Bala Eaglehawk, District 4
The sea is the one of the constants in my life, eternal and never changing. To me it is more humane than most of the people who live in Panem, it feels emotion: rage, tranquillity and because of this the sea has become my companion, my only companion. It listens to me in a world where I am alone; the soft ocean spray clears my head of the negative thoughts that threaten to consume me; the crashing wave echoes my rage as I realise I am trapped in this world, freedom seems so close yet out of my grasp. I am truly powerless in this world.
I lay back on the soft sand of the beach, my breath escaping in harsh pants as my muscles coiled and burning from swimming against the current; the sun warms my skin as I close my eyes to listen to the sounds of the wind; the light breeze becoming a symphony to my ears. I open my eyes to track the progress of the sun across the sky, and my attention is drawn to a flock of red tailed hawks flying in a V formation to the nest I know is hidden somewhere in the crags of the cliffs which overlook the sea. Such majestic creatures they are: free to fly where they please, hunting fiercely and respected by the animal kingdom; they are everything I want to, but never can, be. I shake my head to dispel these melancholic thoughts, I cannot allow self-pity on a day like this; today is reaping day and I will save all this pity for the unfortunate tributes that are to be forced into the arena to fight for their lives. Into an arena in which they will most likely die, and what for? As a punishment for their forefather's father's sins, maybe once but now the instigators of the rebellion which we now refer to as 'The Dark Days' are dead and gone. The only purpose for the atrocity that is 'The Hunger Games' nowadays is to provide frivolous entertainment for the Capitol; what is it to them that every year 23 children are raised to the slaughter? Nothing, these emotionless humanoids are our government, the people supposedly responsible for our welfare. This thought causes a burst of cynical laughter to escape my mouth, but beneath this cynicism is a rage that cannot be described with mere words and the wave that crashes onto the shore seems to emphasize this; before I am consumed by this rage I run and dive into the water.
Swimming is the one thing that can calm me, stabilise my mood and bring me genuine happiness; but today it cannot ease my agitation, the crashing waves only enhance the anger that wells deep within my chest. I take the time to look back to the sun in order to determine the time, 3 hours until the reapings or what I prefer to call 'Judgement Day' for it truly decides the fate of those chosen. Although I am 13 the odds are not truly in my favour, both years in which I have been eligible I have had to apply for tessarea and coming from one of the only poor households in the whole of District 4 my name will be in that bowl as many times as people 18 years of age and this cause my breath to hitch, my pulse to race as I feel the familiar stab of fear. As I swim to shore, tears are beginning to form in my eyes and if I cannot calm myself soon I will lose myself in a pit of despair and today of all days I cannot allow my emotions to rule me.
Careers, the word swims to the forefront of my mind; I am safe, even if I am reaped someone will volunteer to take my place. This is District 4, one of the three districts who give the Capitol their much loved 'Career Tributes' and who are they to deprive the almighty Capitol; I can feel my pulse beginning to resume its normal pace and my breath returning to its natural state. I am safe. I pull on the tee shirt I had worn over my black swimsuit, it was once white I think but it now appeared to be a mottled grey, stretched out of shape and covered in holes. I pull on my black sandals begin the trek home in order to get ready for the reapings, we have to look 'presentable' ofcourse, I roll my eyes. Why glorify death? Death is not glorious, it is a cause of pain and grief and in my opinion: Death is not something to be celebrated. As I navigate the streets, I hear it; the words I have heard since I could understand speech, the comments that have become another constant in my life: 'How dare she walk the streets so boldly' 'Witch spawn' 'Her and her evil mother are nothing but scum' 'Death couldn't come to that family quick enough if you ask me'. I sing a random lullaby to try and calm myself, to prevent me turning around and screaming at the ignorant pigs, they know nothing; how dare they continue with their slanderous accusations, they know nothing. My mother is innocent, she never killed that boy; he fell from the cliff, she tried to save him but she failed. She didn't need these people blaming her; she blamed herself enough; plagued by nightmares and trapped in a state of catatonia by her crippling depression. Tears were spilling as I ran the remainder of the way home, as the roads dissolved into mud tracks and the houses reduced in grandeur and became wooden shacks I slowed my pace; the voices echoed in my head, tormenting me and I burst into my house. My home, the one place that I wasn't followed by taunting whispers or abuse; the alternative safe haven to when I was near the sea.
