A/N: Ok so, I've met a dilemma. By this point, every reading this chapter should have already read the previous chapters (otherwise that would make no sense…) so everyone should have read the prologue. I was intending on expanding the story of Dolora Prewitt and her son Matthew, along with the mysterious circumstances surrounding Zios, his plans and the Juggernaut. I started writing it (intending to make it this chapter instead of the District Seven reapings), but I felt like that coupled with the 24 tribute perspectives and then the capitol parts, would just be too much. I want to keep as much connection to the tributes once we reach the games as possible, so if you think I should expound upon Dolora and her struggles as a gamemaker, then leave me an answer in a quick review. Now that that's out of the way, let us commence with…The District Seven Reapings!
Revolc Undercity
District Seven- Male
Courtesy of hgwriter123
"Zzsshhh! Chyuak!" The buzzing sound of the axe cutting through the air as it turns along its many rotations dies out with the definitive groan the wooden target gives as the steel makes contact. The axe collided with the middle ring, dead center, and I'm rather pleased with the throw. Ripping the weapon from its resting place in the target, I slip it into the scabbard that hangs from my belt and make my way up the rotting stairs that lead to the side door of our house. Exhausted from my morning training, I pick up the bow I left resting on the corner of the porch, and swing it over my back. I open the door, and before I even have time to take my weapons to my room, something slams into my gut.
Groaning in pain, I stumble backwards and for a moment I am completely disoriented. I could feel the punch make direct contact with my abdominals and although it didn't knock me down, my body is desperately trying to cling onto any remaining oxygen in my lungs. I put my arms up, ready to deflect the next blow, but a sweeping kick knocks me out from under my feet and my head slams into the wooden floorboards that seem to rise up to meet me.
My vision blurred, I can barely make out my attacker, and try to muster a sigh when I do.
"Get up," the deep voice hisses and spit splatters across my face. Enraged, I leap to my feet, knowing I won't let him beat me this time.
"You think they won't surprise you in the arena?" My combatant blocks my punches and grabs me at my waist, swinging me around to the open part of the house. He charges forward, and at the last second, I bring my knee up and grab his head. Forcing it down into the plate of my knee cap, I can hear the pain in his breath as he smacks down to the floor. Jumping to the side, knocking into a table as I do, I shove one boot in between his crotch and lean down and wrap my hands around his throat.
He spits on my face again.
"Don't use tactics like that," he scolds, "There's no honor in them."
"You think they care about honor in the arena?" I hiss.
"They don't," a voice startles us both, and I let go of my opponent's neck. Releasing my boot from its place between my legs, I step back to allow my brother, Rocky, to come between us.
"Lowle, get up," My eldest brother Rocky commands. Lowle, unhurt save a few scrapes and the growing wound on his forehead from my knee, obeys and in a moment all three of us are standing side by side.
"You two need to wash up, Mom's got breakfast on the stove and I think you've trained enough. That was a pretty good spar, but Lowle you need to work on the mental aspects of the fight as well. You can't just push your way through a fight; you have to predict, accurately, what your opponent will do next. That's why Rev got the best of you," he explains. Smiling, I feel good about Rocky said to Lowle, how I got the best of him.
"Wipe that smile off your face dork," Rocky scowls. I give him an uneasy look, and then he bursts into laughter. Rocky's laughter is like an entire celebration wrapped in one moment. It's so booming, but the way the corners of his mouth creep up on the edges of his nose and the way he throws back his head, making his beard poke out and his shoulder puff up. His laugh is a part of him, and I think it's one of the things I would miss most if I were ever reaped. His laughter eases the tension Lowle and I were feeling and in a moment all three of us are laughing wildly, the house seems to shake from our combined mirth.
Lowle makes his way up the old stairs that creak and whine underneath his footfalls. Still laughing to himself over just about nothing, Lowle rounds the corner of the stairwell and is soon erased from sight. Rocky turns to me, his eyes gleaming with the accents of his robust heart and tender soul altogether.
"I saw those throws this morning; they were on point Rev," he lauds.
"Thanks…" I begin but in his panegyric he cuts me off,
"You could kill you know."
The comment startles me. It's something I think about often, but for someone to say it to me brings to a different level. Someone is aware of my skill, and my own brother believes I have it in me to take a life. The thought is ghastly, but comforting, my stomach begins to feel weird, and I sense one of Rocky's recollections from the arena coming on.
My brother is Rockford Danforth Undercity, the only living victor from District Seven. There was another, Elm, but she died of pneumonia last winter. When he was reaped, my mother fainted, and she slipped into some sort of emotional coma. I didn't think it was possible for grief to be able to kill someone, but my mother almost died from her longing for Rocky. She didn't wake up until about three days into the Games, and when she did, the most blessed moment of my life so far occurred, I told her Rocky was still alive.
