Eve of Destruction by Barry McGuire

If the button is pushed, there's no runnin' away
There'll be no one to save with the world in a grave.

Pre-Reapings Part Six

Connor Leland, 18, District Two

I hate the feeling. The one where you are floating in your own personal dream space and all of a sudden somehow the light feels way too bright and you wake up. It's exactly what happens every morning, because the first thing my mother likes to do when she wakes up at some horrifyingly early hour of the morning is open all of the window blinds in the house.

I open my eyes and sure enough I am greeted by the giant square of light at the side of my room. I groan and roll over, hoping to extract a few more minutes of sleep from the night. A couple minutes of closed eyes later and I decide it's pointless. I push the blankets off of me and sit up, one last yawn coming over my body.

I get up and head over to my dresser, pulling on a long sleeve shirt and a pair of socks. There's no point in changing our of my sweatpants, it's not like I plan on going anywhere today. Maybe a few months ago I might have planned on heading over to Marlon's house or maybe even across town to see Caspian. Nowadays it doesn't seem like that is going to become a habit again. My social life has been quiet over the past little while, not that I really mind that much.

It started a while after the war began, sometime around the few days that followed my sixteenth birthday. I started to get the idea of signing up to help in the war effort. It seemed like the right thing to do at the time and I don't think my mind has changed about that one. Marlon was against the idea altogether, while Caspian tried his best to reason himself into the idea. They didn't get the point of it- there were plenty of soldiers, they would say, most of them older and more fit to serve than I was.

I knew that of course. District Two was lucky enough that there were many willing citizens to pick up a gun or a microphone and fight for the rights of their fellow people. They were all admirable men and women, but they were losing from the very beginning. I wanted to try and help. Maybe make some sort of difference if I could. The idea of just sitting inside or trying to go about my normal life when bombs were being dropped on innocent people was simply not something I could entertain.

Thinking about my months in training forces my eyes instinctually over to the corner beside my bed where a long gun sits against the wall harmlessly. I haven't so much as touched the thing since moving back into my parent's house from the tiny barracks I shared with dozens of other soldiers. It's weird that I feel no desire to pick it up again. I guess without the war there is no use for a gun, though.

I let my eyes settle on the gun for a moment longer before I decide it's time to focus on something else. The worst thing is that I think the sixteen year old Connor saw more longevity for the war. Being a soldier was something I decided on during a time that I had to start looking at options for my future. Without the war it looks like I'm starting over.

I shrink down into my desk chair with a sigh. For a few more months at least I have school before my curriculum ends. After that, who even knows where I will be. I'm expected to have things figured out by now, well before now actually but the war has given me a bit of leeway. In all honesty I have no idea what I'll be doing two months from now when I finish school.

I look up at the paper I taped to the wall about a month ago. I was trying to get some creativity going, maybe finally decide what I want to do with my life. All I managed to come up with was three point form notes. The first says 'With Dad'. It's true that my father owns a small shop that sells any random thing that the mind could come up with, calls it a 'variety shop'. It's his pride and joy, that shop, but I've spent enough time in the little building to know that it's not a place I want to be for the next fifty years.

The second is just a series of question marks, made on a day that I was frustrated beyond belief about three weeks ago. Finally, the third and final point is just one word 'Peacekeeper'. I had thought about it for about a week before writing it down, and so far it's my best option. I know that my parents would be relieved to hear it because at least it would mean I had finally decided on something.

The problem is that these days, Peacekeepers are not very highly regarded in District Two. They were the first barrier between us and the Capitol that tried to keep the rebellion at bay since its beginning. Even now that the war is over, people have not been keen on forgetting the things they have done.

It would be just my luck that the only thing I can even think about doing with my life would make me one of the most hated beings in the district.

I sigh and run my hands down my face. I tear the paper down off the wall and crumple it into a ball. I toss it over my shoulder and bury my face in my arms. What the hell am I doing with my life, I'm eighteen years old for crying out loud. Everyone else already has everything all figured out, why don't I yet?

Kyra Lacasse, 14, District Ten

"Kyra! Over here!"

I kick the ball in the direction of the voice without even looking. Grayson has the ball when I finally stop running and look over at him. His long hair falls into his eyes and he shakes it away, smiling as he dashes for the makeshift net we have set up at one end of the yard. Declan stands in the net, both hands placed defensively out in front of him and eyes flickering between Grayson and I.

