Swallowed in the Sea by Coldplay
You put me on a shelf
And kept me for yourself.
Eliana Undine, Female, District One Watcher
I turn the television volume up as the little blonde girl taps her sticky fingers against the screen. I sigh loudly and stand to move her, considering for another moment why I had not been given a pen or chair or something in which to keep these things. The two of them were delivered into my care just a couple days ago, with no more than a week's notice. My own daughters are grown and with their own husbands and children, I have nothing but potted plants and stiff furniture with which to occupy the two of them.
"Shh," I try again to quiet the young child as I lift her onto my lap. "Don't you want to see who your new caregiver will be?"
I cannot wait to be rid of this girl in particular. Already she has nearly chewed through an electrical cord, and screamed for hours at me for not allowing her to do so and electrocute herself. Her mother must have been entirely insane to have kept the rotten thing for so long. Though, from what was told to me upon the children's arrival, her mother was only seventeen and the father was nowhere to be found when they got her. No wonder the child knows no discipline.
The television interrupts my thoughts and I see that the Reaping has long since begun. Already a female tribute has been Reaped and I have come to attention just as a sharp yell cuts through the speakers and the cameras train themselves on a girl in a leather jacket with the crest of District One on it. The girl looks to be eighteen, and she strides to stage with a straight back and a her lips pressed into a thin line. I think she might be pretty if she didn't look so terribly miserable.
"And what is your name, my courageous child?" The Escort beams as she looks up at the volunteer.
"Aquila Titurius," she says without lowering her head to even look at the Escort who seems excessively tiny next to the well built tribute. The Escort nods with excitement and scurries over to the second Reaping bowl, her hand missing the bowl as she looks out at the sea of potential tributes in front of her.
Before her hand can even grasp a slip, the cameras catch a tall, brown haired boy beginning the long walk towards the stage. A boy with hair just a couple shades darker than the first's intercepts him as he passes by, punching him square in the chest and startling the boy. Then the lighter haired boy begins to run. The first boy makes chase and catches up with the other very quickly, returning the punch he had given him and sending his head into the side of the stage.
The darker haired boy is the one that ultimately gets up those stairs to a positively bouncing Escort. She all but shoves the microphone into his mouth before he can reach her. "What's your name, my brave boy?"
"Amstel Hafelin," he says coyly, throwing a wink into the crowd and making the Escort titter as she casts glances between both her strong volunteers.
"Thank you all for joining me in celebrating this wondrous ceremony, and thank you especially to our brave volunteers. For without them the Hunger Games would only be a mere shadow of what it will be this year," the Escort begins with her mandatory speech and I break out in a smile when I see that the male volunteer is making faces over her shoulder.
Miki Vaughn, Male, District Two Watcher
The children are just darling! I could not contain my excitement when I was given two of the very youngest tributes that would ever enter the Hunger Games arena. What an honor, I do say! And the children are just adorable, the blonde boy especially so. Piere, I think was his name, is content to sit on my lap all afternoon long and sleep in the spare room in the crib I went out and bought the day it was announced I would be allowed to care for two of the children. District Two, no less. These children were important, and since I was acting as their father for now I was important as well.
I never do know where the little brunette girl goes to, Kassia I remind myself though it doesn't matter much to me. The girl doesn't seem to want much to do with me, and I will not be the one to force her to do anything. These are the last few days before the Games begin and the very last night she will be kept in my care. On the first morning of training, I was told that I would meet in the Training Center with both of the children and they would be given to their assigned tributes. Sadly, they would be kept in the care of an Avox in the tributes' suite after that.
"How exciting is this, Piere? One of these lucky tributes is going to be paired with you!" I exclaim and Piere gives a chuckle as I bounce him on my lap. The District One tributes were as impressive as they always have been, but I just know that District Two will do as well if not better. It is Piere and Kassia's home district, of course, and how could anything but excellence come from it?
I wait in anticipation as the name of the female tribute is called, knowing full well that a volunteer will not call out until the chosen one reveals herself. I'm unsure of the reasoning for the custom, but it always seems to be this way. A girl steps out of one of the older sections and my smiling lips drop open in shock. The girl is stunning, and very clearly pregnant. She doesn't seem to be even able to walk well enough to get up the stairs and I am satisfied when a tall girl with red hair steps forward with her hand held up and her jaw set open.
