District 5
Tribute: Christian Powers
Age: 14
Gender: Male
Christian stood in line, ready for his finger to be pricked. Three more children to go. Biting his lip in anxiety Christian watched as another boy finger was pierced, a small whimper emerging from the boy, and then Christian was one step closer to doomsday. He'd always had an easy life, he'd always wished for something new or exciting to happen. But this wasn't what he'd had in mind. He knew he'd been so selfish, so utterly selfish. Thinking of no one but himself when he'd made that wish, so stupidly selfish. He was partly disgusted, but he knew he couldn't hate himself fully, he was just too selfish. Wishing for a different life, how utterly unthinkable. He'd had it made the second he was born. He passed children every single day, starving and here he was coming home to a five course meal and complaining.
He remembered seeing his mother standing there, her voice wavering and her throat constricting, tears ready to fall. And Christian knew he'd caused that. It'd been him. Stupid him.
His brother was absolute horrified too. If Christian were to be picked then his brother, being too old, could do absolutely nothing about it. Nothing, and if it was anything his brother hated, it was sitting around while his loved ones were hurt right in front Of him. Which would be true if Chritsian were picked, considering he would be forced to watch Christian ever single day until he either won, or died. Christian preferred to think it would be the latter.
If he were in his brother's position, he wasn't sure how'd he feel. If he'd feel anything at all. Who's to say if he'd grown up the eldest he wouldn't be so messed up that he was incapable of feeling anything. Christian had never been superstitious, never putting his faith into something he couldn't understand or the unknown. That just wasn't him. But he knew the closest he'd ever get to any of that, was the sense of belonging he had in his family. He couldn't ever picture himself as the eldest, not ever. He was Christian Powers, second born to Mayor Powers, and that was all he would ever be.
Before he knew it both boys prior to him in line were gone, he was now at the front. "Stick out your hand, kid." The peacekeeper was unrecognizable behind his black mask. Christian did as he was told, his endless chanting of Easy Life seemed almost laughable now. Christian didn't care how hard or easy of a childhood you'd had, everyone was in this specific mess together. Christina didn't have an advantage being the mayor's son, not at all. In fact, he thought his mother had to have been feeling the worst. She couldn't protect her own child, it would have pained him to have done what she did now. Gone up there and spoke of the rules, tried to out a cheerful edge into her voice, failed obviously, knowing that her child could be dead in a few weeks time because of it.
The needle against his skin was a short sensation, Christian, between all his tinkering and being picked on at school, was used to pains much worst to this. It stung gently, as if the pain were a quiet buzzing noise in the back of his mind, fading as he walked away from the table. He'd wiped practically all of the blood off and onto the paper, which would be later used to identify him, but still a little remained. He quickly wiped it off onto his pants. Gorgeous dress pants he only ever wore for special occasions, apparently this qualified. He felt slightly guilty but the feeling soon passed. He went and joined his fellow Peers. He quickly scanned the crowd for Luke, but of course he wouldn't find him. Of course.
Christian had always been small for his age, he felt like he was being crushed between the boys. Some already hitting heir growth spurts and others just as small as him. Christian winced when an elbow nearly smacked him in the face. Christian had nearly managed to dodge it before another one came from his right. Apparently the boy in front of him was trying to murder the little red-head. Christian sighed before quickly displacing himself. Being small did have some perks. One of those being able to sneak in and through crowds almost completely unnoticed and easily. Which in most situations was good, but in some, resulted in him being pushed around an awful lot.
Christian wasn't really sure what to make of these games. Yes, they were an obvious ploy to show power and strength, but other than that, they were slightly smart. They had the perfect amount of everything necessary to form something competent to show to the public. To persuade the public. Christian could se this, sure a less brutal way would have of course been preferred, Christian would not promote these games. Never in his lifetime, but he would admit that they were smart.
Christina stood tall as he attempted to try and and not get pushed around. But if he were any good at that, then maybe he wouldn't have had to run from that boy throwing punches around like a madman earlier. It Didn't even matter anymore. Christian just wanted it to end. He was fourteen, he wasn't a fighter. He wasn't anything, he was the mayor's little scrawny son. He wasn't going to inspire people not to rebel, he was going to inspire people to laugh and pick on Luke even more than they already did. Because by that time, Christian'd be dead and Luke'd be all alone with absolutely no one to help him. No one other than Christian had ever even gone near him with any sort of positive intention in mind.