We watched, my mother, Lowle, and I, every single minute. We barely slept, our hearts wouldn't allow it. We witnessed Rocky dash through copses and mountain sides and every terrain possible. The arena that year was supposed to represent the world long ago. Deserts, and woods, and plains covered in snow were just a few of the types of conditions that were thrown at the tributes. Tributes dehydrated in the fiery sands of the deserts and froze to death in the snow. I think ten alone were killed by the arena itself. Eight died in the bloodbath, and only six were left to battle it out.
Rocky had formed a coalition with a small girl, Chesiree, who was from Five. He was strong and she was smart, and together they were able to infiltrate the career camp and pick off the remaining living. It came down to three of them, Chesiree, Rocky, and the boy from District One. Well, the boy from One slit Chesiree's throat while she slept and her dying scream gave Rocky just enough time to sink his axe right in the middle of his attacker's head. Rocky wept and wailed over Chesiree's death, babbling about how he was protecting her, ensuring she would survive. They dragged him onto the hovercraft that came to retrieve him, his legs kicking and screaming the whole time.
When he returned, my mother's spirit was revitalized. She couldn't believe her eldest son had returned to her, and the man of the house was restored. My father wasn't there; he hadn't been the entire time. When I was seven years old, my father died. It was a forest accident; apparently he had been down at the lumber mill and standing in the shadow of the oak as it crashed to the ground. There wasn't even anything to bury, my mother collapsed into her milky eyed trance and was finally coaxed out when Rocky came home.
We don't live in Victor's Village, because Rocky doesn't believe he's a victor. Chesiree was a winner; well that's what he says. I don't mind not living in Victor's Village, not having to deal with the hassle of moving everything suits me fine. Besides, I think my mother feels connected to this place, in some way or form, it reminds her of dad.
Drawn from my thoughts like a dog called from a scent, Rocky is spinning a tale of the arena. I don't want to listen, not today, not on the day that Lowle and I are still up for reaping. Lowle is eighteen, and after today the only one left to make it through will be me. Then mom will have all her boys with her, this time for good. I am glad when Lowle descends the steps, fresh clothes on and hair combed. Rocky is already dressed, so the two of them cross to the kitchen while I go upstairs to wash.
Cramming my body in the wash bucket is tough now that I'm sixteen years old. My legs stick out and my body is arched like a spooked cat. The grime comes off easy and quick, making the water I'm sitting in black and sudsy. Washing every corner of my body, I am satisfied with my work and clamber out of the basin. Drying off my hair I work that towel down my neck and across my stubbly face. Blond hair creeps under my chin and the beginnings of a beard the same color work around the sides of my face. The light color accents my sea green eyes, and looking at my naked reflection in the dingy mirror, I notice I'm not that bad looking.
My body is toned, youthful abs stand out against me refined pelvis. My arms are long and muscular, built for working in the lumber yard and shoveling chips. My legs are hard and their length makes me stand taller than Lowle. Finishing my job of drying, I make my way to my room.
My room is basically a reflection of me. The head of a deer I killed is hung my room, the left removed, because that's where the arrow lodged in. The various skins and pelts of foxes, badgers, and even a coyote hang on one wall. It's illegal to possess trophy kills, hunting is strictly forbidden unless you're a tanner or a salesman. The table my father built is littered with weapons, and I place my bow and axe on it with care. I look in my small closet for something to wear to the reaping and settle on my tan cargo pants and an old camouflage shirt. I lace up my boots with fresh socks on my feet and comb my hair until it all goes one way. After that, I shake it until it falls in strands across my forehead and looks perfect. My mother says she doesn't understand why I comb my hair if I'm just going to shake it in the end, but I tell her it's part of the process.
Coming downstairs I can smell the wafting scent of my pork and gravy. My brothers are already seated around the table and my mother, Melanie, is dishing out the helpings.
"Good morning sweetheart," she murmurs lovingly as she plants a kiss on my cheek, skillet in her hand and fork in the other. Dumping a generous portion of the pork and gravy on my plate, Lowle cries in protest.
"Why does he get more?" He whines in a babyish voice.
"Because he's a growing boy," Rocky mimics my mother's nagging tone and I stifle a laugh. She shoots me a look of softened disdain, not really made, and I smile at her. She smiles too, but I can see the wrinkles on her forehead and the crow's feet beginning to form around the edges of her eyes. My mother is aging, and so are we I guess.
