A/N: Do not fear, for I am alive! Sorry, but I was really busy what with my actual life and all about two weeks ago, and then for the past week I've been on a mission trip in Mississippi. Furthermore, I took a lot of time planning the male tribute for this district due to the fact that the one submitted was deemed inappropriate for the sake of you readers. Some of the themes expressed in the submission were too much for this story and would creep into darker realms, even for the Hunger Games. Upon further review, it was rejected and to spare time, I planned my own tribute. Also, the pair for District Twelve have both been axed due to lack of true background and character from the submitters and I have filled in those positions with previously denied submissions. Also, please help me reach my goal of 75 reviews before the reapings are over, that's just five between the next two chapters! So when you're done, please review! Alright, that was lengthy, but here is…District Eleven
Auric Zola
District Eleven- Boy
I can hear the rain pounding on the roof, incessant and heavy. In my heart I pray that the torrent washes away the reaping, but I know that it takes more than rough weather to redirect the agenda of the capitol. This is good though, the orchard needs the rain, or so Melodia says. I wouldn't know, I just started working in the orchard and I haven't seen the full effects of the drought. We haven't had rain for what's seemed like a month here in eleven, and it's ironic that the heavens open on the day of the reaping. At least to me it is.
The rain makes me groggy, so I find it hard to bring myself to the watching room. That's what we call it, since the only thing that happens in there is either the small talk my mother and I share or the viewing of the Hunger Games. A single worn couch rests on the damp floor. There must be a leak in the roof, again. My mother sits there, eyes blank and staring at the wall.
"Auric," she whispers, barely audibly.
"Morning," I say, my voice rife with a shaky nervousness I didn't know was there.
"It's going to be you, I know it, I know it," her voice breaks as the whisper rises.
"Mom, you don't know that," I try to console her but my efforts are futile.
"It's only my first year," I try and use that card to my advantage. My name is in the bowl once, no tesserae needed, our neighbor Alphae supplies us with enough grain to feed the two of us.
"Mom I have to go," I say as I notice the hands of the clock near nine, the time of the reaping.
"Auric," she whispers once more, slowly rising to accompany me on the wet walk to the square.
District Eleven has one victor, Xenovius Kristermere. His name is associated with words like insane, brilliant, diabolical, genius, maniacal, and bright. Xenovius Kristermere won the Hunger Games in a matter of minutes. The capitol was furious, worst games ever they had called it up in the capitol. All of the gamemakers were executed on television and Xenovius had his whole family killed. Young, spry and limber, he jumped backwards far enough off his platform to avoid the explosion and set off mines on several other podiums. Many jumped backwards and forwards in fright. The ones who survived were killed in what little of a bloodbath there was and in the ash and smoke Xenovius killed the only living career. Twenty-three children were gone in four minutes.
I can see him on the stage now, sitting in a dingy chair behind our district escort Floria Telmina. Her bright green ensemble hurts my eyes in the dreary weather. We stand in the pouring rain, and because of the downpour the movie from the capitol can't play. The mayor curtly introduces Floria and she begins the procedures.
The white wisps of Xenovious' beard are plastered to his chest in the rain. Floria's microphone works under the umbrella she is shielding herself with and she greets the soaking crowd.
"Lovely weather isn't it?" She asks, making a dry attempt at humor, despite the wet conditions.
No one replies, and she gets on with the show.
"Well, I suppose we'll begin with the boys," her satin voice sounds more like grinding cogs to me and fear begins to settle inside of me. I can see Melodia in the aisle across from me, her golden hair stuck to her shoulders and her cerulean eyes deadest on the stage. She is so beautiful; I can feel the flutters in my heart when I look at her. She doesn't know of my massive crush on her, nor do I think she ever will. Melodia is eighteen, and head of the section of the orchard I work on. She likes me because I'm small and nimble and climb the trees quickly, scooping up many oranges and apples with my deft hands. We don't share many words, save for conversation about the orchard. All these thoughts run through my mind, and the fear blots itself out with warm images of Melodia.
"Auric Zola!" Floria calls out to the crowd.
