Lisa Curie

14 years old

~The reason I talk to myself is because I'm the only one whose answers I accent~

And I find it kinda funny, I find it kinda sad
The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had
I find it hard to tell you, I find it hard to take
When people run in circles it's a very very
Mad world, mad world

People don't notice many things about me.

They don't realise that I'm still the same person I was before what happened.

They don't realise that I'm desperately lonely

But most of all, they don't realise that I've learnt to read lips.

I used to be popular. I was loud, probably annoying and talkative. I had a group of friends. I thought we'd be friends forever.

But after going deaf, they quickly abandoned me. For a while, I was just friendless. But then they turned on me. I couldn't hear the whispers, but I could see them laughing, feel them pulling my hair.

I can still speak. But I don't. I don't know what I'd say if one day I decided to open my mouth. 'Stop it?' 'Help me?' 'Leave me alone?' But the words won't come so I remain silent.

It's all my parents fault. Many teens may say that, annoyed that they didn't get what they wanted or just embarrassed, but my parents did this to me.

They're inventors. When I was nine, they made an invention. An alarm clock that would send frequencies to your brain. They got lazy with the math, arrogant enough to think it was perfect. When they tested it out me, with the promise of extra money, the frequency was too high and it turned me deaf.

I'll never forgive them. It may have been an accident, but it was an easily preventable one.

Slowly, taking me years, I learnt to lip read, to be part of the world again, but by that time I was already destined to be alone forever.

They cover their faces, laughing, tucking their hair behind their ears, rubbing their heads, but I can still catch words. I can't hear the laughter but I can see the cruel twists of their mouths.

You'd have thought they'd lost interest by now, but I'm their favourite target. They're bullies, plain and simple. And the worst part is that I used to be one of them.

Someone could tell me that me becoming deaf is just reaping what I sowed, but if that's the case, what do they get?

Lying at home, on my bed like I'm going now is the only time I can feel normal. Reading is a big part of my life. I'm not listening desperately for sounds I'll never hear.

Engrossed in my book, I don't notice my door opening and until she taps me on the shoulder and looks up, I don't see my mother. 'Lunch,' I see her lips move, and I carefully fold my page over and set it dorm, before following her.

Lunch may be silent, but they may be talking. I wouldn't know. Funny how that works. Neither of them look at me unless they want to talk directly to me and they aren't sitting across from me either. They've never tried to make things easier for me. Maybe there was nothing they could have done, but why couldn't they have tried? Neither of them have ever said sorry or shown remorse, but don't expect them to. They aren't emotive people.

When I was young, they weren't like this, but they started invented amazing things, things that changed the way rich Capitolite's lived. But they got greedy. Testing on their nine year old daughter wasn't their wake up call. It was just mine.

Suddenly, I feel tears pricking at my eyes. Horrified, I stand up abruptly and walk to my room. Maybe it says more about me that I can't let my parents see my cry. Maybe I'm too bitter. Maybe I shouldn't hold onto my anger. But I do, and as I sit, head on my knees and letting myself sob, hopefully quietly, I don't care.

On reaping day, my emotions are more intense and my tears come more easily, but even five years on, I still sometimes cry, the idea that I'm deaf for life still not sunk into my brain. I don't know if it ever will.

Finally, my sobs recide and I walk down the hallway and turn our shower on. Starting at the roots, I rub shampoo that smells like strawberries, and then conditioner that smells like raspberry. I rinse it and then turn the water off and wring it out, before grabbing a towel and wrapping it around my head.

I take my other towel and wrap it around, before walking back to my bedroom. I put on my 'special occasion' white dress and wrap the towel around my shoulders to brush my hair out.

I remember hairdryers making a lot of noise, so using one and hearing nothing is one thing on my list of many surreal things, but stopping to think about it is a sure fire way to start crying again so I finish drying my hair before giving it another brush.

I decide to leave it down but twist the very front into braids to keep them from ending up in my face. The air in Five has no breeze going through it, but moving around too much will still result in tendrils dangling into my eyes.

I look at myself once more before walking out of my bedroom, and then the front door.

People around me are talking, breathing , laughing, and I can't hear a sound. It's times when I'm around this many people that I've never felt more alone.

