I am proud to say that I eventually completed this chapter! Yay! It's kind of shorter than the other two I've written so far, unfortunately. But I hope you guys will enjoy it! By the way, I've decided to stick with my cussing substitute thing, if you guys don't mind because I really see no way around it. Unless I decide that I will cuss, but that's not going to happen.
I've gotten really lazy when it comes to editing this chapter, so if you find anything that bugs you feel free to let me know! I'll go back and change it.
(DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of The Hunger Games, it's all Suzanne Collins'. Iris is the only character of my own, in this chapter. Also, the memory of Fawn's is NOT my own; thank you soooo much Elazaria! It really helped me understand your tribute, and it was beautifully written!)
Chapter 3 - Nothing
-Brier Carols, District 9-
"Brier, we need to leave!" calls an annoyed voice. "We can't afford to be late to the reaping!"
Ugh. Why can't Guava just shut up and let me be? I don't give a crud that we could be late. Why does it matter?
Life is nothing. Absolutely nothing. It does nothing for you besides make you feel pain and sorrow. Nothing good ever comes from it. And I can testify to that; I have firsthand experience. When life gives you lemons, make lemonade. A common saying. The only problem is that right now fate is going through a drought, so that tree that grows the lemons is having a shortage, and life can only harvest a few. Few lemons equals a few lucky people makin' lemonade, and I ain't one of 'em. Never have been and never will be. Yet I can't help dreaming of that day I might finally be able to drink some of that lemonade, just to see what it tastes like.
"BRIER!" Guava shouts.
She's really mad now.
After Dad went crazy, Guava has never really been the same. She's no longer the fun-loving sister she used to be; now she is irritable and gets angry easily. She's no longer irresponsible or carefree, either. She can't afford to be. She has to run the "family" now. With Dad being locked up who-knows-where and Mom running off with who-knows-who and losing all of our money, Guava's really had to step it up. Now she works wherever she can to make a living for the two of us. I feel bad for all that she's been through. It must really hurt her to know that Dad killed her love just 'cause she had wanted to marry him at fifteen. Then Dad went and got himself drunk from regret, some Peacekeepers got in a fight with him, and we haven't heard from him since. I was eight, then.
Everything went downhill after that. Mom met some guy who stole the loads of money her father had left for us after he died. Then she eloped and disappeared from our lives.
Like I said, I have firsthand experience with just how cruel life can be.
Before Guava can work up a deep enough breath to really scream at me, I stroll out of my bedroom to find my sister. She's standing impatiently at the front door, tapping her foot to show that she is not happy, wearing the black dress and hat she always wears for the reaping. It's supposed to represent mourning on this terrible day for the poor souls that get chosen to be in the Games. Mom had gotten Guava the dress back before she left us, and we still had money. That was seven years ago, but Guava hasn't grown much since then, so it still fits her.
Without so much as a glance at me, Guava opens the door and stalks out of the house and through our garden. Or what used to be, anyway. Years of neglect have led it to disarray. Weeds protrude everywhere and the trees needed a trimming a while ago; now they just look like tall clumps of green fuzz. The wall-hugging flowers have taken over the once-marvelous house face as well. Now they cover almost every flat surface and cling to the windows like they're holding on for dear life. But Guava and I have long since stopped caring.
Silently, we make our way out of the wealthier part of the district and over to the main square. Ironically enough, we are some of the first few people there. Only three other people have already arrived. Two parents and a girl with a high, long, and blonde ponytail. And we now have over an hour to wait for the reapings to begin.
-Fawn Magnoli, District 9-
I was the first person to arrive at the square, just under two hours before the reaping was planned to start. Thirty minutes later my mother and father caught up to me and now we wait silently, standing side by side in the middle of the empty square, staring up at the Justice Building, reminiscing.
Today is always the saddest day of the year. Always. No other day is so full of terrible promises, no other day guarantees depression quite to the same consistency. To everyone, the day holds some terrible memories, different for every person. To me it holds only one, for nothing really mattered after…
It was the day of the reaping, and I knew I was going to lose someone. Unpredictably, twisted by fate, it was myself.
I was only eight at the time, and she was just turning six. Even though we weren't yet eligible to be in the drawing for the Games, we were still obligated to attend. Falon was wearing her best yellow dress, sewn by our aunt Peonee who had always favored Falon to myself, and a blue ribbon in her copper hair. I had given her the ribbon; it was my favorite, but when I saw the pleading look in her large brown eyes as she looked at it, I couldn't resist. After all, her eyes were just like mine. The only thing in our looks we had ever shared.