She doesn't seem to register another call of volunteering, but the second girl has positioned herself too far away from the stage and the redhead gets up the steps without even running before the second can get past her group. I stare in awe as a brunette in a leather training jacket with her eyes open wide is left ignored in the aisle. I can understand it right away, the redhead was not supposed to be the volunteer this year.
"And what is your name?"
"Kiera Wentz," the redhead replies with her eyes staring over the crowds. She is notably shaking and steps back when beckoned to. I just know there is a story here, and I am so very excited to hear more about Miss Wentz.
The Escort moves on without barely noticing the mishap that has just occurred, and the second volunteer retreats back into the crowd with a scowl and tears in her eyes. A slip from the male ball is pulled and the Escort announces the name with a fleeting energy to her voice. She knows that the name will soon be replaced with one of District Two's prestigious volunteers. "Kilin Shicts."
The camera trains itself on the back section, where the volunteers stand against the ropes with the non-Victor trainers standing directly behind them. District Two expects two volunteers each year, but with one spot already taken by another, the other male is easy to pick out due to his obvious nerves. He clearly does not want to be cheated out of his spot, it could very well be his last year of eligibility. Just as his hand flinches towards the sky, the screen clearly captures the moment of a trainer reaching his hand out to stop him. The boy looks confused, fighting against his hold at first and then simply staring up at the stage with an expression of defeat.
The boy that has been Reaped steps up to the stairs cautiously, very unsure of his own movements. He stands next to Kiera on stage and I cannot help but think that the two of them are going to be the hot topic around the nation for a good while. The two that don't belong, but look like they might have.
Saba Kashing, Female, District Three Watcher
Tiny Livena clings to me with her tiny fists holding tightly to my shirt. I have sat like this for hours on end since the day the little girl and boy arrived at my doorstep. The poor things are very clearly becoming unraveled from being taken away from their district. I pat her tiny blonde head and return my gaze to the television.
"Tec! Away from there!" I hiss when I see the boy has once again slithered his way behind the television. It is one of the old fashioned ones that plug into the wall and are about half a foot deep, very in style about two years ago but since then has become nothing more than an old fad. Maybe with the money I have been given in exchange for offering my care to the children, I can finally replace it. I will have to look into that.
The tributes thus far have been impressive, and I hope to anything that may be listening that little Livena will be paired with one of the four. She needs someone older and more capable of protecting her, the dear thing. Tec, I fear, will only get in the way of things for whoever is unfortunate enough to get him. He is a little darling, but keeping him in eye range is no easy task.
"And for our lovely ladies we have, Miss Cosmic McKee!" the Escort calls out through glittering, silver lips.
Almost immediately, the camera is able to find its target. A girl with straight blonde hair and stunning eyes scoffs a laugh and the kids around her shove each other to get away from the girl. Cosmic's hands fly instantly to her mouth, her eyes widening and her already pale face becoming whiter. She drops to her knees in the centre of the air bubble the others have created around her and the sobs coming from her can be heard through the television screen.
I can feel my hands clenching more tightly together round Livena's tiny waist, her blonde hair like the tribute's just brushing against my hand. Cosmic is dragged to the stage when Peacekeepers are unable to keep her on her feet, and the Escort dives towards the male's bowl before her first tribute can even reach her.
"And for the gentlemen we have, Mister Dallon Argal!"
"No! Dallon! My baby!" An older woman screeches form within the audience. Peacekeepers are heading towards her immediately, but she is still behind the ropes that cut the district in half and they are not prepared to deal with a commotion from the ineligible citizens. "No! You can't have him, he's too young! No! Run, baby, run! You can't kill him! No! Please!"
Her cries are cut off as the butt of a rifle hits her in the back of the head and she crumples to the ground. Peacekeepers have already surrounded the chosen tribute, a young boy likely just old enough to be eligible, as he had already wandered out no doubt at the sound of his mother's screams. He hardly seems scared at all, and an expression of what I can only say is confusion takes over his young face.
A Peacekeeper prods him in the back and he says something that is not caught by the microphone. Dallon follows instructions, or at least seems to. The little guy looks terrified and I have to relax when a whimper from Livena tells me I am clutching her too harshly.
Odele Ishara, Female, District Four Watcher
I really wish I would have asked for more money than I did to take care of these little people. I have never had children, though I just turned forty a couple months ago, and I have never married. I used to babysit in my younger years and enjoyed it well enough, so when the call came for this gig I did not even consider rejecting it. A few days of babysitting for big money. Easy enough, right?
