District Seven
Dwayne Wildflower (17) D7M
The broken desk in the most rundown building in District Seven was strewn with photographs of a variety of interesting things but none of them concerned the seventeen-year-old boy who had the responsibility to sort through them and select, as per his leisure and expertise, the photographs that best fit the glorious pages of Through the Districts We Go! Dwayne honestly wished that the Capitol could have given them a better office; this age-old building threatened to fall down without any prior notice. The mere vastness of the rooms, the stylish archways and the big, dusty curtains hinted at a former grandeur but for Dwayne what was gone was gone, and now all he was concerned about was that the ceiling leaked and a drop of water fell right next to the dustbin after an interval of exactly two seconds. Dwayne knew because he had been counting since the past thirty minutes.
"Wildflower! Have you decided on the pictures yet?"
Dwayne shook his head, his dark eyes looking so anguished that his boss, Mr. Ayran Axton, who had just graced the room by stepping in, also felt pity for the boy. Ayran shook his head slightly; Dwayne should consider himself lucky that he landed himself a job at this place. He was the youngest person working at the press, and he had the most exciting job (compared to everyone else's) to interview the people of District Seven and to edit the picture gallery. Dwayne could even be considered rich, and hence Axton saw no reason for his moping.
"Yes sir, I mean, I'm working on it."
"You've been working on it since the past three days and you always say that you're working on it."
Dwayne lowered his gaze at that; it was true that he had been stalling his duty since a long time, but what was he to do? Staring at random pictures was not an easy job, and some of them were so nonsensical that he felt that he should personally visit the submitters. For example, somebody from Eleven had sent a picture of her dirty, messy, muddy nails. Dwayne couldn't comprehend why any sane person would send a picture of their nails, unless it was to mock him, which was not only possible but also probable. It always happened, that one person who sent some utter junk his way to torture his senses.
"Listen Wildflower-"
Why does he have to call me that?! Why not just Dwayne?!
"- I want the pictures to be sent for printing by five in the evening, arranged by topic. You have ninety-five minutes to do so, failing which, I'll be forced to find a replacement."
Dwayne's head shot up at those dreaded words. A replacement? Was he serious? He couldn't be… Dwayne even worked on Sundays! Nobody worked on Sundays! His fists clenched up as he continued to look at Axton in the eyes, and then, abruptly, he let out a sigh.
"It shall be done, sir. By five, it will go for printing."
"Good. And Dwayne, remember that after this you have to interview a few people. I suggest that you interview someone of the Reaping age itself, preferably someone on the younger end. I want the interview to be submitted by ten in the morning tomorrow."
And with that, Mr. Axton carried his royal and authoritative self out of the damp, leaking room. Dwayne started at his retreating form, sweat running down his handsome face. Habitually, he ran his hands through his dark brown hair, his mind already dreading the hours that were to follow. The tall boy sank into his creaky wooden chair and let his face fall in his hands. How did he end up in these situations? How was he going to find a person in the Reaping range who would agree to be interviewed? And wasn't that just risky for the person who would agree? Sometimes Ayran drove him mad and forced him to contemplate on the possibility of ending his pathetic and monotonous life. He had even attempted it once, for a completely unrelated reason, and it wasn't even intentional. He was playing with a kitchen knife because he was bored as usual, and he flicked the knife in the air, which came cascading down on his temple. Maybe it was the angle and maybe it was his rotten luck, but the knife merely managed to leave a gash. But young Dwayne, bored of his routine life, decided to play it off as an accident, and being a natural actor that he was, he put up the best performance of a victim of a slightly fractured skull. That earned him a holiday of thirteen days, and those were the bliss of his short life. A time where there was no work, no orders, no boredom. Nothing at all. A time to rest, rest and rest.
But that was history now, and young Mr Wildflower scanned through the various pictures that were spread on his desk. He was hoping for some pictures from a certain submitter, a young boy who went by the name of Canon Tadashi. Now that boy always had something juicy to offer. Dwayne couldn't even imagine how the young lad managed to find such objects that the Capitol would dote on. Canon always knew what to send, and now Dwayne didn't even bother to check what the boy had sent. If Canon had sent something, it would be in the magazine. No arguments. That not only spiced up the magazine but also saved Dwayne's valuable time and energy that he could spend on doing something fun like sleeping. Not that he always slept, for the human mind was a strange thing. When in rest, all Dwayne could think of was work, work and work.
He had just accepted that he was weird.
He had also accepted that everyone else was weird too.
