No Other Options 5
Author Note: Goodness, I have more fans of this story than I thought. 0_0.
So sorry about my lack of updating anything in ages! My life has been all over the place, but I'll try to do better in the next year, I promise! :) Also, the Number Five I'm using in this story is my OWN CHARACTER. I created this story before "The Fall of Five', so I feel like I need to stick with her. ^^
Two's P. O. V.
I'm curled up on in my bed, the tears still going down my face as I watch all of the Reapings in sequence. The Capital loves these kinds of things- all of the tributes to them are expendable. This year is even more exiting for them because it's the Quarter Quell, which, based on the past two, is a very deadly event for all tributes. This year it didn't effect the tributes being reaped or how many, which only means the arena is going to worse. They announced the twist at the beginning of the year, but Jacques and I were both deathly sick and didn't catch it.
But now here I am in the train heading to the Capital. I am going to compete in the 75th Annual Hunger Games, and I couldn't be more terrified.
Well, I'm suppose I could be. I know that I'm eighteen and that there are a few twelve year olds going into this as well, but I'm still petrified. Because of the harsh living conditions of District Ten, Jacques and I haven't done much training. To make things worse, I only have two Legacies. If I was human, I'd be toast enough, but I'm a weak Loric, too, which is a secret dishonor to my kind.
I'm ashamed of myself.
From District One, there are two sixteen year old tributes, John Smith and Sarah Hart. For some reason, John's face looks vaguely familiar, but not extremely. From District Two, there's a sixteen year old girl who volunteered for a twelve year old- Maren Lize- and a fifteen year old boy- Samuel Goode. From District Three, there's an enormous eighteen year old who also volunteered for a twelve year old by the name of Stanley Washington, but there's still a twelve year old girl named Kelli Larue. Like John, Maren and Stanley trigger something in the back of my mind, but I'm not sure why or what.
In District Four an eighteen year old named Joseph Howard and a sixteen year old named Layla Orm are reaped, and a twelve year old from District Five is reaped by name of Ella Castell along with a seventeen year old whom I don't remember the name of. In District Six two fifteen year olds are reaped- a frail girl named Emily Daveen and a stocky, short by name Raider Marrow. District Seven has to offer up a fifteen year old boy as well- Timothy Jenk- and an eighteen year old girl who intimated me too much for me to actually remember her name.
I ended up crying again for the remainder of the Reapings and only stop when someone knocks on my door. "Sadie! Your dinner is getting cold!"
Rubbing my eyes weakly, I take in a deep breath and go into the main room. My district partner is only fourteen himself, and even though I know he's just as hungry as I am, he only picks at the fattening food on his plate. I sink into a place beside him and halfheartedly take a buttery roll off of a platter. The Avoxs stand at attention with no emotion on their faces; I shudder.
"What are you shivering about?" One of our Mentors spits at me, sneering as he shoves another biscuit down his throat.
I shake my head frantically and continue staring at my plate. District Ten only has five mentors, and none of them look very friendly at all. My district partner leaves the table about five minutes later; I urge some food into a napkin and follow his lead. To my surprise, he's sitting on my bed when I return to my room, holding something behind his back.
"Yes?" I ask softly.
He brings out a napkin from behind his back that holds food just like mine. "I thought...maybe we could eat together in here."
His voice is high and squeaky, obviously not effected by puberty. He looks at me cautiously even as I sit on the edge of the bed as well, spreading out my napkin. I smile at him softly- for now, at least, we can be friends.
"Of course we can." Together we eat the best food in this world for one of the only times in our dramatically shortened lives. Perhaps we'll die together, too.
Five's P. O. V.
"You look calm," I note to my fellow fifteen year old tribute. "Why?"
He shrugs and rests his head against the glass. Despite his cool exterior, his eyes are slightly pink and puffy, so I know he's at least cried once today. "There isn't any reason to worry about it at this point. We're probably going to die anyway."
I sigh. "Well, aren't you just the most uplifting bastard?"
I know he's right, but it's easier not to think about it right now. Then again, thinking about Jemstone, who's already dead her excessive drinking, and Summer, who died last year in the Games, is the only other option my mind can come up with right now. I've been on my own for the past year after three years with just Summer and I, so I've got nobody to go home to. The only reason I'm willing to fight at all is because I'm still a Loric, and if I die, then my almost extinct race is even more screwed than it already is.
He doesn't seem up for much more talking, so I slide to my feet and trudge into the main room. There's more food than I've ever seen in my life- District Six is the middle district, so while we're not just starving, we're not plentiful. I don't waste any time stuffing my face; I vomit at least twice from over-stuffing, but just keep coming back for me. Once I'm positive my stomach will explode, I find a vacant room and collapse against the bed, burying my face into the ultra thick pillows. I honestly don't know what to feel right now.
When I open my eyes again, sunlight is streaming into the room. I'm still wearing the tattered clothes I wore to the Reaping- it was the pale pink dress Jem loved to wear on Sundays. It was still too big on me, but it reminded me of her fondly. I decide to keep wearing it as I venture back into the main room, though I don't intend to have a gorge fest like I did last night. Raider is sitting at the table this time, his dark eyes flickering up piercingly when I enter.
