house is one of the largest in District Eleven, with three bedrooms, a kitchen and a separate dining room. The only bigger ones are the mayor's and the mansions in Victor's Village, which is where I'm off to first today.
I'm up early for Reaping day; most people sleep in as long as they can. It's a rare day off for most of them, and they want to avoid thinking about the Reaping. As such the district is eerily quiet, no chatter of fieldhands heading to the orchards at dawn, no hum of activity in the downtown area where we live. The silence is deafening, only punctuated by the occasional birdsong.
Victor's Village is only a few blocks away. It stands empty as ever with only a few houses occupied. Seeder's is the closest to the rest of the town, being the oldest living victor. I knock on the door and wait for a few seconds before it swings open. Seeder's wizened face appears, cracking a smile.
"Jo, you're here," she croaks, opening the door wider to let me in.
"Of course I'm here," I say, stepping inside. "It's good to see you. I've been too busy to visit often."
"I know that you have your studies," Seeder says kindly, leading me into the kitchen. She's already made toast and eggs for us, along with some apple juice. The food is luxurious for District Eleven, especially the eggs. Protein is hard to come by here.
I sit down at the table and sip my glass of apple juice. Seeder sits down next to me. The windows are open and the sounds of birds drift into the house. "My parents are the ones that want me to study hard," I say. "I don't care that much about it."
"Is that what things are like in the Capitol?"
"I wouldn't know, you know that," I say indignantly. Seeder likes to tease me about the fact that I've never been to the Capitol, since that's how we met. My parents, ever the lovers of the Hunger Games, left me in charge of the most competent and gentle of the victors in the Village. Sage hadn't been born at that time, but in successive visits, he had stayed with Seeder as well. Our parents didn't want us to see the Capitol, that place they lived most of their lives and drone on about for hours, just in case we ever are Reaped.
"If you ever have the honor of being Reaped, you're reaction should be the same as all the other tributes," my father told me before their last visit to the Capitol when I was thirteen. That's when I realized why he also keeps the two of us in shape with a trainer and makes us take out tesserae each year. They said it was just a way to save money by not having to buy oil, but I know better. And I might have been excited about the prospect of being Reaped just like Sage is, but luckily my visits with Seeder have opened my eyes.
After we finish breakfast, Seeder shows me the garden she's planted. Every year she grows vegetables and some fruits for herself and the other victors. It's a way to keep busy and create new life out of something terrible. The Games take something from each of us, even if we aren't picked. Each year the friends and family of the tributes prepare for the worst and hardly ever return to normal… I can't imagine what it's like for Seeder to watch more children sent to their deaths each year.
"For you, honey," Seeder tells me as she hands me a basket full of carrots and strawberries. Fruits and vegetables are all over Eleven, but these are made differently than the others. There's love in them, not fear and hate.
"Thank you," I say. "I think I'll give them to the Rainns, if that's okay."
"You can do whatever you want with them, honey. I hope you have a great day."
The implicit may the odds be ever in your favor makes my stomach turn. "Thanks, Seeder."
After leaving Victor's Village, I head to the Rainns house. It's a small shack on the poorer part of town, but I've spent quite a bit of time there. Even my parents love them; the kids are intelligent and do well in school, which delights them. I often wonder if they realize that school means nothing here. They were sent to instill propaganda in the schools and stamp out dissident thoughts, which they are well aware of. But they never seemed to have realized that grades don't have the same value that they do in the Capitol or some of the other districts.
Tarr answers the door, his sunburnt face erupting into a smile as soon as he sees me. "Jo," he croons. "It's so great to see you."
"Jo!" Alyssum pushes past her father and wraps her arms around my waist. "What did you bring?"
"Will you look at this!" I exclaim, showing her the strawberries. "Compliments of Seeder. Can you believe it?"
Alyssum gives her signature little scream and pulls me inside. Silas and Marigold are waiting, already dressed in their Reaping clothes.
"Oh, Jo, you didn't have to," Marigold says tiredly, taking the basket from me. Though only fifteen, she sounds like she could be a woman who has lived for decades. Her life hasn't been easy thus far; the death of her mother, her father's injury which renders him incapable to work, and taking care of her brother and sister. Her and Silas do all the work they can, sometimes sacrificing school time to work in the fields, something my parents disapprove, unable to wrap their heads around the necessity of it.
"I'm regifting it to you," I say with a smile. "I know things haven't been the best in the orchards."
The late spring has been seriously messing with the crops, and the Capitol demands their fruits regardless of the weather.
"This is very kind of you," Tarr tells me gently. "You've always done so much for us, Jo."