I anticipate the pass a second before the ball hits the inside of my foot, and I send it flying towards the net a second after that. Declan sees the last minute past but jumps just short of being able to reach the ball. It is stopped in the net and Grayson runs over to high-five me. I pump my fist in the air and smile as Declan gets up and brushes the grass off of his knees.

"Lucky shot," he grumbles, rolling his eyes in mock annoyance even though all of us can see the smile on his lips. I'm glad it's Declan I scored on and not Grayson, he's the one that sometimes gets a bit heated if he gets scored on too often. Declan and Safire are much better sports about it, especially when it's me doing the shooting. I am the best kicker in our grade, after all.

"No way," Grayson says, his breathing heavy as he jogs over to us. "She doesn't make lucky shots, Dec. We make lucky saves sometimes but Kyra doesn't make lucky shots."

"I know," Declan says, slapping me on the back. "Next game I get her on my time. I think I've had my ass handed to me enough times today."

"Fine," I say and turn around to the other boy heading over to meet us at the net. I just met him a few days ago when Grayson brought him to our last game. He's not the fastest runner but he's a great goalie, I think even better than Declan. Too bad he insists on playing main-field or he could be a real help. "Athen! You're on Grayson's team now!"

"Ah fine," he jokes, hitting Grayson in the stomach when he reaches us. "You play goalie, I'm getting in the groove of midfield now."

When Athen looks away I notice Grayson roll his eyes and have to cough to cover the laugh that escapes. The two have just started to hang out since Athen's mother joined Grayson's mother's gardening group. She brought Athen along after hearing that she had a son his age. Evidently Athen doesn't have many friends, but we're happy enough to have him around. Especially since Safire never comes out anymore, at least now we can play two-on-two again.

"Kyra!"

I groan when I hear my mother's voice calling me. I turn towards my house and sure enough I can see her standing on the porch calling me. I turn back to my friends and shrug. "I guess I have to go, I'll catch you guys later."

"Don't forget, we have a full game on Saturday," Declan reminds me. "We got a bunch of guys from school to come out and play with us for the afternoon, it's going to be awesome."

"I won't forget!" I call behind me as I take off towards my house. I really should not be keeping my mother waiting much longer. Last time she freaked out on me majorly and I promised that I wouldn't stay out so long and I already know that I left just after lunch and it's beginning to get dark. I've been gone for at least five, six hours maybe more.

Before I even reach the porch I can see the stern look on my mother's face and I brace myself for a bit of yelling. "My goodness Kyra, didn't you hear me?"

"I'm here so yeah I did," I say and immediately regret it by the way her expression tightens. "Sorry, it was a long run we were in the field."

"That's so far, couldn't you kids play closer to the house? Or at least closer to Declan's house where his mother could see you better?" She goes on as she opens the back door and ushers me in. I kick off my muddy boots just before I get inside, hoping that I remember to rinse them off after dinner before she sees them. She hates mud almost more than she hates me being late, so my boots will not be allowed inside without a quick rinse at least.

"What's for dinner?" I ask , unbuttoning my sweater and hanging it up on the free hook by the door. The sweater doesn't hang the first time so I have to pick it up off the floor and hang it again, and in that time there is nothing but silence. I turn around and face her, not being able to help the look I give her.

When she still doesn't answer I can't help myself. "What?"

She sighs and runs her hands down her thighs. "Kyra would it honestly hurt you that much to be a little more considerate of things?"

"I said I was sorry I didn't come right away," I whine. This is a conversation I have had way too often with her and it always ends up the same way. I promise to be a little less reckless or whatever and then I break that promise, at least in her eyes, the very next day.

"It's dangerous out there, Kyra. The rebellion might be over but I'm your mother and I worry. I can't help that. The least you could do is make it a little easier on me."

I have to hold in the comment I want to say in favour of ending the conversation now rather than later. Don't get me wrong, I really do hate to upset her. But every single thing I do upsets her, so what am I supposed to do?

Radimir Ankratji, 17, District Six

I squint my eyes and throw a smile at the next woman that passes me. She turns and looks me up and down before moving on, obviously I am not what she is looking for tonight. I consciously broaden my shoulders and puff out my chest just a little bit, so that it looks natural of course. It's a Friday night, not even eleven o'clock yet. I can't understand why the street is so dead, it's always bustling this time of night with people looking for a deal anything from drugs to sex.

