Angel Geniva
A/N: I'm back! (again) Long chapter alert, right here:
They worked as a unit, spreading out all over the District to deliver the message that they believed in. Splitting into pairs, they posted flyers and signs on every wall, pole, and post they could find.
The whole process took several hours, but it would hopefully be worth it.
"We're out of flyers, Angel," Jovialle, Angel's partner, told her. She was a small, sweet-looking thirteen-year-old girl with strawberry-blonde hair and gray eyes.
"Okay," Angel replied. She brushed out the imperfections in her light blonde hair with her fingers, and then turned to Jovialle, or 'Jovi', as she called her. "Should we go meet up with the others?"
"Probably," Jovi told her, looking at the deep blue sky. "It's getting late." Jovi turned and began to run back to the club center, and Angel ran after her, the wind blowing in her face. They ran several blocks, passing houses, businesses, and small factories to get back to the base.
The club center was an old, small, abandoned building that had once, long ago, been a jewelry store. The faint pink paint job had become dull and chipped, the windows were cracked, and broken in some places, and the wooden door only hung on by one hinge.
Angel opened the door, which made a loud creaking sound as it moved. A rusty bell nailed to the door made a faint chime sound.
The building's interior had been emptied, with the exception of a few broken glass counters and torn, brown leather chairs. Five of those seats had been filled up by the other members of the club, leaving two open for Angel and Jovi. The two girls took their seats. Angel sat between Carter, a tall, built, nineteen year old with brown hair and eyes, and Jovi.
The seven of them were part of the "Anti-Careers" a group of young district One members that were against the Career prospect of the district. They had all joined for different reasons. Some had now-deceased tributes as siblings, while other just didn't like the Career movement.
Their leader was Celeste. Celeste was a tall and beautiful eighteen-year-old with dazzling amber eyes and curly, auburn hair. Everything about her had some sort of leader-esque demeanor; the way she walked, her posture, and her choice of clothing, such as today's black blouse and tight khakis, along with her black, rectangular-rimmed prescription glasses and signature tight bun, with a few strands of hair sticking out. She stood in front of the teens, standing up straight.
"So," she asked her fellow club members. "Anything worth sharing today?"
Leif, a skinny boy with short black hair and brown eyes, spoke up. His triplet, Sienna, a tall, thin girl with the same hair and eye color as her brother, sat next to him. "We got two girls interested in the cause. They're sisters, and their names are Mitzi and Alana. Sienna and I told them about the other units of anti-careers, and they seemed interested. I gave them Reuben's number."
There were three units of Anti-Careers. Angel's group was the Sunday unit, Rueben was the leader of the Thursday unit, and a third group, led by a girl named Cheyenne, led the Tuesday unit. The Sunday unit was the smallest, with Tuesday and Thursday having around fifteen members each.
"Good," Celeste told the two triplets. The two of them had joined the group about three years ago when their third sibling, Hawk, died as a Career in the Hunger Games that year.
"Anything else, anyone?" Celeste asked her friends, walking around. "No?"
Angel, Carter, Jovialle, and Michaiah, the last group member, a boy with curly brown hair and blue eyes, shook their heads.
Celeste, looking away from the group in distress, sighed. "Group dismissed."
The six teens got up from their seats to leave, giving each other hugs and goodbyes before leaving. Angel walked over to Sienna and Michaiah, giving them both hugs.
"See you next week, Angel!" Sienna told her. She was the perkiest of the group, and always put a smile on everyone's face.
"You too!" Angel replied, smiling as Sienna and Leif left the room.
Carter and Michaiah exited the building, leaving the door open for their comrades.
Angel was next to leave, Jovialle behind her. She nodded to Michaiah, who had always been very polite, as a gesture of gratitude. Cool summer air blew on her face as she exited. The sound of crickets and rustling trees filled the ambience of the outdoors. Streetlights lit up the night sky.
"I'm nervous," Jovi admitted, keeping up with Angel's quick stride. "I don't want to be Reaped."
Angel shared her fear. This was the first year where she would be eligible for the Hunger Games, considering that there would be a non-volunteer in these Games. There had always only been Career slips in the bowls, and Angel was no volunteer.