'Bala' My mother's voice frantic as she appeared in the doorway, her black dress hanging from her skeletal frame. Seeing my mother so broken, her hair which was once a dazzling mahogany lay dull and plastered to her head; her dark eyes, once so warm were now devoid of emotion: black holes, framed by the purple rings that were omnipresent on my mother's visage. 'What's the matter, Darling please tell me' Her voice a soft coo, but I could hear the desperate tone that laced her words.
'Nothing Mama' My voice a hoarse croak, I couldn't bring myself to tell my mother about the cruel words; to see her face fall and become absorbed in berating herself, so I lied: 'It's just, you know, the reapings' It was only partly a lie, I was scared just not for myself. My mother just held me as I cried whispering words of encouragement into my hair, I pulled myself together and stood up. It was time to get ready for the reapings.
As I washed with the cold water, I struggled to supress a shiver. What I wouldn't give for hot water right now, I rush into the room I share with my mother and snatch the dress she has laid out for me on the single mattress which we have to share due to our situation; it is a grey cotton pinafore. Once I am dressed and I have tied my dirty blonde hair into a high pony tail and move toward the mirror; I study the reflection. I am small, or maybe petite would be a more suitable word; I stand at 5'4'' but my figure is more womanly than that of any other 13 year old I have seen with my narrow waist, wide hips and well developed chest mean I could pass for around 16 if I desired. I focus on my facial features, my tanned skin making my dark brown eyes appear more prominent, framed by thick ebony lashes and my round face with my broad cheekbones and full lips I wasn't ugly. I was interesting, striking more so than pretty; but I am condemned to a life alone, because of the ignorance of the people here in District 4, eternally misunderstood, forever hated. Before this depression can overwhelm me I decide to leave, it is officially time for the reapings.
Me and mother arrive at the courtyard of District 4's Justice Building, we have arrived much more quickly than I anticipated due to people scurrying from my mothers and I's path as if we were going to slaughter anyone who came too close; I was seething and couldn't wait to get home and just fall back into my routine: Work, home, beach, work, home, beach. I stormed to the booth which had been erected to act as the place where the eligible tributes would sign in. I was signed in and waltzed over to the area designated for 13 year old girls, everyone already gathered cowered from me as I stood at the front of the area: seriously, I have no contagious disease, I cannot kill them by looking into their eyes; my name is Bala not Medusa. I supress a growl but my attention is quickly diverted as Mayor Coral climbs onto the stage. And so it begins.
As mandatory, she begins with reciting the Treaty of Treason; the Capitols pathetic excuse for murdering 23 children on an annual basis. Reminding us of the 'Dark Days' which none of us really experienced or had a hand in, I am trying so hard not to scream in frustration. Then comes Flavio Redforks, the escort: the Capitolite fiend brought here to escort people to their deaths. He stands there in his full cosmetically enhanced glory: skin dyed a garnish shade of magenta and his hair a lavender afro. The fool. He bounces up and down in excitement; of course, the humanoid would be excited it's not as though he will ever feel the dread we experience the districts. Nobody he knows or cares about will ever face the arena; this man seriously makes me sick. He then begins to speak in his high voice with the annoying Capitol twang:
'Well, well, well I'm so excited to be here again. Oh I can't wait, can you? Never mind, let's meet the lucky tributes then shall we? Oh yes, I think we shall' I can't help but think this man must seriously love the sound of his own voice as he bounces over to the crystal bowl that holds the names of the female tributes. My name is in there only 6 times, and there are thousands of people here. The odds are in my favour, the odds are in my favour, please let the odds be in my favour.