"Goodness! The reaping is in twenty minutes! Lowle you were supposed to let me know sweetie!" My mother chides and Lowle replies,
"I was busy."
"Busy with fighting your brother? Put those dishes in the bin and I'll take them to the basin after we get back. Rockford honey, make a note to go to the butcher's after the reaping, I want tenderloin for Lowle tonight, this is his last reaping," her orders are heard and she looks at me tenderly, "Then we just have to worry about you," she whispers.
We make our way to the square, and I see my friend Howle. I run up to him, and we're basically wearing the same thing, except he's got his ripped blue jeans on instead. He slaps my hand in welcoming, and we embrace each other with a pat on the back that recoils off of our shake. Smiling, he runs a hand through his hair and lets out an exasperated breath.
"Reaping today," he says.
"Really?" I use a stupid voice to accompany my sarcasm. He shoves me, and laughing we catch up to my family, who have now been accompanied by Howle's mother and father, Max and Holly.
Howle has been my best friend since I can remember, he's sixteen like me, and we go hunting all the time together. Dodging peacekeepers and trading our kills in for money or getting the tanner to make the best ones into trophies, we live off of District Seven. The lush forests are a playing ground to us and we both excel with axes and bows. We train together all the time, usually with my brothers. Our training serves dual purposes, one is for the Hunger Games but since District Seven's economy relies on strength, we do it to stay fit as well.
Howle and I are talking while our party is on its way to the square. Rocky breaks off, kissing my mother goodbye and heading to the Justice Building. It's sad, because he'll be gone for the duration of the games, training whichever kids get reaped. He tussles my hair, much to my annoyance since it was perfect, and hugs Lowle. Shooting me a smile, he departs, and I watch him go.
"So, you and Amy…you guys?" Howle proposes the question.
"Shit dude!" I curse and Howle looks up at me in surprise.
"I told Amy I would walk with her to the square! What time is it?" My words are quick.
"Ugh, fifteen minutes until the reaping, she probably hasn't left yet," Howle answers, confused at my outburst.
"Alright, tell your parents I said hey and save a spot for me," I tell him and he nods.
"Hey mom! I'm going to get Amy!" I shout and run off before she can reply.
My boots tear up the ground I leave behind, the heavy footfalls banging against the dirt path. My hair is bouncing up and down, but I don't care. Amy, my girlfriend, lives close to the square, so I reach her house in a minute and to my delight can see her through the window. I smooth my hair and put my hands in my pockets, acting like I just strolled up. The door swings open in a flurry, and Amy runs out, jumping onto me with her feet wrapped around my waist.
"Morning beautiful," I coo as I kiss her small wet lips.
"Hey handsome," she whispers back and put her down and play with her hair. She swats it away,
"Rev, I did my hair for the reaping," she pouts and I let go of her sparkling auburn hair. Her freckles are all visible in the morning light and she flashes her pearly white teeth at me.
"Ready to go?" I ask. She nods and hand in hand we stroll to the square.
"I'll see you when it's over," I say firmly, trying to rid her of her anxiety. The peacekeeper gives us an impatient stare as she waits for Amy to step forward, but instead she faces me.
"What if they call my name?" she asks hurriedly.
"They won't," I assure her, unsure of whether or not my statement is true. I give her a quick hug and a kiss and she scoots over to the peacekeeper, stealing a look at me one last time, I blow her a kiss and she smiles, making her way to the sixteen-year old girl section. Watching her go, I forget what I'm supposed to be doing and snap back into reality when a Peacekeeper nudges me.
"You better go in boy," he tries to sound menacing, but I know he's just doing his job.
I meet up with Howle and he has a stupid smile on his face.
"What's up?" I ask him, referring to his cheesy grin.
"Lowle told me," he shoves me, "You're supposed to tell me everything!" His anger is a charade, and after a moment of pondering I say,
"Oh, that."
"Yeah that, what was it like bro?" Howle is looking for details.
"Um, nice, I guess," I sound completely vague, not giving him what he wants.
"You banged Amy Ross and you're not gonna give me any details?" Howle raises an eyebrow.
I laugh and put my hands in pockets, "I was gonna tell you, Lowle just can't keep his damn mouth shut."
"Well, you gotta fill me in later, cause here's the mayor," Howle directs my attention to Mayor Thornebark.
Mayor Thornebark is a short and stout man, he's wispy grey beard covers his face entirely and his lips can only be seen when he talks. He delivers his speech, speaking of the Dark Days and the Rebellion and everything we did to deserve this and all the while I can see Rocky sitting on stage, his black eyes focused completely on the mayor. Rocky acts like the games don't bother him, but when the reapings roll around, I can see the painful nostalgia building up in his eyes.
