Chapter Twelve: Tipping Point

Prior to The Death Sentence for Twenty-Three Children

Aryion Hylus, District Seven Male

It doesn't matter who you are or where you're from, at some point you're going to go through a couple of bad days and think, my life sucks.

However, that's the thought I've been having just about every day for the past two years now.

I live in a place where no one wants me. Everything I own is crammed into a small bag at the foot of the cot I sleep on every night. The one person I actually thought had any feelings for me turned out to be a kleptomaniac who just needed an easy target. (And I never got that stuff back, either.)

There are only a couple of positive things I can recall from the past two years. And trust me, I tried.

One of them is Fletcher, even if he's a bit of a mixed bag in the personality department. At the orphanage where I live, most people aren't there to make friends- they're there to do what they have to in order to not starve to death. (Which, last time I checked, is a pretty reasonable priority.) Thankfully, one of the previous few exceptions here is someone who I can at least be around for more than five minutes without wanting to punch them.

The second is me finally hitting sixteen, where you're old enough to sign the job waiver required to cut down trees for money. (Turns out, getting killed on the job is a very real possibility- there's been at least five tree-related casualties I've heard about since March.) Meaning, I can work on orphanage-sanctioned projects (usually ones set aside by companies here because they know no one else wants to work on them), and actually make a little money off of it.

The third barely counts, considering it's worn off in a gruesome fashion by now, but it's those idyllic two months where I actually had a girlfriend, a girl named April. Before she revealed her true colors to me though half of everything I owned mysteriously going missing, she was, if not necessarily nice, at least polite. We couldn't really do much together, however, due to her "full-time job," as she put it, but at least we could talk and do, well, normal stuff.

My fists clench at the memory. I don't know where she is now, but I'd guess she's either latching on to another target, has been caught in the middle of a job and executed, or breaking into someone else's house.

But anyway, it's time for another "orphan project," as most of the District calls it. Gerald, the man who runs it, yells out "Everyone assigned to this project needs to hurry up! If you don't, I'll speak to the mayor and personally make sure you get Reaped tomorrow!"

Even though I know his threats are probably baseless (he says stuff like that all the freaking time and almost never follows through with it), I still don't want to tick him off. Therefore, I quickly chomp down the last few bites of my meager breakfast and run for the door.

When we arrive at the site, we see that the place is already clear of branches.

A voice pops into my head and nearly reaches my mouth before I clamp shut. Did they seriously call us here to move imaginary branches? Or maybe they were on drugs or something?

However, a minute later, a beefy man with a thick cigar and a stained work uniform explains to us what we're supposed to do. All we need to do is move some branches from a clearing about half a mile away to where we're standing now, by using a path that cuts through the woods between them. Seems easy enough.

By instinct, we all run towards that path as soon as the main is done talking in a stampede to get there first. We cross the clearing in mere seconds, and hit the path.

Then we slow to a slow walk, because the trees are so overgrown here that the path is just a long, winding stretch of pitch-black. For a few seconds, we stumble around, not sure what to do.

Then a girl near the back of the line (who sounds like she's about my age) yells, "This should be obvious, but we need to stick together! Grab on to the person in front of you!"

Everyone immediately tries to do that. Only problem is, it's so dark that we can't see where the next person's shoulders are, meaning that a lot of us (not me or the person behind me, thankfully) miss and wind up just hitting the other person.

"Ow! Watch it!"

"Do you know how arms work?"

"My shoulders are up here, idiot!"

"Where did you learn how to aim?"

It takes a fair bit of time (and even more frustration), but we finally manage to form a sort of conga line as we slowly trudge through the soggy woods. The path becomes confusing, curvy, and littered with things designed to trip any unsuspecting walkers. All we can do is hope the person at the front of the line (who's leading all of us) doesn't get lost.

Thankfully, we manage to follow the path until we finally step out of the gloom and into a near-identical clearing. The main difference is that this one is littered with branches. (Clearly, the numskull the instructor was talking about saw no need to, you know, stack them in a pile, or at least move them in the same general area so that this job would be a little bit easier.)

Even worse, all these logs look heavy. Lifting them isn't going to be impossible, but we'll definitely have to put two on each log. Meaning more trips back and forth.