Wrong.
These kids are nothing like the ones I would play with and watch when I was a teenager. The boy does nothing but stare at me with vacant blue eyes. I hold him, stares. I feed him, he stares. Nothing more than look at me and make me feel like I am doing something wrong. He looked like the sweetest thing being escorted into my house days ago, but now I almost fear him. Fear waking up in the morning to go and fetch him, fear the amount of time each day I will spend trying to get some kind of gage on the boy.
"Look, doesn't that look familiar kids?" I say as I plant a wide grin on my lips. It will only be one more night and I can have my home back. One more night, I tell myself over and over.
The District Four Reapings have just begun. They do not bother to show the reading of the Treaty or any other formalities for fear that it would become tedious for the viewers. It's fine with me, honestly I just like to see the tributes in their homes before I see them shaped to perfection by stylists, with the dirt and grime replaced by makeup and sparkle. It makes their beauty seem more complete somehow, to see the before and then the after.
"Representing our ladies, we have Baye Darlucan!" The Escort dives right into the action, all introduction having already been made. I watch the paper nearly drop to the ground at her feet before the tribute is found within the never ending crowd of girls.
The screen zooms in on an older girl with dark hair and a plain looking face. She does not look at all fazed at the sound of her own name, she simply steps forward out of the crowd and into the aisle. Her jaw is locked in place and her eyes don't move from the stage. A Peacekeeper zones in on her and his glove hardly brushed against her back before she brings up a hand to turn him away. Without even looking at him she continues on to the stage all by herself.
"Very well," the Escort says. "Now for our males we have-"
"I volunteer!" A slightly high-pitched voice calls from the crowd of boys and even from the far out view I can see most of them looking around at each other in search of the brave voice. It takes a few moments, but before long he becomes unable to miss even in the massive crowd. A curly redhead sidesteps his way out into the aisle with wide eyes and a flickering smile.
Even the Escort in unable to contain her disgust as the smaller boy runs up the steps to stand beside her. A call from the audience tells the young boy to get off the stage, another letting him know that he wasn't volunteering for the circus. The redhead tries to ignore him but it is easy to see the unsure expression on his face.
"And what is your name, son?" The Escort addresses the young man who can be no more than thirteen or fourteen years old. I would say younger just by the youthful glow in his cheeks, but he is certainly tall enough to be fourteen, possibly fifteen though that in itself would be a stretch. Either way, a volunteer that young is something I have never seen and I have got to say, it is riveting to watch.
"I'm Maynor Richman," he says into the microphone, his voice cracking slightly on his last name. "And I can do this."
Pia Verdandi, Female, District Five Watcher
I thought I was ready for this.
For many years I have wished for children of my own. Since I was sixteen I remember trying to trick my many boyfriends into giving me a baby. When I married five years later, to a ladder-climbing Gamemaker no less, it seemed that my dreams would be recognized.
He disappeared a week and a half after our wedding and I never saw him again. the most I got afterwards was a note from the Head Gamemaker explaining that he had been shot during a rebel attack on their offices and asking for my signature on a secrecy document.
I was never able to remarry and so I lived out my days in the attic bedroom of the home I inherited from him. It was not a sad life, I had everything that money could possibly provide for me. it was a lonely existence though; no relatives, no husband, and no children.
Now I am not lonely any longer, but I am unable to fill in the motherly role for Alik and Sik whom have fallen under my care. Perhaps I missed out on developing the nurturing instinct in my younger years, but I cannot wait to be rid of them tomorrow morning.
"I'll now ask Miss Briar Elway to make her way to the stage," the Escort grins into the microphone, her violet lips catching the shine from the metal stand. Her nails glitter as she lifts a hand to beckon the female tribute forward. It is as if I can feel the trends changing as she stands on the screen many districts away. Someone of that old age wearing glitter again? It may be time to take out my shawls again if this catches on.
Briar is found almost immediately. She looks positively shocked, though I cannot imagine why. The children must know the odds by now, someone must be chosen and it could be any one of them. If I had still been young enough to be eligible, I would be practicing a pretty smile to flash the cameras on my way to the stage.
