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Otrera Hale
District Four Female, 18 Years Old
Train Rides
"Elbows off the table, please."
Jonah looks up from resting his head on his hands, and when we make eye-contact, I wink. He raises his eyebrows, bringing his arms down to his lap. Batting my eyelashes, I stare at him a little longer, assessing him. He seems like a nice boy.
Nice boys shouldn't volunteer for the Hunger Games.
Nice boys are easily manipulated. Nice boys are easily killed.
I might be easy, but boys are even easier.
To make it even better, he is quite the looker. Brown hair, brown eyes – he's the whole package. That's if you overlook his messy hair and the clothes he's wearing, though. He has the looks, but does he have the personality? That's the important question.
It's not always about looks.
Jonah goes to pick some pastry off of a platter on the table, and after watching him take his first bite, I go for some food as well. I go for the cupcake with pink icing and a pearl on top. Taking the pearl off, I pick up my spoon, scooping some of the icing off of it.
"So, tell me about yourself, Jonah," I say, licking the icing off of the spoon. I take my time, making sure he's watching my every move, my every breath. "What do you like to do?"
"I – uh," Jonah begins, stuttering on his words. "I like to train."
"I figured as much," I reply, reaching over the table to wrap my fingers around muscles. He tenses up from the touch, and I gently squeeze, still smiling at him. Really, he has no muscle, but I wouldn't tell him that. Boys have a fragile ego. "Tell me how you get so big."
"That's enough," Evadne berates from behind me, placing her hand on my shoulder as she pulls me back into my seat. Crossing my arms over my chest, I roll my eyes, finally looking away from Jonah. "Don't harass the boy."
"I just wanted to make a friend."
"A friend, huh?" Tigris says, a laugh following. "Are you this way with all of your friends?"
"You should try it," I snap, staring down at my plate. I don't like getting angry, but when people like her question me, it bothers me. "Maybe people would like you then. Even at your old age, Tigris."
"Oh?" Tigris responds with no shift in her tone. "Snappy, aren't you?"
Shifting in my seat, I grip the cushion, the agitation bubbling inside of me. I don't like when people speak to me like that – so patronizingly, so condescendingly.
"Hello, Tigris and Evadne," Jonah says, interrupting the conversation, extending his arm. Evadne shakes his first and then Tigris takes her turn. "I'm Jonah. It's nice to meet you."
A boy with manners.
That's a plus.
"Jonah," Evadne says, nodding her head. "Tigris and I respect your ambition to – as you said – 'amend' your aunt's actions."
What did his aunt do, anyway? And, more importantly, why would they respect him?
Isn't he a rebel?
Turning around in my seat, I look at Tigris and Evadne. I smile sweetly, waving my fingers at them. "I'm Otrera."
"We know who you are, Hale," Tigris deadpans, directing her attention back on Jonah. Tigris attempts to continue conversation with Jonah, but I stand up from my seat, blocking Tigris' view of Jonah.
"Do we have a problem here?" I ask straightforwardly. "Might as well put it all out on the table now."
Tigris stands up as well, but Evadne extends her arm, trying to calm Tigris down. Tigris pushes Evadne's arm away, and as she strides over towards me, I don't falter. Is it because of my aunt?
Is that why she has a vendetta against me already?
"Watch it, Otrera" Tigris says quietly enough that only I can hear it. "Remember the deal?"
"Yes," I say, gulping. Of course I do. The deal that put me here in the first place.
"You acting up would hurt the chances of your family surviving, don't you think?"
Biting my lip, I refuse to allow myself to open my mouth again. To retort. To speak back to her. She has a point. She's not a rebel; she supports the Capitol, and if I don't comply with the deal… She can tell the District to kill my family.
I have to watch myself.
Sulking, I sit back down in my seat, avoiding eye-contact with Jonah. I don't want him to see me like this.
"That's what I thought," Tigris sneers, and as she sits down, the train is in complete silence. You can't even hear anyone breathing.