What? Wait a minute, don't I get to marry Melodia first? What's going to happen to my future? When do I get to impress Melodia with my apple-picking skills? No, not now. Not yet, I'm not ready. Wait, give me a year or two, then I can fight. I'm only twelve, there are kids six time my size wielding sharp daggers and beaming with crooked teeth just waiting to get a taste of my tender skin. The peacekeepers grab me, I wasn't able to get a move on quick enough for them I guess. I look around desperately, trying to get some last glimpse of Melodia before I take my place beside Floria. There she is, wait, she's crying! Why? Why doesn't she smile, why can't I remember her as happy?
Then I realize, it's not me she's weeping for. Her sister Amber is making her way through the crowd, and I'm guessing that she just got reaped. I didn't even hear Floria say her name. Guess I was too busy worrying about Melodia and I. Wait, get a hold of yourself Auric, there is no Melodia and you. There's only you and twenty-three other kids in this world now, and Melodia's sister happens to be one of them.
I am in the Justice Building, with only my mother.
"Auric, didn't I say this would happen?" My mother shakes her finger at me, as if she is teaching me a lesson like some frustrated schoolteacher.
"Mother, help me!" I cry, the tears instantly begin to stream down my face.
"No, I can't help you now, but remember, you must be strong for me Auric, come back to me and bring our district pride. There are only two kinds of people in this world, people who dream and people who do. Your father and I were different," My hearing skips a few words when she mentions dad, and my heart sinks in memory, "He was a doer, and Auric, all I've done as of late is dream."
My dad, Curiarc Zola died when I was eight. He caught some deadly virus, something my mother called the Black Cough. It's incurable supposedly, and he slipped away like the moonlight out of our lives. Since then, my mother has shut down, only whispering fears and wishes now and then. Most of them come true, whether they are fears or wishes. It's scarily odd, but my mother is a dreamer, and those dreams just happen to do.
"I'll try mother," I hoarsely reply between tears.
"You must do better than try for me Auric," my mother's voice is stern but caring, life pours back into her tone, and with it the will to fight emerges in me.
"Mother I can do more than try," I muster up a more energetic reply, "I will do."
My fate is sealed as she nods with brevity and the peacekeeper seizes her from my life. Like the passing of the day my mother is gone and I am left alone and scared. Courage and despair are an odd mixture, but the two clash inside of me. Someone is in the hall, Xenovious Kristermere, and the look on his face tells me he is sorry. Sorry we were reaped and sorry our lives our going to become darker by the minute. But there is a glimmer in the far reaches of Xenovius' eyes, a faint light that shines that harder I look. Something representing hope and the future, something representing life is there in his eyes, and I intend to reach it.
Amber Liefson
District Eleven- Girl
Courtesy of SongOfTheBirds
It's my second time today, facing the reaping bowl. I can remember last year so perfectly, I was trembling so hard I could barely form words. The looming thought that I would get picked clouded my mind all day and I couldn't even focus on my work for weeks prior to that. Then, when my name wasn't called and it was someone else, relief gushed into my pores and my heart rate settled. Then I remembered, I have to do this six more times before I'm safe, and today the nerves settle back in once more, reminding me of the horror that awaits me at the square.
It's not that I'm a worrisome baby all the time; I just don't want to die at this age. I have things planned for myself and for my family and I'm afraid that if I'm reaped then I won't be able to carry out those designs. I rub my fingers against the woven green anklet I wear everywhere, it reminds of my sister, Melodia. The oldest in our house in terms of children, today is Melodia's last time facing the reaping bowl, and eighteen is something I wish I was right now. I can hear the bells ringing, signaling to us that it's time to leave morning work and head to the square.
I'm reflecting on all of this high up in the apple orchard, where I spend most of my days picking and sorting the prime apples for the market. My sister Melodia runs this sector, and she's currently talking to some boy about something trivial like picking methods. I don't really care for proper form and expedient methods, I just know how I am going to get something done and then I do it that way. Melodia stands in the way of all of that, always trying to preen and pluck me of any imperfections and make me like her. What if I don't want to be like her? What if I want to be me?
