District 44
Chapter 4
June Sorbie waddled in and told us to form a line, in Sector order, and line up by the door. Now I stand sandwiched in between 11 and 13. Two boys who are skinny and frail. I can see the veins in Sector 11's neck. Ew.
They're a lot taller than me. Not that it matters. In these Games it's about being likeable. If you're likeable then people don't vote for you. Simple. Problem with that though. I'm not likeable. Far from it in fact. Twila says it's because I'm pessimistic. Maybe she's right but I don't need to be likeable. I've got Ronald on my side. I hope he's remembered. Otherwise I'm in deep trouble. No, he will have, it's important research.
In a few minutes they'll call out the Sectors 1 to 10 to go out onto the steps and see the crowd and cameras. Later on tonight it will be aired in The Capitol and we'll soon see who they like. The people who have a lot of money can send little gifts to the Tributes they like. Two days from now I will be standing in the arena for this year and District. I wonder what score I'll get. Hopefully over 8. I should be able to fight; I should have the upper hand. I'll be ok.
A small siren goes off in the room and everyone's back stiffens as they know what's going to happen to them. They know they'll die. June walks in again this time holding little sashes with our Sector Numbers on them. People in the Capitol don't know which Sector the colours represent because they're too lazy to learn them, or buy the Guide.
"I hope you're all ready. Don't look so scared. They won't bite" she laughs her little tinkly laugh. "Come on now put on your sashes and wait to be called. Stay in formation please."
She hands the bundle of sashes to the boys at the front. He takes off his sash and hands the rest back. There's static in the sir and then June's voice booms over the sound system.
"Sectors one to ten please, Sectors one to ten." She says.
The door automatically opens and Sectors one to ten walk out, looking lost and scared like puppies being taken away from their mothers at birth. I put on the white sash with the brown number on it. I took the daisy out of my hair and now I twirl it round my fingers.
"Sectors 11 to 20, Sectors 11 to 20, thank you." My heart started to beat fast but I made it slow down. I need to be calm. I follow the boy in front, cautiously, as we walk back through the corridor and out into the reaping room. The bowl had disappeared but 119's coloured ropes were still there. A twist of lime green and white. We're lead by the ropes out into the deserted waiting the room. They must be outside being comforted by overjoyed parents. We twist through the different sections and line up across the huge mahogany entrance doors. I hear the doors creak and immediately feel butterflies in my stomach. I'm going to be in the public eye again. I hate that.
As the doors, slowly, open the sun's rays pierce through the gap in the door. I can imagine the look on my little Teddy's face. Scared, nervous and sad, I imagine his tiny beady eyes welling up with tears and it takes all that I have not to start crying too. I never told him about Ronald. I'm hoping Kip will, after all, that's what we agreed. The doors pull all the way open and the crowd and I just stare at each other. We walk forward and I scan the crowd for Teddy. I'm met with sad faces all morning before we're dead. But I can't find him. Has he gone back to Legacy Hall? I can't find Twila, Dora or Joumana. Where are they? Where's Kip? I need to know they're ok.
There's a strip of road wide enough for all of us to walk through, with the crowd either side.
"…Tributes from Sectors 11 to 20" Herbert spoke into the marble microphone he'd been given.
We walk down the steps and out into the road. I can see Sectors 1 to 10 a bit further up, waving to the crowd and cameras. Some people in my line have already started to wave. Still no sign of Kip.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you the Tributes from Sectors twenty one to thirty." Booms Steenie's voice from the glass microphone she'd been given. It must be midday. I'm starving. Oh god. I'm supposed to look like I know what I'm doing but I'm strolling around staring at the floor with my hands in my pockets. Quickly I take my hands out of my pockets and I stare straight ahead.
I catch a glimpse of a pair of sparkly brown eyes. They lock my gaze for a moment. A look so warm yet worried.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you the Tributes from Sectors thirty one to forty." Echoes Herbert, boredly.
We follow Sectors one to ten down past my old home where tiny faces are pressed up against the window, and towards The Centre. People I pass on the street hand me flowers, freshly picked from the fields opposite them. After all, I am fighting for Sector 12 this year. Herbert and Steenie's voices get fainter and fainter as we get further away. I can see The Centre emerging in the distance, in all its terrifying glory.