And this scared Christian, because the last thing he wanted was Luke getting hurt because he wasn't talented, strong, charismatic or social enough to win the games. The ridiculous ploy for power and a show of dominance. He hadn't deserved any of this, he'd been a Loyalist. On their side, punishing him was like punishing themselves. And Christian soon learned to hate them for it, absolutely despise them. But he couldn't voice this opinion. Oh no, because he was the mayor's son. He had a reputations to uphold. He also didn't particularly want to be murderred, in any shape or form.
Christian turned towards the stage as he watched his mother appear, he still hadn't found Luke. She stood calm and collected, by Christian could see the worry in her eyes. The fear of losing a child burned deep and true. Christian flinched internally. "Welcome, District 5, to the first annual Hunger games reapings!" She plastered on a fake smile and then proceeded to clap. Christian joined in soon after, he noticed others gradually followed.
"Would you all please direct your attention to the screen?" She pointed a finger at a screen, something giant, even more gargantuan than what he and his family owned themselves. "District in Chaos. War raging. This is what we live in now, something destroyed and..." The video continued in, but Christian doubted anyone was really pays attention to it. Everyone had way too much on their mind for that. If they did somehow manage to find space to concentrate on the video, then they'd be genius or incapable of fear. Christian was sure of it.
The video comes to a close only seconds later, or what feel like seconds to Christina. He's to busy freaking out to notice much. It isn't like in the books, where every moment leading unto your death is in slow motion. No, to him it was all going extremely fast paced. So strangely fast-paced that Christina often lost track of what was going on at hand. He couldn't concentrate on anything and his hands itched for something to tinker with, if only to reduce the small bulb long anxiety slowly rising in his chest.
Then someone else comes on. He's tall with a ridiculous flaming red hairdo, with big, bright and long nails. His face is a dark mocha colour with red and gold around his eyes, it makes him look like fire and remind him strangely of his very own flaming red hair. Subconsciously, he reaches up to touch it.
"Welcome, children, to the first annual Hunger Games..." He says the same thing as his mother, practically. Christian doesn't hear a word he says. "Carlos Gastric, Capitol escort for District 5..." He hears bits and pieces of conversion only, his fear seeming to multiply in his chest and suddenly he has an awful feeling in his chest. A feeling that he knows is just himself imagining the worst but it feels true. Christian hopes, really hopes that it isn't. This feeling, he hopes, is nothing more than anxiety and fear taking a physical embodiment in the shape of this feeling.
Christian vaguely sees him walk over to the bowl filled with names. The girls he thinks, he remembers Carlos mentioning the girls. Yes, definitely the girls. He watches his long nails scarce at the bottom of the bowl and suddenly his fist constricts and the Capitol man pulls out a single strip of paper. He walks back over to where the microphone sat, and Christian waits, but time seems to speed up and he faintly sphears a name being called. "Diana Riverton."
He sees a tall girl, with mocha skin, walk slowly up to the stage she looks on the verge of tears and suddenly Christian feels almost no emotion besides fear and anxiety. The man, Carlos asks a few questions and he sees her nod and he sees her lips moving slowly.
Feelings bubble up In his chest. He's fearing he worst and he can't stop, can't stop, can't stop. He just keeps feeling it, and it keep going over and over and over again. And then Christian hates it, he hears someone say something and sees a blur of red walk across the stage and he knows, somehow he knows that it's going to be him. Him who's picked, and he doesn't know how and his brain is trying to figure out why he's thinking what he is. Christian hated the unknown and what most referred to as fate. He didn't understand the concept of destiny, so why was he so sure. He looks around and nobody else seems as sure as he is and then he faces the red dressed man. Who of course, of course, hasn't even picked a name yet.
Finally he sees the bony fingers pick something up and it's a slip of paper. He wants to scream out that he knows it's going to be him. Because somehow he knows and he can't explain it and it's driving him crazy.
"Christian Powers." Then his world tips, he hears someone scream and he's sure that it's his mother. His face is drained of emotion but on the inside he's freaking out, but not really because he knew it'd be him. Somehow he knew. He's walking and he notices a path has cleared for him. He doesn't care. He's walking and he can hear them looking at him thinking, mayor's son, mayor's son, but suddenly he doesn't care. He wants to find Luke, but doesn't know where he is.
He's suddenly on the stage and he stares at the crowd. ("Mayor's son, huh?" He nods.) He sees the girl next to him, analyzing him slowly. Christian just stares ahead, not wanting to glance back and potentially see the face of his mother. He hears someone telling him to shake hands and he does. He doesn't feel anything when they raise their fist in the air and the escort screams.
