Authors Note: Sorry for the long wait - I've been busy with finals and making the most of the Summer Holidays - but here's a pretty long-ish chapter to make up for it. (Mind you, still not as long as I'd like them to be.) All of this, by the way, written in about two hours lying on a beach in Mallorca trying to stay out of the sun. Because that is how I spend my holidays. Avoiding sun. Safe to say being in a foreign country has given me a lot of needed inspiration to map out the arena both on paper and in my mind. I feel really sorry for our tributes.
Four
District 5:
Jeff.
It's strange to be in this position. Sure, I certainly imagined it every year in the days before each Reaping. My name being called out. Being escorted to the Justice Building. Having to say those tough goodbyes, to my parents, to Nick. But I never knew it was going to happen. The odds were always, always in my favour. And now, in my final year of eligibility for the games… I've volunteered to put myself through this. Volunteered to die, so that I can save someone I love.
Now that I think about it, if I have to be a part of a Games, I would want these to be my terms for doing so. Not be one of the poor, defenceless, innocent children chosen by the Capitol to be turned into killers, but someone who, without hesitation, would throw everything they had away to help the person they love the most.
Of course, I haven't saved him. Have I? I saved Fredrick. I saved his little brother from the arena, because I know it would kill Nick just as much, or even more, to watch him be brutally murdered on screen than stepping foot in the arena himself.
But I will get Nick out of there alive. I may not be around to see him live his life, but I'll know I'm dying so that he doesn't have to, so he can get out and win and receive his money and gifts from the Capitol, so his family wont ever be hungry again, so that our District will receive it's recognition, too.
When we were being escorted away from the stage in the square by Peacekeepers, he'd turned to me and asked why I'd done it. I told him I thought the answer to that was painfully obvious.
He'd nodded slowly, before his eyes flashed a certain way, sort of like they did when he got angry, but this was softer, more like… Sorrow? Pity? Upset? Fear? All of the above? And then he'd said; "But then how do you expect me to live without you?"
I know full well that if the situation were reversed, I'd feel the same as Nick. We've always been close, always been best friends, and now we're more than that, we're like one unit. But, the difference is, he has other people. He has his brother, and his Mother, who depend on having him around, who he loves. I only have my homophobic, judgemental, non affectionate parents who, quite frankly, I lost all respect for a long time ago. I don't have siblings, or friends. I'd shut myself off from them because they'd shut my Nick out, and I don't want anything to do with someone who judges him just because he can be a bit short tempered.
Which brings me back to the goodbyes; the speeches I'd worked out in my head year after year. A short one to my family, and a long one for my best friend turned boyfriend. My parents' stayed largely the same, but Nick's changed year by year as our relationship progressed.
But now we're both in the Games together, I have to fill up my allotted hour with Mummy and Daddy dearest.
That's going to be a challenge and a half.
Tapping my foot in impatience (although it could be mistaken for anticipation, or even nerves), I sit in the Justice Building, waiting for the Peacekeeper to send on in my obviously large and adoring fan base, tripping over each other to say goodbye to me. Oh, how right I am. The two people that enter the room look full of emotion.
"Jeffrey," my Father says, his voice strict and formal as ever. Somehow, I feel like this isn't the time to defy him or piss him off, but I do anyway.
"Flennward," I speak his embarrassing enough first name in the same tone, although he can tell I'm clearly mocking him. Mother of course, says nothing, just shakes her head in disappointment.
"Well, I suppose you want to get yourself killed, so there's not much use in going through the entire 'Please win and come back home' façade."
"Nope." I shrug my shoulders. "No use at all. Although I can guarantee, District Five will have a victor."
Mother gives a shrill laugh. "I'll hand it to your precious Nick, his condition was sure to come in handy eventually. Mind you, it's caused enough damage in our-"
"Shut up." I bang my fist on the nearest surface I can find, just to stop her from talking. "Shut up before you say something you'll seriously regret."
They aren't taking my threat seriously, and maybe I did sound too choked up to sound convincingly vicious. I'm going to have to work on that if I want to stay alive long enough to ensure Nick's win and safe return home.
Nevertheless, they don't say anything as the rest of the hour dwindles away painfully slowly. Then, as the Peacekeeper comes back in to bring them outside again, my Father walks straight out - but the other parent is at least decent enough to give me a curt nod before stalking out behind her husband.
"That went well." I say to myself, and the Peacekeeper gives me a strange look before closing the door, cutting me off from the hustle and bustle of District Five's town forever.
