Icarus Cotton
District Twelve- Male
Courtesy of Palutenaet
Its days like these that cast worried looks and fearful expressions on the faces of those around me. I can't help but wonder, who will it be? Every day we pass by our neighbors in the Hub, conducting business and orchestrating sales, but we never take a moment to think about the transient nature of this world. One moment, a sprightly gathering of children could be gamboling in the field, and then, one of them is gone, whisked away by the Capitol. I know not of the Dark Days, I was not alive then. I know not of the Rebellion, I was not alive then. However, I know of one thing. These games, these infernal and disgusting Hunger Games, will bring us more misery than any rebellion ever could. Even now, I watch families weep and…
"Hello! Anyone up there in that big ol' dome of yours?" Ecclesiastes asks with a smirk.
"I was in the middle of something," I say with an annoyed tone.
"Yeah, and the capitol is in the middle of destroying families, so we need to get a move on," Ecclesiastes barks roughly, nudging from my cross-legged position and nearly dragging me out of my loft. The book I was reading, Reflections of a Mid-Century Philosopher on the Hunger Games, tumbles to the ground, with the page still open.
"Hey! I was reading!" I try to reason with my brother, but he just laughs and brings me to the kitchen, where my mother and father are cooking breakfast and reading respectively.
"He gets to read," I whine to Ecclesiastes, pointing at my father's open newspaper.
"He doesn't have to be somewhere important," Ecclesiastes points out, much to my dismay.
"Boys, the morning has just begun and we are already fighting?" My mother raises an eyebrow, turning from her work at the stove.
"He started it," I say as I point to my brother.
"I don't care who started it, your mother has made a nice breakfast for this morning and both of you will take a seat and stop your fighting," My father commands and we instantly obey. My father carries this dignified respect with him, he's not mean or overly strict, he's just someone you obey without question. My father is a lot older than most of my friend's fathers, but I can't complain. My father, Atticus Cotton, owns the Blackfoot Mining Company, and we arguably the richest in town, next to my friend Hera's mother's medicinal business.
My mother dishes the bacon, sausage, and eggs onto our plates and before Ecclesiastes and I can dig in, my father furrows his whitening brow. We anxiously wait for my mother to set the dishes back on the counter and then come to her seat, and once she does, we attack our breakfast. Rolling his eyes, my father has learned that teenage boys own black holes for stomachs, and doesn't try to reason with our eating habits. We're not fat by any means; both my brother and I are built and muscular, due to our excessive amounts of training.
It's true, those with the money in District Twelve can afford to train, and we are among those people. My father had a small training complex erected on the outskirts of town, so that his children and the offspring of the wealthy here in twelve could have a shot at bringing this district glory. Twelve has only won once, and our single victor lives a sequestered life in Victor's Village. It's the goal of my brother, Hera, and I to win the Hunger Games three years in a row, and bring glory and riches to District Twelve. No one takes us seriously, and I can't wait to prove the rest of Panem wrong.
"Icarus, are you alright darling?" My mother, Serena, asks politely. I must have been drowning in my thoughts, because I can almost see the glaze fall off of my eyes as I surface back to reality.
"I'm fine mother, just thinking, that's all," I say quickly, not wanting to worry her.
"Well boys," my father says, finishing up his meal, "You've got two hours until the reaping, I suggest you get in a bit more of training before we go to the square."
His comment nonplusses me, because we had agreed that since the time had come, we would spend the morning together, in case anything went wrong in the arena.
"But dad," Ecclesiastes begins, "What about you and mom; aren't we going to spend time together this morning?"
"No son, not today, your mother and I have figured that it would be best for you to exercise a bit more, that way you'll be nice and spry for the Hunger Games this year," he says firmly.
Wait a minute. Aren't I supposed to be going into the games this year? Ecclesiastes is next year and then Hera. What is my dad talking about? He knows our plan, he's aware of our dreams. Where is all this coming from?
"Dad, I'm going this year, remember?" I ask aloud.
"No," he says, his words carrying the weight of a steel ton in my stomach, "Your brother is going in this year, to bring this district glory." The words he speaks shock even my mother, and the look on her face lets me know she had no part in this new and hideous design. My father quickly rises from the table and hands his plate to my mother, who accepts it as one would accept a ticking time bomb. My father storms out of the room, seemingly annoyed at our resistance to his thinking. Ecclesiastes shoots me a terrified glance, and I know he's scared. He thought he would have an entire year to practice still, but now our father is forcing him into the Hunger Games earlier than he expected.
