Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end.
Goodbyes.
Cohen Veridie, District One Male
He almost felt bad for them, and he was the one going into the Games.
Cohen watched as yet another one of his "friends" left the room and shut the door gently behind them. The poor girl had been on the verge of tears. Now that she was on the other side, Cohen thought he could hear the muffled sobs of her heart. He wasn't sure though, since, for all he knew, they could have been for Adelaide. After a few seconds, he decided that they were in fact for him. That he was the recipient of that girl's tears. A girl that he himself neither truly cared about or would think about again.
It was the best thing he could have asked for. You didn't cry for someone you didn't like; you only shed tears for those you cared about and while that list might have been short for Cohen, short as in practically non-existent, he was on the lists of many others. To him, that was all that mattered.
For Cohen was too selfish, too self-centered to bother about other people. Sure, he wanted them to like him. He wanted them to give him attention. Approval. The thing is, Cohen did at least strive for what he wanted.
As unintelligent as he might be, it didn't take even him long to realize that people like those who were happy. Who were positive. Who were just nice, genuine people. Cohen knew what he had to do in order to achieve the affection of those around him. It worked, for the most part. They were some, the more perceptive of his peers, that realized Cohen's caring attitude was fake or, at the very least, false.
Luckily, they were the minority. However, Cohen still tried to win them over. He couldn't help himself. He couldn't stop being especially nice to them. As cliched as it sounds, he was addicted to being in everyone's good books. He couldn't handle not being in them. It's the most magnificent of hypocritical situations. Cohen doesn't care for others but he needs them to care about him.
The irony of it all has long since passed him by.
The huge double doors swung open suddenly. That didn't surprise Cohen since he was so sure that other people were going to come visit him. They must be lining up to come and see their future victor. When he looked up and made eye contact with his visitor though, a tiny part of Cohen was shocked. Because of all the people he believed were going to come and see him, Brodie was nowhere near the top of his imaginary queue.
"Brodie," Cohen could barely control his smile. A genuine smile. The older boy moved quickly, sitting down on the chair opposite Cohen. Brodie leaned forward, his hands resting on his thighs.
"Cohen, what are you doing?" Brodie asked. Cohen's smile fell away for a moment before it returned. This time it reeked of falseness.
"What am I doing?" Cohen echoed. Some emotion flashed across Brodie's face for a second , although he quickly recovered his composure.
"Cohen." Brodie's tone was stern and commanding. Cohen found himself giving Brodie all of his attention. It had always been like that; if Brodie spoke, then Cohen had to listen. When Brodie was positive he had Cohen's full attention, he started off.
"Why did you let them pick you as the volunteer? Don't you realize that chances are you're not coming home?" Cohen could scarcely believe it. Brodie was suppose to believe in him. They all were suppose to believe in him. Believe that he would come home. Yet, here he was, basically being told he should have denied the mentors when they asked him to volunteer. He was chosen out of hundreds of students. Hand picked by the victors themselves. How was he suppose to have said no to that?
"Shut up, Brodie. You don't know what you're talking about." Cohen tried to keep his voice light and jokey. Unfortunately, anyone could tell that slight hints of anger had began to slip in.
"I do. Training, it's just a phase," Brodie argued. Cohen cut him off before he could say anything.
"Yeah, sure it is."
"It is. I'm telling you it's nothing more than a teenage phase."
"For you it was. It was a phase for you. I'm not you, Brodie."
"Cohen, you wouldn't know if it was a phase or not. You haven't lived life in the real world. You've not had the chance to experience anything else. And now, you never will," Brodie superior tone was getting to Cohen. Every word that came out of his mouth only made Cohen more and more frustrated.
"You don't know anything. You weren't chosen to be the volunteer. I was," Brodie made an attempt to interrupt him, but Cohen carried on. "Back in the day, you were the man. The most popular guy in the whole Academy. I idolised you, I wanted to be you. Now, you're nothing. You work some deadbeat job that I know for a fact that you don't even like. I always thought you would be someone, Brodie. I guess I was wrong."
Brodie's face remained a mask for more than a few seconds. He placed his hands on the arm of the chair in order to push himself up to his feet. He looked down on Cohen who was horrified by his expression. It was a picture of pity. His lips moved gently as the words proceeded to flow out of his mouth.