When we get there we'll be assigned rooms and there we'll write our goodbye letter. Only one side of the page. It gets delivered before we start, to our close family. Mine will go to Teddy. I have no idea what to write to him. Thoughts of things to write cloud my brain and it's not until I'm walking through the shiny white doors of The Centre that I realise what I'm going to say.
We're directed by plain rope, again, into small, immaculately clean cubicles. The door slides silently shut and a bright white light illuminates the tiny space I'm stood in. A clear tray slide out of the wall. Imprinted on it is 'PLACE OBJECTS HERE'. I place the flowers on it and it slides back into the wall. A bright green laser hits my eyes and scans my body from my head to my feet. Suddenly it disappears. I don't even know where it came from. I don't see a machine in here. Oh great. Before I realise what's going to happen, a mist sprays down on me, coating me in a thin sticky layer of disinfectant. I make the mistake of breathing in and I inhale quite a bit of it. The foul smell fills my lungs and I choke making me swallow a bit more. The choking makes me feel sick and my eyes start to sting and water. Let me tell you, that spray was never meant for consumption so it tasted as good as it smelled. The spray cuts off, and still choking, I cautiously open my eyes. Tears roll down my cheeks. I wipe them away and I try to compose myself. The panel at the back opens up and I go through a tiny corridor with the same white, slippery floors, walls and ceilings as the rest of The Centre. It's so clean here and it smells so clinical. I reach the thick white door at the end of the corridor and push it open. My skin is no longer sticky, so I assume it must have soaked in. The door squeaked open and I enter a large airy room brightly lit by lights high on the ceiling. Orderly, in lines, there are women sitting at desks with a hole in the corner for depositing the syringes. I walk over to a desk in front of me. I sat facing to the side, not looking at the eyes of the woman who was boring holes into the side of my head. With her eyes, of course.
"Wrist" she barks.
I gingerly hold out my arm for her and she grabs it. The other Tributes are coming in and filing out of the door, not daring to look each other in the eye. I feel a twinge in my wrist and look to see the woman injecting a purple liquid. She notices the look of confusion on my face.
"It's a weaker version of the usual one. You're only here for a few days, you don't need it." she said, flatly.
I look away as she pulls out the syringe and secures a little piece of wool over it. I hear the syringe hit the others in the hole.
"Next" she orders.
I obediently get up; I walk out of the door and walk down several identical hallways, guided by the rough dull rope. I feel like cattle being herded by the farmer for slaughter. I find the door that's marked by a silver 12 on a screen and push it open as a few other Tributes walk past in silence, with tear stained face.
Inside, my room is a clean white and shiny like the rest of The Centre. But my bed covers and other things around the room are in my Sector brown. But I'm not focusing on my room. What's caught my eye is the desk. Not the desk it's self with its curves and grooves but what is on the desk. A sheet of lined paper, a smooth black pen and an empty brown envelope. This is it. My letter. I walk over to the paper, eyeing it. I sit down on the egg shaped desk chair and pick up the sleek black pen. I write my name, gender, Sector number (although I don't know why, the envelopes brown) and my house in the boxes provided. Of course I had to write Legacy Hall orphanage. After those things my mind is blank. What do you write in time like these? Only one thought keeps appearing in the back of my mind. I can't write it though. Or can I? No. No, I can't, it will reveal everything. But it may just seem like it is a desperate note to calm the people at home. So I scribble it down before anything else comes to mind. Then I'm staring at it. That's it, my letter. I close it and slip it into the brown envelope. I hope, so much, that they don't know. I'll be killed and so will Teddy. Why did I take this risk? What chance so I have against 118 other people? Not to forget Ronald and his family will be killed publically as a warning to others. I don't even know if he has a family. In fact, I don't know anything about him. He's risking so much for this, so maybe I did the right thing.