Leaving the orchard, I can see my three brothers coming from the grape vines, dirty and tired. Perri is the youngest out of them, fourteen years old. Older than him is Grover at sixteen and his twin Seth. The three of them are laughing and smiling despite the obvious torpor in their steps and the hanging thought of the reaping. My three brothers never seem worried about anything though. Melodia is ahead of me now, and she leaves the boy she was talking with to head for the square with some of her older friends. I was hoping she would stop to walk with me, possibly take me to my section. Melodia isn't like that though; her love is distant, not affectionate and close.
Reaching the square, I don't want to face this impending darkness. This torture that requires me to wait amongst the sweaty and pubescent members of my gender and pray that I'm not shipped off to the killing floor. Steeling myself as I enter the square, I try to think of the fact that my parents will no doubt have something nice to eat in celebration of Melodia's success in dodging the Hunger Games. On the stage is that weird Xenovius Krister-whatever, watching us all with his goggle-like eyes. Scrutinizing each one of us, determining whether we are fit enough to win under his wing. His eyes stop on me for what seems like half a second and then flit on to a new specimen. His examination stops when the mayor decides to cut the movie due to the rain, something I hadn't even noticed in all this thought. Trudging here, my mind bogged down by thoughts of my death and my sister's lack of attentiveness towards me, I had barely noticed the downpour. I am soaked, and my raven black hair is nearly glued to my shoulders, back, and chest.
"Ladies and gentleman, the beautiful Miss Floria Telmina!" The mayor's voice booms as he welcomes our district escort. Her bright green ensemble is funny looking, and almost draws a laugh from me. Almost.
"Well, well, looks like our little parade is being rained on," Floria says, then looks up in shock, probably thinking her microphone wasn't on. Shades of cerise start to glow on her pale cheeks, and she moves on with the reaping.
Reaching her gloved hand into the boy's bowl, she picks a single slip and then reads the unlucky name aloud.
"Auric Zola!"
I have no idea who that is, but as the young boy who was talking with Melodia this morning takes to the stage, pangs of recognition and sadness hit my stomach. Someone I just saw this morning learning and wanting to grow is being stolen away from us so quickly, his existence is ephemeral now; it's only a matter of time. His scrawny build and childish figure won't allow him to last long, and as these thoughts cloud my mind, a new horror, completely distant from the woes of Auric Zola begins to dance in my brain.
"Amber Liefson!" Floria calls out, stunning my heart and causing me to gasp as if a ghost had just passed through my core. The blood in my veins freezes, each cell becoming an icy block of red.
No, no, no. I have aspirations. I have to make my family proud and wealthy before I die. Wait, wait, wait. Amber, get ahold of yourself. You can bring pride and glory to your family, you can do this, you can…hold on.
There's someone in this crowd, someone who should be rushing to the stage right about now. But she's not. As I climb up these infernal stairs and take the outstretched hand of Floria Telmina, my eyes dart to find Melodia's. She is ashamed, crying, not for me but for herself. She isn't strong enough to take my place, not physically but in her heart. She is weak and selfish, nothing like the bright light of genius and productivity like we see in the orchard. As Floria closes the unceremonious ceremony, I can't take my eyes off of Melodia, and out of the corner of them, I can see Xenovius looking me up and down, wondering what secret talents, if any, I hold.
"I don't know…," Melodia's apology is cut off by my harsh words.
"Go, get out, now," I bark definitively.
"Amber," my mother pleads, but I look into her golden eyes, they look exactly like mine.
"Little Miss Perfect can go now mom, I know my name was called, but it's her duty as my elder sister to take my place, not to watch her youngest sibling be sent to the slaughter. I'm sure Perri, Grover, and Seth would have taken my place if they could have," I'm screaming now, and my brothers all nod in agreement, tears stinging the edges of their usually unburdened eyes.
"Amber…," Melodia tries again but my father puts a hand on her shoulder.
"Go," he states firmly. Shock rises on her face, and she coldly walks out of the room, slowly and painfully.
"Amber dear, we love you very much," my father hugs me tightly and everyone else says reassuring words before the peacekeepers drag them away.
"Come home to us!" My mother cries out as she is taken away, and I intend to fulfill her promise, whether or not Melodia is there for me, I will come home and show them that I'm the one who should be giving my mother and father something to be proud about.