"If I had been chosen to be the volunteer two years ago, I would be dead. I would be dead and no one, except my family, would remember I ever even existed. I'm glad I wasn't chosen, for it would have been one of the last times someone would say my name. At least until my funeral," Brodie moved away from Cohen, his feet carrying him to the door at which point he turned around to stare at the other boy once more. Something had been eating away at Cohen for a long time now, something which he just had to say now.
"Why did you change?" He asked, an unusual amount of innocence prevalent in his voice. Brodie considered it for a moment before answering.
"I didn't change. I just grew up," Brodie stated. Cohen didn't know how to react. His idol fell victim to what every teenager goes through eventually. Maturing into an adult, a true member of society.
"Goodbye, Cohen. It was nice knowing you." Cohen barely registered the closing slam of the door. If what Brodie said came true, he would never mature. He would never be a real part of District One life. Unless he won. Otherwise, he would be forgotten. Cohen would just be like all the rest who failed to win. A nameless tribute who achieved nothing except death.
Cohen couldn't let that happen. He had to win. The victors are admired and, perhaps more importantly, are alive. People shout out their names in joy. That was what Cohen wanted; the love of his District and the people in it. He was willing to do anything to achieve it.
Anything at all. Even killing. Twenty-three other teenagers need to die in order for him to win. Adelaide included. Cohen knew sooner or later she would have to die.
And as much as losing her appreciation might hurt him, he's pretty sure being forgotten would hurt even more. Even more than death.
Shaila Avani, District Two Female
The world felt light.
Each step was airy, practically intangible to her feet as the door to the Justice Building swung open and the Peacekeeper curtly ushered her inside. Everything from the clouds in the sky to the glamor of the décor surrounding her felt unreal. Like a dream.
It made sense, of course. Shaila was living her dream.
From day one, the Games were her destiny. They were her shot to becoming something more than what she already was. She loved who she was. She loved the life she had. But that never stopped her from craving more. From wanting more. From needing more.
And now, she had a shot to get it.
Two hard knocks beat against the door in rapid succession before the door promptly swung open. The interruption of her thoughts only dampened her joy a little before the beaming faces of Rosalina and Sherri once again put a grin on Shaila's face.
"You did it!" Rosalina exclaimed, picking Shaila up and spinning her. "You really did it!"
Shaila squealed in response, giggling giddily as the trio shared the moment with one another. "Did you ever have a doubt?"
Sherri smirked as Rosalina let Shaila feel the ground once again. "Well-"
"Shut up," Shaila shot good-heartedly, playfully smacking her arm's shoulder, to which Sherri flinched and sniffed distastefully. "Wuss," she teased. Sherri only shot her tongue out in response.
Two more knocks against the wooden door alerted them all of their dwindling time together. Shaila forced the smile to stay on her face despite the slight sadness she felt welling in her chest. "You two better not replace me before I'm back. I'll kill the bitch. Then you."
Rosalina smiled ruefully, pulling the three friends into a tight hug. "Who could replace Shaila?"
Sherri tapped her finger on her chin. "Hm, maybe Alexis. Or Delana. Or-"
"Ew, Delana," Rosalina muttered. "Maybe she'd be alright if she wasn't the town bike."
As per usual, Rosalina and Sherri burst into a full-out gossip despite the circumstances, and if Shaila closed her eyes, everything changed. She wasn't leaving for good. She was at home, laying on her bed and listening to the banter and the gossip at just another sleepover. When she closed her eyes, she felt her old life coming back to her.
Her eyes flashed open as the doors swung open, a Peacekeeper beside it. "Ms. Avani, your allotted time with these visitors has elapsed."
Rosalina hurriedly scooped Shaila and Sherri in once last hug, relishing every last moment they had together. Shaila struggled to fight off the emotion that waddled in her throat. "Don't forget me."
Sherri frowned. "You'll only be gone for-"
"Just in case," Shaila murmured, putting on a strong face as the Peacekeeper ushered her friends out. As soon as the doors shut, Shaila slowly took a seat on the nearest chair, letting herself reminisce in the memories her friends before silently kissing them goodbye.