"Now let's give a big welcome to our district escort, Alfie Thoreau!" Thornebark booms and a young man emerges from the Justice Building, dressed like he's at some party. Alfie's suit is colored mahogany from the top down and his shoes are a rough red leather. Rings adorn almost every finger and his skin is powdered ghost white. The styles of the capitol are weird.
"The time has come to…blah blah blah," I tune out Alfie and study the treetops surrounding us. Judging which ones I can climb and which ones I can't my attention is commanded when Alfie approaches the girls bowl.
"Let's see," he begins, digging around until the name of the tribute is found amongst the sea of paper,
"Maple Starr!"
I don't know her, but I can a small girl walk onto stage, absolutely terrified. She trembles in fear of Alfie, and sobs emit from her gaping mouth. She doesn't crumble, but the ugly tears stream down her face as Alfie proceeds to the next bowl. The screams of Maple's mother and father drown out Alfie's talking and he looks annoyed as he reads out the boy's name.
"Oh…," Alfie begins and no one is certain what's happening. The escort looks at my brother, and that's when I pick up on the situation. That slip of paper he's holding, has either my name of Lowle's on it.
"L-Lowle Un-Undercity," Alfie stammers into the microphone.
The crowd gasps in one fell moment, and I find Amy's panicked face in the crowd. My eyes must have a glint in them, because she mouths the word "no" as the though formulates in my head. My mother, screaming in the dust behind the rows of children, is sobbing for another child, taken by the horrors of the Hunger Games. She was going to go to the butcher to pick up tenderloin for Lowle, and then we would just have to worry about me. I know, in that instant, that if Lowle went in, I could still possibly be taken.
As Lowle makes his way up the stage I shout.
"Stop! Stop!" Everyone looks at me like I'm wild and I dart out into the dirt path up to the stage. The Peacekeepers scramble for me, but I ward them off with my words.
"I volunteer!"
Another collective gasp rises from the crowd and Lowle looks at me in shock. He shakes his head, but I whisper my thoughts in his ear, and he knows its true. Our chances of my mother's sanity are higher this way. He will be taken out of the bowl, Rocky will return after the games, and I won't have to be in danger for two more years. Lowle shakes my hand, love and pride seeping through his grip and then he descends the stairs.
Men grab my mother, stabilize her and help her to her feet. I can see Howle's and Amy's faces in the crowd, and I smile at them. I'm confident that I will return.
Inside the Justice Building, Amy sees me first.
"I told you not to do it," she scolds, her eyes laced with tears. I wipe them off and hug her tight,
"I'll be back," I promise.
"What if you're not?" she sobs.
"I will be."
She smiles, feeding off my confidence. She kisses me one last time, and with that she is replaced by Howle.
"Guess I'll have to bang Amy myself to figure it out," he jokes.
"I swear to God Howle, I will win these games just to beat the shit out of you," I threaten.
Breaking into laughter, Howle seems to possess no worry for me.
"You need a plan bro, get in with the careers, they'll want you. You're strong and smart, if you pose a threat they'll kill you quick, but if you join them you've got it in the bag," he analyzes the situation for me. Taking his advice I realize it's actually not a bad plan and give him a hug before he is in turn replaced with my family.
Rocky isn't there, I'll see him on the train, but Lowle and my mother embrace me and silently my mother weeps into our chests.
"Thank you," she says as she looks up at me. "I know why you did it, I just…I can't lose you son," she states between whimpers.
"You've got this," Lowle tries to motivate me halfheartedly.
My mother fishes something out of her pocket, a pin, shaped like an axe. It's just a generic one the lumber yard uses to identify its workers, but it belonged to my father, salvaged after the accident.
"Take it," she pleads, handing me her closest link to her deceased love.
"Mom…"
"Take it."
She holds me tight and I smile at Lowle over her shoulder. The peacekeeper knocks on the door and they don't look back as they go, too torn to refill the haunting thought. I am taken from my room and without being dragged by a peacekeeper I get on the train with a smile on my face.
My brother has won this game, and he's my coach. He's been my coach my entire life, he taught me how to throw axes and hunt for game. I finger the axe pin in my hand, and clasp it to my shirt. My outfit is completely District Seven, the camouflage, the cargo pants, the rough boots. Dirt from the streets still clings to my boots and I smile as I notice that. Every inch of me is from my home, and in my head the thought crosses my mind, bolstered by confidence and practicality.
It is my home I carry with me as the train readies itself to depart, and it is the home I will return to.