It takes her a moment to compose herself, and a Peacekeeper grabs her roughly by the shoulder before her jaw snaps shut again. The man moves his hand to the small of her back and presses her forward, her steps keeping pace with his and her eyes searching the lines of eyes that stare back at her as she walks past. She reaches the stage rather quickly and mutters her thanks to the white clothed man before taking her place beside the Escort.
"Lovely, and now I welcome Arden Quaid to come and join Miss Elway."
"Just my luck!" A voice huffs from somewhere in the audience, loud enough to be picked up amongst the silence emitting from the rest of the district. It doesn't take more than a minute for us to get a nice, zoomed in image of a boy about the age of sixteen with a nervous smile on his face.
"Come on up, Mr Quaid," the Escort smiles into the microphone.
"Can't someone just come pick me up, or is that just for the ladies?" Arden calls back. His smile is uneasy and even from the long shot I can tell that he is shaking all over. Nonetheless, a pair of amused Peacekeepers join him and shove him up the stairs to stand beside Briar.
"District Five, your tributes!"
Cymbeline Bagatti, Female, District Six Watcher
I am running positively rampant trying to care for these two. The little girl, Abela, will not stop her crying or whimpering for even a moment. I find it impossible to so much as think that any of the three of us has gotten a wink of sleep over the past few days. Between Abela's whines and the incessant snoring and just plain breathing that I never thought possible from a boy as small as Colm, I feel like my hair is greying by the minute. I pity the fool that will be paired with either of the two of them. I would simply off myself in the beginning, save the trouble of another tribute finding me through the whining and wheezing.
I turn back to the screen as I shut the door of the babies' room, the noise somewhat declining so that I can almost hear what the people on it are saying. I grab the controller and up the volume just in time to hear the name of the female tribute being called.
"Jetta Willis!"
A frazzled looking girl with dark hair and saucer eyes flops out into the aisle, her face pale and dripping with sweat. She looks as if she might make a run for it, a common sight among young tributes, but instead she clenches her fists so tightly until she calms down. Her fists still together, she stomps towards the stage, the panic stricken girl seemingly have disappeared to be replaced with one that looks almost... angry. Tears dribble down her face, but I don't bring my hand to my heart with pity. I feel almost scared, though I know I am safe in my own home.
"Very good!" The Escort beams, failing to hide the disappointment in her voice. I know that tributes like Jetta are hardly desirable. They are far too forgettable around her age of fifteen or sixteen. Not young enough to evoke a strong sense of pity or awe, but not quite old enough for sponsors to count them as a contender from early on. I can see the pointed stare into the second glass as the Escort takes her time choosing a slip this time, hopefully a right one.
"Braden Griffin!" She says , her eyes immediately scanning the boys to find the named child; hoping, I assume, for someone with a better chance than the girl.
It takes them a while to pick Braden out of the masses. When they finally do I let out a heavy sigh for the Escort. He is younger, likely a year or so younger than Jetta, which is better than another middle-aged child but not nearly as nice as having an older tribute to market. I can feel her disappointment emigrate through the screen and the camera isn't even on her.
Braden trembles like a pint sized earthquake, his fingers loosened in front of his body as if he were trying to grab onto something invisible that might be there to help him. He takes a step forwards and his knees buckle underneath of him and Peacekeepers plague him on both sides, clutching his thin arms in their massive hands. Braden looks to either side of him as he is half carried and half dragged to the stage, a harsh hand shoving him halfway up the stairs.
"District Six, I present to you your tributes. Jetta Willis and Braden-"
She cannot even come out with the rest of the boy's name before the kid rushes forwards and collapses to the ground, throwing up onto the ground directly in front of the stage. The last thing I see before the screen flashes to the District Seven seal is the green face of the Escort staring down at the boy leaning over the side of the platform, a look of complete disgust distorting her features.
Fendi Codilan, Male, District Seven Watcher
I didn't realize how very much I have missed being a father. The tiny hands latching onto the hem of my pants, the singsong voices that babble nonsense into the early hours of the morning. It has been nearly twenty-two years now since I have had a babe of my own to love and care for. All three of my children are grown and with spouses of their own. Not one grandchild has visited me in my empty home. Sometimes I wonder if it is because there are none that have been conceived, or if they have simply all chosen to forget about me.