"Go on boys, I'm sure you still have time to do that training," my mother says, sounding hollow inside. It really doesn't matter who it is, Ecclesiastes or I, she's losing a son today.
"Let's go Icarus," my brother says, not looking at me. Before anyone can say another word, he drags me out into the sunshine and we are heading in a direction far from the training center.
"Where are we going?" I cry out, wondering where my angered brother is intending on taking us. He doesn't respond, but instead drags us throughout the back bends and swathes of District Twelve, until we reach the Gattlesfont Mansion. Alceldessa Gattlesfont sits in the front yard, tending to her rosebushes. Stunned as to why we've come here, I follow my brother into the grounds, keeping an eye out for Hera.
"Good morning boys," Mrs. Gattlesfont exclaims upon seeing us, "Hera is just inside, come to say goodbye before the big day Icarus?" It takes me a moment to realize she is talking to me, and all I can do is nod my head. These last ten minutes have been a whirlwind, and as Ecclesiastes wheels me inside the castle of a home, I can only wonder what we're going to do about the reaping.
"Hey," Hera says awkwardly, not expecting us to be at her house. Her long blonde hair is draped over her shoulders, and her bright blue eyes match perfectly with the cerulean dress her mother has picked out for her. She will look like a sapphire among coals at the reaping in a few hours, amongst the tarnished and soiled garbs of most of the residents of the district. We are a handful among few, and Hera chooses reaping days to show off her family's wealth. The Gattlesfont's have money, about as much as we do, yet they tend to be a bit showier.
"There's a problem," Ecclesiastes says hotly, "A big, big, problem."
"What's the matter?" Hera inquires, her blonde hair swishing back and forth as she looks back and forth between my brother and I.
"Our dad wants Ecclesiastes to volunteer this year, and as we all know," I shoot my brother a rough look as I talk, "He's not ready."
"About as ready as you are," he complains, "You spend so much time reading all of your philosophy and reflections, a bet I'm more prepared than you!"
"Boys!" Hera shouts, bringing both of us back to reality. "You know very well that you've been loafing around during training for the past few months Ecclesiastes, you thought you'd be safe for another year, and look where that's gotten you. There's only one option we have if we want to preserve this little plan of ours, and that's to blatantly disobey your father!"
Her words are tough, but true. Ecclesiastes and I exchange worried glances, and I know what's going to happen. It doesn't matter how much hate will brew as a result, I must go into the Hunger Games.
The square is filled with the poor, or more accurately all of District Twelve. Ecclesiastes and I receive hateful looks and spiteful scowls as we pass by the peacekeepers and make way for the fifteen-year old boys section.
"Hey look guys, it's the cotton balls," I can hear someone jeer, and I simply shrug off the remarks. People think we're absolutely pampered, but I'd like to see them be placed into the situation we are in. In our world, the Hunger Games are a stage of life. As we file in, our district escort comes out onto stage, her name is Esmeralda Trinket. All gussied up in chiffon and lace, her outfit looks like it's worth the collective salaries of District Twelve. As the presentation from the capitol begins to roll, my heart starts to flutter. The time is nearing.
"Well well," Esmeralda begins, "It's time to select one very lucky boy and girl to compete in the 49th annual Hunger Games!" Her grand words get no cheer or applause, and with an upset expressions she saunters over to the girl's bowl.
"Ladies first, and remember, may the odds be ever in your favor," Esmeralda says as she dives a powdered hand into the bowl. Fishing around for what seems like eternity, she removes the slip and speaks the unfortunate name.
"Sasha Galem!" She shouts, her shrill voice resonating throughout the square. Whoever Sasha is, she takes her place on the stage, and overall doesn't seem too terribly bothered. I wish I could be that strong, I wish my hands weren't shaking and my heart wasn't racing. It doesn't matter what name is pulled out of that bowl, my fate is sealed.
"For the boys," Esmeralda says coolly.
"Austin Bolton!"