The deal, I remind myself. It's all for the deal.
Leaning back in the chair, I pick up the spoon, playing with the cupcake. I jab my spoon into it, feeling them all staring at me still. Staring down at my lap, I try to distance myself from it all, not wanting them to look at me anymore.
I don't want to be here anymore… But, I have to. For the deal.
My family will die if I don't. I will die if I don't.
Shaking my head, I close my eyes, holding back the tears that are forming at the corners of my eyes. I can't cry. I can't look ugly. That's not who I am… This isn't who I am. I never planned on volunteering for the Games – to become a tribute. To fight for my own life.
I'm not a rebel, either. I never supported the Rebellion. I would prefer it if it none of it ever happened. If it didn't, I'd still be in District Four. I'd be home.
I don't want to be here.
I didn't want to volunteer.
I didn't even get myself into this mess in the first place. Or my family, for that matter.
It was my aunt. She joined the Rebellion.
She's the reason I'm here.
Nathaniel Bayle
District Eight Male, 18 Years Old
Train Rides
Sitting on the couch, I begin to pick my fingernails, feeling overly anxious.
I promised myself I wouldn't freak out if I did get Reaped. Everyone always told me I'm too high-strung and too panicky, anyway. I couldn't help it, though, when I actually Reaped. When my name was really called.
I couldn't believe it at first.
That I – the writer and editor of a pamphlet – would be Reaped for the Hunger Games. Was what I've done so wrong? So threatening to the Capitol?
They saw it that way, apparently. I didn't.
I was just spreading awareness and raised morale. My father began his pamphlet titled 'The Red Rose' a few years back, and after Katniss Everdeen began to protest with Ashra of District Twelve, it spread like wildfire. Everyone was reading his pamphlet.
It's what got him killed, though. And my mother.
They paid the price, and now, I am too.
"Hello, Claire and Nathaniel."
Turning around, I see Lonnie and Wallace make their way into the train, walking over towards Claire first. She sits at the table, her head resting on her arm as she plays with the food on her plate. They greet her, shaking hands and patting her on the shoulder. Lonnie sits down next to her, whispering into her ear as Claire lifts her head up.
Wallace approaches me, his arm extended, and as I reach for it, he grasps mine firmly. "Frederick Bayle, correct?"
I nod. "That was my father."
"I was very fond of his… work, if you will," he says, releasing my hand as he chuckles. "Can I call you Nate?"
"Nate is fine," I say, scooting over on the couch so that Wallace has enough room. He takes a seat, kicks up his leg on the table, and stretches his arm behind his head.
"I won't lie to you, kid," he says, staring forward at his boots. "You're in a sticky situation. The Capitol will be watching your every move, that's for sure. If you do one thing wrong they'll exploit it."
"I'm aware," I say, my voice not as firm as I want it to be. I don't want him to know that I'm so scared. That I'm terrified about the idea of dying. "What do you recommend I do, then?"
"Stop picking your nails to begin with," he says, nudging me with his elbow. I shove my hands under my legs, feeling embarrassed that he mentioned it. "Seriously, though. Just don't get the words 'Down with the Capitol' tattooed on your forehead and you'll be fine."
I laugh, seeing Wallace look at me for the first time. "I'll make sure not to do that."
"What's going on here?" Lonnie asks, coming over to the sitting area with Claire's hand wrapped in hers. "We want to laugh too."
"Glad you can join us, Lon'. You too, Claire."
Lonnie smiles, and with a gesture, she and Claire take a seat across from us. "I don't believe you two have properly met."
"I'm Nathaniel," I say, nodding at her and waving my hand. "Or Nate, whatever you prefer."
"Hi," Claire says, her voice quiet. She's not looking directly at me, but rather, to the side of me or out the window. "I'm Claire."
"How cute," Wallace comments, looking at me and then Claire. "I can see this blossoming into something beautiful."
"Leave them alone," Lonnie says, her smile still on her face. "We won't badger you, but you two should get to know one another. Alliances can be quite useful."
