The 73rd Hunger Games
Back again. This chapter will probably have yet more influence from The Hunger Games to keep the plotline realistic and not have the characters descend into Marysueville (we all have to confess to creating one or two of those… I know I have); so I apologise in advance if it seems like I'm copying Suzanne Collins, I just want to stick to how she initially wrote it.
Soo, without further ado, on to the feedback section:
hungergamesfan51
Thanks. It didn't turn out as I originally planned it to, but I'm glad you reviewed again because it shows I didn't completely screw it up. Ehehehe…
LC Black
Thank you for being so honest in your review. I really appreciate it. Feel free to criticise whatever's out of place because otherwise I probably wouldn't learn from it if you don't.
I'm glad you like Seth. I wanted him to be the more intriguing character out of the two by putting everything in his perspective, and I'm really happy it worked.
Yeah, sorry about the 'god favouring Capitol' sentence. I didn't really plan that one out in advance and just typed it as I thought it. I'm actually hoping to re-write the chapters at a later date, so in the re-mastered version it should look better (if it doesn't, please let me know).
Thank you for the add. I know it's the typical response, but I'm genuinely surprised - I didn't think it would get such positive reviews 'cause when I skimmed through the two chapters I thought "needs work…" So I'm really honoured. Thank you again.
I tend to use incoherent a lot because it's one of my 'safe' words, but I'll use more variation in the future. Thanks for noting that.
Over all, thank you for your review. I hope you like this next chapter.
Oh, and this chapter's going to be longer than the other two. Yaay!
03: Never-ending Anthem
In a matter of milliseconds (well maybe I'm being a little too dramatic) we're frogmarched to the Justice Building. It makes me wonder what would happen if I attempted to leave now. I wouldn't be surprised if I get hunted down and be stripped bare while the cameras are still rolling. So I don't risk it.
After all, if I'm going to be forced into an arena with twenty-two bloodthirsty adolescents, I'd at least want to enter with some of my dignity in tact. That and I wouldn't want Andy to see me in the buff - probably the gender thing.
Yeah.
We're separated as I'm thrown into a strange new room alone. It's probably what Effie Trinket's bedroom looks like, because it's absolutely littered with ridiculous amounts of velvet. Velvet is a fabric my father is very familiar with as his cousin, Marybeth used to make dresses and other formalwear for the people in District 3. We sometimes get the odd package from Marybeth, containing beautifully crafted clothing tailored to our structures.
I'm busy fiddling with the ends of the delicate fabric when the door opens. "Hello, son." A wispy voice drifts into the room.
Oh damn. Should have seen this coming.
***
"It's hard to believe…" my mother murmurs with a sad smile, "… that now two of my children have been selected out of the thousands to be in the Hunger Games."
My older brother, Elipson, had been entered in the seventieth Hunger Games. He was always my parents' favourite. Elipson was smart, articulate, always got the best grades and the only thing he couldn't do was survive the Games. Like every year, the Careers tributes had formed alliances and successfully wiped out most of the competition. Elipson had been one of the five remaining tributes at the time, as he managed to outsmart them up until his demise.
Then came the day where the Career tributes had enough of being made a mockery of. So when Elipson was already wounded from an attack by a feral animal, all four of them had jumped him. He was brutally tortured, slaughtered and when they were done with him, he no longer resembled my brother.
My parents had suffered emotional and mental wounds from watching their eldest child be butchered on public television. They have never been the same since. In fact, until recently they had been in a near catatonic state when they realised they had to move on from their loss.
What were the chances that they'd have their second son be picked out from the thousands of names only three years later?
My father has been quiet this whole time. We only have a few minutes before they'll be asked to leave, and then I'll be alone again. I have never felt so isolated in my entire life.
Then the Peacekeepers open the door and order for them to leave. My mother touches my cheek tenderly, her eyes watering from unshed tears, before she rushes out of the room. My father drifts for a few seconds before turning to me.
"Seth."
I look up at him. He is at least a foot taller than my mother.
"What is it?" I ask.
"Try not to…" he starts, but then decides to use a different method, "Do what you can alright? Do your best to come back alive."
Unlike Elipson, we both think. I can tell he thought it too because he looks incredibly guilty straight afterwards.
"Goodbye son." He says, his eyes never wavering from me as he goes to leave.
"Goodbye dad." And he's gone. The door closes. Though surprisingly, it's not closed for long as I have another visitor.
I look in the direction of the door. It's a girl from my school who I've usually seen around Andy. I can't remember her name, but I've always thought of her as Cateyes because of her unusually feline irises.
"Um," Cateyes says, probably having second thoughts about seeing me instead of someone she's actually friends with. "I know this is going to sound stupid because you're going to wind up having to kill each other in the end, but…" she hesitates, then recomposes herself, "Look after her. Please. She's one of my best friends in the whole world and if you knew her - like properly knew her - you'd understand why." She shifts from foot to foot.
I don't know what to say. This girl has just begged me to secure the safety of the other District 12 tribute when for all she knows I could be a deadly psychopath just counting down the minutes until I get to strike a knife into said tribute's back. Of course, this isn't true. I would never want to hurt Andy, but that's not the point.
"Just try, ok?" Cateyes asks of me before letting herself out. The Peacekeepers didn't even need to prompt her.