"I volunteer!" I scream at the top of my lungs and race forward, leaving Ecclesiastes behind. Everyone is simply shocked, volunteers are unheard of in District Twelve. I don't even get to see who Austin is, I guess he never had time to reveal himself. Looking back out on the crowd I can Ecclesiastes, nodding a silent thank you to me. But farther back I can see my father, whose eyes dance with the flames of anger.
"What is this?" My father shouts, slamming his hand on the wall. "It was not your turn!"
"Who cares whose turn it is?" My mother shouts, brining silence to the room. "All three of you are guilty, guilty of conspiring to rip our family apart for the sake of glory. There are twenty-three other children aspiring to do the same thing, what difference does it make that Icarus is one of them. Be it Ecclesiastes or whoever you want it to be, it doesn't change the fact that the blood of our family will be spilt on national television, all so you can add more money to our overflowing wealth."
We are stunned, all of us. My father puts a hand on my shoulder and nods, then turns to leave the room. Ecclesiastes hugs me, tight and lovingly. After they both leave the room, my mother turns to me.
"Come back home Icarus," she says, "And take this." She hands me a bracelet, woven by my grandmother. My mother had always worn it for good luck, and now it's time I have a little of bit of just that. Slipping the woolen wristlet on, I hug my mother tight and she kisses both of my cheeks. Silent tears fall down our faces, and as she is taken from me, I can only think of coming home. Not for riches, not for glory, but for her.
Sasha Galem
District Twelve- Female
Courtesy of CrazyChick224
"Hey boys!" I flirtatiously call, sashaying over to the group of young men who are crowded together. Winking at the first one who turns around, I give my auburn ponytail a shake.
"Oh look guys, its Sasha," one of them says, and they all instantly turn around. Sliding my arms around the waists of two of them, I at once become part of the group. Boys are pigs, they'll do anything for their next meal, and I'm sure I'm looking rather tasty right now, if you know what I mean. Arm in arm, I saunter around the Hub with these boys around me, each one salivating over my curves and whatnot. I interchange my suitors, twisting around to envelope those who haven't had a chance to walk with me yet. By the time we reach the end of the Hub, I've had my arms around every single one, and unknowingly stolen all of their wallets.
"Well, I told my mother I would bring some bread home before the reaping, so I think I'll be on my way," I coo at them, making sure my hips sway as I walk away from them. I can feel their eyes still on me, and by the time I've reached the corner of the street, I'm well out of sight. Quickly turning I break into a run, kicking up dust as I speed down the dirt path. Making sure I weave in and out of every possible passerby and alleyway, the route to the Hub is long behind in a matter of minutes. Reaching our small shack of a house, I smile devilishly, knowing my mother and father will be proud.
Opening the door, I instantly spot them, at the table, eating some leftover squirrel.
"Ah Sasha, bring anything back?" My father, Iker, questions. His peculiar blue-white eyes focus on me, and he gives his shoulder-length brown hair a shake. My mother, Mae, has long red hair and bright blue eyes, and she trains them on me now as I set down the plethora of wallets I swiped.
"Very good, now open them up, how much do boys carry on them nowadays?" My mother asks with a wicked gleam in her eyes. Opening up the wallets, I watch as several notes and coins spill out onto the table. From a glance, I can tell we've managed to get enough to feed us for a while.
"Hmm, ten-twenty-thirty-forty-, Sasha darling, this is forty-four in total, that's excellent," My father beams, giving me a pat on the back. I always love when I make him proud, and stealing is one of the quickest ways to do that. We're not bad people; we just do what we have to do in order to survive in District Twelve. The rugged terrain and horrible market leave many in shambles, and my mother and father did not intend to end up like that when they first got married. When I was born, there was an extra mouth to feed, and so they trained me to be just like them, and now I'm better than the both of them combined.
"Mae sweetheart," my father says softly, "Put these in the deposit box while I make some more squirrel for Sasha." My mother takes the money from my father, but I hold up my hands in refusal.
"Sorry dad," I say with a grossed out look on my face, "I think I'll skip the squirrel."
"Come on Sasha, you know you have to eat," My father looks a little irritated.
"I just don't like the taste, I'll find something while we're out at the reaping, I'll be fine," I say, and I know it's true. Reaping day is one of the easiest occasions for stealing, because people leave their business unattended and their stalls out and open. It's literally the easiest thing ever. As I'm nearing eighteen years old though, more and more people are beginning to match my face with my talents, and it's becoming a bit harder if I can't woo my prey.