"District 5, your tributes!" Nothing but blank emotions.
District 6
Tribute: Aston Swifte
Age: 18
Gender: Male
Aston was in a frantic, he needed to find Lexi. He's searching everywhere, every single face of every single person in the District, because he needs to find her. He needs to say something, he needs to apologize, he needs closure, he just needs something. Maybe it's him being selfish, he had walked away, but he wanted to see her. He needs her to survive, and he can't do anything properly without thinking of her, without trying to come up with a decent apology for her. He had no one besides Lexi, absolutely no one. He was friends less and the sight of his own mother made him uncomfortable. So he couldn't count on family either.
He needed someone in his life, anyone and for him that person was Lexi. She had always been there, always. Aston needed to see her. He was so desperate he wanted to call out and scream for her. That he regretted it. He wished he could go back in time and take back everything he'd said. He wished he could go back in time and Hug her when she'd cried, in fact he wished he'd never made her cry to begin with.
Aston was strong and sarcastic, but he needed someone sweet and caring to balance him out, and right now he was severely lacking it. He wished he'd gone home that night and hugged his mom. Because maybe Lexi's words had inspired him to do so, but he didn't. He couldn't. He'd walked in planning on doing it, but instead he'd walked right past her room, hadn't even bothered washing up, just laid in bed until his drowsiness took over and was finally able to sleep. Ripped and bloodied grey sweater Somehwere In a shoebox at the back of his closet. He promised not to think about it. He hoped he never though about it ever again.
Because that's exactly what Aston was best at, right? Avoiding the problem until it went away. That's what he did with his mother wasn't it? After the burns that never made him never want to look at her face again. He never spoke to her anymore, not unless he had to. He never told her anything of what was going on, he didn't even think she properly knew who Lexi was. Despite her coming over almost every other weekend. His father's death was pushed away and hidden, under a sarcastic mask that he thought nobody would ever see through (she did though). He pushed it away and hid it so deep down that he started actually believing it himself. He started believing that the sarcastic jerk was him. He started to believe it. Everyone did, everyone but her.
But he didn't want to lose Lexi, she was al that he had and he was all that she had. Or, that's how it's always been. What he chose to believe anyways. But it would be so selfish to seek her out again. He'd made her cry then walked away, tempted her with a kiss only to pull back. Almost taken off his mask before crudely glueing it back on. And she knew, boy did she know. Aston could still feel the blood in his mouth as he'd just barely brushed his lips over hers.
He didn't even realize he was doing it, but he knew his head was moving back and forth trying to catch of glimpse of brown hair. Kids were sending him some looks, but he didn't care. Her brown hair, he was looking for her brown hair. Because he knew what it looked like, he knew it by heart and he knew that if he could just see it, he'd know it was her. Just a bit of brown hair poking out of the crowd and he'd have had her pinpointed.
He could hear the mayor taking, but he kept searching. He wouldn't stop until he found her. The voice of their mayor was deep and rough, he was a young man in his twenties and Aston still wasn't sure whether he loved or hated him.
"Welcome all, now may I please direct your attention to our Capitol escort." Aston wasn't sure, but out of the corner of his eye, he though he saw the mayor gesture to a woman in a short, bubble-like outfit. With neon green hair and pink skin. Must be his imagination, yep, that was it. He was still searching, he wished he wasn't in the eighteen year old section. Everyone here was so damn tall, he couldn't see a thing.
"Hello, everyone. My name is Prusilla Pasonova, I'll be your Capitol escort. Now, may you please focus your attention to the screen." Aston completely ignored her, not caring in the slightest what the pink-skinned bimbo had to say about anything. Because anyone who thought that was a good idea didn't deserve to be listened to, ever. (Aston wasn't even sure if he was being sarcastic or not)
A crude video started playing, about war and death, Aston cringed and pretended not to have heard anything.
He bet Lexi had seen him, he was very easy to pinpoint in a crowd. Platinum blonde hair definitely stood out amongst dirty blondes, brunette and black haired children alike. She probably didn't even spare him two seconds,he bet her eyes had found him then left just as suddenly. Just like that, because why would she ever want Aston when she deserved so, so much better?
The video keeps playing and Aston keeps looking, he wishes she was easier to find. He wished she'd been the one gifted with the platinum head and not him, it'd make situations like these so much easier.