She had no room for fond memories anymore. If she was to come back, she only had room for herself. No one else.
The trademark two knocks warned her of incoming visitors, and Shaila instinctively bounced up and threw on a smile. No room for weakness, either. No room for pathetic emotions, and no room for love. Nothing.
The pride in her parents' eyes was the first thing Shaila noticed. Not even them.
"Oh, sweetheart," her mother whispered, rushing to her only daughter with compassion practically oozing from her. "My baby," she murmured, running her hands through her daughter's hair. Her father approached her quietly, placing a hand on her shoulder and smiling.
"We could never be more proud," he appended. "You're everything we could ever ask for."
Shaila buried herself in her mother's perfectly combed hair, and for once, her mother said nothing as Shaila's face ruined her hair. All too soon, doubts crowded her mind, and she knew better than anyone that she had no room for this. She forfeited her perfect life for… a chance?
She shook her head, trying and failing to withhold her tears. Stupid. She was being stupid. She had dedicated her life to this. Her entire life would've been for naught had she let these doubts distort her vision. Shaila buried her doubt with a firm resolve.
"Don't be scared," her father instructed firmly as she disentangled herself from her mother's hair. "You've earned this, Shaila. This is-"
"My chance," she finished, nodding. Her father was right. This was her life. Always had been, always will be. Nothing could change that, including her and her needless worries.
Her mother cupped Shaila's face in her hands, smiling through the tears that also stained her cheeks. "That's right, Shay. This is… this is everything you'd ever wanted. Take it."
Shaila opened her mouth to agree as she always had, but something held her back. This was her last chance to speak to her parents. This was her last chance to be herself with them. Shaila lowered her guard as she backpedaled from her parents. "Why didn't you stop me?"
Her father knitted his eyebrows in concern. "Shaila, are you feeling alri-"
"I'm fine," she said hastily. The two knocks on the door felt louder than before. Sharper. Harsher. "Why did you let me give my life up?"
Her parents shared a look with one another before turning to their daughter. Her mother stepped forward, only for Shaila to step back. "You wanted this. You wanted your life to be better, remember? This… this is what you wanted."
The door swung open behind her parents, and he opened his mouth to order her parents to leave before seeing her tear-stained face and hesitating. "Your time is… almost over."
Shaila nodded appreciatively, turning to her parents and nodding. Her guard returned, and her instinctive smile spread across her face. "You're right," she agreed. Her parents cheered considerably, wrapping her in yet another hug. Their final hug. Shaila felt another wave of tears strike her, but this time, Shaila fought it off.
As her parents left her with a mixture of relief and doubt in their eyes, Shaila once again shut her eyes and buried the memory of her family deep down, not to be opened again. Not until she was back here. Not until she was home.
Until then, she had no room for her family. No room for her friends. No room for her memories.
She only had room for herself.
Abner Demerath, District Eleven Male
He didn't understand what was happening.
Jethro ran around the room, his eyes fixating on the excessive decoration that bounced around the sunlight in a way that was exceptionally pretty. If Abner was here in different circumstances, he would have no problem appreciating its beauty as well. However, that wasn't the case.
Abner had already recognized the reality of his situation. He was reaped for the Hunger Games. And in a short few weeks, he will be fighting to the death with twenty-three other children. He hadn't even seen the rest of the tributes but he already knew he was at a disadvantage for two big reasons.
One, he was only thirteen. Yes, there have been other thirteen year old victors in the past so, despite how rare they might sound, they do exist. Nonetheless, it's the second reason that is the big one. It's very simple in all honesty and it was a fact that Abner had grown accustomed to.
The fact that he was deaf.
It was a consequence of a disease that ravaged the district eight years ago. Many young children died and those that did survive often ended up with some kind of disability. Abner tended to find himself as one of the lucky ones. Being deaf was a great burden, however, others had burdens which were much greater than his. He could still walk on his two feet. He could still work with his two hands. For that, Abner made sure to be thankful. His opportunity of a second chance at life was still there for him to make the most of.
He wouldn't let the Games cut that short.