Nick.
The only person who I've ever given any thought to regarding a goodbye speech is Jeff, so I'm not prepared for the swell of emotion as Mom and Fredrick appear in front of me, clearly in a state between hysteria and confusion.
"I don't understand," she's saying, I don't know if to herself or to me. "Why would they put both of you up for the Games… why did Jeff… oh, Jeff!" she seems to realize that at least one if not both of us are guaranteed goners, and a moan, disguised by a thick sob, escapes her throat.
I'm hard pressed at what to say, because everyone knows the only feeling I can accurately express is anger, rage, loathing. And love, around Jeff, and occasionally my brother, although that's disguised by my aggressive style of protectiveness. I do realize that Mom is waiting for an answer though, so I supply her with an unsure, mediocre, "It's okay… they had to choose someone… it just happened to be me, you know they don't particularly like…"
It doesn't dawn on me until I say it that my brother and I were chosen because we were disliked. Not because we have a chance, but because I have a tendency to blow up if someone brushes past me by accident, and because Fredrick is of no use at our trade, is just an unworthy extra mouth to feed.
Is this supposed to stop me from being angry? Get my emotions in check to try fight in the Games? Because quite frankly, the thought is making my blood boil with more white hot rage than ever before. Perhaps the Capitol did have some input in who the Districts chose as tributes this year. What a great Quell that would be, a mentally unstable 17 year old driven mad by fury in the arena to the point where he'd kill his own brother. Wouldn't the audience just lap that up?
Instead, they get to see two boys who are each others lifeline, being put against each other. They get to see a tragic love story.
The Capitol will thank Jeff for this. They just adore that type of thing.
"I'll make sure it isn't hard," I find myself whispering. Mom understands. She understands that I mean I wont make them watch me be mauled to death by a career.
Too many tears for me to handle follow, a few hugs from my shell-shocked brother, and then it's time for them to leave. I take one last look into their eyes as the door slams shut.
At least the Peacekeepers made sure there's nothing breakable in the room.
District Two:
Quinn.
Really, the big surprise isn't my name being called out at the Reaping, that I happily take my place on the stage, waving and smiling to the crowd, promising them with my determined, shining green eyes that I'll bring it home for them. No, the strange thing is the male tribute - a handicapped boy in a wheelchair, whose place nobody seems to want to take. He's the only citizen of District Two minus functioning legs, so maybe they saw him as a weakness.
Well, he certainly will be in the Games. I don't know him, so I have no problem killing him. One down already.
Some people may find it questionable that a girls own father would vote to send her into the arena, but those people generally aren't from a career District. The Games aren't something to run away from, the Games are something to embrace, to see as a chance to show how worthy you are. To show that you are worthy of being alive, of being revered by the Capitol. It's the greatest honour… and here I am. In a few weeks, maybe months, I'll be returning here, that much richer and that much more popular, a second Victor in the family. The Fabray's… oh, how we'll be talked about! My father will be beside himself, and even my Mother will be excited once she sees I'm safe, and then be able to celebrate with everyone else.
I find myself slipping off into a fantasy about my outfits, for the opening ceremony of the games, for my interview, for my crowning as Victor, for the Victory Tour… I don't realize how soon I'm being brought into the Justice Building, and my family comes in soon after, Mother, Father, my sister Frannie, her husband Calance.
There are no tears, only proud looks and encouraging words, one or two empowering hugs and then my hour is up. For a short time, there's quiet.
I don't allow the fear to creep in at the seams. Because I know I have weaknesses. But I ignore them, brush back my hair with my fingers, stand out of my chair, hands on my hips and, rather obnoxiously, declare that "I'm ready!"
25th Hunger Games, here I come.
District One:
Santana.
I eye my opponent with a humorous air about me. Noah Puckerman. How freakin' typical! Well, I'm going to have to form an alliance with him, no questions asked. I want him on my side, thank you very much. Besides, he does owe me. I did do him a favour, after all… I give him a small wave across the stage, my eyebrows raised, small smile playing on my lips. He gives a small nod in my direction, before facing the crowd again.
Jeninca Gregory is the most annoying woman I have ever had the displeasure of sharing a stage with. She speaks in an irritatingly high pitched voice, fast and excitable, every statement sounding like a question. At last she's finished speaking, and the crowd cheers for us, the tributes, the Quell, the Capitol.
I knew I'd be chosen, and I gave everyone who thought about volunteering a look that probably scared the life out of them more than anyone in the Games could, enough that they didn't think about taking Puckerman's place, either. Nobody would want to go up against me. I wouldn't want to go up against myself, either. anyone who crosses my path in the arena? They'll regret it.