Tomas Fields (15)- D11M
Usually the sounds of the workers heading to the fields wakes me up each morning, far before Jonathan arrives at the journalism building, but today the square is silent until his footsteps clatter on the stairs. I open my eyes to see him staring right down at me.
"Morning, Tomas."
"Good morning," I say, quickly sitting up. I'm unable to hold back a yawn as he steps over to me to unlock the door.
I get to my feet and follow him inside. The building is stuffy and loud with the sound of the heating and air conditioning pipes humming above us. Still, it's one of the nicest buildings in District Eleven.
I find myself some nice clothes in the drawer at my desk, which holds pretty much all of my possessions. I've never had a lot, so it doesn't bother me. I do wish Jonathan let me sleep inside, though. He tells me a workplace is not a living space, but I practically live here anyway. With nowhere else to go, I spend my time writing articles and organizing the paper, occasionally going out to interview someone. But even that is usually left to an older employee. No correspondent would want to be interviewed by a child.
"Why are you here?" I ask Jonathan curiously. It's Reaping day, which means there's no work. In the morning at least; I know he would probably stop by later to start writing some articles about the ceremony.
"I forgot my coat yesterday," he says, picking it up from his chair. Although Jonathan is certainly not wealthy by any means, he's more well off than a lot of people in Eleven. His coat is a thick, nicely made one that was probably imported from District Eight. As the head of the District Eleven Herald, he's essentially the head of propaganda here, and it pays well.
"The Reaping is soon," he says. "You shouldn't have slept in so late."
"I know," I say, hanging my head a little. It's best to just agree with him when he criticizes me.
"I'm headed over there now. You can just accompany me," Jonathan says dismissively.
I try to hide my small smile. Something like this had happened last year, too. Jonathan tries on put on a hard exterior, but it was him who offered me my job, and allowed me to sleep outside the building. I know he doesn't want me to be alone before the Reaping. With my name in the bowl 23 times this year, my nerves are indeed a little frayed.
But this isn't my first Reaping away from home. My heart hurts a little when I think about Mark and Daniel, who will also be facing the terror of the Reaping this year. I try to see them as often as I can, but it's difficult to avoid our father's watchful eyes. Well, their father's eyes.
Once I'm dressed, Jonathan and I silently make our way to the square. The two of us get along well despite our age difference. We don't feel the need to fill the time with talk, and prefer to focus on whatever's at hand. For me, it's the Reaping. For Jonathan, it's probably mentally outlining the obituaries of the tributes for later.
"Good luck," he tells me awkwardly before we go our separate ways.
I nod in assent and get in line to get my finger pricked. I try to pick out my siblings' faces in the crowd. Tori-Ann and Baelyn will be with their parents, but Mark and Daniel will be here somewhere, but I can't find any of them.
I trudge to the fifteen-year old section, sighing heavily. I look different than most people in the square with my lighter skin and speckled green eyes that give away my heritage. For most of my life I thought it was just a genetic accident, but three years ago my mother had put an end to that. Now I stand out in the crowd for more than one reason. Everyone gives me side-eye glances and whispers as I walk past. They know that I was thrown out of my house for being the product of adultery. The man I thought was my father, who I thought loved me, had thrown me out when my mother finally confessed. My real father is a Peacekeeper from Four that she met fifteen years ago. Now I have no home and no real family, just a hybrid living on the streets.
The educational video doesn't help my mood. It's supposed to be uplifting and exciting, chronicling the victory over the rebels and institution of the Hunger Games, but no one here is very excited. But there's something to be said about the escort, who is prancing about on stage, her wig flailing wildly. She doesn't seem to realize how ridiculous she looks.
"Happy Hunger Games everyone! And may the odds ever be in your favor!" she waves enthusiastically at the camera. At least she's honest about who she's really doing this for. Not us, just the Capitol.
"How exciting! Let's jump right in, shall we?"
She bounces over to the girl's ball and snatches up a slip. The crowd holds its breath as she unfolds it.
"Marigold Rainn!"
The square is silent as Marigold climbs up to the stage, her whole body shaking wildly. Her eyes are wide and terrified.
"How incredible! Now, do we have any vol-"
"I volunteer!"
A gasp runs through the crowd. It's been years since someone has volunteered.
The Reaped girl descends back to the ground, the murmurs continuing as a familiar face takes her place. It's that Capitol girl, the one whose parents are teachers at the school! She stands out even more than me with dark brown hair in two braids and lighter skin than most, even me. The escort doesn't seem to have any idea who she is, but the Eleven citizens are obviously shocked. The whispers continue until the mayor himself stands and shushes us loudly.