He shook off these time consuming and tiring thoughts, and started looking through the submissions again. Ultimately, he stumbled upon one photograph that was perfect. It defined perfect. Its beauty and the angle from which it had been taken along with its intense clarity made Dwayne jump in joy… almost. He was too exhausted to actually jump but his fine brain knew beauty when it saw one, and this certain photograph of a blue worm was all he needed to make this edition a hit with the Capitol. He turned the photograph around to see who had sent it and upon discovering the name of the sender, chuckled loudly, loudly enough to make his empty office feel like an echoing haunted house.
It had been sent by Canon Tadashi.
Well, Dwayne only hoped that the boy had sent more photographs…
Shama Grasswhistle (13) D7F
It had been a long day at the store.
The sky was burning orange now, a hue that suggested that the very atmosphere had erupted like a volcano. The heat seemed to beat down on the young girl's light brown skin. Shama reached out and tied her dark hair in a bun, hoping for some non-existent wind to brush her neck and give her some relief. But such miracles were rare, and the oppressing heat became all the more adamant. The short girl dragged herself homewards, sweating and cursing, trying to wipe her grimy hands on her even more grimy skirt.
Shama worked as a help in the local grocery store after her school hours. The owner, a middle-aged woman with dimpled cheeks and a habit to tell stories from her on childhood, was a caring and kind employer. She even let Shama take some items home for free and while the pay wasn't anything high, it still helped that they didn't have to worry about food.
Often when one heads to a particular destination, an interesting event turns up that distracts the mortal mind from its original motive. And so happened with Shama when she observed that a young lad of seventeen in dirty jeans and a shirt that may have been white once was trying to start a conversation with the fellow residents of the town. Every time they would come to a halt but when the boy told them whatever he had to say, they simply shook their heads and walked off. The young man looked as if he would go mad now, the tiredness and the longing was there in his dark brown eyes. Therefore Shama, being the considerate and dutiful girl that she was, decided to approach the young man and ask him if she could help. So wiping her hands on her skirt one last time, she almost skipped the boy and gently patted his shoulder, expecting the reaction she got. The boy almost jumped and gasped, and upon seeing the lass his eyes narrowed. But then he sighed as Shama smiled at him.
"May I help you with something?"
"Yes! Yes, you may!"
Shama hadn't really expected such a desperate and needy response, so she naturally was a little astounded. What really irritated her though was when the boy grabbed her shoulders and looked at her wildly, as if someone was after his life. It was like in those movies and Shama didn't even watch movies. Casually, she brushed off his hands but the boy got the message. No clinging.
"Madam, will you, can I have your interview? Please!"
Shama's eyes widened to an extent that the boy felt that her eyeballs would fall out. Her mouth fell ajar and her eyebrows shot up. The boy almost cringed at that, wondering what the girl would say. Till now, everyone had simply shaken their heads and walked off. What if this young girl yelled at a big boy like himself?
"Really?!" the girl squealed in delight, catching the attention of a few passers-by, "You will interview me?!"
"Of- of course!"
"Well then!" Shama said eagerly, "The name's Shama Grasswhistle. I'm thirteen and work at the grocer's. What's your good name?"
"I'm Dwayne-"
"Wildflower?!" Shama exclaimed and then giggled, "Seriously?! You're the assistant editor of Through the Districts We Go!?"
"Um yeah? I prefer to be called Dwayne though-"
"Oh cool! How's it like to work at the press?! Goodness, you're famous!"
"It's nice?"
"Oh come on! You're being too modest! So tell me Dwayne, what's it like to be so famous?"
"Wait, Shama!" Dwayne interjected. Shama looked up at him, perplexed, unable to understand why he told her to stop.
"I have to interview you. So I will ask the questions and you will answer."
"Oops!" Shama laughed sheepishly. Often the young girl was told that she talked too much and made little to no sense. She nodded at Dwayne and grinned, "Ok! Ask. I'm ready!"
"Well then Shama, what is it like in District Seven?"
This question, although rhetoric, always irritated Shama. Wasn't Dwayne living here as well? Keeping herself in control though, she answered with a sweet smile, "It's wonderful! There are trees everywhere and I live in a treehouse! Don't you wish you lived in one as well?"
Dwayne looked at her incredulously, his hand at a halt as he stopped writing.
"Shama, there aren't any treehouses."
"Well, we know that. The Capitolites don't. I'll give them what they want, you feel?"
"Alright then. What is your favourite pass time activity?"