I laugh to myself. Just kidding. They wont live long enough.
Puck.
"And the male Tribute…"
I'm not really listening to Jeninca Gregory as she reads off the card, because I'm too busy eyeing up Santana Lopez. It would be her, wouldn't it? The girl who nobody ever wanted to cross in the streets, let alone in an arena where she's let loose to kill. In fact, I'm already betting on her.
"Noah Puckerman."
Oh. I don't know how I react visibly, but inside; the only thing flashing through my mind is Gracie. Thank god she's safe for another year, thank god it's me and not her. Too bad she's going to have to watch me be killed live on television.
That's the second thought that strikes me. I'm skilled, but in no way will I be able to evade Santana. I know the training she would have received from her father. I know full well she has no weaknesses.
Third thought. I should be moving up towards the stage.A quick march, throwing confident glances either side of me, I find myself actually smirking in a self righteous manor. Suddenly, I'm grateful for my subconscious realization I need to appear like a career Tribute, not some whimp of an easy target who'll be killed from the word go. The cameras will be on me every minute from now until I either die, or am crowned Victor.
District Six:
Blaine.
The Reaping is mandatory for everyone to attend, even those over the age of eighteen whether they have family eligible for the Games or not. The fact these people may be dying or are too ill to stand without collapsing doesn't seem to concern the Capitol, so it's part of my duty to help them along to the centre square, because they usually have nobody else to take care of them. My Mom and sister are at the nursing station (also known as our living room), and Dad and I are cleaning up a particularly wounded teenager enough so he can attend the Reaping without bleeding to death.
The deep injuries gushing with blood all over the battered boy's bruised body make me think of the arena. If I was chosen for the Games, would I be able to clean myself up like this? Would I help a fellow tribute in need, or would I finish them off? I'm a healer, it's in my family, I fight death, ward it off from others. Of course we lose some. We lose a lot, but we save many, too. I don't want to inflict it.
And this is the moment I promise myself that I'll stay true to this. I'll help people, I wont kill unless it's absolutely necessary.
District Eleven:
Rachel.
Confidence. Something I seem to naturally exude in everything I do (apart from working at the farms in our District, because despite the fact it's our trade and the by-products are what supplies the whole of Panem with food, I have a very strong sense of morality, and do not feel it's right to kill innocent animals and their offspring so that we can survive - we wouldn't like it if they did that to us, would we? But it's the only way of surviving in the hunger-stricken world that we live in today, so I keep these thoughts to myself as much as I can and bear it.), and also a word often times found synonymous with strength, and bravery. But today, it's a hardship for me to even put on the front of a self-assured, optimistic and ready and bold soldier, which is what I will have to be for the Games if I'm chosen, if not for my own chances of survival then for my family watching at home, for my District.
I'm starting to think that if I make it through the next hour without breaking down, crumbling in on myself until I'm no more than a speck of dust on the asphalt that lines the edges of our town square, it will be an admirable feat. Never mind what the Capitol will do, when self destruction is just as big a threat to me right now.
In my mind, the Capitol will never be able to justify the Hunger Games to me - but the idea behind this Quarter Quell? Inhumane. Forcing people to choose which family member, friend, neighbour, acquaintance, student, to send to their almost certain death. I hear most Districts have adopted the same system we have here, and that's a council made up of five people (in our case, it's the Mayor, Harvard Savenslee, head of Agriculture, Lucian Mettle, the Headmistress at our school, Mrs Oriance, and our two head Peacekeepers, Garne and Quas), who, when the Quell was announced, were thrown together and held a meeting that every citizen not eligible for the Games was required to attend. We don't know what happened that night, and even if they were allowed to talk about it, most are too scarred from it anyway. All I know is that, after an excruciating five hours, the council was left with a list of fifty people, from which they had to choose two to be the official District Eleven Tributes.
The decision has been made now. We're standing in the town square, tense, on edge, waiting to hear the two names be read out from the slip of paper in Polivinia Bestar's hands. "The council has chosen a boy and a girl tribute."
Usually, this is tradition, but there are no rules against it this year, so she must have felt the need to clarify. "The female tribute… Rachel Barbra Berry."
Next Time on The Hunger Games - Broken Arrows: We meet the remaining tributes, and find some of their weak spots as they give their heart wrenching goodbyes to family and friends before embarking on the one way train ride to The Capitol.