At this point, Jethro had expelled most of his energy so the three year old toddler plopped on the sofa beside his older brother. Their father sat in the single chair while their mother was on Abner's right hand side, her tough yet gentle hand holding his. Jethro tapped Abner on the leg so he could try to get his brother's attention. It only took a few moments for Abner to react as he turned around to see Jethro's smiling face. He moved his lips in pronounced and forceful movements. It was a question filled with easy words so Abner had no problem understanding what he was being asked. The question itself though, was not so easy to answer.
"Where are you going?"
Jethro was lucky in a way. He was still too young to know what was happening. Too innocent to realize that once children left on those trains from District Eleven, they never returned. Forty years and not one has came back.
"I'm going away to the Capitol," Abner answered. Jethro's face funneled into a scowl.
"Are we coming?"
"No, you can't come." There were parts of Jethro's personality that you can easily tell come straight from Abner. This was one of them, since the worst thing you could tell the two of them is that they can't do something. Do that and you're just begging them to try even harder to do it.
"But why?"
"You're not allowed to."
"Why not?" With every question, Jethro was becoming more and more childishly angry. The pout was beginning to appear and the arms were threatening to be crossed.
"Because that's the rules."
Jethro went to start again but their father must have cut him off. Abner obviously didn't know exactly what was said, although it ended with Jethro having a full-on pout on his face so, chances are he was told off.
It was only a couple of minutes after this that the Peacekeepers went to show his family out. They all stood up at the same time, his mother's hand still tightly wound around his. She let it go after some persuasion from his father. However, swiftly she wrapped her arms around him and brought Abner into a tight hug. He returned it graciously. They held each other for as long as the Peacekeepers allowed them to which, as you can imagine, was about one fifth of the time any decent human being would have allowed them.
His father gave Abner a strong pat on the shoulder. In return, Abner gave him a reassuring smile. It came naturally to him. It always did. It never really matter what situation he found himself in, Abner seemed to always be able to find a smile. To him, it was a simple idea. That the trickier parts of life were easily to handle and get through if you faced them with a smile.
He knelled down and motioned at Jethro to come over to him. Jethro ran over, swinging his arms around Abner's neck. Abner gripped him tightly. He didn't want to let go. He wanted to stay here with his family. He wanted to go back and see the fields that had provided a constant backdrop for his life.
None of him wanted to leave. That made it all the more painful for him because he knew he had to.
Jethro waved goodbye as he was being ushered out by their father. Abner waved back for what was most likely the last time he would ever see his brother. Just before they could shut the door, Jethro swiveled back around so he could face Abner. With the kind of grace that only comes with practice, Jethro performed three gestures in a row. First, he pointed to his eye, then he made a heart shaped with hands and finally, he aimed his finger at Abner. It had a simple meaning and one that Abner had no problem reciprocating
It meant I love you and as the peacekeepers shut the door, the thought crossed Abner's mind that that could be the last time someone said they loved him.
With every single thing he had, Abner hoped it wouldn't turn out like that.
Aline Carron, District Twelve Female
She held her head up.
Aline fell into autopilot as soon as her name left the lips of that useless human being that picked her against all the stupid odds, and that meant perfect posture and an indifferent expression. It was how she was brought up. Don't smile. Don't falter. Don't mess up. One mistake was one too many. Failure was not acceptable.
Even as she was left to her own devices for however long, Aline didn't dare to lower her guard. Surprises were at every corner, and if she wasn't ready, she'd be overwhelmed. She'd fail.
Aline hated surprises.
Especially now, when her life was destined to either be constantly broadcast or end early and brutally, Aline refused to let herself be taken off-guard. She didn't care who she offended or whatever happiness she sacrificed; nothing was worth her life. If she had to give up her social life, potential happiness, anything, for her life, she'd do it.
There were some things that were worth more than happiness and love and joy. Life was one of them. Aline was not going to let her own naïve desires take her life away from her. And she sure as hell not going to let anyone else ruin that chance, either.
Aline withdrew herself from her thoughts as the uncouth Peacekeeper slammed the door open. She flinched at the bang, turning to the man with a sneer. "Do you not know how to work that?"
"Shut up, scum," he growled gruffly. "You have visitors."