"Don't worry. You're only thirteen; you'll be fine."
"But there aren't many non-volunteers in the district."
"Most of them are older than you."
Jovialle looked up at Angel. "You're one of them."
Angel stopped walking. Jovi worries about me? she thought.
"I realize that," Angel replied. "Let's be honest, though. The chances of me being chosen are just three slips bigger than yours."
Jovi sighed in desperation.
Coming up near her house, Angel collected her words, trying to get Jovi to feel better, but every phrase she thought of saying would sound irrelevant to her.
"It won't happen."
"Shut up!" Jovi growled, clenching her teeth. "You don't get it, do you?!"
Angel didn't reply.
"It could happen, Angel."
The sound of the breeze was the only sound in the vicinity.
"It could," Jovi repeated. She turned and began to walk again, her steps sharp and quick, and her arms crossed.
"See you tomorrow," Angel called, in an attempt to cheer Jovialle up.
There was no reply.
Another gust of cold wind chilled Angel, and she rushed into her much warmer abode.
Angel couldn't rest that night. Jovi's words had her thinking about her friends in the Anti-Careers. Michaiah. Celeste. Sienna. None of them could be Reaped, could they? Pictures of them in the Hunger Games kept forming in her mind.
Sienna's bright smile being replaced by a contorted mouth releasing a blood-scream as a Career plunged an axe into her abdomen.
Leif's throat spraying out blood from a jagged knife wound.
Jovi burning alive in a forest fire, parts of her skin gone, revealing bloody flesh.
The images made Angel nauseous. She had to rush to the toilet to regurgitate at one point. It left the taste of bile in her mouth, and her hands and legs shook from weakness.
Quietly, she made her way downstairs and opened the stainless-steel refrigerator in her kitchen. The light's soft glow faintly brightened the space around her. Grabbing a pitcher of water, she poured herself a glass of it and sat down on a tan loveseat in the living room. She took a sip of the fresh water and set it on a marble coaster.
It was going to be a long night.
Angel's parents were both anti-careers. That's how they had met. Her father, Torstyn, had convinced her mother, Lavender, to join the movement. The two had fell in love within weeks, and the rest was history. They had convinced Angel to join the movement when she was eleven. She remembered how uneasy she had felt among the other, older members. Carter and Celeste were the only ones still in the group today that were in it back then, and they were both still two and three years older than her. The feeling was short-lived, and she was soon accepted.
The memories played in Angel's mind as Lavender styled Angel's silky-smooth blonde hair. The fingers tangling and intertwining themselves in Angel's hair tickled her, but she barely moved. The process took several minutes, but the fingers soon released themselves.
"Go take a look," Lavender suggested, pointing to the bathroom, which contained a large, oval mirror.
Doing so, Angel studied her new appearance. Her hair had been pulled into a bun, which pointed straight out from the upper back of her head. A braided length of hair had been wrapped around the bun, and several strands of hair hung untouched, for a more natural look.
"It's beautiful," Angel muttered, happy with the quality of her hairstyle. She smiled at her mother, her green eyes shining with happiness.
It was moments like these on Reaping Day that Angel treasured; the instances where everyone could smile and forget about the current situation.
"I'll give you a few minutes to get ready, and then we have to leave," Lavender explained. "The ceremony will be starting in around forty minutes." She headed downstairs, bouncing lightly with each step.
Angel turned to the mirror, looking for any unwanted mark or hair on her face. Fortunately, she had light, smooth, near-flawless skin, and rarely had to wear make-up (she considered it unnecessary, and she was fine with how she looked without it). She splashed water on her face, the cool drops of liquid chilling her skin as they scattered across her face.
Having already showered, she dried her face with a towel and rushed into her room, quickly throwing on her Reaping outfit; a loose, faintly-yellow blouse that went down past her waist, showing some of her skin, but not in a superfluous way, and tight khakis, along with flat, white shoes. The outfit was simple, and much less flashy than most of her fellow citizens' Reaping outfits. Angel remembered seeing a teenager one year that was wearing a brightly-colored ball gown, like the ones that princesses wore in the fairy tales her father read to her as a child.