"Look on up there, sweetheart," I coo to the tiny blonde haired girl. She reminds me so much of my middle daughter, with big eyes and a high pitched voice that babbles nonsense all day and night. She is the sweetest thing, singing children's rhymes in the out of tune way infants usually do. I heard her mumbling the words to an old rhyme I haven't heard in decades, something about a mouse and a clock. It makes me think that her parents must have been some kind of traditionalists, though I cannot imagine how they would have survived this long if their child is so open with her phrases.
The Justice Building should be a familiar place to most district people, such as the President's mansion is for us Capitol folk. Though they are so very young. It's a real shame, I would have loved to really meet someone from a district. Learned their different perspectives on issues, on fashion and homing and traditions and pretty much anything else there could be to know. I wish ii could gather more from this child than just jumbles of old rhymes.
"No up there, honey," I chuckle when Tinder stares up at the ceiling with glassy eyes and a parted mouth. I point to the television, where a closed in view of the Escort choosing the first name from the bowl can be seen.
"Amita Spruceford," the Escort pronounces, her eyes flickering upward as soon as the name has been read to search for the chosen tribute.
A horrified girl with fair hair and skin stumbles out of the side of the crowd, her light eyes as large as plates and her hands clenching onto her shoulders. She hiccups sobs as her eyes search around, at one time seeming to lock with my own through the screen causing me to nearly choke on my own breath. A man clothed in white places a hand on her back and guides her softly to the stage, caressing her hair with a smirk as she passes him to mount the steps. She hardly seems to notice as her eyes grow wider and wider with each step until she is standing beside the Escort.
"How lovely! Now for our young men," she beams from in front of the second Reaping bowl. Her hand dips inside and chooses a white slip off the top, ripping it open and taking a quick breath before reading it aloud. "Ashidel Heprin."
A boy strolls out of the side of the crowd after a few moments of stillness. His face is pensive, but not at all scared or shocked or crushed like most of the tributes I would see on television each year. He walks up the steps without more than a split second of hesitation, taking his place near Amita with the Escort separating the two of them. His eyes remain glued to the planks beneath his feet until the camera chooses to zoom into his face. At this time he stares directly into the camera as if he knows it is there and the hair on the back of my neck stands up on end. It reminds me of the look my parents would give me when my brother and I went digging in the garden. Complete and utter disappointment not in his own fate but in whoever is watching this screen right now.
Artha Sergey, Female, District Eight Watcher
Lailie slaps her palms against her cheeks and Burg screeches out in a fit of laughter. The three of us are seated on the floor of the great room turned playroom, the television set to display the Reapings of this year's Hunger Games tributes.
"Look, it's your home," I coo when the screen flashes to the District Eight seal and then settles on their Justice Building. I point to the television and the two children follow it with their eyes. Neither of them appear to have seen a television before. when the Escorts or tributes speak, I can see their faces perk up, but the poor babes just cannot seem to make the connection.
"Good morning and happy Hunger Games District Eight!" The male Escort says with a cleared throat. I can see that his fingers already hold a white piece of paper between them and I can almost picture his body shaking in anticipation. Many of the Capitolites love the Hunger Games, but the Escorts are the worst of them. They go over the top every year, picking out outfits and memorizing greetings to fit any kind of vibe and district they may be assigned that year.
He takes the slip and brings it in front of him, arms straddling the microphone. He clears his throat with a rough cough and scans the paper several times over. "This year's female tribute for District Eight will be, Melinoe Casra!"
I hold my breath in waiting, my eyes glued to the screen in anticipation. For the longest time there is nothing and even I can tell that this is making the Escort uncomfortable. His smile has dimmed to a mere curl of the lips and his neck cranes around to look at the crowds beneath him. Still nothing, and a sound similar to that of a leaking balloon. The noise that is made by the relieved sigh of thousands of people at once.
I am beginning to believe that Melinoe may not even exist.
Finally, as the Escort motions towards the Peacekeepers to track down the missing child, a rustling breaks out near the far side of the girl's section. A girl with ashy blonde hair emerges from the centre of it with a panic stricken expression and her hands pressed tightly to her ears. A Peacekeeper approaches with caution, his baton raised in reaction to the strange activity. Hs hand does not even touch her when the girl lets out a blood curdling screech. They back off for a second before the largest of the three white men reacts swiftly to slap the girl across the face. Immediately she seems to come out of her trance and she allows them to press her towards the stage.
"And now for our male tribute!" The Escort says with a quick smile, trying to cover for the strange reaction. He pulls a slip from the bowl and rips it open without hesitation. "This year we honor, Violan Jadeth!"