"Oh Dwayne, I love hacking trees that don't have treehouses! I use my axe on the trees all day!" Shama replied with a big grin, getting a laugh from Dwayne.
"Interesting, Shama. So, as you know the Reapings are approaching. Are you nervous?"
"Oh my goodness, I'm glad you asked this. I love the Games and I'm SO excited for the Reapings! It's so fun to stand in the line, waiting for the name of the lucky contestant to be drawn! And why should I be nervous? I can be picked to fight in a death match but hey, it'll be worth it because then I'll be famous!"
At that, Dwayne bent double laughing. Shama's tone and the way she imitated the Capitolites while saying that particular piece of truth was the highlight of Dwayne's day. He was glad he met this bubbly and entertaining girl. It made his day.
"Shama, you certainly have a unique outlook on life. Let's say you get to visit the Capitol; what will you look forward to the most?"
"Oh Dwayne, the Capitol is so full of marvellous and fabulous things! The dresses, the shampoo, the food, they're all lovely! But after the heat of District Seven, I will say that I look forward to air conditioning. How lovely it must be to have cool air caressing your neck! And no prickly heat! I hate prickly heat! So yeah, air conditioning for sure."
"Well, thank you Shama. Do you want to tell our readers in the Capitol anything?"
"Yes of course! We in District Seven love you guys and we think your accent is hella attractive! Love you!"
Dwayne finished writing and then put away the notepad in his small bag. The elder boy beamed at the young girl, who was still grinning as if posing for the camera. Shama was always camera ready anyway, and an interview only gave her a reason to pose more.
"Thank you Shama. Your help and cooperation is really appreciated."
"Thank you Dwayne. I always wanted to be interviewed! And I get to be in your magazine too!"
Young Shama brought her thin hand forward like a flying dart, almost hitting Dwayne. Sheepishly grinning, she apologised. With a chuckle, Dwayne took it and shook it. The girl was one interesting person, and he certainly looked forward to see her again.
Maybe for an interview.
District Eight
Jordan Arroyo (18) D8F
Sometimes, nature had miracles, whether good or bad, that was debatable. But they happened, and when they did, it was not always visible. Yes, many people would argue that how a miracle could be bad. But if you look at a coin, it has a head and a tail. There are two sides to everything, two opposite sides, and a miracle is nothing different.
Sometimes, having mercy on someone was a miracle. Sometimes, sparing someone from their misery was a miracle. And Miss Arroyo, the ever wonderful and ever smart young lady at the mayor's household occupying the authoritative position of his daughter, was an outstanding example of a miracle created by a human. It happened every so often that the gentlewoman had mercy on some poor wretched being, and spared them the humiliation. Of course, a thirst for blood was such a common thing that proper Miss Arroyo couldn't completely ignore it, but being the merciful lady that she was, she satisfied her urges on animals and made herself content.
It all started when the young girl was a tiny toddler of two, all lively and smiling and innocent. Such was her adorability index that she strangled her neighbour's dog because it tried to steal her toy. The dog went surprisingly still in her eyes, but that wasn't her concern. What did concern her, was the weird look the dog had in its eyes as she strangled it with its belt. Young Jordan understood nothing. However, children are blessed with an exceptional mind, hence little Jordan knew at once what she craved. Being a proper mayor's proper daughter, she had never had to face rejection in the face of demands, but her actual demand was so out of the world that no mortal could help her with that.
She took matters in her own hands and soon puny beasts found themselves in the clutches of the merciful girl. Well, she was merciful after she would gouge out their organs for then she would give them an easy death. As we started by saying, miracles can be good or bad, and Jordan Arroyo was a living proof of that.
That day, the young girl had her dirty blond hair tied up in a high bun, and was donning a coffee brown silk dress that complemented her eyes of the same colour. Her posture held a mirth as she sat across from the escort of District Eight, a beautiful matured man of thirty-five. No, she wasn't thrilled to see him, and no, she wasn't interested in talking to him. But, as mentioned above, she was a proper lady with a mesmerising smile, and it was no big task for her to put on the façade again.
"So, Mr leClaude, can you give us an insight to what the Games will be like this year?"
"Ms. Arroyo, I seriously wish I could help you but I don't have any information this time around. Atlas hasn't told anyone about anything, but I did hear that something big is going to happen on the Reapings. Something important."
"That's interesting, Mr. leClaude. Very interesting."