The next few minutes filled with angst. Angel said goodbye to Lavender, and her father, Torstyn. Her father held her in a hug for about half a minute. He sniffled, and Angel could tell that he was crying.
"It'll be fine," he whimpered unconfidently. "Don't worry."
"Dad, I haven't been Reaped!" Angel chuckled. Yet, at the same time, she was nearly crying.
She knew it could happen.
Angel headed out the doorway, taking one last look back into the living room. Two plush, gray couches sat on opposing sides of a rectangular glass coffee table, and family portraits from the past and present hung on the light blue walls.
If she was Reaped, this would be the last time she saw all of this. Angel knew that she couldn't win the games. She wasn't athletic, or noticeably intelligent.
The only edge she had was impressive situation evaluation, something that she had been credited with several times in her life, such as the time her school had had a fire in the cafeteria. Little Angel had been able to identify what had caused the fire, a burnt muffin cooked in an oven, from the scene, without reference.
The walk to the Justice Building was short. Her home was close to the center of the District. As she approached the building, the crowds of teenagers and their family members became denser. Vibrant fabric colors, especially from the eligible females' clothing, stood out among the chattering masses. Scanning the crowd, Angel spotted many familiar faces of classmates and friends.
Her index finger stung after getting her blood test, but it barely bothered Angel, for she was very tense in the situation. Bacchus Lartrick. Minerva Pellington. Lotus Akirap. Tessa Schafferman. Sirius Knotts. Their facial expressions were all over the spectrum. Bacchus, a friend of hers from the esteemed Lartrick family, had widened eyes and pinched lips, a fearful look among his family's confidence. Minerva, another acquaintance who didn't want to go into the games, kept a watchful, worryful eye on her twelve-year-old sister, Amaris. Angel hoped that neither of them were Reaped.
Lotus, an Indian girl (a rare sight in the district, considering that the district's racial profile consisted of 90+% Caucasians). She was prepared for the Games, and had a smug look on her face, as if she was already at the Bloodbath. Tessa, a shy girl two grades below Angel, looked uncomfortable being in a crowd. Sirius, on the other hand, was confident, eyeing the other possible tributes as if they were future victims. He stuck out in the crowd, being quite tall.
Someone's sobbing brought Angel back to attention. The tone of voice sounded almost familiar. The voice came from behind her, so she whipped around to see who it was.
A few rows back, Angel could see face was cupped in her hands, but the auburn hair gave away her identity.
Walking over to the crier, Angel muttered, "Celeste?"
Celeste's hair was tied into a bun, and she wore a long, black dress. Raising up her head, Angel could see tears running down her cheeks, clouded with some sort of dark eye make-up.
"What do you want?" she grumbled, curling her lip, her voice choked with sadness.
"What's the matter?"
Celeste didn't answer at first, sniffling, but she soon spoke up.
"I don't want any of you to be Reaped," she sobbed. She looked down, avoiding eye contact. "I'm not sure I could handle it."
Angel felt her friend's pain. Clearly, she hadn't been the only one that had had bad dreams last night.
"I feel the same way," Angel sighed. "But, what can we do about it? Besides, there isn't that big of a chance that it'll-"
Angel stopped herself. She was falling into the same conversational pattern that she had with Jovi. Angel knew that she couldn't calm down Celeste. She'd be fine after the Reaping.
Sighing, Angel muttered "I hope you feel better," and returned to her section. The Reaping was beginning.
The process was always the same, and Angel never paid attention to it. She perked up in tension when the flamboyant Levi Davidson reached the pedestal arranged for the speakers.
Angel barely worried about the first two Reapings. Two tributes, a boy named Trip and a girl named Shade, were chosen as volunteers. Leaving a large amount of the eligible pool of teens disappointed that they hadn't been chosen, Levi began the Reaping of the
non-volunteers. The female tribute would be chosen first.
Angel watched as Levi's hand grazed the slips of paper in the bowl. He perkily plucked one paper out, and opened it up.
The world seemed to stand still for Angel as he opened up the envelope. Any of her friends' names could be printed on there. Sienna, Celeste, Jovi…
"Angel Geniva!"