Thevideo ends and he sees someone walking over to the escort and whisper something in their ear. The escort nods and he sees a big smile plastered onto her face. Prusilla, he remembers, that was her name. "I'll just start with the ladies, then." He sees her chuckle, it seems forced but he doesn't comment, as she makes her way to the other side of the wooden stage. He, quite honestly, doesn't care who gets picked, as long as it isn't Lexi. Please, don't pick Lexi.
He sees her elegant hands, gracefully move around the bowl, contemplating and building suspense. He sees her fingers pinch a white strip of paper and she pulls it out. Please not Lexi. She licks her lips once and then her mouth starts to open, forming the shape of an 'O', as she's about to speak. Please not Lexi. He doesn't even realize he isn't looking for her any longer, because he's too transfixed to know if it's Lexi, because he goddamn hopes it isn't.
"Iris Elmswood." He feels himself let out a sigh in relief, before quickly jolting up in shock. He knows that name, she's the girl who, rumour has it, had been rigged to be pulled. Who's name had been rigged to be pulled. Maybe rumours weren't always so made up. She owned the local sweet shop, her parents were murderred and now she was wanted dead by the Capitol. Everyone in the District knew it.
He sees the ball of red-hair fly up towards the stage. She knew it too, and he can tell that she doesn't look surprised, but still on the verge of tears. Iris Elmswood Had been the only topic of gossip anyone's been saying. She's fourteen and Aston couldn't imagine a worse fate.
"Our fine gents is next on the list, yes?" He feels eyes on him, just for a second, and he turns. He sees her, his blue eyes focusing on the single most important thing in the world to him. Lexi, staring right at him. And all Astoncanthink is, I'm sorry. The second she sees him turn she looks away. And suddenly Aston freaks because he can't lose her, he won't lose her. After everything, she's all he has left. He won't just push her to the back of his mind like he does with everything else, because Lexi is not everything else.
He starts ducking and climbing over everyone to get to the female section, he doesn't care if people are blocking him or the fact that evertime he bumps into someone hey hiss something he'd rather not repeat. All Aston can think is Lexi. Lexi. Lexi. Lexi. Lexi.
He vaguely hears the eScort saying something. Something, but he knows it isn't the name. He's almost to the girls section and he feels more and more people getting pissed off, because he's bashing into more and more people and he's running into more and more people. He's pushing them now too, because he can't lose her. His cursing at someone for flipping him off and Aston does the same back. He starts screaming, "Lexi! Lexi!" Suddenly all eyes are on him, but he doesn't care. He's in the girls section and if he reaches far enough, he can almost touch her. The children have made a sort of path for him, and he's all anyone is looking at. He sees Lexi's eyes widening in horror and she's too stunned to move. Then he hears it.
"Aston Swifte." It's the escort, she's holding a slip of paper. Suddenly he sees Lexi'sface take the form of something terrified beyond belief. She reapeats it again. "Aston Swifte." He can sees the boys telling the peacekeepers that it's him, the one's who were already on their way to stop him because of his disturbance in the crowd. They would've had to kill him, but now they can't. Because now he's a tribute. He doesn't care though, because he knows now that this is the last chance he'll ever get to see Lexi again.
"Lexi! I'm sorry! Lexi!" The peacekeepers are on him now, they strap his arms behind his back and start dragging him towards the stage. The boys clear a path for him. The girls do too, he'd been in the girls section, he'd been that close. He's on the stage now. "Lexi!" He screams, "Lexi, I'm sorry!" Suddenly he feels something slam into him, it's the peacekeepers fist he realizes. And the situation he's in is something he's now all too familiar with. He's being hurt and bruised, they can't kill him, but maybe this is worse. He's on the ground now, and everyone is watching people at home, children in the other District, Capitol citizens. They're all watching and it hurts. It really hurts.
He feels blood on his face and he feels it in his mouth. It's dripping down and his shirt is soaked. But the punches and kicks just keep coming. He's dizzy and tired and he makes a strangled like sound. "Le-exi-i." His face hurts and he can feels bruises forming on his chest and stomach. His legs feel numb and he doesn't think he can stand.
He's jerked to his feet and forced to shake hands. He's still hurting and he needs the girl to help keep him steady. He sees the girl doesn't seem to care, she seems devoid of emotion, minus the one single tear dripping slowly down her face. They look horrific, they should, him bloodied and bruised, her calm as the morning waters. They must look horrifying, he would be scared. And he wondered what Lexi thought. They shake hands and his mind is still on Lexi. And he knows, he knows right then and there that he has to win. He needs to come back home to Lexi, and he needs to apologize to her fully.