I myself was wearing a white dress. It was simple, for unlike my sister I never wished to stand out. My mother had braided my long, blonde hair down my back and tied it together with golden ribbon. She gave me her gold-chained necklace to match and bought me a pair of shoes that would be suitable for the occasion. She claimed I looked beautiful.
Even then I didn't believe her.
My sister had always been my best friend. We told each other everything. Whenever she felt something, I felt it as well. No one was able to understand me as she did, nor did I want anyone else to. In my time of deepest despairs that only an eight year old could possess, she was there.
"Don't cry," she would say softly as she wrapped her small arms around my upper legs, for that was as far as she could reach. "I don't like it when you cry."
We still had an hour left before it was time for us to go to the reaping, so Falon pulled me out of the house to go to the grassy meadow not too far away from the hunting grounds. That was her favorite place. We would sit there for hours giggling at each other and making crowns out of the flowers.
"Look Fawn," she cried out after we reached the meadow, "it's a butterfly!"
I nodded as the creature flew past my head. "It is quite pretty."
Falon stood up and twirled around me, a smile gracing her face. "I wish I were a butterfly," she murmured.
I wrinkled my nose in disgust. "Why? Sure they may look all right, but they are so small! And they can't sing or dance or play or…." My voice trailed off as I watched her spin around, all the while gazing fondly up at that butterfly, fluttering in circles.
Falon giggled as she gave one last twirl before falling. "But If I were a butterfly, I would be free." She said it is as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
I will never forget those words.
When we arrived back at the house ten minutes before it was time to leave, my sister bounded over to our mother with the small camera that we splurged on, a perfect little digital memory-keeper.
"Momma," she exclaimed, "I want to take a picture with Fawn."
My mother smiled warmly at her youngest daughter and did as she asked. We stood in front of the house, our arms wrapped around each other in a sisterly embrace.
That was the last hug I would ever share with her, the last photo we would ever take together. The last moment I would ever to be able to know that she was really there, really alive.
We walked to the reapings as we always did. Falon would grasp my hand, not out of fear, but to console me that it would not be anyone we knew well enough to cry over. I was always the more sensitive one to things like this; she was always strong.
The drawings were over quickly. Now I wish it had lasted longer. I would have made that moment last forever had I known that once my sister's hand parted from mine her final breathes would await her.
On our way back home was when it happened.
A funny looking Peacekeeper – now I know that he had been drunk – was yelling at somebody. An old man bent down to his knees at the man's fists. I scurried behind my father, afraid of the scene, but Falon remained were she was. She watched with a curious expression before walking over. My mother called out for her to come back, but it was too late, for she was already tugging on the Peacekeepers untidy uniform.
"You're that girl's daddy," she whispered. "The one who is going away."
The man turned to her with a look of loathing.
"Go away girl," he spat. "That ain't none of your business."
My mother hurried over and grabbed Falon, pulling her away. But not before Falon could say one more thing. "Shouldn't you be saying good-bye to her," she asked, "since she isn't coming back? No one ever does."
The man let out a furious growl, and then everything seemed to go in fast forward. It happened in barley a second.
"DON'T YOU DARE TELL ME WHAT IS GOING TO HAPPEN TO MY DAUGHTER!" he shouted. He ripped Falon from my mother and held up his club that was attached to his uniform, bringing it down hard on her head. A cry of pain escaped my sister's lips.
My mother screamed. The forgotten old man lying at the Peacekeeper's feet gazed up, horror struck at the now bloody club held up in the Peacekeeper's hand. Falon was on the ground beside the petrified man, the blue ribbon I had given her now stained dark with blood.
My sister had just died, and the being she had transformed me into left with her.
It still hasn't ever really hit me that she's not ever going to return. I feel like Falon is going to turn up, one way or another, and everything will go back to normal. But that won't happen. She's gone, and I continuously have to remind myself of that. I think my parents worry about me. That after Falon's death I've changed, my mind skewed. And I think they're right. Maybe…. Maybe I have gone crazy. Would I know it, or would it feel normal? Aren't people considered crazy because they don't realize they are? If they were aware that the person they were talking to wasn't really there, would they stop murmuring, or continue? Does it even matter if I am crazy? Oh well. To be honest, it doesn't make a difference to me. It won't bring her back.