"Says the one who went through her Games alone," Wallace comments, and Lonnie kicks his foot with hers, the two of them laughing. "She has a point, though."
I never thought about an alliance.
The idea of trusting someone in the Games always rubbed me the wrong way. It's so easy to betray someone and backstab them, so why would I open myself to that risk? To let myself become so vulnerable?
"Or not," Wallace says, filling up the silence that followed their suggestion. "It's up to you guys."
"This year, it will be helpful to not go into this alone," Lonnie says, giving Wallace a look. This year… It's because we're all rebels. They aren't going to make the Games easy. "So, think about it."
I shrug. Maybe I will think about allying with Claire. From what I can tell, she seems nice enough and not as conniving as I assume most people are. Wallace and Lonnie engage in some side conversation, while Claire just stares down at the ground.
The only question I have regarding Claire is why she's here. What could she have done? She doesn't seem so overbearing that the Capitol wanted to get rid of her, ardent enough for me to think she led a protest, or something more extreme.
Perhaps she was in the background like I was.
She probably heard of my pamphlet. Everyone has.
It worked, though. I can safely say that.
With the Capitol, you have to fight fire with fire.
I might not have joined the frontlines or taken up arms, but I still made a difference.
I spread propaganda. I was creative in my own ways.
Because of my own actions and beliefs, I'm going into the Hunger Games.
And I don't regret a thing.
Gerri Faulkes
District Seven Female, 16 Years Old
Train Rides
"Thank you for not causing a scene."
Kearn, who is supposed to be Audrey's mentor, whispers into my ear. He raises his eyebrow, a sullen expression on his face. I smile at him, nodding my head. He pats me on the shoulder, taking a seat on the couch across from me and sits in silence.
The train isn't silent, though. Dara and Audrey have been going at it for a few minutes now.
"Do you have any idea what you're doing?!" Dara screams, her voice hoarse already from screaming so much. I lean back in the couch, bringing my knees up to my chest as I sit back and watch. "They already hate you, Audrey. Do you not have any regard for yourself?"
"It's unfair," Audrey retorts. "And you know it. Stop acting like the victim here. None of this affects you; I'll be the one going into that arena!"
"I'm playing the victim?" Dara shouts, dumbfounded at his accusation. "You got yourself into this mess. You are the one who got yourself involved in the Rebellion."
"I got involved while people like you sat in your nice little gated community, enjoying the luxuries that the Capitol provides you," Audrey snaps, the anger in his voice making me get tense. What if screams at me? I haven't done anything. "You're just as bad as them."
It was my father.
It wasn't me… It was him and his newspapers.
"I already went through that shit," Dara says, exasperated. "Don't make it seem like you're the only one who has problems with the Capitol."
"Then do something about it, Dara. If you hate the Capitol, then act upon it. Don't be a coward."
"A coward?!"
"Yes, a coward. That's exactly what you are," Audrey says, his voice getting louder and louder. All of the screaming is hurting my head now, and as I glance at Kearn, he just stares at the window. "Do you really hate the Capitol, Dara? Or are you just saying that?"
"I can't say," Dara concedes, her voice quiet now. She averts her eyes to the ground, pressing her fingers against her forehead. She closes her eyes, lets out a deep sigh, and says, "I cannot say what I feel towards them."
"Coward," Audrey utters, throwing his head back. He slams his fists down on the table, making the knives and forks around him jump in the air. "All the victors are."
Dara walks through the sliding doors, her head still sulking. Kearn stands up, gesturing that he's going to follow her. I nod my head, and when they leave me alone with Audrey, I try to avoid eye-contact. I don't want to start anything with him. I just won't make an effort to be nice with him, I guess.
I don't think he's seeing what Dara and Kearn can do for him. One thing you should never is upset your mentors; in a way, these are the people that will help you get through all of this. They will guide you and give you advice. If Audrey doesn't want that, then that's his fault.
