Maya Kite's story was rarely heard of, yet there she stood, in the living breathing flesh, in the heart of District 7. Earlier in the day, she contemplated a decision, as she once did in district one. Did she truly want to volunteer for the Hunger Games? Surely she wouldn't be the most loved, the best or pitied competitor, the strongest or smartest. But in fact - she had one thing going for her; she definitely stuck out, which was at an advantage for the pre-games, but would turn for the worse once they were released into the arena.
Maya's family had moved into the seventh district for reasons that still had a given fuzzy edge. They had a great life of wealth in the first district - her father was a retired capitol official, and harvested all the money one can from a job like that. Their family had three generations worth of financial security - why throw it all away? Truly it wasn't gone, but there was no purpose of moving to the 7th district, in Maya's mind, when in the 1st all that cash meant popularity and good fortune.
There was an unexplored detail to their descent; Maya's brother Simuel - Sim - had been one of the rebellion leaders in the first district. Most likely her parents cared enough about his well being to move away - didn't they?
Every night when the Kite's returned home, they unlocked a door to a four story mansion. District 7 was notoriously the 'lumber' district, leaving wide open spaces of unused land; quite cheap, if you had the money.
Maya was so fed up with the rebellions, so tired of her other older sister - Pin - as well as her family, that it brought her to the point of contemplation. Volunteer for the Hunger Games?
When the time came, she threw up her hands and determined she had nothing to lose.
"I volunteer," she stepped out of the crowd. It was a strange silence; nobody volunteered to die in these parts.
*.*.*
Scarlette Cooper - with her Spanish speaking mother complaining about her swelling belly in the background - tried to ignore the noise. She pinned her hair in a bun and hunched over the sewing machine, stitching her dress for the reaping.
"Was I this big at this trimester with Nicholas?" Her mother asked her, and she shrugged.
"I was three, I don't remember. You could ask Dad when you see him." They tried to keep the conversation light, each knowing what the day had to offer. Nicholas was twelve now, so he and fifteen year old Scarlette were each in the reaping for District eight.
Their parents had dreaded this day, but the family's feeling was mutual - the Hunger Games were happening, and there was nothing they could do to stop it.
Nicholas was Scarlette's brother, always gazing up at her with a gleam in his eye. She was his role model in more ways than one. Scarlette had already received a job in a textile factory - though she dreaded the cold concrete floors and long hours, it benefited their family and brought them closer. Any scrap fabrics the company was going to throw out, she snatched up and brought home, often mending a pair of socks or some gloves. Once, on Nicholas's 12th birthday, Scarlette sewed him a cape and called him Super Man, as they had read in an ancient restored book.
He looked at her and smiled. "But you're my superhero!"
Scarlette tried to remember those happy times as the girls and guys filed to their designated locations.
With a flash of her hand, the announcer drew a name from the bowl and read it slowly. "Scarlette Cooper."
Her eyes widened, as she was in shock. She hugged her good friend, and then her little brother, making him promise to take care of the baby soon arrive. She tried to say her goodbyes, but the cameras were trained on her and she was ushered on stage. There would be time for final goodbyes later.
Scarlette Cooper swallowed hard, fighting the ever present tears. "Goodbye," she whispered. She didn't feel like a superhero.
As the hostess rambled on about something that had triggered a story-worth memory, Cormac Tann fiddled with his shirt.
Cormac's lean figure, nearly pushed over by the wind, stood amongst the 15 year olds.
He couldn't take his mind off Kirsten and Lannding - his orphaned niece and his little sister.
Ages ago, Cormac and Lannding's parents, along with Kirsten's parents - Cormac's Uncle and Aunt - died in a traumatic factory accident. Ever since, Cormac has struggled immensely, try to keep them alive. He takes every job opportunity he can get, with little help from the government. His neighbors sometimes offered them materials, but it did little to nothing to change the way they lived.
The three of them shared a little shack and one large bed - their house had been taken away by the bank, seeing as they couldn't pay their loans.
It was a hard, rough life upto the point in which Cormac ment Magenta, his girlfriend. Her family loaned them some money and promised to take care of Lannding and Kirsten if something were to happen to Cormac.
A favorite pastime time of his was holding hands - he had long fingers, wide palms and quick reflexes. Cormac mastered at the piano and could create rope out of virtually anything.
As his name was reaped, Kirsten and Lannding cried, attempting to stop him with little impact.
"Cormac Tann and Scarlette Cooper! Your district eight tributes!" Their faces were grim, and their postures were slumped. Goodbye, was unanimous.
*.*.*
Leah Hernandez was a very petite, 13 year old girl, with a waterfall of dark hair originating from her Latino heritage. Though she would appear quite innocent to the Capitol, inside burned a fiery column of rage. Her fury was never portrayed on the outside; it would make her a great competitor.
On the day of the Reaping, Leah was out planting seeds at dawn. The sun was bright - strange, how convenient it was for the capitol to force a sunny day when the plants needed watering! A good rain would have done them well. Leah aught to march right into the capitol and-
"Leah!" her sister Sarah and brother Chris called from the small porch of their wooden house.
Leah slammed her gloves into the solid, moisture-less earth. She knew what they were calling about - today was May 8th.
Leah threw on her old clothes - the Capitol would soon be kissing up to her butt if she got on that stage and they questioned her outfit choice.
She had that sense - a deep, powerful turning within her that signaled some change was about to occur. There wasn't going to be a family life for her soul; no friends, nothing. Only death. Only thirteen years she got to experience the gently whoosh of a river flowing, or the pitter-patter of the rain on a metal roof. She wouldn't see the moon or the real sun if she didn't make it out. Nothing was real in the games. She got a good view of the sky - she looked up for inspiration. She found none.
"Leah Hernandez," the announcer slowly stated.
Leah's eyes widened, but there was no stopping this. She marched onto stage and shot anyone looking a nasty glare. "Let the Games begin," she sneered.