Sage Freedan – District 6
I'm scared, terrified in fact. I don't know how this happened, but I just have to keep looking forward. I can't turn my back on this. My sister and parents wouldn't want me to cry in a corner. They'd want me to fight. I know my older sister didn't volunteer, and I can see why. She has a whole life to live and she has to take care of Tansy. They'll be alright without me, I suppose.
The thing is, I can't help but imagine what life would be back at home if I'm gone. Would anyone miss me? Would my friends mourn my death or just move on with their life? What about my family? Would Tansy know the difference in her life if I'm gone? Pondering these thoughts makes me wish Annie had volunteered. She's older and stronger. She has a chance. What chance do I have? A twelve year old girl from a district that makes trains and other types of transportation. What skills do I have? All I know is about plants. I could use it in the arena, but if someone were to confront me, what will I do? Throw plants at them until they run away? Beg and cry, hoping my dramatics would spare me?
I'm brought out of my musings as the stylists begin plucking hair from my body. I haven't exactly reached puberty yet so my hormones aren't changing to the point where I'm suddenly really hairy, growing taller, and having body odor. I might not even live to see what it's like to worry about boys and zits and grown up stuff. I'll miss so much.
A tear wells up in the corner of my eye, but I hastily wipe it away. I glance up when I hear a scream of pain, shouts of anger, and the clattering of utensils. My district partner, Tarragon, laughs as he figures out what has just happened. Apparently, a Career had cut off the finger of a stylist. I shudder, thinking of how it'll be in the arena. Which Career was it? Who do I need to look out for?
On the train, I'd watched the Reapings and wrote down who I should fear. I would have written down everyone, but Tarragon would never let me hear the end of it. The Careers this year are especially frightening, and the boy from Twelve. His district partner fears him. It shows in her eyes. The red head from Two is super scary with that glint of bloodlust in her eye. They say eyes are a gateway to the soul. I believe that's true, and a lot of people's souls show during the Games, usually when they're about to die.
I don't want to kill anyone. I want to go home, but I'd never hurt a fly. If I killed someone, I wouldn't be able to live with myself. To know I took away someone else's life, someone's chance to make a difference in the world, well, I wouldn't know what to do, think, or say.
I begin to bite my nails, but my nail stylist rips my fingers from my mouth. "Don't bite your nails. I have to do paint them now!" she says, giggling. She files my finger nails down and pulls out her extensive selection of nail polish colors. I watch as she paints intricate designs on my nails. They're colorful Capitol trains.
My head stylist comes in and shows me the outfit I'm going to wear. I gasp in awe as I put it on. It's magnificent and I'm sure the people of the Capitol will be excited. Tarragon enters as I get ready to exit. He's wearing a matching outfit. I'm pleased to know that our outfit isn't a front and back of a train. I'd probably end up as the caboose. Good news is, that's not our costume. Instead, we are shiny things that are some sort of transportation. We have metal shoulders and around our waist.
We'll be the highlight of the chariot rides. Tarragon laughs at my outfit. "We look so fricking ridiculous. Especially you!" He smirks at me, poking at my metal shoulders. "Just, seriously, look at this. This is Capitol fashion at its worst! The only thing that would top this all off would be helicopter hats that light up."
"Don't speak too soon!" our stylists chime in.
"Holy shit, I didn't mean seriously!" Tarragon says, frowning.
"We're joking," says my head stylist. "Now, it's time for you all to go!" They nudge us out to our chariot. The rides begin and my stomach does flips. I'd bite my nails, but the designs are so beautiful, I don't want to mess them up.
District One and Two are shiny and shimmery. District Three looks awkward as they're dressed in unitards with electrical wires. District Four's girl is absolutely stunning dressed as a mermaid. District Five is dressed with lightning bolts that stand for electricity.
We start rolling down the avenue. The crowd goes wild as we wave to them. Tarragon constantly has a smirk on his face as he waves nonchalantly. I don't know how he waves because it's an effort for me to just move my wrist.
"I can't believe these pricks like these outfits," Tarragon spits out, leaning against the edge. "I'm totally getting sponsors. You will too, I mean, if you don't die in the Bloodbath first."
Corduroy Dowlas – District 8
There's a high pitched, piercing scream that echoes throughout the room. I'm not sure if it's one of the tributes or a stylist.
