Do you know what's really sad? It's been a couple days over a year since I first posted this story, and I'm not even done with the reapings.
But I am forging on! *dramatic music*
I shall not let the Mountains of Difficult Characters impede my path, nor the Raging Rivers of Writer's Block stand in my way! I shall—
Okay, I can't think of anything else. Sue me.
Also, I'd like to thank my six wonderful reviewers: Kelland, Quicquidlibet, Chaos in Her Wake, RockSolid, Udah888, and piratelvr35. Review bunnies make me happy and give off rainbows! (Don't question the mystical powers of the review bunnies.)
Thanks to Kelland for Sparrow and Quicquidlibet for Alfie!
So, remember: reviews=review bunnies=rainbows=happiness for all!
District Eight: Alfie Scroh
As I drowsily untangle myself from the comforting allure of my bed, I realize a shocking fact.
I'm afraid.
Thinking about it, now, I can't quite remember the last time I was afraid. Oh, I've been nervous, sure, and worried, certainly, but fear? It's been awhile. It feels odd, like my skin doesn't fit quite right.
I try to ignore it as I get up, yawn, and make my way over to my wardrobe. It's then, as I open the shoddily-made faux wooden doors that I remember why.
As I peer into my closet, I see it. My reaping outfit. It's not new, in fact, it was my mother's that I scrounged out of her closet, a light blue blouse and a pair of nice jeans. There were some dresses that I saw, but after some debate, I refused to wear any of them. There's a mutual rivalry between dresses and I, and we'd rather stay far away from each other.
I pull on the clothes and walk out of my bedroom to the kitchen. The house is eerily quiet, but I'm starting to adjust to the silence after years of hustle and bustle. I pour myself a bowl of cereal and grab some milk out of the fridge. I start to tip the milk into the bowl, only to recoil in disgust as, instead of milk, a thick yogurt-y substance pours out, accompanied by a piercing sour odor. Wrinkling my nose, I toss the milk into the trash, and, ruefully, the cereal along with it. I open the fridge again and cast a suspicious look over the other occupants before closing it behind me. Don't want to rack up the energy bill, and we all know that the Capitol charges exorbitant prices for it anyway.
Living by myself, even at age eighteen, is still weird. I feel like my father should be in the kitchen, making something-or-other for breakfast, while my brother, Darren, would walk out of his room, late as always. He'd be wearing a rumpled tuxedo—he was always liked to stand out. My mom would walk in, purposeful as always, and start discussing tactics with my dad—
No. I force myself to snap out of my thoughts. That was why they were all gone in the first place.
Moodily, now, I decide on dry toast for breakfast before leaving the house. I try to slam the door as hard as I can to try to expel some of the silence, but the faint echo only makes me more aware of the house's emptiness.
On the main street, though, it's as if "silence" isn't even a word anymore. The streets of Eight are as full as they always are, bustling and full of people. Eight's a busy District as one of the main manufacturing sources needed to constantly supply the Capitol, the lazy scum they are.
Everyone seems to be funneling in one direction, though: the town square. I wonder why for a moment, before realizing that the reaping must be about to start. I thought I had woken up earlier, but I didn't check the clock before I left, and I had stayed up late last night worrying. I must have slept in.
Cursing, I shove my way through the crowd. I didn't want this to happen so darn fast. I was supposed to have time to map an escape route, chat up a Peacekeeper so that when I ran, he'd think twice before firing, giving me time to flee. Then, from there…
Well, I hadn't quite gotten that far. But, if I had time, I'd figure it out!
Now, I won't have a choice but to walk onto the stage.
The thought of going down without a fight appalls me.
I set my focus back onto the present, and try to console myself that I'm focusing on a worst-case scenario here. However, there's still that niggling voice in the back of my head…
…they took my parents…
…and my brother…
…and they're coming for me next
I can't let that happen.
While I've been off in my thoughts, the mayor must have started the Treaty of Treason, because he's now finishing with the new ending.
Despite the Capitol's beneficial reign over the Districts, they rebelled once again. The Districts thought that they could succeed, and although their tyranny ruled for a short period of time, the Districts' idea of a "perfect union" collapsed, just as the Capitol knew it would. The Capitol had been waiting, and when the Districts were about to fall apart, the Capitol stepped in once more and saved Panem from destruction.
Of course, this is the one part that I have to hear. The words make my blood boil and a knot of anger form in my stomach. I want to scream, "Lies! All lies!" at the top of my lungs, but if my worse-case scenario isn't true after all, this would only confirm my fate. So I rage, albeit silently.
The escort comes onstage, a freak like most Capitolians are. He has jet-black skin, a shock of white hair, and unnaturally bright green eyes. He's rather young, as escorts go, and I guess that he couldn't be any older than twenty five, while most escorts are thirty at least. As his gaze sweeps over the crowd, a collective shiver passes through it, but I stand my ground and stare him in the eyes. He's not going to intimidate me.
"Hello," he says in a smooth, even voice. To be perfectly frank, it would be a rather beautiful voice if not for two things: that it carries a heavy Capitol accent, and that it's obviously fake. "My name is Noktis Luse."
He walks up to the boy's reaping ball and deftly pulls out a name. "Sparrow Albaleen," he announces impassively.
Someone cusses loudly from the 14's section, before going quiet, and I chuckle inwardly despite myself. A boy with dark brown hair and matching eyes walks up to the stage; he's obviously trying to look confident but failing miserably. Noktis ignores the boy and approaches the girl's reaping ball.
A knot forms in my stomach. What will I do what will I do…
"Alfie—"
I'm near the back there's armed Peacekeepers all around…
"—Scroh!"