Just like with the girl, there is silence for a long moment before an older looking boy is pushed forwards by his peers. Almost as quickly, the boy is swinging around to punch the boy right behind him. Luckily for the other boy, a Peacekeeper that happened to be nearby catches Violan's arm and stops the assault. The chosen boy fights against the tight grip but his hands are held back by the single man until two others help bring him to stage.
"Wasn't that interesting, we sure have some great competitors this year do we not?" The Escort beams as Violan is delivered to his side. Violan spits and lunges for the man who shrieks and covers his head on instinct. A needle is slipped into the male tribute's arm and he drops to the floor with eyes rolling up in his head.
Eike Furla, Male, District Nine Watcher
I cannot help but smile at the two children, delivered to me days ago despite my protests by telephone earlier. I am not the nurturing type, not by a long shot. Barely thirty years old and never wed, hardy more than a kid still waiting for his break into... something. I have yet to decide.
The little girl, Jem, turns away from her and Talon's little straw game they seem to have created. I don't really own any children's toys, I have never had the need for toys when I can entertain myself. So I gave the kids some kitchenware and they seem to be doing alright with it. I just want to sit down with a couple of drinks and watch the Reapings, but my new "job" makes it impossible to do so without keeping one eye peeled away from the screen to watch the minis.
"That time has come again, District Nine, to choose the tributes that will represent you in the upcoming Hunger Games As always we will begin with the young ladies," the Escort says with monotone excitement, sounding much like the tracks we would listen to in school as a child. Her eyes are made up with enough lavender makeup to transform a garden of red roses, and her outfit matches. Exciting clothing for someone with as much enthusiasm as a postage stamp. How ironic.
"Erin Callahan."
The camera begins to pan over the sea of collared dresses and tight braids, but as a girl pops out of the side of the crowd the screen zooms in. She is rather plain looking with narrow eyes and long, ashy hair, but her face is pinched up as if she were holding back a sneeze. The girls she pushes away to get through look at her with awe. District Nine often sees tributes looking to run away or hide until the last possible second, Erin seems to be doing the exact opposite. The back of her is shown as she pushes her way up the stairs, her fists clenching far too tightly to the railings as she goes.
Just when I think she might be a possible contender, she turns to face the audience and we finally get another close up. Tears run down her face in streams and her eyes are red and puffy. She doesn't shake or sob, but stands beside the Escort as she pulls another slip out of the second bowl, Erin frantically wiping fresh tears from her cheeks.
"Goran Pavlov."
A loud hiccup echoes through the district and the camera immediately centers in on an older boy with stunning eyes and shaggy hair. He stands at the edge of the aisle his hands pressed to his mouth and his eyes bugging out like balloons. He keeps his hands to his lips as he blindly walks towards the steps, thankfully with no one in his way as he would have likely tripped over them. His eyes remain glued to the stage, and the waiting Escort and district partner.
Goran takes a place directly beside Erin, falling against her a bit before he stands himself up by her shoulder. She doesn't even look at him, merely stares out with her puffy eyes at the tops of houses and places her hand on top of his to steady him.
Coppelia Cartier, Female, District Ten Watcher
"What's that?" Fig chirps, her tiny hand pointing towards the control panel for the home, housing buttons for such things as heat and scent settings.
"Do you want to see it?" I chuckle, lifting her up to see it at face value. Her lips part open in surprise at the many buttons she couldn't see from the ground. Her little hands caress the many switches and diagrams, not touching any of them hard enough to do anything to the apartment. I laugh and she looks at me, squinting her eyes in the cute smile she always seems to have on her face. I place her back down on the ground and she darts back to sit beside Vin, who is still glued to the television with wide eyes.
The District Ten Reapings have just begun, and when the Justice Building is shown Fig claps her hands with a giggle. I am unsure if she recognizes the place or is merely happy to see it. One never does know with children. Nevertheless, I am glad she has found a way to be happy here. It is not her home or close to it, I can be sure of that, but at least she is fairly optimistic. That or she hasn't noticed yet.
"Representing our beautiful young ladies we have," the Escort begins, opening the white slip as she speaks slowly into the microphone. "Calc Wefton."