Sealing the envelope, I watch the paper fuse together until there is no visible joint. That's the best thing about The Capitol. When you think you know everything about them, they come up with something else that makes you stare in wonder. The clinical smell of The Centre has disappeared and is now replaced by a sweet, flowery smell. I'm unsure of where it's coming from though. There are no flowers in here, so I'm clueless. I reach up for the necklace Twila gave me and I freeze. It's gone. It's not here. I left it on the bed when the bell made us jump. Now I have no token from home. All they get from me is a sentence. And I have nothing from them. They won't let me get it from my home. Mrs McClaven has probably started packing for when I come home in a wooden box, dead. She's not exactly the supportive type. She's always been that way. Many people in Legacy Hall go to the Games so we are all used to people going and never returning to their beds. I sit back on the egg chair and watch the digital minutes tick by.
My stomach rumbles and breaks me from my daydream. I'm so hungry. I haven't eaten in ages and my muscles are becoming heavy with hunger. I wonder what time they decide to feed me. It's up to them I suppose.
So now it's dark. Tomorrow I begin training and I'll have to pay attention if I want to live. Ronald can only do so much. He can't help at the Cornucopia, so I'm on my own there. If I can make it out of the bloodbath alive then, I'll win. Hopefully. I haven't talked to Ronald in weeks.
They came by earlier and took my letter and gave me my meal. Then they came back and took it away. Soon they'll be back to give me my dinner. The silent ghosts, I've nicknamed them. They don't talk and they don't make eye contact with you. I don't know who they are or why they don't even look at me and only at the floor. Maybe it's the rules. No special treatment for the Tributes. If that's true then it's rude. I mean, they are already sending us to our deaths; the least they could do is show a little compassion. I'm standing by my window which looks out over the fence dividing Sector 12 and 13. My Sector looks so small from here. It's dusty streets and shabby shacks, a blur of brown and yellow. The window is slightly darkened so I can't really tell what it's like outside. I hope it doesn't rain. Kip's back at work and Teddy will be out in the fields sitting in his special place. Thinking of Teddy brings back the memory of my letter. He'll have got it by now, I should imagine. I don't know if he'll have shown Twila, Joumana or Dora. But Kip doesn't need to read it. He knows what's going to happen to me and we've agreed that if I do die then he'll look after Teddy for me. I trust him to do a good job.
A knock shakes me from my staring and I quietly walk over to the door and open it. To my surprise, June barged in and strode/waddled into the centre of the room. She is closely followed by two familiar faces that visited me earlier. The ghosts are back. They bring in two silver platters and two drinks of clear liquid. No, not water but something more delicious. I don't know where it comes from or how it's made but each one I've had tastes different. At lunch I had one that tasted of arrange and I had another one that was flavoured by something called pineapple. It was yet tangy. I've never tasted anything like it before. I really liked it.
They place the platters on the desk and silently slip out of the room. Dressed in plain white, not being able to talk or look at the people you're serving. Actually I've never seen them talk you anyone.
"Good evening Vivron!" beams June. "How are you? I hope you're settled in well."
"Yeah, I think so. I haven't been here that long though." I reply, wondering over to the desk. I sit down in the egg chair and spin round to face the blue woman stood in my room.
"I'm so glad you like it." she says, obviously ignoring the bored tone I had taken on to make it seem like I don't care. "I see you're still wearing your Sector T-Shirt. Have you not seen your other clothes?" She must've seen the confusion on my face because next she says "Oh you silly girl, you have no nose on you. Aren't you even a little but curious as to what's in those draws and cupboard? Of course you're not, you live at Legacy Hall. They teach you to keep your head down, don't they?"
"Yes, I suppose they do." I say, although lowering my gaze. I don't feel comfortable around her. I hate making eye contact with people and with her purple eyes she makes me uncomfortable and I shift in my seat.
"Well, we need to unteach you. After-all, if you want to live out there, they need to love you so you don't be a favourite to vote for. But I don't think you will be. You have such a pretty face…under all that mud." She says whilst studying my face.
"If the odds are truly in your favour then I look forward to working with you." She states before exiting my room.
I'm betting she said that to everyone else, it seemed really rehearsed. I turn back to face the platters and lift the warm lid off the bigger plate. Underneath is a meat, pork I think, drowned it gravy with a side of baby potatoes dipped in butter and covered in peas and carrots and other assorted vegetables that I haven't seen before. The smell filled the room and made my mouth water. But after a moment the smell made me gag and I slam the lid back down. The food here is too rich and I'm struggling to keep it down. My diet is mainly corn and rice with a few vegetables if we're lucky. Meat is a rare thing and when someone does acquire the meat it's usually just gristle and bone. Mr Tallagh-Patch used to buy meat off the illegal market and mix it with corn to make a stew like mixture. It was rough and hard to swallow but that's what I was brought up on and that's what I can eat. None of this Capitol rubbish.