Everyone seems to have a partner already. However, a couple of people are trying (and failing) to lift up logs on their own. I guess they must either be really brave or really stupid.

Trying to be useful, I dart toward the nearest person who doesn't seem to have any help. Thankfully, I recognize him: it's Fletcher, trying to pick up one of the largest branches in the whole field by himself.

"Fletcher! Dude!" I've made the incredibly dumb decision to yell this at him, even though he's less than fifteen feet away. (And, last time I checked, he's not hearing-impaired.)

"Aryion, what's the big deal?"

"I think you need help with that."

Before he can protest, I grab on to the other half of the log and hoist it up, right at the same time that he tries for a solo lift again. Sure enough, the log manages to get off the ground this time, and stays there, too.

"Come on, let's get a move on," I say to him.

Quickly as possible (considering we're carrying about a hundred pounds of branch) we make our way to the path. Surprisingly enough, we manage to beat almost everyone to the path, since most of the others are awkwardly struggling to carry their logs.

However, once we plunge into the darkness of the path again, we realize we're in for a lot more trouble than we bargained for, mostly because we can't freaking see the path that we're supposed to be following. All I hope is that we don't miss a turn or something and get lost without food or water in The Middle of Nowhere, District 7, Panem (pop. 2).

After about five minutes of stumbling through the dark, there's still no end in sight.

"Aryion, are you sure we're not lost?"

"I don't think so."

"That's not very encouraging."

I'm about to say something back, but I don't have time to get it out before I trip over something and crash to the ground, losing my grip on the log with a gasp.

I can't see anything, but that only makes the scene more horrible as I hear a sickening thud as the log slams into the path. Miraculously, I don't even get scratched.

All is silent for a second. Then Fletcher starts screaming.

No words, mind you. Just a long, drawn-out wail that I'm pretty confident sends every animal within a half-mile radius running for cover. Thankfully, it dies down after a couple of seconds, replaced with only panting and, from what I can tell, crying.

I quickly stoop down to where Fletcher is. "Are you okay?"

Then I look closer. He clearly tried to dodge the log once I tripped, but wasn't quite quick enough. His left arm is fine, but every part of his right arm past the shoulder is pinned, and at a very awkward angle, too.

"Do I look okay?" He says this with a snarl that scares me a little.

I have to act fast. "Do you think you can move your arm at all? Because I'm going to try to lift that side of the log so you can slide it out."

He's gritting his teeth now to try and deal with the pain, but at least he's able to nod. So, I hurry over to his end of the log, and groan from the effort as I push up with all my might.

The log rises a few inches as I grunt and strain. I only manage to hold it up for a few seconds, but that's all that Fletcher needs. In that short space of time, he manages to scoot away a few inches, so that when the log thumps on the ground again, his arm is no longer under it. However, the damage from the first time isn't pretty.

It's obvious the arm is broken- it's bent at an odd angle, swelling up, and turning several nasty shades of pink and purple. Now it's really important that we aren't lost, because the last thing we need is to be stuck in the middle of the woods when Fletcher desperately needs to get to a hospital.

Thankfully, by this point, a capable adult who doesn't have his hands full has managed to make his way over and find us- Gerald. However, he does not seem very pleased, since one of us is down and the other one isn't doing anything.

"Okay, where's the fire?" He's currently staring at Fletcher, who's sobbing like there's no tomorrow.

It's probably smarter for me to talk. "His arm is broken! I don't know where the hospital is, but he definitely needs to go there and get it fixed."

Gerald curses under his breath. "Great. We've been here for less than half an hour and now I'm going to have to fill out all this stupid paperwork because someone got hurt on the job." Then he pauses. "Wait- you're not a full-time employee, never mind. Come on, let's go." Quickly, he pulls Fletcher to his feet, eliciting a groan of pain from him.

Then he turns to me. "Aryion, if you're going to get people injured doing something as simple as this, I can't have you work on these projects."

Seeing as how these are among the only bright spots in my life, it's all I can do to defend myself. "I'm sorry his arm got broken, it was an accident, he'll-"

"You imbecile, you broke his arm! Come on. We're going back to the orphanage right now!" He immediately pulls on my arm as if I don't already know where the orphanage is.