Mr. leClaude folded his leg and leaned back in the leather chair on which he was seated. Jordan wondered if he would still be as relaxed if he himself were going into the Games. She also wondered what his screams would sound like, and whether his eyes would hold the same fear that those poor beasts' did. Alas! She could never find out.
Jordan was getting impatient now. Every year she had to entertain leClaude, which was a very boring job. She was waiting for the dinner to be announced, but it seemed it wouldn't happen any time soon. Putting on a beautiful smile, she bent forward just a little as if in eagerness that was absent.
"If you don't mind me asking, what are the benefits of being a victor? I mean, of being a… ruthless… victor?"
As soon as the words left her soft lips, Jordan became conscious. What if it was the wrong thing to ask? After all, nobody from a poor and miserable district like Eight would even think about such things, especially since nobody was concerned with victory anymore. leClaude frowned at the question slightly, the creases in his forehead only a little visible. No, it would be a better idea to change the statement. No way was she going to give him any reason to be suspicious.
However, before any word could be uttered, leClaude's pale face broke into a huge grin, and Jordan sighed internally. It was good that he hadn't taken the question in any other way.
"Those're very popular, Ms. Arroyo. They get whatever the hell they like. Servants, money, house, respect, popularity, love, everything! If you're a victor, you just have to lay your hand on something and the next moment you'll have it. Everyone wants to marry a victor and if you're very popular you can even live in other districts. And of course, you can always live in the Capitol. Plus, if you're convict, your charges are also cleared!"
"That's… amazing, Mr. leClaude. Really worth fighting for, right?"
"Of course, Ms. Arroyo! Being a victor can only be a dream too good to be true. It's a shame nobody appreciates it the way you do. You're a smart lady."
"Thank you," Jordan replied politely with another of her signature smiles. However, her gears were also turning. How long was a girl supposed to live only on the blood of weak and small animals? Her heart yearned to feel the ecstasy of a murder, her skin begged to touch the cold flesh of a corpse and her eyes searched for the sight of life leaving someone else.
Plus, being a victor did seem beneficial. No charges, wealth, respect, everything! And no opposition to killing in the Games… Wasn't that a feast for all her five senses?
And so it was decided. Nobody, nobody, would participate in this year's game except her. Her and only her.
Andrei "Drei" Altair (14) D8M
"Drei! You didn't complete your story that day!" Maylinn grumbled, shaking her head from side to side like a pendulum, her lips out in a pout.
"Sorry May!" the young urchin of fourteen said, looking up at her from his schoolwork, "I'll complete it tonight for sure. Promise!"
Little Maylinn was skilled in the art where most children excelled, and hence she pouted even more, hoping that her elder half-brother would find her adorable all of a sudden and continue to narrate the events of that fateful day when Kaira met a horse in the jungle. Kaira was just about to inquire from the horse on its talent of speaking English, but then their mother had barged in and put them to sleep after chiding them for thirteen minutes and twenty-eight seconds, exclusive of the shoving she had done to put them to sleep. However, young Andrei knew every trick that a child could utilise, for he was no stranger to them, and so he just grinned at her sheepishly before turning his blue eyes back to his schoolwork. Sometimes, Maylinn would contemplate on how similar she looked to him, with their pale skin and curly red hair. It was a wonder that their fathers were different, and something she couldn't really accept.
But at the moment, Drei was more than engrossed in his Maths homework. The reason was not that he was studious or had a particular love for Maths. That, as far as he was concerned, was for the pedantic, and every wise man knew that it was in his best interest to steer clear of them. No, the reason that he was here locked up in his tiny room, sitting on a thin mat even as the weather outside was pleasantly sunny and the winds were ideal for every activity a fourteen-year-old was supposed to do, was that he was in disgrace. The previous day he had not completed his homework, and as was the power of law, he was, with utmost disrespect, shown the door. Any decent boy would just stand outside and curse the pedagogues but Andrei was a boy of high intellect and big heart. Therefore, even as his colleagues wasted hours and hours of their precious time inside trying to learn a few concepts that had no requirement in practical life, Andrei spent his time in making good use of it without leaving the corridor. Such was his greatness.
Sticking his nose to the glass window, he sang:
Oh my loveeee
You look like doveeee
And I wanna shoveeee
You in a troughhhhhh!'