She scowled. "You don't say," she muttered under her breath.
"What was that?" he barked, raising an eyebrow and twirling his baton conspicuously. The glint in his eyes taunted her, daring her to overstep. The malicious baring of his teeth only made her want to sock him in the eye, but she knew better. This was her emotions taking control of her. This was the road to failure.
Aline grit her teeth, agitatedly grinding them together. "I was only complimenting your outfit."
The Peacekeeper's eyes flashed with disappointment for a moment before he proceeded to fiddle with his uniform. "Gee, thanks. Perhaps you could borrow it sometime," he added. "Oh, wait. You'll be dead." The man grinned for a moment before his attention snapped to the right. He cleared his throat abruptly. "Right this way," he said curtly, steering Aline's mother into her room.
Her mother narrowed her eyes at Aline's snarl as the pathetic excuse of a Peacekeeper left. "And what is this?" she muttered, gesturing irritably with her hands. Her finger jabbed into Aline's cheek, sneering. "Either put on a good face or I'll tear you a new one."
Aline pressed her lips into a thin line. "Mother, he was-"
"I don't care what he was or wasn't, it was your place to shut up and listen."
"But he was an idiot!"
Her mother smiled dangerously, and Aline instinctively shrunk into herself. That look alone made her who she is. She knew what it meant. "Are you talking back to me?" she asked far too happily.
"No, ma'am," Aline responded mechanically. Her eyes veered to the right of her mother's, but her posture remained unflawed. The last thing she wanted was to push her even farther. Aline was many things, but she wasn't stupid. At least not stupid enough to push her mother off her rocker.
"Good," her mother answered curtly. She turned to her daughter with something akin to… not kindness, but perhaps approval. Better than usual. "It's in your best interest to remember what I've taught you. And if you're to die, don't tarnish all my hard work," she said carefully, without her usual conviction and icy tone. For the first time Aline could remember, her mother failed to hold her eye contact.
Aline opened her mouth to speak, but her mother shook her head quickly. "I'm not feeling well; I'm going to have to excuse myself," she said hurriedly, moving quickly for the door. As her hand connected with the wooden surface, she hesitated. Her mother turned to her one last time and nodded to her. "Just remember."
Her mother sharply barged through the door, and before the door even shut, the figure of a tall woman slipped through the door. Holland Beaurecross – presumably her mentor - smiled at her mother, who, naturally, glowered back before taking a seat beside her. "Just remember," Holland recited pensively. "Now what did that mean? Just remember her rules? Or… perhaps remember her?"
"Were you snooping on me?"
Holland laughed. "Call it what you'd like; my job is to help you. And if I have any chance of helping you, I need to know who you are. What makes you tick. Who made you who you are. Something tells me your mother fits that last bill."
Aline's nostrils flared as she stood indignantly. "You have no right to speak to me like that," she hissed, but Holland only smiled.
"Usually, tributes are grateful for my help."
"Usually, your help doesn't work and your tributes die." Aline felt a pang of success as Holland's annoying front crumpled, if only for a moment.
"Well, we'll have to change that, now won't we?" Holland murmured chirpily, pep dampened and feelings hurt. Aline suppressed a scoff. It looked like she was expecting the same old spineless Seam kid. Sad to say, she'd be disappointed.
"There is no we," Aline retorted bluntly. "I don't need you, and even if I did, you've done a pretty good job of showing everyone that you're not too good at your job. Thanks, anyway."
With that, Aline rose from her seat on the velvet chair and exited the Building. These Games were for her and her alone. If she was going to leave, it would be her own doing. No one else's.
A/N: Not too long a wait. The next one is more than halfway done, so we'll be gauging the next update after people have a chance to read/review and the like. And since I feel this is necessary to say, we won't be giving up or ending early. This story will be completed to the fullest under just about any circumstance. The speed of said completion is for another chat, but this story will finish.
Favorite POV?
Favorite tribute of this trio?
Also, there's a blog under the name of The Victor Verse on my profile. This has absolutely no correlation to this story; it was more or less a way of killing time while being bored. Check it out; doubtless, you'll recognize most of the faces. :)
Until next time!