I see movement out of the corner of my eye and I automatically straighten my posture again. Unfortunately it's only a young girl, probably no older than ten or so, and her eyes widen when she realizes where she is. This area is famous in District Six and no one comes wants to come around unless their looking for something.

With nothing else to do in the dead night, I find myself taking a closer look at the girl. She almost reminds me of Melita back on that first day I met her. The same scraggly, unwashed hair and clothes to match- the look that comes with living on the streets. I almost can't help myself from feeling bad for the girl, by the stories that Melita has told me about her months out here it's not a pretty life to have nowhere to go.

She told me a few times now about the people that she would see out here, the ones that would try to rope her into things she couldn't even understand just so that they could use her for their own gain. The guilt is always there when I think about how I met her and realize that I was just another one of those people that she should have been afraid of.

It's been a long time now, since the day I met her. Well I guess met is quite a stretch. More like the day I caught her just seconds after she pick pocketed me, grabbing the collar of her dirtied shirt and watching as her eyes nearly popped out of her skull.

It was a lucky thing that she chose that day to try it. Any other day I might have thrown her to the Peacekeepers, it would have served her right for trying to steal from me. But no, that day was one of those times when I've felt particularly vulnerable. Again vulnerable might not be the right word.

I was thinking about revenge.

So rather than throw her to the whips I cut her a deal. I would offer her a place to stay for a few nights and not turn her in, and she would do something for me. She would tell the Peacekeepers about a rebel hideout that she had found. The revenge would be done and I wouldn't have to have really done anything.

Of course she agreed. What other choice did she have? My wish was far kinder than anything that the Peacekeepers would have subjected her to. They don't know the word gentle, not even for young girls stricken by nothing but pure misfortune. Her life for another, a fair trade. My father was executed the next morning on the charge of treason.

I shake the memory out of my head, correcting my posture yet again. These are the thoughts for a later time, I am working right now. If anyone had seen me just now, well, my chances of getting any business any time soon may have just been drastically decreased.

I bite the edge of my lip as a rather young looking woman passes by me but she doesn't even look up from the ground. Slow night, I think again, not able to help the sigh that comes out. These times are the worst. The ones where I am actually having to consciously think about what I am doing and how wrong it feels. It's far easier on the busy nights where someone draws their hand across my wrist and I know the payment is already pretty much in my pocket.

I don't hate this job, well if you can call it that. I mean that I don't hate the fact that I am finally able to do something for myself. The only time I ever get those episodes of rapid heart rate and dry mouth is the first touch. Just like the first time he touched me, the very first connection is the worst. You know it's wrong but you've already gone too far to correct it. Once you get past that first second you're golden.

The next time I look up the street is no longer empty. Women with fluffy coats and men with worn hats are beginning to shuffle down the sidewalk, their eyes intrigued yet not making contact with anyone. Once they make eye contact with one of us, everyone will know. Until then they can pretend that they are just passing by. All of us know, though, what they're here for. The girls have already started to venture out into their doorways, their black eyes and red lips drawing in whoever will look their way.

A man slows his steps in front of me and I lift my eyes to his face. He is well over the age of fifty, with greying hair and wrinkled cheeks. I reach out a hand, careful not to touch him first. That is a big no-no, because anyone not wanting the attention could easily turn the authorities on one of us.

As soon as his fingertips touch the inside of my wrist I am hit with a mixture of relief that I won't be going home empty-armed and disgust at the feeling of his skin on mine. The men are the worst for bringing back the ghost touch of my father, but they always pay more. Boys like me are hard to find.

I swallow my discomfort and gently lead him towards the door I had been standing in front of, making sure to leave my disgust at the door so I can pick it back up tomorrow morning.

Song: Eve of Destruction by Barry McGuire.

A/N: Alright I am here. This chapter was insanely difficult to write for whatever reason, but it is done. Also there are only two more to go, so six more tributes to showcase before we get to really start the story. I'll be excited to get to the point, honestly these are getting to be a bit repetitive (sorry).

Also apologizing to the few of you that have had to wait for long to see your character. Shouldn't be too long now!

Leave a review if you are so inclined. It would be much appreciated if you would take the time to answer the questions below as well as comment generally on the writing in the chapter. Thanks!

What do you think of these three tributes?

Who are your favourites out of the tributes you have seen?

Until next time! Bye.