Maple Starr
District Seven- Female
Courtesy of hgwriter123
Stinging pain courses through my arm as it collides with the rough texture of the tree bark. I grit my teeth as my body grinds against the tall pine and then the wind catches in my stomach as I grab onto a lone branch. Swinging myself over the bristly wood, I perch on the branch and regain my senses. The life was knocked out of my breath for a moment, but I call it back to me and scan the horizon. Thrush chirp in the trees and chipmunks flick their tails in silent warning to their family. A pheasant, sleek and mottled with dapples of brown and green clucks its call over the morning air and a young vole is poking its head out of its burrow. All these things I notice and more, my eyes are keen to their surroundings in this sylvan world, my hideaway and my home.
"Hey Maple! The reaping is soon, come on down and let's get something to eat!" Lotte calls from underneath me. I can hear the worry in her voice; Lotte is absolutely petrified for our first reaping. I can't say I'm not, because I am. For the past twelve years I have been safe and sound in my mother's arms, completely out of range from the capitol's snare. But now, now I have to face the possibility of being snagged like a hare and traipsed to the capitol for a spectacle of blood and might. Thoughts such as these have been on my mind as of late, and there's nothing more that I want than for this reaping to end. I want to know I'll be home, safe again.
I climb down, disgruntled with Lotte's annoying pleas. She pushes a smile onto her face, and rubs her wrists, obviously terrified. The reaping is in less than two hours and my mother is calling my name from the window sill of our little forest hut. It barely holds the family, my mother and father and my sisters, Johanna and Vel, and my brother Benny, plus me. The six of us are cramped beyond belief, but I like it. Tight spaces are my favorite places; being wedged between the crisscross branches of a tree and concealed by compressing foliage is my stronghold. If I'm not in the house, I'm in a tree, always scoping out what I can see.
Of course, I never pursue what I see, only observe it. If Benny were like me, he could hunt down the denizens of the underbrush and the citizens of the treetops. We could have a little extra food to eat and a bit to sell, but Benny is a coward. I don't say it in spite of his character, it's just the truth. If I were a boy, I would chase after the ferrets and rabbits and partridges and goldfinches that populate the pines. Either slingshot or dagger would do the trick. A bow would be perfect, but we don't have one. But if I were a boy, I could probably get one, and learn.
I'm resourceful, I know what to use and when. People like Lotte and Benny like to have things done for them. Deadlines set and expeditions planned and decisions made for them. I on the other hand make the deadlines, plan the expeditions and decide everything. I'm my own manager, because I believe that in order to live life in a society oppressed on each end by a tyrannical government and a self-serving capitalistic society, one must lead their own life.
Lotte detests this, on top of other things about me that don't correlate with the lifestyle of a meek and shallow District Seven girl. My verbiage is apparently excessive, and I don't dish out the proper doses of respect to who deserves them. No one deserves respect in my opinion, they earn it. My high list of virtues stems from my mother, Candace, who acts exactly the same way. I learned everything I know about language, leadership, and life by reading books. It's amazing what you can learn by reading a good book, and my mother piled them on me to keep me occupied. Every evening as the sun sets, I'll climb the tallest elm behind our house and perch myself in the topmost crevice. I'll read by the light of the dying sun, and as black licks the edges of the sky, I'll return home. Some nights, if the reading is good, then I'll light a candle and stay up til the wee hours of the morning delving into deeper worlds and fantasies than ever imaginable. Reading and climbing are my passions, and in order to live life to the fullest, one must follow their passions.
This must sound like an awful lot coming from a twelve-year old girl who lives in a small shack in the middle of a forest, but it's all the truth.
"Do you think you'll be reaped?" Lotte whimpers tentatively as she and I make our back to my house.
"I don't see the chances in it," I reply without looking at her, "It's our first year eligible for reaping, and our names are only the bowl once. We both didn't take any tesserae, so I'd say we have a worse chance of being reaped than this rock," I say as I kick the tiny pebble. It lands in Lotte's path and she picks it up, studying it, scrutinizing it with her beady brown eyes.
"What if this rock gets reaped?" Her question is real, and unwavering.
"Then I'll volunteer," I snicker as Lotte shoots me a worried glance. She drops the rock and as I skip onward she rushes to catch up.
"Hey wait!" Lotte calls, but I am too fast. I skip and dance amongst the trees and soon I am devoured by the long line of wood. Lotte's calling my name, so I decide to have fun.