"We need to get a move on," my father explains, "Reaping starts soon." We don't really worry about reapings, just as long as we get a good haul. My mother puts the money away and together the three of us head out into the morning light, hoping to make some profit off of this day.
Everyone we pass falls to our tricks. Experts in pickpocketing and stealing, a Galem can simply walk by you and steal the clothes off your back. Cramming things into our pockets, we arrive at the square with bulging pants and innocent smiles. My load is significantly more than my parents though, because stealing is more than a survival tactic for me, it's a hobby. Sometimes, I'll just steal for fun, even if we don't need it. Sure, I get reprimanded, but I just love the feeling of having something that doesn't belong to you.
Making sure to conceal what I've plundered, I pass by the peacekeepers unnoticed, avoiding the pinprick and the blood sample. Slipping into the seventeen year-old girls section, I blend in perfectly with the others. My dark blue eyes scan my surroundings, and they light up when the district escort walks on stage. Baubles and trinkets dangle from her ears, wrap around her neck, and adorn her fingers. Oh what all of those things could sell for, we'd make a killing. The thought makes me ravenous to steal them, and as the video clip plays, all I can think about are the things Esmeralda Trinket wears. As the tape comes to a close and Esmeralda carries on with the show, nerves pass over the crowd. Children begin to grow worried and fear for their lives. I on the other hand, doubt seriously that I'll be reaped.
"Ladies first, and remember, may the odds be ever in your favor," Esmeralda says with a beaming smile, making me want to throw up. All I can think about is getting home and dumping all this stuff before some nosy peacekeeper notices my pockets look like they're swollen.
"Sasha Galem!" Esmeralda calls out, much to my disbelief. I tremble at first, but then my natural confidence runs throughout me. I stride up to the stage, making sure I look fabulous for the capitol. Winking at the cameras, I blow the citizens a kiss, much to the excitement of Esmeralda. Standing proud, I know I'm sly enough to come out of this alive, no matter what brute force is thrown my way.
"For the boys," Esmeralda says, making her way to the other bowl. I find the faces of my parents in the crowd, and they know I'll be fine. In theory, I've been training for this what with all the stealing. I can remain unseen in any circumstance, I don't make a sound and I'm as light as a feather and quick as lightning.
"Austin Bolton!" Esmeralda shouts. I've never heard of him, but I've sure heard of the boy who surges forward to take his place.
"I volunteer!" The maniac shouts, throwing himself into the Hunger Games for everyone to see. The cameras instantly turn to him, capturing every emotion that runs throughout his face. He looks anxious, almost like he broke a rule or something by volunteering. Sure, we don't have many volunteers, but there's a first for everything. Our only victor sits on the edge of his seat, examining this boy thoroughly.
"What is your name?" Esmeralda asks, enthralled entirely.
"Icarus Cotton!" He says proudly, expecting cheers or something. No one glorifies him though, and together we are wheeled into the Justice Building.
"You'll be fine," My father says the second he finds me in the waiting room. I nod confidently, making sure we are out of view of the peacekeeper.
"Take these," I say, and begin dumping all the things I stole into my father's hands. He and my mother try to fit them all into their already stuffed pockets, and look ridiculous with them all bugled out. Despite the fact that I just lathered my family with things, my mother gives me something in return.
"Mom no, I can't accept this," I say defiantly, pushing the ring back in her direction.
"Take it," she pleads, and I regretfully slip her wedding ring onto my fingers. The resilient ruby shines in the low-lit room, and the ring is beautiful. What makes it special is that it wasn't stolen. My dad made enough doing odd jobs to actually buy something, he wanted it to be special. They both encourage me as the peacekeeper comes, and before I know it I am whisked away towards the train, far from the family I know.
I may be able to wink at boys and flirt my way through trouble, but I know as I step onto the train that I might not be able to wiggle my way out of this one.
Woo! The reapings are over! As I write this, I'm trying to beat the thunderstorm outside. Please review, I know we reached my reaping reviews goal with the last one, but that doesn't mean you should stop! Thanks to everyone who stuck with me thus far, we are finally on our way to the capitol! I can't wait for the tributes to start interacting, so thanks to all of you for submitting and reviewing and reading and just being plain awesome! Woo!
-AdmiralBobbery