Don't tell me I'm ungrateful because I'm not. I just prefer to think that people who don't care about me can sometimes be a little thick. I mean, they don't think we'll have problems with the excess and luxurious food because of my diet before. It's been 93 years and they are still too lazy to carefully look through the food. But I have to keep it down to keep up my strength. I need to be strong to stand a chance of winning.
I don't know why I'm helping Beetee; I mean I'm not exactly the biggest fan of the Mockingjay. Five years and she still doesn't even try and help us. She's just living her life without a care in the world whilst the world lives in fear, anger and sadness. If Beetee knows then surely she does too. I think I'm helping him because I want them to know and then they can come here and stop these horrible Games. They can help me save Teddy. Even if I survive these Games I refuse to work with her. I will never work well with her because I don't work well people. Especially people from the Capitol. That's why I'm alone all the time. People are annoying and that's how I've always seen life. It's just a long endless time where everyone moans about how boring or horrible or worthless their lives are. Ok, so maybe I'm a little bit pessimistic. But can you blame me? Being brought up here, on The Isle, means your life is a prison sentence. Because so many children are killed each year in the Games, it is law that you have to be married by 21 else you'll be married to a complete stranger the same age as you. Love is hard to find and sometimes you end up marrying someone you know just to be comfortable. No divorces even if you are miserable. Then each couple has to have a minimum of 2 children just to keep the population stable. If you're infertile then you're put to work in the orphanages where you'll be constantly reminded of your ruined life because you serve no purpose to The Capitol. People who can't have children are Useless to The Capitol.
They really enjoy watching children kill each other. When the Games come around each year they have celebrations and dinner parties to choose which Tribute they want to win or which one will be killed next. They make a Game of it. It's all fun to them. I don't think they really understand the reality of it.
I take a sip out of one of the tall winding glasses. Ugh, apple. I hate apple. To me, they taste too sour. I like sweet tasting things like the plum pie I had for lunch. It was coated in sugar and was served with two scoops of cream iced with icing sugar. So delicious but too rich. I could only stomach two mouthfuls. I've only tasted one sweet apple. It was when I was 7 and I had been living at Legacy Hall for 3 years and they had finally agreed to let me wonder around our tiny Sector by myself. All the other girls in my Class always talked about their trips to the corn fields. I pestered Mr Tallagh-Patch until he caved and eventually let me out. The Sector is quite small and in the centre is The Hall. There is a Hall in every Sector centre and the Sectors surround The Centre. Anyway, I was walking through the streets when I came across the Old Man who owns the grocery shop. I had seen him working when I went out with Mrs McClaven and the other girls. He owned it with his family but they were nowhere to be seen. He obviously recognised me because the next thing he did was smile at me. His frail skin looked translucent in the sun and his lips were thin and chipped.
Cautiously, I approached him. There aren't that many old people in District 44. If you live past 55 you're a specialty. This man was about 65. People wondered how he had managed to live that long. His wife had died at the age of 58, which was a miracle to live that long, leaving him in the hands of his children and theirs. People thought it was because he owned one of the grocery stalls so he was always able to obtain fresh fruit and vegetables for his family which must have kept them strong. They are able to eat healthily.
I stared at him from the other side of his cart, outside his shop, which was laden with apples, oranges and assorted berries. His face although bony, was full of love and happiness. I always liked old people. They make me happier because even though they're old and they know they don't have long to live they still make everyone else feel as though they're special and they have so much love it's contagious. All of Sector 12 was fond of this man. Even the Peacekeepers. The old man looked around the busy street and quickly and quietly reached cleanly out to a shiny red apple. He swiped it up and placed it in my hands.
"Hide it." he whispered.
