I missed this story so I uh, kinda started writing again? Hi?
Five.
District 12:
Brittany.
Only at this time of year have I ever seen the town square so busy! Even at New Years, some people prefer to spend it indoors by their fire than listen to the Capitol's broadcast. But the Reaping is something every citizen of 12 has to attend. I'm not stupid. I know what The Hunger Games are. I see them on TV. I know they're dangerous. But I figure, the Capitol can't be that evil. They must be choosing these people for a reason. They must have done something bad. My parents shush me if I ever try to speak like this, so that must mean I'm either very right or very wrong. But Finn agrees. We speak in code, sometimes, like we do now a we stand in the crowd in front of the large podium, where we await the pretty, young woman from the city to choose the tributes.
"I think we're Lord Tubbington." I tell my tall best friend, smiling up at him. "And even if we aren't cat, you're so bear you could totally paw the other Lions."
"And you're so cat you're practically tiger." he returns the smile, looking a bit confused. He never really got to grips with our animal code.
One of the suited Peacekeepers announces that there is no need to section off by age and gender this year, and that we are to await Miriam Trinket in a calm, collected manor. I like this. I feel much more cat with Finn beside me. I look over my shoulder, seeing if I can spot my Dad to give a reassuring grin, but he's lost in the swarm of other parents, so I pull the green ribbon tighter into my waving blonde hair and turn back to Finn. "May the odds be ever in our favour!"
"I thought you didn't believe in the odds." he says, taken aback.
"I don't, but that's what the pink lady says." I clarify, talking about Miriam Trinket. Although every year she turns up in pretty different coloured outfits from the Capitol, she always has at least something pink with her. It's one of my favourite colours, too.
Finn.
Sometimes I really don't think I'd make it through Reaping day on two feet if it wasn't for Brittany. She fascinates me. She's not stupid like some people might think; in fact she's smart. She's optimistic and she tries to make our dire situation here in 12 better for herself, her family and her friends. For me. I really admire her.
People start chattering, shifting, and I realise that Miriam Trinket has arrived on stage, noon on the dot. So very punctual, every year. At least, if I'm chosen today, I might learn some of those skills. But when would I put them to use, anyway?
"Welcome, District Twelve, to the first Quarter Quell!" that aloof Capitol accent is a very strange sound to the ears of our citizens. Nobody here speaks like that. It's almost like she puts it on to be as silly as possible, possibly to match her pink and orange hair that's held in the air in the shape of a blooming flower, and the clashing aqua outfit with the puffy sleeves, collar and shapely chest. The gold-laced boots are what seems to have captured Brittany's attention, and I can't say I blame her. As ridiculous as Miriam Trinket's outfit is, her footwear is an exquisite, blinding blend of silver and gold, the sunlight reflecting a spectrum of rainbow like colours dancing off the metal clasps. "So pretty," the blonde whispers, and I smile at her, nodding. Another thing I love about Brittany, she can find beauty anywhere.
"You, the citizens of District Twelve, have chosen a male and female tribute! Ladies first!"
Brittany
I tear my eyes away from the sparkling colours to watch her equally made-up nails tear open a Capitol-issued envelope, with Tribute 23 - 12 - Girl printed upon it. And then she's reading the name in a sing song voice that's so different to what I hear on the markets, on the street, in school and at home that I don't realise what she's saying until all eyes are on me.
"What?" I mumble. Because she didn't just say Brittany Susan Pierce. Surely, she didn't. I've been a good girl, a good student, I've been nice and haven't done anything to upset anyone here in 12 or in the Capitol. "Finn, what did she-" but I can't finish my question, I feel a firm, almost painful grip on my arms as two Peacekeepers haul me over to the stage, through the crowd, my feet dragging against the ground because my mind can't make sense of what I'm supposed to be doing. I'm given a firm push in the direction to the right of Miriam Trinket, and my legs start working, but I'm not sure how long I'll be able to stand on them. I don't know how long I'm there for, not sure what's happening when Finn comes up to stand beside me. "What are you doing here?" I say. I'm not supposed to speak, Miriam Trinket shoots me a look of utmost confusion and exasperation.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, your Tributes! Brittany Pierce and Finn Hudson!"
District Six:
Blaine.
I should have prepared myself. I know it now, as I walk up to that stage in a daze, that I shouldn't have taken my safety for granted. I'm not the most valued medical apprentice in Six, after all. I'm one of many. Head of Medical Staff was on the committee that decided the tributes. We had a dispute, not so long ago. I should have at least prepared myself for this moment. But Javen Bertsbach never seemed like a vindictive man. One thing. One little argument over a patient, that was hardly grounds to send me into the arena. It can't just have been him. Who else was there? I scan the crowd that's now in front of me, somehow I'm standing on the stage, the second tribute, and realise there's no point trying to work out who put me here. Because I am here, on my way to certain death. My family, my friends, my patients, my work, are all things I'm about to leave behind. A violent end for the boy who spent his whole life trying to heal people. A death sentence for the boy who saves lives. The healer fighting for his own life. The one who saves lives, now has to take lives.
The Capitol loves a bit of irony. They must have wanted it like this. It was always going to be one of us. Whether it was me, or Chess or Friel or Hammy or any of the other medical students. I catch the eye of a woman in the crowd, holding two babies. They were my latest patients. Cassia and Lucia, conjoined twins and their mother, Farina. I assisted in their delivery. And then I notice my fellow tribute. Farina's other daughter, Harmony. And it's cruel, it's cruel, so cruel, but it's happening, and I look to the brunette girl in a moment of desperation, and her blue eyes catch my hazel, and she nods at me. She's thinking it too, we're all thinking it. As I return the nod, it's like we've made an unspoken pact, exactly what I had promised myself a few minutes ago. I will never take a life.
District Eight:
Kurt.
All I can think about is blood stains. How to remove them from different fabrics. My aunt does the laundry and dry cleaning for people around town, and sometimes I help her. Earn my keep when I'm not needed at the factory. A Peacekeepers uniform is easier to rid of the stuff than a mattress. But either way, the stain can be permanent if not worked at quick enough. There's always going to be a mark. A scar. Blood shed is hard to forget. I wonder how much blood we pump around our bodies on a daily basis. What that would look like, staining clothes, a mattress, the concrete. My blood, flowing through the arena, a savage death, aired live on television. I wish I could bleed out right now. I'd rather die on this stage than let the Capitol use me as a part of their games. I don't want to have to go through the pain of having to say goodbye to my father, who still has the small bit of hope that there's a one in twenty-four chance of me returning. But I know better. The moment I stepped up on this stage, I knew better. The odds don't work like that in The Hunger Games. They never did.
I've never been inside the Justice Building before. Irony. The Justice Building. This doesn't sound like Justice to me.
Next Time on The Hunger Games - Broken Arrows: It's time to make your way to the Capitol, Tributes! But beware, the danger starts well before you enter the Arena...