"Catch me if you can!" I giggle and I can hear Lotte laugh in reply. Her footfalls are tiny but loud enough for me to hear and I dash away when she thinks she has me. Lotte's chances of catching me are slim, and I spin around the same tree three times as she approaches, throwing her off. She makes a grab for me, but she barely misses my jacket and I cackle as I continue my fleet-footed dance. Lotte thinks up an idea, a good one, and stops moving. Scanning the tree line with her analytical gaze, she plots every step I will make. That is Lotte's passion, analysis, meticulous planning and tenacity above all. She rushes forward, three trees to my left. I turn to the right to evade her, but she anticipates this and fakes a right dash. My mind can't keep up with my feet so I careen into a tree to my left in hopes of dodging left to escape her. My collision gives her just enough time to close and before I can squeal she has me in her grip.
"Caught you," she smirks, eyes gleaming with victory.
I am out of breath, and I sigh as I look up at her from slacked pose.
"Let's go," I huff and I drag my feet back to the house, where my mother sits on the porch, reading a book.
Don Quixote, it reads and it's a book I've never seen before. Wondering what its contents hold, I am about to ask my mother what she is reading, but she intercepts my words and says,
"Maple dear, you're all scraped up," her voice is filled with concern.
She is staring at the long cuts that run up and down my arms, the ones the tree gave me when I skidded down its sides this morning. It was a bad jump, I hardly ever make mistakes, but I think I'm allowed to be a little off on this particular morning. I had completely forgotten about them, and now that my mother is staring at them like they're some deep set infection is bothering me. I don't like my mother to feel pained by my presence or have to worry about me. She already has enough to worry about. Although Benny's older than me, my mom takes care of him like he's a newborn baby. It doesn't bother me; it just makes me want to do things for myself so mother doesn't have to.
"We might have been so bay-ointment," my mother grabs my wrist to lead me into the house, but I know we have no ointment. I could run back out into the forest, I know where a bushel of bay leaves are, but to grind them and work them to a sticky pulp would take hours, hours we don't have. My mother is scanning the shelves, while Lotte and I sit back and watch her hopeless hunt. She runs her hand along the empty, dusty, shelf and turns back to me.
"I'm sorry dear, it seems we don't have any," she sounds deeply pained by this lack of medicine.
"It's ok mom, I'll just wash up now and we can go," I try to sound reassuring.
"Oh Maple, what am I going to do," my mother starts to break down and Lotte and I don't know what's happening. My mother puts her soft pink hands in her face and buries her eyes away from us. The short, horrible sounds of sobs emerge from my mother and I run a hand up and down her back to comfort her. She looks up at me, eyes red and peppered with salty tears.
"Why did I bring four children into this world," she stammers.
"Mom…what are you talking about?" I am genuinely confused at her statement.
"Four names…" she mutters under her breath.
"Mom?"
"Did you know, Maple dear, that when Benny's eighteen years old, he, you, Johanna, and Vel will all be eligible? All four of my children will be eligible. It's not your fault if you're reaped today…it's mine." I understand what she meant now, her guilt rings in her ears and she picks herself up and stumbles into the kitchen.
"Go wash up darling, and tell your father he can come inside. He's out on the side chopping wood, let him know breakfast will be ready soon. Johanna and Vel are getting ready, so they'll be down in a bit, and I think Benny's still sleeping. It would do good to wake him up," she resumes her matriarchal posture, and tends to the quail eggs and wheat cake she is making. Food is scarce for a family of six, so we use what we can.
I swing outside the front door of the house to find my mother, and sure enough he is busy splitting wood in half. His axe comes down with dead precision, and the block of oak splits clean into two separate pieces. I've always wondered, what it would be like if a head were there instead of wood. My father snaps me from my fantasy, as he notices I am standing there with a dumb look on my face.
"Morning Maple," my father smiles roughly. His scraggly black beard fringes his face and his dark green eyes shine in the morning light. His muscles are burly and rough, thanks to years of splitting wood for the lumber yard. My father looks tired, but he smiles nonetheless. Always in a good mood, Richard Starr is a man who works tirelessly and without question. Sometimes like a machine.
"Hey dad," I reply and walk over to the stump he was cutting on. He puts the axe down and picks me up by the waist. I may be twelve years old, but I'm light as a feather thanks to my small stature.
"Mom said breakfast is almost ready," I giggle as he holds me high in the air.
"Alright pumpkin head, I'll be there soon. You go wash up now, we've got somewhere to go today," he dodges using the word 'reaping' because I can see the cloudy hurt creeping into his forest green eyes. This year, his next child is up for the reaping, arguably his favorite one. Although my mother and I are very close due to our intellectual nature and love of reading, my father has always found pure joy in me. He carries me on his shoulders most places we go, and always saves portion of his meals for me, out of sight of the others. Some nights, he'll build a fire behind the house and we'll stare up at the stars and he'll weave the most intricate and fantastical tales of what the constellations are saying to one another. Nights like those make living in District Seven worth it. Out here, where the country isn't ruined by factories and businesses, every single star shines brightly in the sky.