"You touch me again and that's not the only thing I'll cut off," a female voice threatens. It's to my left, where all the higher districts are. The voice is familiar. Gabrielle Dictatrix's voice. My body shudders as a bunch of Capitol stylists run past me. One male stylist has a piece of cloth wrapped around his finger, or presumably the stump. Another stylist scurries behind him with something in another cloth, which I can only assume is the severed finger. Blood falls onto the floor and an Avox comes to quickly clean it up.
When I rewatched the Reapings, the one person that stood out to me was Gabrielle Dictatrix. She's clever and tough, but I would never trust her in the arena. She's the type to stab you in the back when you least expect it. Mentally, I check her off on the list of people not to ask to be allies with.
I wince as I heard the sound of my leg hair being ripped off. With a scowl, I growl at one of my stylists. The prep team I have is overly peppy and keeps blabbing on about their day. They don't even care if I reply. The woman waxing my legs is Bianca and she is the most normal of the three people on my prep team. Her purple hair is braided extravagantly around her head and she has a sky blue outfit on.
"How are you doing?" Bianca asks as the other two stylists babble.
"What do you care? I'll be dead soon," I say flatly.
"Sometimes it's nice to have people care," she replies.
I scoff, looking up towards the sky. "Yeah, I guess so."
"That Gabrielle Dictatrix girl looks like some tough competition." She smiles at me, but it's one I can see straight through. She's only doing it to seem nice. Bianca is just doing her job.
"I'd rather not talk about my competition," I tell her, sighing softly. I'll think about the other tributes during training, but not now.
"Well," Bianca says, moving to my eyebrows, "what about your partner?"
Rilly is a sweet girl, but she's no one I really care about. I'm sure we could have been friends, except for the fact that she's kind of a loser and her friend is a freak. Somehow, the most popular guy, Pan, is fawning all over her. I'm sure that there'll be some Capitol guys falling to their knees for her.
"No! I don't want you to cut my hair!" Rilly shouts. "Please, just let it be like the way it is!"
"What the hell are they doing to her?" I laugh lightly. She's beginning to sound like a wimp. I'm sure she'll die in the Bloodbath.
"Her head stylist wants to cut her hair," Bianca says. "Okay. You're all done." She grins, plucking the last few hairs. I grimace and sit up. She and my other two stylists lead me to a different room.
My head stylist saunters in, wearing a large, white and golden hoopskirt. She sends me a wide grin, circling around me. "Hello, Corduroy! I'm Vesti, your stylist. Now, I've taken a lot of time to design your outfit. I hope you love it!" She giggles, reaching on a hanger rack for an outfit that's in a black bag. When she pulls it out, I gasp.
It's a giant Peacekeeper outfit with rhinestones. That's not manly. I can't wear that. Rilly's a girl; she can wear it. I'm not going to. I shake my head, backing away.
"Er…no," I say, drawing out the 'o.'
"Uh, yes," Vesti replies, drawing out the 's.' She pushes me towards the back of the room, forcing me into the suit. "You're going to look so great! Riley, too!"
"Her name's Rilly," I mumble as she pokes and prods me with long fingernails.
"Hm. Bianca could have trimmed your hair a bit more. Oh, well. But, we're done! Are you ready for the chariot rides?" Vesti throws me out the room and I finally get to see what Rilly's outfit looks like. Her Peacekeeper outfit appears to be the same, but it fits to her body better than it does for me. Her hair is much shorter. Before it was around her waist, and now it's in a short bob at her shoulders.
"I'm ready to go," Rilly says softly. I nod as we load into our chariot. Our horses neigh as they tug a little. Rilly grips the side of the chariot as they begin to roll out.
It starts with District One. The girl is wearing a bikini top covered in sapphires and her brother has a top with sage gems all over. Gabrielle is wearing an outfit that makes her look like a goddess and her hair looks like it's on fire. Her partner has an outfit that makes him look like a mythical god. District Three's outfits are unitards with wires on them. District Four has the typical fishnets, but the girl is dressed like a mermaid. The District Five girl is stunning with her black dress with lightning bolts that light up. Her partner is much less entertaining.
District Six is wearing a strange looking outfit that makes them look like trains. District Seven is still wearing tree outfits, like the ones they have every year. Soon, our chariot begins to roll out. The crowd cheers loudly as I smile at them, waving. Rilly runs a hand through her sparkly hair and blows kisses to the crowd. That drives them nuts and they scream even louder. They're cheering even louder for her than they are for me. Does that mean she's going to get more sponsors? Because sponsors could mean the difference between life and death in the arena.