It's another few minutes before I get a third visitor. Wow, I'm popular today. This time, it's one of the pre-teen boys who were huddled together at the Reaping. He can't look me in the eye, but I don't really mind. I can understand completely. It feels weird to attempt a connection with someone who's practically been given a death sentence.
"Um," he mumbles. For some reason everyone's starting their sentences with 'um' today. "I know you from school," he says after murmuring a few unintelligible sentences, "my big sister knew your brother… I think they were dating or something." Oh yeah, I forgot about Esmeralda. She and Elipson were together until he got whisked away at the seventieth Reaping.
"Anyway… um, I hope you win. But I also hope that girl wins as well…" Understandable. No one actually wants one of their two district tributes to kill the other.
Then, without a warning, he thrusts a clenched fist at me. I think for a moment that he's trying to give me a black eye or something, but to my surprise, instead he's roughly thrown an object into my open palm. I look, and it's a golden pocket watch engraved with the image of a phoenix. I wonder for a moment how someone from District 12 can afford such treasury, but upon closer inspection it shows that the pocket watch is broken and at least a few decades old.
"It's my grandmother's," he explains. "I was going to sell it at the market, but figured you should have it. You know, to remind you of home when you're out there."
Home. This is home. This wonderful, though poverty-stricken, place is home. "Thank you," I say, because I don't know what else to say to this boy. I clip the fastening of the watch onto one of the hoops of my trousers (another gift from Marybeth), then slip the watch itself into my pocket. He nods at me, then remains silent until the Peacekeepers ask him to leave.
I'm almost under the impression that another visitor will come, but after a few moments I realise that now I truly am alone.
***
When we arrive to the station, I'm slightly sickened at the sight of the many reporters who have come to take multiple pictures of my every move. After being temporarily blinded a good thousand times, I finally notice Andy who is standing only twenty feet from me. Another huddle of reporters with their freakish cameras swarm her, buzzing excitedly at the promise that she might cry in at least one of their photographs.
What bewilders me is her complete nonchalance of the situation, as if she's used to having so many cameras right in her face. To add to this, she actually gives a lazy smile and casts them a small wave. They're thrilled by this, because automatically even more camera flashes erupt and I swear I'm going to have vision problems by the time we actually enter the arena.
When we actually reach the train itself, I'm frustrated that we have to wait another few minutes before it opens. And once again I'm blinded by the flashes of the insistent and apparently insatiable photographers. The Capitol already have a million pictures of me, do they really need an extra million more? Andy, on the other hand, isn't too phased and actually poses for the odd photograph when they ask it of her. For some reason, this aggravates me. What right do they have to soak up her identity and exploit it? And why is she letting them?
I literally leap into the train as soon as the doors open, and when they instantly shut behind us I feel a wave of relief wash over me. It's only day one and I'm already sick of being pictured all the time. I'm a little thrown off balance as the train has already started to move at a high velocity.
Then I'm suddenly thrown into the second unknown room of the day. I realise after a few moments that it's one of our individual chambers. The room is the fanciest room I have ever been in my entire life. It actually makes the previous room look decrypt in comparison. I'm taken off guard when I notice that someone else is in the room, but soon register that it's my own reflection.
The dark eyes looking back at me appear tired and it's obvious I haven't slept well. My skin is unblemished, somewhat olive-tinted, but definitely not flawless and my hair has been darkened over the years of living in a district that specialises in coal production. I need to cut it soon. I have the hands of a worker, as the skin is calloused and damaged from the years I have spent overworking at home to compensate for my parents' previous state.
My chamber of current captivity has been provided with a bedroom, shower and dressing area. While my body is aching for the chance to rest up in the bed, I ignore my instincts and opt to taking advantage of the shower. I throw off my attire, then curse myself for forgetting about the precious pocket watch in my trouser pocket. I pick up the pocket watch and inspect it. No obvious damage done.
Maybe I've been struck with my first shot of luck today.
I step into the over-complex machine and press one of the countless buttons. Immediately I'm hit in the face with a burst of scolding liquid, and after cursing a few times to myself, I fully adjust to the temperature. No doubt I'll feel that tomorrow. Then, to my horror, a second shot of liquid assaults me. My eyes sting so intensely I'm guessing that the liquid was of a citrus element, and I'm soon drowning in the asphyxiating aroma of lemon. How on earth do these people tolerate with such strong odours?
Deciding not to tempt fate, I see my chance to jump out of the Demon Machine and towel dry the rest of the lemon crap off. I'm going to be smelling of that for days. I wrap the towel around my waist and wander towards the dressing area where an outfit has already been arranged for me. Fair enough, it saves me the trouble of having to decipher this machine as well.
I throw on the crisp white shirt that fits eerily well, then the trousers which are just as snug. A jacket and tie have also been provided. I take the jacket and ignore the tie. It's not as if I'm attending someone's wedding or funeral. The bane of my existence, also known as the lovely Effie Trinket, calls me for supper just as I'm fidgeting with the remaining button.
Ooh, supper.
Bet that's going to go well.
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And that's chapter three sorted. It's not as long as I would have liked it to be, but I'll fix that soon enough. Also, I know that in the book it never mentions having a mirror in the chambers, but I'm assuming that surely they could afford a mirror if they could splash out on all the other hyped up gadgets.
Let me know what you think. If there are other errors, please state them. Constructive criticism is better than nothing. Toodle-pip!