I don't feel bad for him, then. I won't have sympathy for someone who starts fights needlessly.
Leaning my head on the window, I stare at the window, watching the trees pass by. One tree after another, we speed along the track, inching closer and closer to the Capitol. I can't help but think of how they'll treat us there. Will they hate us? Before we even really make an impression, don't they already have one?
We're considered rebels.
They won't like us.
Even the ones that aren't as ardent and aggressive as Audrey – like me. When I heard about the Quell, I knew that there would be less people in that bowl. It only meant more chances for me… It was like I was already reaped. I blame my father.
And I still do. It was all him.
All of this is his fault.
He might have done it for the good of the people, but is he happy now? Is he happy that his daughter is about to go into the Hunger Games? They threw my father in jail for simply being the editor of a newspaper that spread propaganda. He said that it was the right thing to do.
That the rebels had the right idea for Panem.
Look how far that got him.
Biting my lip, I shake my head, shifting my gaze outside of the window. I stare up at the sky, the clouds in the sky drifting by. It all seems so serene. It seems like no rebellion is going, that this train isn't about to the Capitol. The one place that my father was fighting against and always telling me how awful it was is the place I'm going.
This is punishment, isn't it?
But, what about me? I didn't do anything.
The Capitol just abuses their power. The Districts can do nothing under their oppressive regime. We can't even leave our houses or walk outside without random searches. We even had a curfew. The worst part of it all is that they believe this is what will solve the issue.
That this will stop all of the riots in District Seven. That by shooting masses of people and killing innocent citizens will subdue the rebellion.
It won't. It only intensifies their cause.
That's all this is doing too. By sending rebel's children into the Hunger Games, they are giving them a reason to fight more. To fight harder. If they're going to humiliate and dehumanize us, then the rebels will do that to them. They won't go down without a fight.
And neither will I.
That's one thing my father taught me: To not give up, especially not in the face of danger.
"Gerri?"
Feeling someone's hand on my shoulder, I snap out of my daze, looking right into the eyes of Dara. She smiles, nodding for me to come with her. Food is now set on the table where Audrey and Kearn are sitting. I know that I'll come back to my thoughts soon enough.
I find solace in my head sometimes. I like to be alone and to think.
"Let's eat," Dara says, walking me over to the table. "Enjoy it, guys."
Enjoy it.
As if the food will distract me from where I'm headed off to.
That I'll forget about going into the Hunger Games.
About the chance of me dying.
The chance of me dying for my father's actions.
Amias Black
District Twelve Male, 14 Years Old
Train Rides
"This is bullshit!"
Wren and I are startled, our hands dropping the forks onto our plates. It clatters against the metal plate, and as we both look at the doors, we see Ashra stampeding through. She's visibly angry and in her hands is a tablet of some sort.
"Do you see this?" She asks, forcefully shoving the tablet in our escort's face. "They are just kids."
Ashra gives a quick glance, but she furrows her eyebrows and looks away. She throws the tablet down onto the table, making a plate sliding off of the edge. She balls her hands into fists, presses one against her lips, and then shoves it down to her side.
"I didn't win for any of this to happen," she says, not giving our escort a chance to reply. Wren and I sit there in silence, not even looking at one another. We just stare at Ashra. "I didn't win for any of this to happen and Katniss sure as hell didn't die for any of this to happen!"
"It's not your fault, Ashra."
"Isn't it? That's what everyone is making it seem like! Even District Twelve has the audacity to put the blame on me!" Ashra voice raises, and as she screams at the top of the train, I don't know what to do.
I was never good around angry people.
"They don't blame you, Ashra."
"But, they do! They all expect me to become the new 'Girl on Fire,' the one to spearhead this Rebellion!" She screams, and at the mention of Katniss, I look down at the ground. Katniss is like an idol in District Twelve. "I can't handle all of this bullshit. And now, with the Quarter Quell…"
"Ashra, please. The kids are trying to eat."