Earlier this morning I went to visit the meadow. It might just be my tainted memories, but it seemed to have changed since the last time I went. The grass was yellowing and the patches of flowers appeared to have thinned. It's dying, I thought when I saw it. But, then again, it might have always been like that. When I was younger everything looked brighter and full of growing potential. Now it seemed flat and plain, everything special lost.
Before it could haunt me anymore, I fled from the place. And wound up here, where my parents eventually found me.
Now a boy looking to be my age enters the square with a woman who must be his older sister – she is far too young to be his mother. His shirt catches my attention, and I find that my head cocks to the side as I eagerly examine it, grateful for a distraction from my thoughts. It is a brown hunting shirt with slight green lacy fingers stretching off of it, really quite beautiful. He is also wearing a nice pair of brown cargo pants and riding boots, but they can't compare to the shirt. I glance down at my night blue long-sleeved top and red hunting vest matched with my knee-length hunting boots under dark pants. The boy's shirt is much nicer than all of my clothes combined, and my family makes off pretty well compared to most people. This guy must be really rich, probably the son of a Victor.
I finally peel my eyes from the boy before he can notice my staring and face forwards, toward the Justice Building. The giant clock now reads 11:24.
I continue to wait.
-Brier Carols, District 9-
Eventually more people actually begin to show up for the reaping, so I slowly make my way over to the spot reserved for the fifteen year olds. By the time I arrive, the square is already becoming crowded and I find myself standing next to the same girl with the long hair who had arrived here before me.
I turn to face her. "Hey," I say.
Distractedly, she partially turns her head to glance at me, murmuring, "Oh, hello," and then looking back at the Justice Building. She bites her lip and starts to jump up and down on her toes.
Whatever, I think.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see another girl approach the blonde. She's pretty short, with shoulder length brown hair a similar color to mine, typical for the district.
"Fawn!" she greets the blonde.
Fawn hugs the other girl, smiling. "Hello, Genisis. How's Reilly?"
Biting down on her tongue between her teeth, Genisis sighs, "Better. He's able to walk again, but it's slow going."
"That's good. That he's healing, I mean. That was a really nasty accident, and I'm glad he's okay."
"Yeah." And then they just stand silently by each other, staring attentively up at the podium where the mayor begins speaking.
Several minutes later, our escort, Iris Raya, approaches the microphone and declares, "It's time to get the ball rolling! How about we draw a girl's name now?"
Right, 'cause we really got a choice.
Wearing a short, skin tight, metallic gold dress, Iris saunters to the giant glass spheres and selects a slip of paper.
She slowly unfolds it and reads off the name on the slip, looking out at the crowd with eyes the same shade as her dress. "Genisis Nyssa."
Beside me, Genisis' eyes widen, and she begins to step forward, but Fawn blocks her. After whispering something under her breath too fast for me to make out, she strides up to the stage with a set look on her face shouting, "I… I volunteer for Genisis!"
"Okay then!" Iris states brightly. "And what might your name be?"
With a flash in her eyes, she replies, "Fawn Magnoli."
"Well, we now have our female tribute. For the boys…" Iris prances to the ball, grabs a paper, and returns to the microphone in the span of five seconds to finish her sentence, "Brier Carols."
I blink. Me?
Blankly, I shuffle to the stage and take my place next to Fawn and Iris.
Iris says something else into the microphone, but I don't hear it. I can't hear anything but the roaring in my ears.
-Fawn Magnoli, District 9-
I feel like I'm back in the meadow years ago, seeing the butterfly and Falon spinning. Then everything goes in fast forward, and I watch as she approaches the Peacekeeper, curious. I see her fall and hear my mother crying out. I am there again.
Then I think of Genisis, of the way she helped me move on from Falon's death, and realize that what I did was right. There is no way I could ever watch anyone that close to me die again. It's only logical for me to take Genisis' place. I can't afford to lose my best friend, too.
If she were to also die, I would be left with nothing.
That's the chapter! Sorry it's shorter than normal.
Please review! Reviews are amazing, almost as marvelous as coffee ice cream (which is pretty awesome, if I do say so myself).
Not very many people have entered stylist, prep team, or mentor ideas, but you are still able to if you would like!
And, I have officially decided on the arena though I'm not going to tell what it is until the Games really start. However, I can say that it is a mix of almost everything submitted. I noticed lots of repeats of ideas, so I tried to take at least one thing from them all and mesh it together. So, arena submitting is now closed.
-heatsoul-