Edwin Bishop

Fifteen years old

~Everybody's mind works in different ways, but some people's minds work better than others~

I'm bulletproof nothing to lose
Fire away, fire away
Ricochet, you take your aim
Fire away, fire away
You shoot me down but I won't fall, I am titanium
You shoot me down but I won't fall
I am titanium, I am titanium, I am titanium, I am titanium

I light our small but powerful gas cooker and get to work cracking eggs and frying bacon. I've saved up my pocket money for weeks to be able to afford good quality meat, but we always have eggs. Oren and his mom keep chickens because many people at the market refuse to sell to them and they need a food source. Money isn't a problem for them, so they can afford to keep them in comfort and so the eggs are good and plentiful.

I watch the bacon carefully, making sure it's cooked without being burnt. When it's almost finished, I pour the whisked up egg into a different frying pan and watch as it puffs up into scrambled eggs.

"That smells good," says dad, walking into the kitchen, "Where did you get the bacon?"

"I went up to the market this morning," I reply, "I left a note, but neither of you woke up. They gave me a reaping day discount so I got some tomatoes, but they don't need to be cooked."

He peers over my shoulder, "It looks great, how long has it got?"

"Give me five minutes please. Could you wake mom up?"

In my house, dad normally has to leave for work at six and then I'm leaving for school by seven. My mom isn't a morning person, so it's rare that we actually eat breakfast together. Similarly, for lunch, mom and dad are working and I'm at school. Mom spends her evenings tutoring Oren, and I'll often stay behind school way too late to finish homework so eating dinner together is rare too.

We aren't poor, but we aren't well off either. We won't starve, but we aren't always satisfied. It's how most families in Five live. Oren's family is slightly richer from an inheritance, but years ago, before Oren was even born, his father was accused of being a rebel and executed. I was only six at the time and even I remember it being a huge scandal. Some shops and stalls won't sell to him or his s mother, so they've had to become self sufficient.

Oren is really bright for a nine year old, but he was never allowed to go to school. Due to supplying the power, any hint of rebellion in Five is completely squashed out and any remaining family will forever be treated as less than everyone else, almost as kin to animals.

It isn't fair, and some people sell to families of rebels anyway, but getting too close is heavily frowned upon, and even if the peacekeepers can't outright arrest you, they'll never leave you alone. Mom tutoring him and our family friendship has to be kept quiet, even though Oren never even knew his dad and it's been almost ten years since he was convicted.

I serve up three plates , sighing at how much effort and money it took for such a small amount of food.

"That looks amazing Eddie," says mom rubbing her eyes, "I love tomatoes!"

We sit down and I take a bite of a bit of everything. The bacon is too fatty and the eggs could be crispier, I take mental notes, ready to put them down in my daily log. Other than that, it tastes nice and it's a good change from either the days before a leftovers or the cheapest kind of cereal. Reaping day is a day to eat in luxury.

It's also a day to fear for your life, but you can't put that on a t-shirt.

I bet the Capitol would try to though.

"We can do the clearing away Eddie, you can go up and get ready," mom smiles at me and gives me a pat on the arm, "Thank you for the lovely meal. It was good."

It wasn't really, but I accept the compliment and walk to my room. It takes me a while to find them, but I slip on my brown dress pants and pair it with my school shirt. The reaping isn't for another three hours so grabbing my small bag with my log book and some glasses wipes in case they get smudged like they so often do, I walk out of my bedroom and go to Oren's.

"Hi Ms Phillips, how are you?"

"I can't complain, I'm doing well today. Oren's in his room but good luck pulling him away from his book." she replies.

I laugh, "I can try, but I'm only mortal,"

As she predicted, Oren was leaning over his book and squinting. I was pretty sure he needed glasses and Ms Phillips agreed, but there was no way to get him tested and in his own words, he doesn't want to 'look like a nerd.'

"One sec," he says, "I want to get to the end of this page,"

I roll my eyes, "But then you'll want to read the next page."

With an exaggerated sigh he closes his book, "What can I do for you Edwin?" He says with false cheeriness.