'Bala Eaglehawk' the odds are not in my favour, not in my favour at all. I am screaming on the inside, panic is looming over me but I am safe. The volunteers; but no one is rushing towards the stage, what? Instead people are turning to face me, sadistic smiles on their faces. I'm confused. He calls out my name yet again and I snap, pushing through the crowds literally growling at anyone in my path. I storm onto stage my face an expressionless mask projecting nonchalance and brutality: surprisingly, the face of a career, the bloodthirsty brutes I have hated for years. No one volunteers and now I know why. People are muttering and I can discern phrases like:
'..Fitting punishment for the witch let her watch her child die...suffer'
That is it, no one has volunteered for me for a crime my mother has 'supposedly' committed so many years ago; Disgusting, prejudice. Well that settles it, I'm coming home. I will prove my mother's innocence, and I will make everybody who has ever taunted me suffer; the way my mother and consequently me have suffered for years. With this conviction I snatch the microphone from Flavio and address the whole of district 4, my voice hard and cold, sounding completely alien to my ears:
'Hello District 4, hope you enjoy my games but most of all I hope you enjoy my home-coming. For I will come back and you people who have taunted me, you will pay. That is a promise. I Bala Eaglehawk, will return Victor and there isn't a thing any of you can do to stop me. You want to see a witch, you'll see one' Once I have delivered my speech, I turn and storm into the Justice Building without even waiting to see who the male tribute would be, he is just someone who will have to die to make sure I come home; and to punish District 4, it will be me that kills him.
Sitting here in the Justice Building, with the plush crimson carpet and the fine oak furniture. Luxuries I had never really seen in my 13 years on this Earth, beautiful but entirely pointless in my opinion. I am scared, I could die within the week but now there is something inside me; a creature that thirsts for blood and revenge. I intend to feed this creature. I am not a cruel person, I gain no sadistic pleasure in causing others pain but I have been pushed to my limits; the calm girl I once was must disappear in order for me to get out of the arena. A monster must be born, no matter how much it repulses me. I gulp and rub my eyes; it seems so real now. By the end of the day I will be on my way to the Capitol, a tribute in The Hunger Games. I take a deep breath before cataloguing anything that could help me survive: I am fast, I can swim, I can fish, I can use a knife, I know some edible plants but that's it. It doesn't seem like much, but it's all I have and it will have to do; it sure seems I have a lot to learn during the training process. My internal monologue is brought to an end as my mother appears in the doorway for the second time today. I rush into her arms; at times like this a girl really needs her mother:
'Mom, what's going to happen to me?' I look up and see silent tears streaming down my mother's face, her eyes red and swollen:
'I don't know baby, I'm sorry this is all my fault, you-'
'This is not your fault mom; did you hear what I said? I'm coming home, and not in a box' My lame attempt at humour brought a smile to my mother's thin lips but I can tell she is still tearing herself up, so I cup her face.
'Mom, listen. Stay strong and I'll be back in no time, I promise you. They are nothing, stay strong and keep your head held high' She nods her head and hugs me again, simply whispering endearments. For this one moment I feel truly safe, the way you can only feel safe in a mother's arms and I feel tears making tracks down my cheeks. I don't know how long I just stayed there in my mother's arms but in no time the Peacekeepers have come to escort my mother away and I cling to her as if she were a lifeline. She pushes me away to hold me at arm's length and a sad smile lights up her face, she pushes something into the palm of hand and whispers:
'Your token' before she is dragged away by the Peacekeepers. It's time, before the Peacekeepers return to escort me to the Capitol train I look down at what my mother has given me as a token. It is a wooden carving of a red-tailed hawk on a chain of black string; the detail is immaculate as it depicts the bird of prey in flight but what moves me to tears are the words that have been carved on the underside of the wing in my mother's neat script: 'Hope is the key to freedom'. As the Peacekeepers come to collect me, I am infused with hope and more than ready to enter the arena and win my freedom and then to return here to District 4 and right the wrongs.
A very big thanks to Elfera for the wonderful tribute :D I hope I got her character right, so let me know what you think dearest readers; I'd absolutely love to hear your thoughts.
Thanks,
Lawrence xxx