"Go on now," my father smiles as he puts me down and struts to the kitchen. Wrapping his bearlike arms around my mother, he kisses her neck softly and she laughs as the quail eggs simmer on the stove. I can see the joy enter her eyes again, and the both of them look happy. I smile, watching them, and hope that one day, I can make it past these dreadful next six years and start a family.
I am halfway to the washroom when I see Johanna and Vel in their room, fitting on their reaping dresses.
"Oh my, how pretty you are," I awe at my younger sisters beauty, and they smile up at me, like puppies waiting for a ball to be thrown their way. They twirl in their dresses, the ends spinning with them and creating a silky vortex. Johanna's hair is pinned back, it is blonde like my mother's, but Vel and I share the pitch black color of my father's hair.
"We look pretty?" Vel wants another compliment, being only eight years old is a time I remember as hungry for the spotlight.
"Very," I reiterate and Johanna, whose a little more skeptical of what the day brings says,
"Maple…are you going away today?"
Startled at her question I quickly cook up a reply and say, "No, Maple is going to stay right here."
Leaving them, I clean myself in the washroom, careful to get any dirt out of my scrapes. Drying myself off after the cleansing, I walk to my room, the one that I share with Benny. Sure enough, he is sound asleep, the faintest traces of snores rising from his open mouth and nose. He inhales the air around him and coughs up and nasty whoop. I shake his arm, and to my delight he jumps out of bed like someone tried to kill him. He loses his balance and tumbles onto the floor.
"Good morning," I say sweetly.
"Yeah, whatever," Benny says glumly.
"The reapings in less than an hour, get a move on," I instruct as he clambers up from the floor and brushes himself off. Benny sighs and walks to the room I just left from and I can hear him emptying and filling the wash basin with what little water we have.
Digging through my drawers, I settle on a simple pale dress, and slip it on over my petite frame. In another five minutes we're all assembled by the door. My father in his church clothes, my mother in her sundress, Benny in a white shirt tucked into black pants, Johanna and Vel in their beautiful dresses and I in mine. We look like we're going to maybe a wedding or church, but the occasion is not as joyful as that. We are headed for the reaping.
Walking there, not much occurs. Father and Mother walk hand in hand and so do Johanna and Vel, inseparable as they are. Benny and I walk together, but don't talk. We are the two who are center stage this year, Benny and I could possibly be taken from our home and shoved into the Hunger Games, something neither one of us are too keen about. We reach the square and my father takes Johanna and Vel away, smiling at me as he goes. Benny goes on, to the fourteen-year old boy section, but my mother stays and grabs my shoulders.
"Maple dear," she begins, "Be strong, both you and Lotte are only in the bowl once, see there she is."
Lotte is walking up with her family; she must have slipped away while I was getting ready.
"Hi," is all she can say and the fear in her eyes bubbles over and the extra little bits flow into my soul. I begin to shake, uncontrollably but quietly. I am visibly nervous though and I begin to think that this is the first time the reality of it all settles in. If I am reaped, I will die.
We make our way, hand in hand, over to the twelve-year old girl section. Our mothers are far from us now and must act as each other's support system. All the other girls around us appear to feel the same way. For years we have looked on as lambs have been sent to slaughter, not caring a whim. Now, we are those lambs, and our demise is closing in. My shaking calms a bit when Mayor Thornebark makes his way to the stage. He begins talking, and I absorb every word and cling on to each syllable as if someone is going to ask me what he just said. I cannot let a single sound that comes out of his mouth escape my mind. Lotte is tearing up, and her name hasn't even been called.
Our district escort, Alfie Thoreau, is very personable but I don't seem to care about his personality right now. He makes the dark business seem like a sporting event, which it is, you could call it hunting. Except that you release twenty four hunters into the wild and their targets are each other. Thoreau smiles as he saunters over to the girl's bowl, and Lotte's grip on my palm tightens, constricting the flow of blood to my tiny fingers.
He moves his hand around in the bowl for what seems like an eternity, and then finally he fishes out a single slip of white paper, folded forward and then to the side to make a perfect miniature square. He wets his lips with his tongue, the saliva glistening in the sunlight, and then proceeds to read the name on the paper with the sickest and most electric of tones possible.
"Maple Starr!"