"Oh… a volunteer! How lovely!" the escort smiles, her teeth unnaturally bright. It's easy to tell she's both excited and confused. "What is your name, dear?"
"Marjorem Paella," she says. The escort frowns momentarily, recognizing that Paella is a Capitolite name that doesn't belong in Eleven, but recovers quickly. "Wonderful! Now let's see who your partner shall be!"
This whole thing is making me angry. A Capitolite in the Games? She'll get special treatment for sure! What is they decide to exempt her and choose someone else instead? But I realize that won't happen. Because it doesn't matter where your parents are from, it just matters where you end up. And where you end up is usually shit.
"Tomas Fields!"
Shit.
Suddenly there are two Peacekeepers grabbing my arms and hoisting me upright. There's dirt in my mouth. They push me toward the stairs, and my feet start moving of their own accord. I can't believe I fell over. What will the Capitol think of me now?
As I mount the stage, I hear Peacekeepers laughing not far away. I know their sniggering is directed towards me. All of my rage about the Games, about my family, about not being fucking able to eat breakfast this morning bubbles up inside me until I can't take it.
"How lovely! Now it's ti-"
The glass bowl that contains the boys' names shatters on the ground. I'm breathing heavily when the Peacekeepers return, this time roughly placing my hands around my back. But they can't really hurt me, everyone knows that. Harming a tribute is a horrible offense. So what can they do if I destroy every little thing about their precious Games?
Marjorem "Jo" Paella (17)- D11F
I wonder how most tribute's families react to their child being Reaped, or volunteering in my case. I imagine this is something that the Careers go through, but they are trained for years beforehand, bloodthirsty monsters. I don't want to kill, and here I am listening to my parents give me tips.
"Oh, sweetheart, we are so proud of you!" my mom reminds me shrilly. "This is such an honor for all of us!"
"If you wanted to volunteer, we could have tried to… train you up a little," my father says suggestively. It's technically illegal to train before going to the Capitol, and though blind eyes are turned from One, Two, and Three, anyone else be probably be lashed or worse… but my family has always had special privileges here.
"I didn't want to train, I just… I think I have a better chance than Marigold," I finish.
"That you do," my mother agrees. "Just pay attention in the Training Center, and just be yourself! Caesar is going to love you, and so are all the sponsors… oh, sweetheart, you're going to do amazing."
"Thanks mom."
Sage is silent throughout much of this exchange, watching me closely. Before it's time for them to leave, I give him a hug and whisper, "Take care of Seeder for me. And the Rainns."
He nods almost imperceptibly.
The Peacekeepers are kind to my family as usual, knocking on the door before opening it and advising them to leave.
"Goodbye, Jo," my mother gives me a hug. "We love you!"
After they leave, Seeder hobbles in with Marigold in tow. Marigold is crying, something she hardly ever does. Seeder's face is stone, her expression hardened.
"Why did you do that, Jo?" Marigold sobs.
"I'm sorry, I just couldn't let you go, "I say gently. "Your family needs you. And my parents want me to go anyway."
This only makes her sob harder as she hands me something; a small necklace with a apple tree on it. It's probably the most expensive thing she owns.
"You can't give this to me-"
"It was my mother's." Her upper lip wobbles. "Please just take it."
I curl my fist around it in resolve.
"Jo."
I look up to Seeder. "Yes?"
"You're going to bring Marigold her necklace back. Because I'm going to mentor you through this, and we're going to win."
Tomas Fields (15)- D11M
Jonathan doesn't come visit me, which is disappointing, though I'm not sure what I expected. Who does come, very unexpectedly, is my family.
Not Franklin, of course, who hates me more than anything as a symbol of his wife's infidelity, but everyone else is here, sobbing inconsolably.
Tori-Ann tearfully puts a hand on my shoulder. "I'm sorry we couldn't do more to help you," she says, her voice choked up. "We should have fought harder to make you stay. Then you wouldn't have had to take out as much tesserae-"
"I would still have had the same chance," I tell her softly. Our family was never on the rich side, and all five of us take out tesserae whenever we needed it.
"Still, we should have done more for you," Baelyn agrees, taking my hand.
"Yes." My mother's voice trembles. "I'm so sorry, Tomas. I love you so much, my sweet boy."
She hands me something. It's a black pearl, beautiful and opaque. I stare at my reflection in its surface.
"Your father gave it to me before he was transferred to a different district," she whispers, as though her affair is still a secret. "He never came back, but you have to, Tomas. Promise?"
"I promise."
Hey everyone! I'm super sorry about the long wait. The end of the semester is coming which means I might not be able to get District 12 to you until another week, but I'm going to try for earlier! Once the break comes I will be able to update much more quickly. Thanks for reading! :)