A/N: Hey!
So, here's a new update!
Just a side note: Just want to make it clear that I am not going to penalize anyone who doesn't review. If you do review there are benefits as I said last time, but don't expect me to kill your tribute in the bloodbath because you haven't reviewed. I understand that the reaping is harder to comment on as well when it isn't your tributes turn! Its just very hard to find motivation when no one reviews! anyways, here is District 7! Hope you all enjoy it.
Tobby Weatly POV
A humming sound in the air. A dreadful, irritating sound that never ceases to annoy me. It's the humming of the fence surrounding District 7. My home.
Or so it was.
My parents died about ten years ago, when I was just three years old. I have no memory of it, but I know it happened. I remember hearing conversations about it, and how I was to be registered in the local orphanage.
Eventually, I was. I spent two weeks there. I hated it. The other children bullied me, the Headmasters spoke to me like I was dirt, and none of the families who came to meet us ever wanted me. I spent those two weeks dreaming, praying that one day I would be free.
And that's when I did it. I crawled through the open window of the room filled with sleeping three-year-old boys like me, and jumped, running for the forest without a single look back. That is, until the humming stopped me.
Just like it does now.
I sigh heavily, taking a quick look around to make sure no one can see me. Coast seems clear. I'll have to do what I've always done, what I did on that amazing, life-changing night when I finally left that hell-hole of an orphanage.
I climb up a tree – any tree, there are so many here in 7 – and simply jump down. I have to be careful about it, though. I can faintly remember busting my ankle on that first night – it's healed now, but it still hurts sometimes. No medic ever looked at it.
I throw myself out of the tree with ease, bending my knees as I land to help break my fall. I am not successful with it as I usually am, hissing as pain shoots upwards through my leg starting at the awkwardly-healed ankle.
I shrug it off, slightly limping into the outskirts of the district towards the square, a place I only ever visit for two reasons: the reaping, of course, which I only had to start worrying about at the age of 8 when they actually start signing you in (they otherwise assume your parents or the orphanage will accompany you and the orphanage still believed I was there. Signed in without even having to attend!) and my only hobby. The only thing I have time to do.
Begging.
I go into the district about twice a week to beg, for anything really. Food, money to buy food, even professionally cut wood from the lumberjacks around here in the winter if they're nice enough. Most people don't see me often enough to question anything, thinking I'm just a poor kid trying to help his family. Those who suspect anything don't voice it, although it still makes me nervous to think that some do.
I am approaching the square now, where a hovercraft has just landed from the Capitol to prepare for today's reaping. Joy. I certainly can't beg them for anything, and so I settle for a boy who is watching nearby, slightly older than me. Sixteen, maybe.
I approach him with caution, although I'm almost taller than him. I've always been tall for my age.
"Um, hi,"
The boy turns, narrowing his eyes in suspicion. I can understand his scrutiny – I am a boy wearing rags as clothing and most probably covered head to toe in dirt and grime, after all.
"Hi." He replies cautiously, "Can I help you with something?"
Yes, yes you most certainly can.
"I was just wondering, um, can you – I mean, do you – I'm broke. My, um, my family is starving. Do you think maybe –"
"Listen, man, I don't know what kind of person you take me for but I'm not just gonna hand over my money when you're clearly old enough to get yourself a job."
Ugh. Every time. Being tall can be both a blessing and a curse. My cracking, puberty-stricken voice sometimes gives me away, but not often.
"No, no, you don't – I'm thirteen! I'm just tall for my age, I swear! I don't need much, just enough to buy myself something to eat. I'll take whatever you have, I-"
"Whatever I have? Get lost, kid, you won't be getting any of my money."
With that, he walks away, jostling me with his shoulder as he leaves the square. I protest, following him for several seconds.
"No, please, I didn't – I mean, I don't –"
But it's too late. The boy is gone, most probably off to his house to prepare for the reaping with his family. To indulge in the type of life I never got to enjoy.
I sigh in despair, scanning the square for someone else to annoy, when a familiar voice makes me jump.
"No luck, huh."
It's Frank. The one person in this world I might actually dare to call my friend. He's a Peacekeeper, and the only one who knows my secret. My life story. He saw me fall from the tree once and I sort of had no choice but to tell him the truth. He's helped me with everything ever since, but can't take me in to live with him without official papers.
I turn sharply at the sound of his voice, startled.
"God, Frank, don't do that to me. You scared me!"