Trenton Cedar – District 10
Parrow doesn't say much, and it makes me nervous. She watches everything like there's supposed to be some sort of deep meaning. When we were on the train, she didn't say anything about the other tributes. I wonder what she has in store for them and for me.
My stylists move quickly to prep me for the chariot rides. I wish they'd stop poking at me because it's just plain annoying. I wish my brother was here too. I wish a lot of things were different. I really wish I wasn't here, period. Who wants to be in the Hunger Games because the bloody Careers? No one. The lower districts see the Hunger Games as a death sentence. And so do I.
"So, I really am excited for the Games this year," my hair stylist gasps. "Last year's Games were so-so. This year, the Gamemakers have a special surprise for the tributes. What do you think the surprise will be?"
She glances at me. I open my mouth to reply, but my other stylist replies instead. "I think it'll be a giant mutt. Maybe a new trap!" He grins and works on my nails, or what's left of them after I bit them all off because of nervous habit. "Oh, goodness, Trenton. Your nails are history!" He frowns, but continues to fix them. "Let's add some fake nails. Then they'll be much nicer!"
I woder how Parrow is reacting to all of this. She doesn't seem like the type to enjoy this type of attention. She's different than most girls and I like that. I hope she doesn't die in the Bloodbath because I'd love for her to be my ally. She's smart and would know something about being in the wild.
"Your hair is so crazy," my hair stylist giggles as she brushes it over and over again. I'm sure by now it's silky smooth. She starts waxing my legs, then pauses at my right leg, the one that's different than the other. And that difference isn't a good thing. In fact, it makes my life harder. When I was younger, I'd broken it and it never healed properly. I had an infection and they nearly had to amputate because we didn't have the best medicine. I thought I would die, but things changed. I was able to get some medicine and the infection went away. Little did I know that my mother had stolen the medicine. No one else knows, and no one will ever know.
My hair stylist continues waxing my legs like nothing's wrong. I wince and gasp in pain as the hair is ripped off. I don't know how the Capitol citizens can deal with this. And they have surgical procedures done to alter their faces and bodies! I don't support it, but they could maybe fix my leg if I survive.
After being waxed and having a manicure, which is not manly at all, I am sent to a dressing room. My head stylist and costume designer waddles through the door. She messes with her hair, making sure it stays up in a bow on her head. "I designed a very special outfit for you!" she tells me. She hands me the costume and helps me put it on.
When I'm finished dressing up, I gaze in the mirror. I look like a cow with purple spots instead of black. Last year, they had brown cows and this year is purple. The pant legs are long and loose to hide my deformed leg. My head stylist adds the finishing touch by setting a pair of cow ears on my head.
Parrow comes in slowly, in the exact same outfit, ears and all. Our purple belts shimmer in the light as we make our way down to the chariots. All the other districts are positioning themselves to take off. I can already hear the cheers of excitement.
The gemstone covered District One tributes roll out followed by the District Two "god and goddess." Next are the techy District Three and fishy District Four. The electrifying District Five is after them. District Six is dressed as some sort of mode of transportation or a robot. District Eight tributes are Peacekeepers with extra glamour and accessories. District Nine is dressed as what it looks like grains. The boy has had his hair cut, just like the girl from Eight.
We, the District Ten tributes, move on out. Our horses neigh, strolling down the avenue. The applause, praise, and rooting is loud, yet it makes me feel good. I like that they're cheering for me. They don't care about my deformity. They just want me to continue to look pretty until I die or get crowned Victor.
Parrow waves tentatively to the citizens. Soon, she opens up, giving slightly more enthusiastic waves. I understand how she feels. Being the best we can be now could depend on our life in the arena. Sponsors mean everything.
Finally, we reach the Training Center. We head upstairs and our escort shows us around. I gaze at Parrow who is once again expressionless. She's tired and sad. That's exactly how I feel now. My mind keeps coming back to the possibility that I might die.
I wrap my hand around my token; my mother's wedding ring before she was killed by Peacekeepers. Maybe it'll bring me some good luck.
Ector Cabot – District 12
Larkspur is a wimp, period. I can hear her screaming and even though she's a couple of feet from me, it feels like her shrieks are right in my ear. She's so annoying that I just want to stab her in the throat now. It'd spare us both. She won't have to go through the Games where she'd die quickly and my ears won't have to endure this damn torture.