"Aston Swifte, Iris Elmswood, District 6, your Tributes!" And all Aston can think is, Lexi. Lexi. Lexi. Lexi. I'm coming home for you, Lexi.
District 7
Tribute: Oakley Axemooree
Age: 16
Gender: Male
Oakley was a rebel, always had been. He just didn't take action on it, not ever did he do so. But he really wishes he had, because maybe if he had, these games wouldn't be happening right now. These games wouldn't be killing innocent children right now. He wants to do something but knows it'll be pointless and the waste of a life, his life, because he's Oakley, without him how would people ever solve anything? Without Oakley how would I know if my best friend hates me or not? If my crush really means what he says when he tells me I'm cute? Without Oakley who'll help me get good grades?
That was all anyone ever seems to need him for. Not, 'Hey, Oakley, you have a nice personality-or whatever crap- wanna hang out with us?' Something along those lines. And it was that, some real friends, that Oakley wanted so badly he'd do anything for it. Just some real friends. Besides Birch, who was almost never had time for him because she was training to be a doctor. Which meant his only friend spent almost all her time studying, being so stressed from studying she turns her sass-meters up to a hundred or was in the Capitol studying abroad. She was still awesome, and she was still the best friend he could ever ask for. But he just wished someone, anyone, had time for him. Time that they genuinely wanted to spend with him.
He's gazing at his sister, Beecher, arguing with the person in front of her. Every single last one of them now that he looked at it, she was arguing with everyone. Which was strange, considering she was generally shy and introverted. Oakley shrugged, if it was important he'd obviously have complaints about it later on tonight. They're both in line together, one after the other. And they're all arguing. Except for Oakley, he's just standing there. Because of course, when he's not Helping you, nobody ever really considers him. They don't really stop and think, 'Hey, maybe we should invite Oakley?'. Oakley was like one of those Gods, you were too scared to approach them, so you just went around pretending that they didn't exist. Something like that, history was so vague nowadays that he didn't even understand half of it.
The only time his siblings had spoke to him in the last twenty-four hours was to ask him if they agreed with him or not. Oh yeah, and if Oakley thought they were selfish (He said no, obviously. If he said yes, that'd just cause more problems than it was worth). He wished they'd just acknowledge his efforts or at least acknowledge him other than some perfect golden boy of the District. He was human just like them, he had flaws but none of them could ever see that even if it was right in front of their face. He tried to tell them when he was younger, but they never listened. He ended up just giving up, humans fall to pattern and they would never believe him anyways. (He was Oakley, he wasn't allowed to have flaws. How dare you.)
He looked at Beecher, his fourteen year old sister with the flaming red hair. Normally when people looked at them, they'd ask if they were related. Very hesitantly and unsure, because, ignoring he hair, Oakley and Beecher shared so many traits it was unbelievable. Same strong jawline, same eye shape, nose shape, she had sharper cheekbones though. She hadn't even glancied back at him once and Oakley was starting to get really annoyed. Would it kill someone to just glance at him, just one glance. To check on him, to see of he's as Okay as he says he is. Like he does for everybody else.
He thinks his District is so stupidly selfish he doesn't even understand it. How hard was it to say thank you? To take a half-second glance over one shoulder? It was so easy, but where did anyone ever fit Okaley into their tight schedules. Oakley who took care of them, who talked to them when no one else would, who tutored them for free because no one else would. He wasn't just some stranger on the street, he was the golden boy of District 7. But he was still a boy. A mere child, he wasn't immune to words himself. He was just nice enough not to load them onto everyone else. Depression is taking on others problems just to conceal your own.
And Okaley took on everyones problems, and of course every time he tried talking about his own, they shut him up and continued talking about themselves. It was unbelievable. Or they'd say the whole, 'you're Oakley, you don't have problems.' He hated when people said that.
Oakley watched as his sister's finger was pricked and then forcefully stamped onto the paper. He watched her wince slightly and he watched her bring the bleeding finger to her lips to stop the blood. Her red hair was blowing across her face even though the winds weren't even that strong. He didn't smile though, well he did, if you could count what he does as a 'smile'. It was hard, forced and foggy, made only for the reason of, when she saw him watching her she'd stuck out her tongue. He was responding her common gesture with one of his own, no matter how Unconvincing it looked.