Was that my name? Angel thought. No… It couldn't have been…
Yet, many pairs of eyes had turned to her.
"I volunteer!" a voice screamed, before Angel could even advance to the stage. It was Celeste. Angel realized that her nightmares had come true. Her club leader began sprinting towards the stage in an effort to save Angel, but before she could reach the stage, two Peacekeepers grabbed her arms.
"I'm sorry!" Levi trilled. "But no non-volunteers are allowed to volunteer for the Quell! We don't want any undercover Careers, do we?" He seemed almost amused by Celeste's bravery.
A Peacekeeper, approaching Angel, nudged her with the tip of his gun. Tears began to form in her eyes as she headed towards the stage. She saw the faces of her friends throughout the crowd, all in shock. Jovi was paralyzed in shock.
As she reached the stairs, Celeste whispered, "I'm sorry."
That's when Angel began to cry.
Angel had never been so happy to see anyone when her parents walked into the goodbye room. She ran at them, crying and smiling, and hugged them both, burying her wet face into their bodies. For what seemed like an eternity, they stood there, crying together.
"I love you so much," Lavender whimpered.
"I love you, too," Angel replied, misty-eyed.
The three minutes were over too soon, and when the Peacekeeper told her parents that time was up, they let go of her. They gazed at each other for a moment, almost in disbelief that their family was about to be separated, most likely permanently. She captured her parents' details; her mother's blue eyes, smooth, brown hair, and pointy nose, and her father's round green eyes, blonde hair, and high cheekbones, so she could remember their faces while in the perils of the Games.
"Your club members have your token," Torstyn explained softly, his voice just a whisper.
With that, they were escorted out of the room. Angel muttered, "Goodbye," but the door had already been shut.
The next arrivals were the Anti-Careers. The small pack, some crying, some holding their emotions in, stood adjacent to Angel. Sienna was the first to move, embracing Angel in a hug, crying.
"It shouldn't have been you," she whimpered.
It was strange to see Sienna crying, since she was usually the one in the group with an optimistic outlook on things, so, even though Angel told herself she wouldn't cry when the next group came in, she began to cry as well.
Then, the rest of the group joined her in the embrace, surrounding her, and wrapping her in warmth. Looking at the faces of the group, she noticed that someone was missing.
"Where's Jovi?" she asked worriedly.
"We don't know," Celeste admitted, still crying as she released Angel. "She ran off after you went inside. I wasn't sure if she was upset or angry, but no one went after her." She brushed a loose strand of hair off of her face. "Anyways, Angel, you were a great member of the team. We'll never forget you." She choked up.
"You've always been so nice and compassionate," Carter admitted, looking down solemnly.
"You're one of my best friends," Michaiah announced. "You'll leave a legacy in our club for many years to come."
Angel wanted to interrupt the group and tell them that she'd come back, since they were already talking to her like she was dead, but she knew that, for her, death was inevitable. So, she accepted the rest of the praise.
Celeste eventually handed her a necklace, strung with a black rubber string, holding a circular, wooden emblem of the club, a peace sign formed by two bows as the circle, and three swords as the lines.
Angel looked at the necklace and smiled. She then turned up to her friends, studying them the same way that she had with her parents. She noticed that even Carter had begun to cry.
She smiled. "Thank you for all the good times you all have given me." She put on the necklace.
Right before boarding the trains, Angel remembered Jovi's absence. She pulled out her smartphone, an object only present in Districts 1 and 3, and opened her text-messaging feature. She typed Jovi's number, but paused once she got to the text. She wanted to say everything to her. She had a beautiful smile, a great sense of humor, an amazing mind…
But she didn't have the time to put it all into words, so she typed a single message, and hit 'send.'
Jovi laid on her bed, looking at the ceiling. Angel would come back, wouldn't she? She couldn't lose her…
Suddenly, her cellphone rang. Curious about who it was, she picked it up and read the message that had been left:
I'll miss you.
Love, Angel
She smiled.
A/N: Smartphones are a luxury, if I'm not mistaken…
Yay, a district is done! Hopefully, I'll be able to upload chapters more often, now.
Next up: Atlas Topazine!