I let out a sharp snarl as my stylist goes for my face. Earlier, I heard a shriek from the other end of the room. Apparently, a tribute had cut off a stylist's finger. In my mind, I snicker at the thought. Whoever did that has some serious guts to do that right here in the Capitol. Then again, the Capitol will love a feisty tribute. Perhaps I should go at this in a different angle. Of course, I'm not too worried about getting sponsors. I can win this thing on my own, but sponsors would be appreciated.
My stylists mutter amongst themselves as if I can't hear their conversations. I don't give a damn though. They're pathetic little twats that won't mean anything to me soon. After the Games, when I'm crowned Victor, I'll be able to treat them however I want. I won't have to face the Reapings anymore. I'll live in the Victor Village with my friend Kenneth. No parents allowed. No adults allowed.
Larkspur lets out a little squeal again. I just want to bang her head against the wall until blood gushes onto the floor. I can't wait to get into the arena. All the blood, that warm, red liquid that pumps through everyone's veins. Everyone might be different on the outside and in our minds, but when you get down to anatomy, we're all the same. I can think of several different ways to kill a person, and it'd work for every person because we're the same.
My face contorts in disgust as the prep team continues to make me look "pretty." The torture ends soon though, just not soon enough. As I'm leaving, I catch a glimpse of Larkspur, who's whimpering on the table like a baby. There's probably a thousand ways I could shake her up before training and the Games. Even now.
My head stylist forces me into an ugly, black outfit. The fabric is rough, like rocks, better yet, coal. Tiana gawks at the outfit, batting her eyelashes that must be a mile long. Oh, what joy it would be to rip off those eyelashes, along with the rest of her ugly face. Most of it's artificial so it shouldn't hurt her too much, but pain is alright with me. It'll prove to me that she's human.
Tiana flips a switch or something and the "coal" kind of glows as if it were burning embers. Larkspur comes out, sniffling from crying, and has an outfit like mine. Our stylists add the finishing touches by spreading coal dust on all the parts of us that are exposed. Our outfits are cut off at the shoulders so they look like tank tops. My shoulders are lathered in black dust that makes me want to sneeze my brains out.
"Showtime!" Tiana giggles, shoving us towards our chariot. The two horses that will pull us are black and small. I stand on the chariot, gripping the sides. "Ready?" I'm ready to rip her esophagus out of her throat.
Larkspur quakes in her black shoes, messing with her hair. The Career Districts are the flashiest, as always with their glitter and gemstones. It makes me want to puke on a puppy. District Three's tributes look like total geeks. District Five's girl is the main event and the same goes for Eight's girl. The boy from Eight doesn't look exactly happy; maybe he's more worried than upset about the lack of attention. District Seven is dressed as trees again. District Nine, I really don't give a shit about them. District Ten's tributes are cows…again. District Eleven look like dumbass farmers.
And, suddenly, away we go, down the street and in front of the people of the Capitol. Larkspur nervously waves to the crowd, keeping one hand in front of her mouth. At one point, I swear she was sucking her thumb. I stand on the chariot, not waving or doing anything. I don't care if I get sponsors or not. I'm not going to smile and wave to the people and be all pretty.
But, then again. I crack a grin that's more like a smirk. Larkspur suddenly inches closer towards the other side of the chariot. The cheers instantly die down. I guess they don't realize they're looking at the next Victor of the Hunger Games.
"You know," I whisper to Larkspur. "I think when we get to the Training Center, we should play doctor. I'll be the doctor and you can be the patient."
"Uh, no thanks," Larkspur squeaks.
"No, it'll be fun. Did you know they used to yank out your brains through your nose before they buried you? In some places, they used to rip out your heart while you were still alive. They used to eat the hearts while they were still beating. Talk about your…ahem, hearty meal," I say, laughing lightly.
Her eyes are wide, like dinner plates. She's shaken up, I can tell. She's scared of me. Who wouldn't be? She gulps, messing with her stringy hair some more. Pathetic.
"I think I'll experiment with you. Do you mind?" I wink at her.
"Ector," Larkspur pleads. "Please stop playing. Save it for the Games."
"Who said I was playing, Larkie?" I question as we pull up to the Training Center. "Besides, the Games have already begun."