I did as he said and hid the apple in my pocket. It was clear to see so I tried to hide it with my hand. He walked back around the other side of the cart and pretended like I wasn't even there. I caught his eye and smiled at him before running off to my field. I hid below the rapeseed in the fields and pulled out my apple. I wasn't too keen on apples, being that the only apples I had tasted were the tangy brown slices Mr Tallagh-Patch would give us as a snack. Two slices each, that's all we were allowed. So to have something that was my own to eat. That I didn't have to share with somebody else. I took the first bite and the sweetness of the juice hit me. I'd never tasted anything like it. I ate the succulent apple so I quickly I got an ache across my stomach. The next day I heard the Old Man had been executed for giving away vulnerable food. It was my fault. I still carry the guilt for him, on my shoulders. Every time I see, touch, taste even smell an apple, I remember him. The Old Man who I killed.
I place the glass back on the desk and swing the chair round to look out of the window. It's darker now and the stars are there but there's no moon. I'm hungry again. Why do these people eat so late? Maybe I'll have a small bit of that meat. I lift the lid again and find that the smell of the warm food doesn't make me sick anymore. I lift the swirly fork and pierce a piece of carrot. I lift it to my mouth, the graving dripping from it splashes back onto the plate. I take a tiny bite but it's too delicious to stop and I finish the plate in 20 minutes. I lean back with my skinny belly bulging. I immediately pull the lid off of the other platter. The smell of warm cherry pie fills the room. I like cherries. Their colour matches my hair and they taste nice. I find them growing in the woods. Kip and I used to pick them and share them with the other kids. They're like me really. Tough on the outside, gooey in the middle with a heart of stone. Well, that's what Mrs McClaven said anything.
I scoop down the pie as quickly as I can manage. The warm spices of the pie warm me inside to out. I climb out of the egg chair and roll into bed. I immediately sink into the spongy mattress. How can anyone sleep like this? I feel like I'm being swallowed by a marshmallow. A brown marshmallow. Then the heat kicks in and I melt into the covers. Everything in my body loosens and relaxes. My eyes feel heavy and they drop shut revealing a dreamless sleep.
The faces I wake up to are unfamiliar but dressed identically in white. More Silent Ghosts. Their staring at me whilst I was asleep scared me at first, which caused me to sit up abruptly and scare them. They cowered over by the window and it made me realise that they aren't rude to me, they are scared of me.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you." I say, climbing out of bed.
The boy nodded. At least I think it was the boy. All the Ghosts have the same identical outfits with the same short boyish haircut. The only way to tell the difference is by looking at the way they act. The boys are agitated and tense. The girls are softer but more timid.
"Are you ok?" I ask.
He nods again.
"Why can't you talk to me?" I ask again, getting more confused.
He stares at me again, his eyes shining with terror, anger and sadness. They flick from me to the door and back to me. I turn to look at the door but no-one is there. I turn back to face them but the boy has moved in closer and makes me jump again. He is staring at me again this time searching my eyes. He hands me a small emerald envelope. He puts one finger to his lips as a signal to be quiet. He turns to his accompaniment and they leave quietly leaving me in the morning sun alone. I slump back down on my bed and open the envelope. Inside are two studs which look like the Mockingjay pin. I don't have my ears pierced so I don't know how I'm going to wear them. Not that I want to. I open the white letter and read:
Vivron,
A little present from our friend. It's to be your token from home. He wants to know everything so wear them for everything. Remember what you're doing this for so keep focused. If you make it, we will speak further in the Capitol. Good luck.
Ronald Charm
Head GameMaker
BURN THIS LETTER. NOW.
The last words hit me and I look round the room for a fire or something. But, nothing. So, I cram the paper at the back of a draw. There has to be a fire somewhere in here and when I find it, the letter will go straight in there. It should be safe for now.
I change out of my clothes and into the training clothes. Black tight trousers, black boots and a black short sleeved top with our Sector numbers on the sleeves and back. Could my hair stand out anymore? I walk back into my room from my bathroom and on my desk, breakfast is served. When did they get in here? I don't remember hearing anything whilst I was in the bathroom. I sit down on the chair and reach for my necklace. I forgot it's not there. I've left it at Legacy Hall. I don't know why I am panicking. I wouldn't have been able to wear it anyway. It's safer with Twila.