"No!" A girlish shriek emulates from the crowds as a red haired girl is revealed from a crack in her section. A blonde girl beside her with wide eyes pushes Calic away as if she had some kind of contagious disease. As if being chosen for the Hunger Games could be caught somehow. The redhead is pushed right into the arms of a Peacekeeper, who holds onto her shoulders harshly and moves her towards the stage.
"No! Please, no!" Calic screeches, tears rolling violently down her face, her smallish body shaking in the tight grip of the Peacekeeper. Suddenly, her cries stop and her faces lifts. She allows the Peacekeeper to direct her up the stairs to the stage and stands beside the Escort, still shaking but with her chin up as tears drip from the tip of her nose.
"Very good, very good. Now for the boys," the Escort begins again with the second Reaping. Her hand dives into the bowl, all eyes trained on her purple glove as another life prepares to be changed forever. Her fingertips hold onto a single white paper, but before it can be removed a voice cries out.
"I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!" A young man of about seventeen or eighteen exits from the front of the boy's section with his hand held high above his head. When the camera finally finds his face when he is mounting the steps towards the stage, I can see that there is not one thing brave about the boy other than the highly held arm. There are tears in his eyes and a deep crease in his forehead that looks like it has been there for years upon years.
He reaches the stage and the Escort analyzes him with strained eyes, not used to the proper protocol for volunteers. She shoves the microphone to his lips and he takes it after a second of hesitation, finally lowering his other hand from the air. "I am Brett Draven. This is the last time any of you will see me."
Ricke Kors, Male, District Eleven Watcher
I flinch at the low thud that rips through the room and I am on my feet almost instantly. I peer around the corner, knowing that I should be rushing to find out what the young ones have gotten into now but oddly enough not really wanting to know at all. Having these children has been nothing shy of awful. They make a mess, they have broken two vases and walked through a canvas in the span of a few days, and the absolute worst thing is that they have not yet been trained to use a proper toilet. I am certainly not about the diapers. Not at all.
"Oh Tread," I say lamely, shaking my head as I watch the boy smile up at me in that odd half-curl way that the kid has. He sits in a pile of dirt and leaves with a shallow cut across his jaw. I groan, make that three vases he has shattered. Yes, only him. The other girl is much easier to care for. She hasn't been out of her cradle all day, all she seems to want to do is sleep. I pick her up and give her something to drink and she will go right back to sleep. Compared to Tread, little Aven is an angel sent by the President himself.
I pick Tread up out of the shatters of my third best vase and bring him over to the sink to clean him up. He has spots of dirt all over him, and the shirt I placed on him less than an hour ago is filthy again. I run a wet cloth over the cut near his chin and he doesn't even flinch. Well that's one thing that is a plus about the kid, nothing seems to be able to make the thing cry.
When he is cleaned up I take him over to the television and sit him on my lap. I have been trying to catch the Reapings as they air, but I have missed Three, Six, and Ten already because of the little brats. Now is District Eleven, the place where the two of them hail from. I can only imagine the tributes they must turn out if they were anything like Tread when they were younger.
"To represent the females of District Eleven we have, Fleur Aisley," the Escort reads with a constant smile.
Fleur is a rather small girl with beautiful dark curls and sunken eyes. She steps out of the crowd with a sphere shaped mouth and a creased brow. She starts to move towards the stage but looks back as if she might be searching for an exit. This little moment of hesitation takes the attention of a Peacekeeper and he closes in on the young girl, barely brushing against her shoulder before she cries out and swat him away from her. This time she doesn't bother to look around for an escape, she takes off running right down the aisle only to be caught after a few steps by another white clothed man. He brings her screaming and fighting up to the stage, standing beside her to ensure no other ideas cross her mind.
"Lovely," the Escort remarks.
"I volunteer as tribute!" A voice shouts before the Escort can even think about choosing another name.
The boy belonging to the voice rushes the stage at full speed, ignoring the exasperated Escort as she tells him this is not how a proper volunteer is deemed. The boy does not seem to care in the least. He is already up the stairs and hugging his arms far too tightly around Fleur before another thing can be said to him. Fleur is crying and whimpering things that are not even audible to the microphones, and likely not even to the volunteer at all. He caresses her hair and she drops down to the floor with her hands pushing the tears from her cheeks.
"None of you will touch her!" The boy growls, dropping to the floor beside Fleur and continuing to cradle her in his arms. The Escort approaches with the microphone, despite the furious look on his face and the violent weeping from the tribute. She shoves the microphone to her own lips and speaks quickly. "Son, what is your name. If you aren't going to wait like protocol asks you must at least introduce yourself."