"No. Drag me." If he wants to treat me like a five-year-old, that's exactly what I'm going to act like. I don't care if that's petty, that's what he deserves.

He does just what I tell him to, surprisingly. Quietly, he pulls me out of the woods, heading back to the godforsaken place that's supposed to be home.

As soon as I'm dragged in the front door, Gerald slams his butt down on a chair and motions to me to take the place opposite him. Then, he bursts more violently than an overfilled water balloon.

"Look right freaking here, Mister. I do not have time to deal with crap like this right now. I have a million other things on my radar right now, and none of them should be that a kid was so stupid that he broke his partner's arm!" He pauses for a few seconds, the vein in his forehead pulsing. "I can't do anything right now, but let me tell you, Mister, as soon as the Reapings are over tomorrow we are going to have a serious. Freaking. Chat. Capiche?"

I groan. "I understand," I say, even though, no, I don't understand in the slightest.

"Now sit right there and don't freaking move until I get back. That hammer itself into your thick skull?"

"Yes, Gerald, loud and clear," I say, even though, once more, I have no intention of obeying him.

As soon as Gerald stalks off to do something that's presumably more important than I am, I slip out the door. I do know that Gerald dropped Fletcher off at the hospital before leaving me here, and I know proper etiquette would be to go see him and, you know, apologize for accidentally triggering the events that broke his arm.

In District Seven, the hospital is far from special- it's just a rickety log building crammed with cots and bustling with nurses in dirty uniforms.

I quietly move through the door, looking for Fletcher's cot. It's not hard to find- only two people in the room appear to have broken arms, and one of them is a girl.

So, I walk up to him. As soon as Fletcher sees me, he stares me down. "Hello, Aryion. Came to make some snarky remark?"

I shake my head. "I just wanted to apologize. Because I want to be polite and not have a ticked-off friend simmering in a crumbling building for a week or more."

"Okay. But seriously, that was a pretty painful mistake!" He yells this so loudly that the other patients nearby turn towards him with a look of annoyance. I'm not sure if all the anesthetic he's probably under is causing him to overreact or if he thinks I intentionally dropped the log to make a point or what is causing this, but this doesn't sound like Fletcher.

"Fletcher, I'm sorry, it was an accident-"

He turns back towards me. "Look. I don't know if I believe you or not when you say that, but either way, I don't want to talk right now. Can you please leave?"

Great. In less than two hours I've essentially lost both of the things that made the last two years bearable. But, I don't want to break down in from of so many people, so I just wind up saying, "Alright then," and heading back for the orphanage.

Wow. It really doesn't take much for life to go from passable to "how the hell did I end up here," doesn't it?

I'm trudging back up the long, winding path to the orphanage, when, suddenly, it hits me.

I remember one of Gerald's statements from just this morning. "If you don't hurry up, I'll speak to the mayor personally and make sure you get Reaped tomorrow!"

He can't actually do that.

But I sure can.

I mean, at this point, what do I have to lose? Once I turn eighteen, I leave (i.e., get kicked out of) the orphanage. If I get really lucky after, maybe I can secure a job and at least avoid starving to death. But, based on the fact that I've heard a million horror stories from some of the more… out there kids that had friends run away from the orphanage and become a victim of starvation (someone has the decency to notify them that their friend is dead in those cases, some cases their friend just leaves and never comes back) that I know that probably isn't going to happen.

This way, I'll either become famous or dead by the end of my trials. And trust me, either would be better than this.

Either way would be preferable, with the way my life has gone so far.

So, I trudge back towards the orphanage, with a tongue-lashing by Gerald for disobeying his orders probably imminent. However, a single thought keeping me going:

Just one more day. Then, I'm out of here for good.

Author's Notes:

-Thanks to Ripplerz for sending in Aryion.

-Coming up next is EmberLex's first (and only) tribute, the D6F. This will be followed by the D8F, D12F, and one of the D5 tributes (they were sent by the same person, so the order in which I do them doesn't really matter).

-The next upload is coming out next Tuesday at absolute earliest. I will be in a place where I will not have much free time or access to Word until then. Ergo, I will be unable to upload new chapters. But, trust me, I'll be writing.

-A poll will soon be up on my profile where you'll get to ring in your opinion- who's your favorite tribute thus far? (Try not to be biased!)

-See you next chapter!