I didn't think Ronald would have actually rigged the reaping. There was no confirmation from him so I didn't know if he was actually going to do it. Why did I even agree to it? Am I going mad? I've never fought people before. How did I think I could win a Game? But there's no going back now. I've made my choice and I have to stick to it. No matter how insane a choice it is.
I lift the platter lid and underneath is a large bowl of fruit and yoghurt with a biscuit thing on the plate next to it. Another glass of clear liquid sits as well. I lift the spoon and scoop up the creamy mess. The lumps of fruit don't look that appetising. I eat it anyway. Pear chunks in a vanilla yoghurt. Not that bad. Bit of a weird taste for me but I got used to it. The biscuit is crumbly so I mix it into the left over yoghurt. It's nice. Probably my favourite thing that I've eaten, yet. I've got training at 9:30. It now 9:18. Ok, 12 minutes to get there. Only problem is I don't know where it is. I'll find it. I just might take my time. I take a gulp of the clear liquid. Oh, it's just water. That's weird. I drink more and I finish it. I make my way down the corridors, trying to find the lift or a sign or something to tell me where I'm going. But there's nothing. These people really aren't helpful.
I turn another corner and finally find the lift. But there's two people stood next to it. A boy and a girl. 77 and 6. The girl looks about twelve and the boy about 17. Oh no, they're looking at me. Head held high. Intimidate them, make them realise who's in charge of you. So I walk over to the lift and press the button.
"I've already done that." Says the boy, his voice low and steady.
"I was just checking." I say.
"You didn't need to." He was staring at the floor.
We stand in awkward silence for a bit too long. After all, we could kill each other.
"What's your name?" asks the girl.
"Why do you want to know?" I ask her back, rather harsh sounding though.
"If you die people would know your name rather than just knowing you as Sector 12 Tribute." She replies, trying to smile.
I suppose she's right.
"Ok, but if you die before me then how will they know?" I ask.
"Because if we talk to you using your name, in situations like these perhaps, then the Capitol would know. They record anything, you know." She replies.
Wow, she really has thought this through. The lift pings and the doors open.
"Finally." Mumbles the boy.
The lift doors close and it hums but I don't feel it moving in any direction.
"My name's Vivron. Yours?" I ask.
"Shelby" she replies.
"Cash" he says.
I nod and we all stare at the doors. Another minute or so of awkward silence and the doors open and we walk out into a small dark grey room with darkened windows looking into the Training Centre, a large, spacious hall. Behind us three silver lifts, the middle of which we had just walked out of. Some other Tributes are filing out of them. All of us dressed identically with our Sector numbers on them. We all move through a glass door with 'Training Centre' printed on it in black capitols. Inside, the Training Centre is huge and dull. There are assortments of weapons on the walls, some I haven't seen before, and different sections of the Training Centre have been set up for different weapons training and skills. I look to my left as I enter the room and see the knot tying station then to my right I see the axe station. They look sharp. I reach into my pocket and pull out my earrings. I pin them on my top. I hope no-one notices them or recognises what they are. I'll be the first to go. Maybe there's a tiny camera in them. Ronald needs me to wear them. So I'll wear them.
I follow the other Tributes into a circle around a raised platform. On the platform are many GameMakers dressed in their iconic blue robes. They sit around the edges in their twisty chairs, talking to each other, eating food from the huge buffet cart in the centre of the platform. They don't seem to notice us or even acknowledge us. June hobbles from the buffet cart with deep purple and pink flowers in her hair, whilst wearing a pink and purple skirt suit with lilac shoes. Her eyes are darting around the room, at all the weapons. I don't think she feels comfortable in a room full of weapons surrounded by over a hundred soon to be murderers. Ok, I can see why. Herbert and Steenie are stood over by the buffet. A woman dressed all in black and grey. She stands at the edge of the platform, facing me.
"Welcome Tributes to District 44's 93rd annual Hunger Games. Here, you will be trained in the art of defence and attack. You have two sessions to master the techniques. One today, one tomorrow before you are evaluated. The rules are simple, no fighting with other Tributes before the Games, no stealing from other Tributes, no foul play. You break those rules and there will be serious consequences. Enjoy today, do good work ad use your time wisely." She smiles.
And with that everyone filed out to different stations leaving me stranded in a field of weapons, strangers and my ultimate death.