He chuckles, approaching me with that stupid grin that's always on his face.
"Sorry. Ready for the reaping, kiddo?"
I shrug, lowering my eyes to the ground. Either way, my life sucks, whether I'm reaped or not.
"You're eligible, right? How old'r you now?"
"Thirteen, I guess. I was twelve at the last reaping…"
"Wow, time flies! First time we met, you were nine or so."
I nod my head glumly. Time flies when you're having fun. Or when you're spending everyday begging for food.
"Tell you what, kid. Here's five dollars. Go buy yourself something to eat once the reaping's done. No need to pay me back, of course."
He says it like he's trying to be nice. Although it's most probably because he knows I won't ever be able to pay him back even if he wanted me to.
"Thanks, Frank."
"No problem, kid. Don't be shy to ask me for anything, got it?"
I simply nod my head. He says that to me every time I see him.
"Well, I better start helping out the Capitol guys over there. Get this reaping business over and done with. Good luck today!"
He walks away, joining the dozens of other peacekeepers who are helping with everything from booths to the stage to the escort's happiness and well-being, He's laughing at something one of them said. I can't even remember the last time I laughed.
Who knows? Maybe the escort's jokes will actually be funny today. For once.
Juliana Marris POV
I am nine years old, sitting in my bedroom. Waiting. Waiting, as I have been for almost an hour. What is taking him so long?
My father left for the square to buy food. He's never taken so long before. I'm getting a little worried.
Mom isn't back either. And she only went to take a walk in the woods.
I sigh, setting down the little wooden dolls my father carved for me himself, the game I was playing with them completely gone from my mind. Should I go out and look for him?
Nah. What if he comes back and finds me gone? He'll worry, and it will be all my fault. I shouldn't risk that.
Tbe decision made, I pick up my dolls again and return to my fantasy world, the world of the Capitol. My two dolls are famous there, and everyone loves them. I wish I could be famous, but the only way to do that here in Seven is to win the Hunger Games. Or die in them.
I don't plan to do either.
Okay, seriously, WHERE are my parents?
I set the dolls down again with determination. I'm going out to find my dad. Then, on the way back, we can find Mom too.
Before leaving, I take a quick look in the mirror. My dark hair is tangled and messy around my head. Definitely should not be seen like this. I give it a swift brushing until it appears decent enough before finally heading out.
After about ten minutes of pointless walking, I freeze. There is a large crowd standing just at the edge of the woods, sad and horror-stricken faces gazing into the foliage. I make my way forward, curious, but no one seems to notice my approach.
I tug on the dress of the woman standing closest to me, who appears to be maybe in her twenties. I can't remember her name, but I've seen her around the district.
"Excuse me, but what happened here?"
Her eyes widen in recognition, exchanging a panicked gaze with her friend beside her. It is her friend who speaks next.
"Nothing you need to see, Juliana, you're far too young. Why don't you head back home, your father will be back for you soon."
I nod furtively with a small "thank you" before turning away from her, about to head home. Until another little girl, 7-year-old Valeria, walks up to the scene. She asks for information just like I did. But she doesn't get the same response. I can tell by her reaction that she was not told that she was "too young" to know what is going on. She covers her mouth in shock and turns to look into the forest, her face quickly morphing into the same dismayed look as the others around her.
Something is not right. My stomach sinks, feeling nauseated with dread.
My mother went for a walk in the woods. An hour-long walk.
I walk back over to the crowd.
"I need to know what happened. Please. If Valeria is old enough, then so am I!"
Everyone looks at each other, looking panicked just like before. Dread rising even further in me, I frantically push through the crowd until I finally bang into someone. Oops.
I look up at the person I ran into, mentally preparing for a scolding. I don't get one.
The person is my father.
He stares down at me, his face absolutely grief-stricken, looking a thousand years older than he did this morning. I could tell he's trying not to look at something, something he doesn't want me to see for myself. But he slips, and his eyes flick over to something on the right. Just for a second.
But it's enough.
I follow his gaze to find a tight-knit circle of peacekeepers and medics, all huddled around something – someone – on the ground beside a fallen tree.
No. Not beside it. BENEATH it. Someone was crushed. A common way to die, actually, here in Seven.
What I see next, I am not prepared for at all.
One of the peacekeepers moves away, leaving the poor victim of the tree in plain sight to my innocent, nine-year-old eyes.