And while the last line lacked the masterful stroke of rhyming, it was a valiant effort, considering that it was one of his petite teachers, Ms. Sheena Jutas, who was on the receiving end of it. And while Drei meant well while singing and composing this masterpiece, the world often refused to acknowledge talent, and soon Ms. Jutas was having him do thirty sit-ups in front of the class while holding his red ears. However, Mr. Altair was not a person who feared difficulties, and as soon as Ms. Jutas looked away, he was found relaxing on the cool floor, mouthing the lyrics of another of his amazing songs. So jealous and inferior Sheena felt that she told him to 'get lost' and bring his homework in two days. Drei didn't think it was fair because she had literally assigned eighty-eight Maths problems for him to complete. Eighty-eight only.
Adults were so demanding.
Solving Maths problems was not going to solve his problem. As such, Drei lived a happy life, as happy as it could be in a district like Eight, but he yearned the limelight, and the thunderous roar of applause and the 'oohs' and the 'aahs' and the cheering and the hollering and the line of fans waiting to get just a glimpse of the next big star… Maths and Science weren't going to help him in fulfilling his dream of being a stand-up comedian in the Capitol. As far as he knew, they didn't help anyone anymore in doing anything. Waste of space. Or memory. Brain memory not digital one. Or digital one too, maybe. He didn't know and wasn't interested in finding out.
But the fact of the matter was that he was grounded till he could complete his homework. There wasn't much left, only fifty-six questions more and around four hours before bed time. Nothing impossible. He should name this mission. For a moment, his pencil came to a halt as he considered a name for this impossible mission to complete the homework… oh there it was! Mission Impossible.
"Sounds like an apt name for a movie," he thought as he scratched his head with the back of his pencil, before proceeding to bite it.
"Ugh! Drei! You just swallowed your dandruff!" Maylinn cried in what sounded like a mix of disgust, horror and amusement, the last one a little more than the others.
"It's my hair, Maylinn, not yours. There ain't no dandruff it."
"Ain't and no make double negatives," Maylinn whispered slyly, "That's grammatically incorrect."
"Yeah well, I was just testing whether you had your grammar rules intact. And now, if you're done, I'm busy."
Maylinn sighed not so subtly, shifting uncomfortably on her feet. It was boring watching her brother work and now she was just waiting for some miracle to happen. Maybe, if Drei sang, his homework would be done sooner? She regarded her brother, her head tilted to the side. Maybe if she would request him to-
However, before anything could be requested, Drei kicked the air hard to relax his muscles. Maybe the kick was too hard or maybe it was a new fashion, but the shoe that he was wearing went undone and went soaring. Its projectile was one spectacle to observe, and the surroundings seemed to come to a standstill. Maylinn's eyes widened as the shoe, as if fired from a sling, twisted and turned in mid-air.
The shoe came to a dramatic stop right beside Maylinn.
"Ha…haha?" Drei laughed sheepishly, scratching his head.
Well, Maylinn thought, her brother always took care of her boredom.
Hi! Long time, no chapter. XD So, I know this wasn't really good. I won't say anything to justify the bad quality because I know it's bad. Anyway, what's your thought on these tributes? Is my writing as bad as I feel it is? (I hope I'm overthinking it XD) We're one chapter away from the completion of the introductions! :D
Okay, about the previous chapter and district four… Saunder wasn't chosen as a volunteer. The chosen volunteer was of impeccable talent and skills and hence was chosen but then he foolishly broke his leg (who the hell goes boating before such a big thing? *sigh*). So the Academy decided to have the name drawn Reapings style in which Reef was chosen (who was also very talented and skilled. Just because everyone should). However, Saunder, who is NOT as good as other top trainees, was jealous (he considered Reef his rival. This wasn't reciprocated) and in a split second Saunder decided to volunteer. Meanwhile, Reef was so skilled that the female volunteer, who was seventeen, decided that it would be wise not to volunteer (because chosen volunteers are supposed to be scared or something) and hence Emmeline was Reaped (because ladies first). Joke's on every single person present there, other than Saunder, but eh. That was it. I hope I didn't confuse you all even more…
Anyway, hope you enjoyed this chapter. And now shout out time!
HoppsHungerfan has an open SYOT right now. Submit to Tremble, because from what I've read of it, it is really good. Next, you may also submit to Sally the Lioness' Cor Contritum. She's young and amateur but dedicated. Lastly, you may also check out IVolunteerAsAuthor's SYOT Crash Landing. He has completed like a hundred SYOTs so yeah. All three are promising. So take your pick. XD
This was too long. I should stop now. Or not. I don't know. Feeling weird for no reason. Random question- what do you prefer: Coke or Pepsi? I think I prefer Coke but eh. Doesn't matter. Ah, don't mind me. I ramble sometimes.
Have a nice day!