My heart catches in my throat and my eyelids flutter for about half a second. Lotte screams a deafening caterwaul and I can hear the sobs of my family rise up from the crowd like a symphony of sirens. I begin to sob, out of control like my tremors earlier, and I somehow manage to make my way to the stage. I look back at Lotte, who's wet and sloppy grief strikes me like a javelin in the chest. I breathe heavy gasps of air, and Alfie takes my hand and nearly drags me up to the platform beside him.
"For the boys," Alfie continues on with the presentation, obviously unaffected by the horrific display of emotion that just occurred. I steal a glance at our lone victor, Rocky Undercity is his name. I remember his games; they were only three years ago. I think they were the first games where I could actually understand the true horrors of the game. When Rocky won, it was like a festival in the streets. He looked so dismal then, the triumph on his face clearly masking a world of hurt and discontent.
He and I hold a steady gaze with each other and he looks horrified at having to mentor a twelve-year old. He hasn't had to so far, and now that Elm died, he's all alone in the training department. He looks pretty upset, but a new horror, unprecedented and hiding in the shadows strikes him and I like a rogue wave in a storm.
"L-Lowle Un-Undercity," Alfie stammers with disbelief.
Rocky looks sideswiped and I know exactly who that is. For a moment, I forget my recent death sentence and mourn with the rest of the crowd. Lowle, Rocky's younger brother looks stupefied, but nothing beats the look on his mother's face. The odds of one son surviving were only one in twenty four, but the chances of two making it through? Next to none.
Then, for the third time in the last minute, something unexpected happens.
"I volunteer!" I hear a voice rise from the crowd, shaky at first but then confident. It is the youngest brother, and although I can't remember his name, I quickly figure out his ploy. Lowle emerged from the eighteen-year old section, which means after today he would have been safe. By taking the bullet for Lowle, this boy is securing the most probable chance of his mother keeping two of her sons. A new set of screams rise from the crowd and the mother submerges into the hypnosis of her grief. Lowle is quickly replaced by his brother, who Alfie announces as,
"Revolc Undercity!"
Rocky looks as if he's been punched in the stomach. He shakes his head and places it between his hands. Shaking with grief, I can only sympathize for a moment until I remember my predicament. No one volunteered for me.
"Oh Maple sweetie, oh Maple," my mother sobs into my shoulder and I resume my sobbing with her. My father holds onto Benny's shoulder as he silently weeps and Johanna and Vel are crying manically next to my mother's side. I hug them all, each and every one of them.
"Here," my father removes the wooden necklace he always wears from his neck and places it around mine.
"May it bring you the best of the luck," he whispers into my ear as he slips it around my thin neck. I shed another tear, in finality. Benny, Johanna and Vel have nothing to say to me, they can't muster the words and after one big family hug they are ushered out by the peacekeeper that stands guard by the door. I scream and pound my tiny balled fists against the wooden door because I know that is the last time I will see them again. The peacekeeper shoves me back into the room as I make a break to find my family. Soon I crumble against the floor, and I don't even notice her entrance, but Lotte is there with me.
"You can climb," she whispers hopefully.
"So? I just stay in a tree the whole time?" Her strategy is dubious at best.
"I don't know," the sobs wrack her body and she crumbles next to me. For a moment, we weep together, loud and mournfully. We hug tightly, passions high and memories resurfacing. She kisses my cheek and the peacekeeper severs my life once more. Lotte looks back as she is carted away and I scream out once more. I know my friend and family are gone now, and I won't ever see them again.
I am late to the train, apparently. I didn't know the train had a schedule, but Rocky tells me we need to hurry as he helps me onto the train. He came to get me after they realized I hadn't boarded yet. I was still in a heap on the floor of the waiting room and he carried me to the platform. When I realized where I was, he put me down and let me board myself. As I step on, I look back at Rocky.
"You don't have to waste time on me, I'm aware of my fate." My words surprise him, coming from a twelve-year old.
He smiles as he looks up at me.
"That's why I'm here," he replies with renewed strength in his voice, "To change it."
"Change what?" I asked incredulously.
"Your fate."
Well, I got a bit carried away there. Sorry if the length of this chapter was off-setting. I just wanted to fully develop on the history of Rev's family and the contrast of Maple's mental strength with her physical strength. I have to thank hgwriter123 for both of these fabulous tributes! Shout-outs to nightfuries, RainEpelt, Queen of the Type Writers, richards25, Saltey, dreamgazer86, Kyle Hennepin, and of course IceVeinsVillain for the reviews and constant support throughout this process! Reads, reviews and encouraging words make this worth writing; it lets me know I have an audience! So thanks to all mentioned and those I missed for all of it so far! District Eight is up next!