Eyes that, as of this moment, will never be innocent again. Because that person, that person who's entire body was flattened into a human pancake by one of the thousands of trees in District Seven, that just so happened to fall right at that moment, is my mother.
I scream. I scream and scream, people running to help me into a sitting position on the ground, covering my eyes, one person even wraps a blanket around me. But I don't feel a thing. Nothing registers. Nothing besides my own screaming, and the pale, dead face of my mother several feet away. As well as a single thought.
Nothing, from this day forward, will ever be the same again.
I kick a branch out of my path as I walk through the woods of District Seven, the very woods which killed my mother. I avoided these woods for three years after her death. To this day I am unsure of what made me finally go back to the usual walks I used to take almost daily, but one day at the age of twelve I did it. And continued to do it every day from that day forward, just like I used to.
But there was one difference. My mom is never with me anymore.
I freeze in place at the sensation, the sudden feeling that something is descending on me from above. I cringe and jump back before finally realizing what it is; a squirrel. An innocent squirrel jumping from the tree to the ground. I sigh with relief, mentally kicking myself for my own stupidity.
Thank goodness it wasn't a tree…
I shudder, willing the thought from my mind, and internally decide to head on home to get ready for the reaping.
Ugh. Another thing that descends on me once a year. Figuratively, of course. Two more, Juliana, two more…
After about five minutes of walking, I am out of the woods. Back on the road, with houses in sight, the square just off to the left.
Safe and sound.
Tobby Weatley POV
I'm standing in the line to be checked in, slightly early but close enough to the reaping hour that there is still a decent number of people in line. At least fifty people, each of them shooting at least one curious, sideways glance in my direction. Understandably, of course. Although it does worry me – how many of these people have seen me beg here before? How many of them might have seen me slip into the woods once and never said anything? I guess I'll never know.
The boy I attempted to beg from this morning enters the line then. I am about to turn away but his eyes immediately catch mine, narrowing in recognition. I gulp and turn away as quickly as I can.
Relax, he can't do anything to you. And even if he does, Frank will surely intervene..
God, this line is long. The little boy at one of the booths, probably a twelve year old, is confused. Hasn't any idea of what to do. Just like I was last year. The Capitol woman had gotten so angry, snatched my arm so roughly that it felt like it would rip out of its socket. This boy got lucky. The woman is friendly, explaining to him in detail how the check-in works.
"Next, please!"
The shrill voice of the Capitolite rips me from my thoughts, startling me, and the girl in front of me heads over to the one empty booth. It's the woman I got last year. Good luck.
"Next!"
I jump at the sudden sound, mentally kicking myself for being so easily startled, and head shakily over to the empty booth.
"Your arm, please."
Oh, trust me, I know. I reach my hand out to her and she checks off my name in the list after swiftly pricking it. Huh. Last year they asked me for my name. Probably making sure I wasn't lying.
The Capitol woman smiles at me with a quick thank you before hastily shooing me away.
"Next!"
I make my way to the thirteens section, ignoring the stares and the whispers. I keep my eyes to the floor as I push my way through the section, wondering how many of these boys were roommates of mine at the orphanage all those years ago. How many of them have families now that love them.
How many of them have what I will never have.
Juliana Marris
The escort is stepping onto the stage, his electric blue lips stretched into the biggest, stupidest grin I've ever seen. Not to mention fake. I mean, come on, do you really expect me to believe that a normal human's smile can stretch all the way up to their temples. No way.
Our escort is by far the flashiest, most flamboyant of them all. He stands on the stage at a whopping 7 feet tall, with long neon green hair and bright orange eyes. His skin is a sparkly gold that makes everyone within a hundred mile radius cringe every time the sun shines onto him.
Yeah. He's creepy, to say the least.
He raises the microphone to his lips, his voice booming across the square just seconds later.
"Greetings, District 7! How do you all do on this fine afternoon? Oh, don't even answer that I just know that you're all just so excited to find out who will be given the honor of representing this beautiful district for the Games!"
Oh, yeah. We're all really ecstatic.
"Alrighty! As per usual, we must start with the ladies. Where all my ladies at, make some noise!"
The square pretty much remains silent, save for a few faint-hearted cheers from the twelve section. Probably scared out of their wits of what might happen if they don't listen to the escort. Ha. He doesn't scare me, or anyone else for that matter.
"That's the spirit, twelvies! Everyone else must simply be dying to know! Well, I'll get on that right now then, sheesh!"