"About time you woke up." He says curtly.
"About time you decided to eat," I respond easily.
I sit down as far away as possible from him, biting into the soft meat of one of the sausages. There are only three Mentors, half the number of our District, and only one of them to be mildly interested in us, staring at us with glazed eyes at uncomfortable amount of time. One isn't even here, and the only one is steadily pumping morphling into her system, eating with the other hand. I sigh quietly; we're completely screwed.
"So, are you planning on actually fighting?" Raider glances up at me again. "Or are you just going to get it over with in the bloodbath?"
"I won't tell you my tragedy. You could use it against me." I brush a piece of hair away from my face. "And we wouldn't want that, now would we?"
Our District escort, a fidgety man with a too-tight suit and features no bigger than a cereal bowl giggles a bit. "Oh! This girl is smart! Hailee, Tim, Leon! I believe that we may have another potential Victor on our hands!"
The one with the IV in her arm glances up at me. She makes a sound- a weak, gasping intake, then closes her eyes and lets her head crash right into her soup. I groan to myself and our escort lets out a small squeal, especially as I lift her head by her hair and set it on the tabletop. Raider lets out a short, bemused laugh.
I lock my gaze on him. "You're an asshole."
He smiles thinly, a note of wickedly in his features. "I prefer being called a 'prick'."
I sigh and go back into my room, already tired of this jerk. If I have to kill anyone in the arena- which I know I will- he's definitely going to be the first one.
Seven's P. O. V.
"NO!" I shriek when someone grabs my arm, beginning to haul me off of the train. "NO!"
Tears are streaming down my face as about a million lights and cameras focus right on my face, but I don't care right now. I'm being dragged against my will as I've been for almost all of my life, forced to do something I positively don't want to do. Going into the Games is a terrifying idea by itself, but I'm even more petrified that I have to be in the Capital for a few days. Even after the Games- which I have to win if Lorien is going to survive- I'll be adored by the Capital and never left alone, so either way I'll never truly win again. I'll also never be able to properly harness by Legacies in privacy because there will never be privacy again.
The escort doesn't stop dragging me until we're in a stone-made room with a large, metal table right before us. I'm forced onto it and I scream again, remembering all the times I was taken advantage of by the mayor, a man I've been forced to call 'Daddy' since I was seven though I despise him with everything I have. I'm rewarded with a sharp slap against the face and a small growl.
"Act like you have sense, you spoiled little brat," she snarls. "You've been spoiled your entire life in District Eleven and get to be spoiled even more right now, so I don't want to hear your whining!"
I cower instinctively. I don't know what she thinks she's talking about- she's a Capitalite herself, actually pampered and groomed her entire life, and she has enough bluster to talk about how I was spoiled, even though nobody knows the real truth about the District Eleven mayor. She eventually struts out, leaving me to be grabbed at it and abused once again. This time, it's at the hands of several stylists, everything about them radiating their being from the Capital. They pluck every hair from my body except for that on my head, burning my skin and grabbing me in every spot on my body to do some kind of work to it.
When they finally finish I'm sobbing hysterically, my throat so raw from screaming I can taste the blood rising to my mouth and my eyes sticky and gross-feeling. One of the stylists takes my arm and snaps something onto it- a white wristband with a small blinking red dot. I eye in warily.
"What is this?" I ask shakily.
"Don't worry about it," the stylist croons, as if talking to a frightened lamb. "We're going to take care of you. We wouldn't dare hurt you. Now, we'll just hose you down again and get you settled in for Ange."
The water passes over my now hyper sensitive skin and I whimper, closing my eyes tightly. Another stylist leans in and whispers in my ear, "How on earth did you get so many bruises and scratches?"
"I'm clumsy," I whisper shakily, the lie I've used for so many years.
He looks reassured and I feel relief, but even more so when they leave the room. I'm naked and shaking, but at least they're not here anymore. I close my eyes and try to steady the thoughts whirling all around my head as well as stop crying, but the second is considerably easier than the first. They're interrupted when another man prances in, looking just as spectacular as Caesar Flickerman does ever year for the interview part of the Games.
The interview. Oh goodness, no.
"Hello, sweetheart," he purrs in a low, seductive voice that nearly sends me into hysterics again. "How are you feeling?"
I shakily wrap my arms around myself, sitting up modestly. He gives me a smile- not one that's overflashing, but not a genuine one. Moments later he's standing behind me, combing through my shoulder length plain brown hair. He chuckles softly and pulls it into a ponytail.
"We'll just get something to make that a bit longer," he muses to himself. "And you'll look fabulous in overalls!"
I keep my gaze down, trying not to pay too much attention to him. Back home, I know that Adelina might be dead; the mayor always promised that if I was Reaped that the punishments would be severe. I flinch at the thought, even though death would have to be kinder to her than he's been to both of us ever since we got trapped with him.
"Marina, darling, sit up straight please." He puts a hand on my lower back and get rigid, straightening out my spin. "There you go! You're such a good little girl!"
"Thank you," I whisper.
I've had years of practice being the worst in somebody's eyes, I finish quietly in my head.