"Valerian Eldridge and none of you are going to hurt her, none of you!" He spits, pulling Fleur's face in to lean against his shoulder. "Not one of you."
Venenda Gari, Female, Capitol Watcher
What an honor for me, to be the caregiver of children that are not only going to be a feature of this year's Hunger Games, but also hail from my own home. I had to reassure the Gamemakers that I was not in relation with either of the children's family members before they would allow me this privilege. My promises are not exactly truth, nor are they full lies. I am not friendly with the families of the two infants.
I simply used to be.
Albin Delaure is the son of my best school mate who used to steal my crushes and trip me in the hallways "by accident". Frienemies, in the most complete sense of the childish word. I understand how difficult it must be to have a child taken from you. She was surely told to be honored by the decision, but it is motherly instinct to protect your children. I know for fact that I would have had to be dead before I let anyone put a single hand on my daughter.
I never thought I would be grateful that she is eighteen and too old to be at risk of this infant Reaping. Only one more year and she will be free from the threat of the Games entirely. The Hunger Games are one of the most amazing events of the year, but even so I would not wish my child a part in them. They are as horrific and hideous as they are great. And I know the odds of getting your baby back once they've been taken from you. They are not good.
I notice that I have missed the formalities of the final Reaping, held in the best setting one could hope for, the Capitol. I wish I could have been present for the entire event, as my own girl is still eligible until the end of this ceremony, but the rules for care giving were not anything if they weren't strict. I was to remain with the children at all times until they are picked up tomorrow morning, and no one is to know they were here until they have left. After that I may tell whom I wish.
"I am pleased to announce that this year's female tribute, to represent the Capitol in the 100th Hunger Games, will be," the Escort begins, taking his time flicking the white slip open and reading the name silently as if rehearsing it within his mind. "Arissa Talos."
The girl is close to the front of the stage, I can see her easily in the crowd as she seems to be the only one moving. Her pink hair is a season or so out of style, but otherwise she is fairly pretty. Her parents are clearly wealthy, for her dress is very clearly from the new collection by Seeva. All the rage for good reason. It is fitted at the bodice and flares out to hover just an inch above the ground, and she looks absolutely stunning in it.
As she makes her way up the stairs of the stage, a collective gasp is let out when the poor girl trips. Another gasp follows, and not just because her dress has risen above her knees. Her legs are not smooth and peachy like her cheeks would make one assume. They are metal, filled with sleek silver and screws. Arissa pulls the skirt down and collects herself from the floor, her face turning bright red though I take it no one but I could notice. Everyone seems to be trained on the strange metal that you can just make out above her shoe.
"Very well," the Escort breathes, already holding a second white slip in his slim hands. "And the male for this year will be, Cicero Lovett."
I am always amazed at how easily the cameras are able to find the new tributes, my daughter always thought it had something to do with the blood they draw from the children to check in. I was skeptical, but they are so efficient she could very well be right. The boy the screen now features has clean cut brown hair and bright eyes that are not wide in horror like Arissa's nor filled with tears.
He simply looks up as if he knows that the camera is there, not a hint of fear on his sharp features. He lifts a circular pendant of sorts from his pocket and brings it to touch his lips. Then, just as calmly as if he were walking home from school, he mounts the steps and takes a place next to Arissa, bright eyes now focused on her.
Just before the screen cuts to commercial I see Arissa look back at him with a creased forehead, her teeth sunken so deep into her bottom lip that a small trail of blood dribbles down her chin.
The artist theme for this story will be Coldplay.
Song: Swallowed in the Sea
The blog for this story can be found on my profile.
A question or two will be asked at the end of each chapter and I would be very grateful if you could answer them for me as well as giving me a general review on my writing, your thoughts on plot and development, etc.
Who are your early top six?
Which of the infant tributes/ Watchers did you like reading about the most?
I am extremely late. Yes, I know extremely. I really hate Reapings and it takes me a while to convince myself that indeed I have to do them. To distract myself, I also tend to plan out the Capitol and some early Games during this time so that takes a bit of time. Anyway, I am changing my format up a little bit to make things easier. Each tribute will get one Capitol POV and there will be six chapters before we start the actual Games. I hope you guys haven't abandoned me yet, I will try and update more during the Christmas holidays if possible.