"Mr. Axemoore, finger." It wasn't a question, it was a demand. Oakley complied obediently, what else was he suppose to do? It only hurt for a second and then it was gone. He didn't smile. They pressed his finger to the page, he watched the blood leave his finger and soak their red mark on the page. "That way, kid." The peacekeeper pointed him to a section of children to the left, they told him his sister was in the fourteen year section. One closer to the right, then sent him on his way. He walked mechanically towards the sixteen year old section. Not sparing one glance behind him.
He stood among the other children. He felt them all take a slight step away from him, and he realized, just then, that he really was some untouchable God to all of them. He was like a celebrity, you could look at it from a distance, but never get too close. And it just then, surrounded by hundreds, maybe thousand of children had Oakley felt most alone. And he bit his lip so hard trying not to cry he tasted blood. Red, metallic, stinging blood. And the cut barely even registers in his mind, because he's so broken he can't even feel anything. He only feels broken, so broken that he just wants to curl up and vanish, but he can't do that. He can never do that. Why? Because he's Oakley.
He hears someone tapping a microphone, it's sound resonating throughout the building. He turns to se a lady dressed in purple start speaking. "Hello, I am Lovinska Von Heckilebeurg. I will be your Capitol escort." The mayor behind her started clapping, everyone had to join in. Oakley did so robotically, he didn't even realize he was clapping until the sound reached his ears. He almost jumped in surprise, he was so past the gone it wasn't even funny. "May you all now, direct your attention to the screen."
Evryone does, and a video starts playing before immediately fizzing out. The screen goes blank, and everyone is left in awakward silence. The purple lady starts to speak up nervously, "Um, let's get straight to the reaping, yes?" Without siting for an answer, she struts past everyone and over to the bowl. She smiles and Oakley can regonize it, it's the same one he wears every single day like a mask.
Her hand dives into the bowl and Oakley just watches. She pulls out a slip. Straightens herself, smiles once more towards a camera before starting to read. Her smiles are so forced, Oakley thinks. And he wishes he knew just how these escorts were chosen.
"Veronica Delaney." He hears someone inhale sharply, but that's it. Over in the female twelve year old section, he sees movement. Little children of twelve years are clearing the way, they're pinpointing one person out of the crowd. They are sending a child to her death. Oakley reconized the name. It's the little girl he'd ran into just a few days prior, a cake comes to mind, but Oakley isn't sure. Everything he does feels like he's doing it out of his body, like an invisible ghost is what's carrying out all his actions. They're so mechanical and forced, it's like watching himself doing them, he wonders if she could tell.
He watches her shakily making her way up to the stage, she looks like she's crying. He thinks she is. She stumbles on the last step and the escort catches her and helps her up. "How're you, sweetie?" He hears her make a muffled sob, "M-mh, fi-in-ne." He hears her sniffle quietly. The escort is rubbing circles on Veronica's back, trying to calm her down. Then she starightens out, not before he seEs Veronica's dad say something to Veronica herself, she just nods.
"Onto the men." She reapeats the same thing she'd done for the girls. He watches her. "Oakley Axemoore." There it is, Oakley freezes. And he feels the absolute silence ring out, louder than any sort of murmurs or screams could have been. Without waiting for a path, Oakley feels his legs start to move. Mechanically, obediently, he isn't in control, he never is. He doesn't want to, his subconscious is telling him no, but his body doesn't care. It just keeps going, people clear for him as he walks, not the other way around. He's broken, and he doesn't show it. He tries to look sad, but it comes out looking more like a sort of awkward smile. A malicious, crazy, insane type of smile. He hates it.
He's on the stage, he barely remembers going up the steps but it doesn't matter, he did, and that's all that does. "Well, aren't you handsome." Oakley tries for a smile, but if he's learned anything broken people reconized other brokens as well. The woman gives him a pitying look. He drops the smile. Which was too stretched and too breaking.
She leans in towards him, that, if you weren't Oakley, you most likely wouldn't have even seen her, she whispered one thing. "Car two." She doesn't explain it, he has no idea what she means. So He just nods. He looks over a Veronica who seems to have calmed down slightly, but is still sniffling quietly to herself. Oakley tries to give her a sympathetic smile, but his game's off today. If the strange look Veroncia gave him is anything to go by.
The escort straightens out, looking like she wants to say anything more than the words that come out of her mouth next. "Happy Hunger games. District 7, your tributes."