I know what I'm going to do.
I pretend to look afraid, although I knew that this was going to happen. I start to run, putting a desperate expression on my face although inside, I'm only crossing my fingers and hoping that my scheme works.
Of course, a Peacekeeper blocks my way and lunges for my arm to catch me. I use his moment of unbalance to duck under his arm and grab his gun from his holster. As he's about to go for another swipe, I deftly cock the gun and point it steadily at the Peacekeeper. He's an experienced Peacekeeper, and I know that he can tell from my posture that if I shoot, I'll have perfect aim.
You learn things like this when your parents were one of the main leaders of the District Eight rebellion.
I keep my aim on the Peacekeeper while I slowly back away from the crowd. We're at the back of the town square, now, and as soon as I put enough distance between him and me I'll run—
But I've been stupid, so stupid, because I forget to look behind me, and of course I back up right into the grip of another Peacekeeper. I jump slightly as she grabs me, restricting my aim. I couldn't shoot her now without possibly hitting someone else, so I fire the gun at the ground, hoping that the crack of the bullet will at least let her grip relax for a second. But although others in the crowd scream and duck for cover, the Peacekeeper has been trained around guns for years, and she knows the sound of a bullet. She flinches slightly, but doesn't loosen her hold on me. Instead of giving me an escape, she holds me tighter while the first Peacekeeper reclaims his gun. I scowl and spit on him, and in return he punches me in the face. The shock of the pain makes me cringe, but I only grin at him while his comrade carts me off up to the stage. As she finally lets me go at the base of the stairs, probably deciding that I'm safe enough now that I'm disarmed and the stage is surrounded by Peacekeepers with readied guns.
I guess I'm going into the Hunger Games after all, but I won't go without making a statement.
As I walk by the girl's reaping ball, I stumble, and the glass ball shatters on the stage, paper pieces flying into the air like confetti. As I get up, I make sure to brush some off the stage, where they float down into the front rows.
And the people there, as well as I, can see the name that every slip of paper reads:
Alfie Scroh
Alfie Scroh
Alfie Scroh
"Oops," I apologize loudly as I get up. "I'm a little disoriented, that nice ol' Peacekeeper gave me a bit of a bash to my head." I gesture to my swelling eye. "Hope I didn't make too big of a mess." I smile sweetly to the nearest camera I can find.
The escort looks angry, the first emotion I've seen on his face all day. Sparrow, on the other hand, looks at me with a mix of fear and admiration, and I wink at him, to which he recoils slightly.
Noktis quickly grabs the microphone and says, "Our tributes," before getting off the stage.
A man of few words, it seems.
Sparrow and I are hustled off the stage, and a squadron of Peacekeepers marches me into the Justice Building, and three stay in the visiting room with me. I guess that they aren't letting anyone in to see me, although I doubt that anyone would visit even if they allowed it. I've got no family left, and any friends I once had are afraid to associate themselves with me now.
I sit back lazily on the couch, and look around for something that might suffice as a token. Finally, I have an idea.
"Hey," I say to the youngest Peacekeeper, hoping that he might be a newbie. I think he is, as he jumps when I speak. "Could you get me a small plastic bag?"
"What?" he asks, confused.
"A small…plastic…bag," I say slowly, annunciating the syllables.
"No," an older one barks. "We're your guards, not your servants."
"Wow," I say, widening my eyes. "I get my own personal set of guards? Cool."
The senior Peacekeeper grimaces. "We're not here to protect you, you understand that. You're a smart girl," he says in a slightly patronizing tone, "you should know your situation."
I bolt upright. "And you should know your situation. If I wanted, I could steal that gun from Newbie over there just like I did your friend, then shoot all of you. I couldn't escape, sure, there's too many outside, but I don't think that you'd enjoy dying very much. So…" I trail off, "get me a plastic bag."
The Peacekeeper narrows his eyes, but nods reluctantly. "You," he orders Newbie, "get a plastic bag."
Startled, the boy rushes off and returns a few minutes later with a ziploc bag, which he warily gives to me.
"Thanks very much!" I exclaim, and spend the rest of the visiting time fiddling with it. The Peacekeepers now definitely seem to think I'm crazy, which, is totally fine with me. I don't care what they think.
Finally, visiting time is over, and I'm shoved out of the Justice Building, where Peacekeepers are once again guarding the path I'll walk. About halfway to the train station, I crouch down. Immediately, the sound of two dozen guns loading fills my ears, but I ignore it. I'm not trying to escape, not anymore. I built myself a reputation, sure, but I don't want to have the Gamemakers any more against me than they already are. Instead of trying to run, I simply scoop up a handful of dirt and put it in my bag, sealing it carefully. There. Now I have a little piece of home with me.
I stand up, tuck the bag into my pocket, and dust my hands off.
"What're you all staring at?" I inquire, before striding off towards the station.
Just an eighteen-year old orphan rebel, I answer myself in my head.
A dead eighteen-year old orphan rebel, that little niggling voice corrects me.
Not if I can help it, I respond grimly.
Ta-da! Sorry for the shortness, since Alfie doesn't have any family I couldn't do much extending for before-reapings or goodbyes, but I think she's epic enough, right? Also, Quicquidlibet, I hope that I portrayed her pretty well, because I somehow lost your application for her, even though I distinctly remember seeing it in my inbox for EVER. I remember the main things, though: name, age, rebel-bit, arena strategy, and what she's going to do for the Gamemakers, but I had to ad-lib on reaction to being reaped and the family thing, but judging on what I remember, this should be fairly accurate.
R&R!
~Myrtle