"The kids?!" She says, throwing her hands up in the air dramatically. "They're no kids, no! They're rebels, can't you see?"
Is that what I am now? A rebel?
"To the Capitol, they are the ones who deserve to be punished. Not me. Not any other surviving victor."
"Don't blame yourself for this too, Ashra."
After Ashra won, that's when the Rebellion really kicked up. In District Twelve, fighting and protests broke out. The District began to implement curfews, build guard towers, and as more and more Peacekeepers arrived in the District, it seemed like a massive prison.
After seeing it all, I couldn't take it any longer. But, I would have never thought to join a protest... And even when I did join the protest, it was unintentional. I never meant to get involved.
"And now, they are going to kill the children of Panem. The rebels kill a Victor or two that support the Capitol, and in return, the Capitol kills all victors that support the Rebellion and now, they are going to kill children."
The escort stays quiet now. She knows this is true.
"Why don't they kill the rebels they have captured?" Ashra screams, and the escort has given up trying to calm her down. She's just screaming at the air now, the tension making Wren and I sit in silence. "Or, better yet, why don't they go to Thirteen and capture some fresh ones? That sounds like a good idea!"
"Ashra…"
"No! Do not think for a second that I will tolerate this!"
"I'm not asking you to."
"First Katniss and now this. This is sickening," she bellows, her throat hoarse. She just sounds upset now. "What else will they do? Kill the victors that don't support them? That don't kiss their feet?"
"Please, Ashra."
"They might as well kill me, then. I'm sorry Amias and Wren, but I'm done letting the Capitol walk all over me," Ashra says loudly, but it's not much of a scream anymore. She sounds serious. "They took it too far this time."
Although I want to say something, I keep my mouth shut, sitting quietly in my seat as I watch Ashra scream at the escort. She drawls on, and after she's out of breath, she falls into the cushion of the couch and sits in silence. She's breathing heavily, and even though I would go over there and comfort her, I stay at table.
Ashra might hate the Capitol, but I don't. I don't hate them – hate is a strong word.
I might not like them, but I don't know if it's hatred. I feel sorry for them, if anything. It'd be impossible to like a Capitol citizen; even the people that live there, not just the officials and the President, have caused so much pain and heartache throughout the Districts.
Hate is still a strong word, though. I believe the Capitol people don't know any better.
They were raised to like and enjoy the Hunger Games. To have a superior attitude. If they really wanted to stop the Hunger Games, they couldn't because of the President. He's the one with all of the power.
The one who's in control.
The Districts never had any say or any power. They always had to comply and be obedient, and the one time they weren't, they were punished. I wasn't necessarily punished individually, but my District was. Katniss was killed.
She was a symbol of the Rebellion. She was the Mockingjay.
District Twelve might have been hit hard with Katniss and all, but there's so much more to it than just Twelve. Other Districts suffered from the Victor's Purge, too.
That's why I feel bad for Ashra. Her and Katniss were so close, nearly like sisters. And then, she was just killed. Now, District Twelve is beginning to blame Ashra and expecting so much of her. They want her to becoming the new Mockingjay, the new symbol of the Rebellion.
That must be why she's so angry and stressed out.
I would be, too.
Haven't I already done enough, though?
I led a protest. The boy who couldn't refuse doing someone's homework for them. The boy who couldn't squish a bug with his shoe. It all got to me.
My sister's death. The suffering in District Twelve.
The selfishness of the Peacekeepers. The sick reality of the Games.
It's all downright evil.
Author's Note:
Thank you to everyone who reviewed the Reapings chapter! And the other two chapters as well. I appreciate every review I get, and although I have all motivation to PM everyone who reviews and thank them, I'm lazy. So, thank you, once again.
It means a lot to me.
Here are the Train Rides – four POVs; that's how most of my chapters will be. Next chapter will be Chariot Rides with another four tributes being introduced.
Only one question this time: Did anyone stand out? If so, who?
That's all from me. Next chapter should be up within a week once again.