District 8
Tribute: Rosemary Finch
Age: 15
Gender: Female
Rosemary looked over her shoulder, trying to find Petra and Cora in the crowd. She couldn't. It was stupid, but ever since the incident, as Rosemary liked to call it, she'd been paranoid that the second she turned away, her baby sisters would be dead. It was idiotic, she knew, but she couldn't help it. She'd watched her sister be murdered in front of her, the same day she lost her parents. She wasn't sure where they were, she knew they hadn't been killed. She would've been told. It hurt her more knowing that they'd chosen to leave, instead of being forced.
So, as far as Petra and Cora knew, her parents and sister had gone away for a vacation. To the Capitol, something about her sister's education, she wasn't even sure at this point. They didn't ask questions, but she was sure that they didn't believe her. Maybe it was the pain on her face, maybe it was the way her smile seemed strained. How her eyes seemEd to glisten with madness and her laugh always seemEd too hoarse, her posture too hostile.
Her stupid sister. Of course she'd have to have been a rebel. She'd killed herself. They were neutral, they knew being neutral was the safest option. Why go against that. They were living the life, they were safe, finally. Why couldn't she have been happy with that. Why? Rosemary didn't dare speak her sister's name, she couldn't. Her parents too, what were they thinking. They'd been safe. Who cares if they wanted to fight for their opinions, those opinions had tore her family, Rosemary's family apart. All because they wanted to fight for their thoughts, their beliefs. They'd been safe, they'd been safe. Their family'd been safe. And they tore it apart. They broke Petra and Cora's heart. They made them cry, scream- and maybe that'd been her. Maybe that'd been her
She'd started taking them to refugee camps, it was pitiful. But at least the young boy working there, Thread she thinks, was nice. The twins liked him. And so Rosemary kept working, as always, trying, hoping, that she'd be able to keep this charade up long enough for her to be able to afford her own food. She wasn't even a proper rebel. She was just someone who wanted to see the Capitol burn.
She didn't have a problem with the way things were run, perhaps she did. What she hated was what the Capitol stood for. To her, at least. They stood for the murder of her sister, her perfect, beautiful sister. The Capitol stood for her parents abandoning her, leaving her. They stood for making the twins sad, making her cry. And she wanted to see them pay. Rosemary didn't care how many laws the Capitol had created were unfair, all she could think of when their name was brought up was her family. And what the Capitol had done to them.
Maybe she was also angry at her parents. They left her and the twins, they left them. Rosemary didn't care how important it was, the reason as to why they left, all she cares about was that they'd left. Family came first, it had to. But they'd still left. She was taking all her anger directed to her parents and threw it to the Capitol. She didn't care though. Because she still hated both. She didn't care if she were hating her own blood, turning her back on her own blood, her parents had done the same hadn't they?
Poor Petra and Cora, she thought, they deserve better. Rosemary clenched her fist, hard. She felt her nails biting into her skin, but she didn't care. Because these Hunger Games, were just bringing up memories she'd rather forget. Permanently. These games were the living embodiment of why she hated the Capitol. Why she wanted to see the, cry and hurt as she had. Of her sister and parents. They brought back memories of her sister and parents.
Rosemary felt liquid in her hands and she looked down and un-clenched her fists. Nail marks spitting out small Crimson fluids. She watched as her hands started to shake. What was happening to her? When had she gotten so... aggressive. She quickly hid her hands, as if anyone had paid attention to her. They all had their own problems. Maybe her paranoia extended to other things besides just Petra and Cora.
She felt the sting of a cut in her hands, but she didn't dare look. She told herself it was because someone might see. But she knew the real reason. She didn't want to face what she'd done to herself. She didn't want to have to look at it and face it. That she'd hurt herself and that she'd thought those things. That she hadn't even felt her nails biting into her flesh, not one little bit. Why hadn't she felt it? Did she hate her parents? The Capitol? And to an extent, her sister? No. That was just the anger taking, but Rosemary couldn't stop wanting to cry either.
She bit the inside of cheek, trying to focus on the strange sense of pain instead her now stinging eyes. She would not cry in front of all these people. She would not cry because of the Capitol, they weren't worth it. Her sister, her parents, they were worth it. (right?)
Rosemary glanced upwards to the sky, so clear, so blue. It seemed mocking as to how it seemed so perfect when Rosemary was quite aware it was anything but. Because her family was gone. Her family was dead. She looked at the girl beside her, she looked so strong, so sure. It intimidated her. How could she be so put together? So ready to face this? Rosemary looked at her own quivering and bleeding hands, messed up hair and was suddenly very aware of the bags below her eye. How could the girl next to her look so calm and ready?