"Respect your elders for one thing," I mock clout him and he sticks his tongue out at me. "I have a few hours before the Reaping and I've just finished my book so I thought I'd come and annoy you,"

"Do you wanna play a game then? I'll get out my cards," he gets off his bed and looks around for them. "I'll deal cos you always cheat when you get to."

"Liar," I say in mock offense, "I'm just better than you,"

He pulls a face at me "Shove off Eddie,"

"Rude," I put my hand over my heart. "You've wounded my mortal soul.

"Like you don't deserve it. Found them. I'm still dealing."

I sigh dramatically, "Fine, but I'll still win."

He won. And then he won again. And then I won a game. But then he won yet again.

"Not to be a sore loser, but I've gotta go now. I'll see you tomorrow squirt."

"I'm six years younger and barely an inch shorter. I don't think you can call me that anymore."

"Bye Oren,"

"Love ya Eddie,"

"Right back at you."

I check my watch and decide to go straight to the square. If I went back I would be late and the peacekeeper would be even rougher taking my blood. Mom and dad know where I'll be so it doesn't matter what I do.

In the back of my mind I vaguely realise that if I'm reaped, nothing I can do will matter. But I push that away. I can't deal with thoughts like that.

Bane Briggs

Winner of the 121st

31 years old

Mentoring is one of the hardest things in the world. Every year, I'm forced to watch two kids I know, maybe just in passing, or a familiar name, but I know, die. Every year, I'm forced to confront just how lucky I was to survive.

"Welcome, to the 137th Hunger Games! Most districts will get the honour of watching a special video, buy I'm sad to report that our projector broke. Whilst you'll hopefully it will be fixed in time to watch the games, we won't be able to enjoy this video! Without further ado, the female tribute is Lisa Curie!"

For a few minutes, no one appears, but a few whispers start up, especially around the female side of the square and eventually a crying girl comes up on stage. Suddenly, the slowness of showing makes sense. A few years ago, the girl became deaf in a freak accident. Sad.

"Welcome Lisa! The male joining us will be Edwin Bishop."

A boy, also around fifteen walks up into the stage and I have to swallow. Living in the same district, most of us look the same, but he reminds me almost exactly of myself the year I was fifteen.

The year I won the games.

"Welcome both of you! Shake hands please."

For a few seconds Lisa doesn't react, and Edwin just stands there, but she quickly realised what happens, and with a noticeable blush, she shakes his hand. "Sorry," she mutters to him, so quietly I barely heard it three feet away.

"Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favour!"

Lisa Curie

My cheeks still burning from embarrassment, and my back hurting from being prodded to get me to move when I didn't realise my name was being called, I wait for my parents to enter.

I wait it for my parents to come and say 'goodbye,' and 'I'll miss you,' even if I doubt it's true.

But they don't come.

I knew they didn't care, but to have it confirmed in such a way doubles me over in pain. For two minutes, I sit there, unable to move.

And when the peacekeeper tells me to get on the train, I swear I see a flash of sympathy in his eyes.

Sympathy for the deaf girl whose parents don't care enough to say goodbye to their as good as dead daughter.

Edwin Bishop

Everyone who I love crowds in at once. My mom and my dad, but also Oren and Ms Phillips

"Sorry to intrude on your family time Eddie," Ms Phillips starts, "Oren wanted to see you, but they wouldn't let us come in without your family."

"It's okay," I say, "I'm just glad I could say goodbye to all of you,"

I've almost gone numb. I can't feel. I watch as mom lets out a sob and buries her face in dad's arm and I watch as Oren and Ms Phillips hug together, but I can't cry. I feel sad, I feel scared, but the emotions feel like an afterthought.

"I love you all."

And then, a peacekeeper walks in, and suddenly, I can't breath for the sobbing, "Help me," I scream, "I don't want to die!"

My family watches, powerless as he drags me off to the train.

I'm going to die, and I'm going to die alone.

I'm sorry this isn't such great quality. I've had very little motivation and I'm not really happy, but I don't want to stop regularly uploading so quickly. Hopefully my next chapter will be better.

Who do you prefer out of these two characters? Who is your LEAST favourite character so far?

Is once a week enough? I could do more regular, but shorter if that is what you'd prefer.