The next thing her eyes found was the stage, and the strange man upon it. He was skinny, unnaturally so. His long bony fingers were the mocha tone of his skin. His spiked blue hair looking out of place in the sea of greys and Browns. His makeup was a light green, his suit was a dark midnight blue. Rosemary simply stared. Capitol, the thought was gone in a millisecond. And before she knew it, her nails were digging into her skin once more. Startled, Rosemary looked down, nausea hit her lightly. She'd done it again.
She tried not to think too hard of what it might mean. Or still, that strange sense of pain, it had to be nothing. (right?)
Suddenly the man got up, Rosemary followed him with her eyes. Still trying not to think of her palms. He tapped the microphone once, trying to get everyone's attention . For the most part, it worked. "Hello, I am Jordan Yukin. The Capitol assigned escort for District 8." He smiles, scattered claps. "Now, if you'd be so kind, as to direct your attention to the screen." He pints to a large white, suddenly a projection is shined onto it. A projection that makes Rosemary look down because of all the memories it causes.
She can't see what the video's showing but she can hear it. And suddenly her mind is filled with so many images, her head feels like exploding. She feels herself wobble and she can't take it. She cannot take it. She doubles over, and she hears a girl cry out. But Rosemary barely hears it, like it's in a different reality than her own. Her own, filled with shots and flashes of death, her sister's death. There it is, and Rosemary now feels herself crying out. And suddenly the nightmares that've plagued her for weeks, every single last one of them, is there. Flashing before her eyes. And she can't take it.
She feels her weight being lifted and snaked. She sees white, peacekeeper. And that only makes the pain ten times worse. She hears someone screaming about stopping the video. But her mind is still filled with nightmares. Absolute nightmares. "Stop it, girl!" She hears a peacekeeper scream. She tries, she tries, she feels her body go slack and suddenly her vision clears. She can see clearly again. The peacekeeper is still there. The video's stopped, everyone's eyes are on her. Even Jordan's. "You okay now, girl?" She nods, and the peacekeeper walks back over to the stage. She barely even notices how her fist clench again. The sea of children parting for him.
She hears the escort shuffle his feet before speaking. "How about we move straight to the reapings? Ladies first." She watches him walk, but it's as if it's sped up. His hand's in the bowl and she watches as he grips a slip of white. He clears his throat before reading the name. "Rosemary Finch." It's her name. Her heart stops and then she's moving. She doesn't want to, but her body has a mind of it's own. She wants it to stop, but it doesn't.
She's on the stage now. The pacing of her mind seems sped up and she suddenly feels extremely nauseous. "Well, if it isn't the one who disturbed our ceremony. You feeling better now?" Rosemary doesn't have a proper response so she just nods. He gives her a small smile. "Onto our fine gents now, hmmm?" He walks to the ther side of the stage and Rosemary can only stand there. Stand there searching for the twins. And then she starts to cry.
She sees the escort stop in his tracks, as she lets out her first soft whimper. She cries and immediately her mind goes to that stupid perfect girl who'd stood next to her. Looking perfect of course. And she just cries harder and she's willing herself to stop, telling herself to stop, but of course her body doesn't listen. Bent up tears are spilling out freely now and Rosemary hide her face in her sleeve. She waves off the now approaching escort, who immediately starts his trek back towards the jar.
One last concerned glance over his shoulder at Rosemary. He pulls out a name. "Thread Flynn."
It's only when the boy steps onto the stage does Rosemary recognize him. He's blurry around the edges from her tears, but she knows it's him. Which makes her want to cry harder, because if she doesn't want the twins to lose everything, she's going to have to kill the boy who's kept her alive for the past few days. And she wants to die, right then and there. But she knows that she can't because, whithout her, she'll be the one ripping apart their family. The twins family, just as her parents and sister had done to her.
"Shake hands." She reaches out, she sees Thread do the same. He's looking pale and nervous. As they shake, slowly and calmly. Both trying to ignore the dishevelled look of the other. Both not wanting to think of what their names being called means for one another. She turns to face the roaring of the crowd. She feels nauseaous again, but she tries to imagine the perfect posture and aura of that girl. The one she'd been next to. She tries to recreate that image. She tries.
"Distirct 8, your tributes."
Dang, I just realized how Male heavy this chapter was and he female heavy the previous chapter was. By the way, I put up this poll where you can vote for your favourite tribute, so there's that. You can vote for any tribute except your own.