Yes, Mr. Escort. That is totally the reason no one cheered. I resist the urge to roll my eyes, even though he can never see me.
The escort makes his way over to the girl ball, yanking a slip out from somewhere in the middle. He turjs his gaze towards the audience then, releasing an excited little squeal before bursting into a ridiculous happy-dance, dropping the slip he pulled out in the process. As hard as I try to repress it a loud, fairly disgusting snort escapes me, causing some of my fellow seventeens to start and turn immediately towards me. Oops. I avoid all their gazes, staring straight ahead at the stage, where the escort has retrieved his slip and is now unfolding it to reveal the poor soul's name to the crowd.
"Alrighty! This year, District 7's lucky and oh-so-lovely female representative issss…" the escort says, dragging out the last word, and taking a long, deep breath to build our suspense.
I can feel my jaw set, annoyance rising within me.
Just say the poor girl's name so we can pick the boy and just go home already.
The poor girl, however, is not at all to be expected.
"Juliana Marris!"
No. This can't be. I'm seventeen, I'm supposed to have only one left of these damn things!
Everyone is staring at me, their faces filled with pity. I recognize those looks, the same looks I was given by half the district on that horrible, horrible day 8 years ago, along with the several weeks that came afterwards.
It is grief. Pitiful grief, when someone is gone forever, or will be. Just like my mom was.
Just like I will be.
No. You cannot think like that. I will win this, and I won't let anything stand in my way.
I keep a straight face, repressing all my emotions as I walk to the stage, ignoring the grieving eyes all around. For a split second I lock eyes with Valeria, 15 now, her face looking exactly the way it did on that day, as if she has reverted back to her 7-year-old self. I quickly look away.
Images begin to flash through my mind as I walk, bloody images of myself. My white, cold body bleeding into the ground, a knife embedded in my chest. And then the knife is replaced with a sword. And that with a spear. And soon, the blood is all gone and bruises appear on my neck, strangled by a Career. Next I am facedown in a pond, floating on the water like a lily pad. Drowned. And then I am gone, completely obliterated, a hunk of meat and bone spread across the ground. Torn apart by a mutt.
But none of this fazes me at all. My face remains blank as I finally take the stage. There is one more image.
A tree. A huge, towering evergreen, falling. Descending slowly above me, aiming right for my head to crush me.
A quick, sharp intake of breath on my part. But my face remains a blank slate. Completely emotionless.
"Yes, yes I know how excited you are, Juliana. And with good reason! How old are you?" the escort beams.
"Seventeen." I respond curtly.
I am shocked by the iciness of my tone.
The escort doesn't even catch it, "Wow! So you've been waiting a while, huh? Good on you! Give her a round of applause, everyone!"
There is some fainthearted clapping, but the grief-stricken looks remain on everyone's faces.
But I refuse to be gone forever. I will survive.
And even if I don't, I will not go down without a fight.
Tobby Weatley POV
I watch as a tall, muscular girl from the seventeen section mounts the stage, her dark hair striking against the lighter shade of her skin, wearing old and worn blue jeans with a collared black polo shirt. The complete lack of emotion on her face is quite chilling, almost haunting. It's difficult to imagine what types of actual emotions are floating around underneath the mask she has put up.
She acts coldly towards the escort, and even her gaze into the audience is icily terrifying. I would not want to share a Hunger Games arena with her.
When I finally re-emerge from my thoughts, the escort already has a slip in his hand and is making his way back to the microphone. Ready to announce his next victim.
"Alrighty friends! Our second tribute of the day isssss…"
Just get on with it. I've had enough of the stares of thirteen year old boys all around, trying to figure out who this brown hair and eyed boy is and why his face is so covered in grime and dirt. I need to get ho-
Back. I need to get back. I don't have a home, and never will.
"Tobby Weatly!"
The whispers begin almost immediately, questioning.
"Who in the shit-"
"Tobby who?"
"I've never heard that name in my life."
I stand frozen in place, my gaze fixated on the stage where the escort stands with his stupid overstretched smile and where the girl – Juliana? – wears the same confused look as everyone else, her mask temporarily cracked. The whispers all around slowly fade into oblivion as panic rises within me, deafening me to the world around me.
This can't be happening to me. I've suffered enough. Hell, I barely even count as a citizen of Panem or even District 7.
"Come on up, son, don't be shy! We don't bite."
Maybe, but the 22 other tributes certainly will. Juliana certainly will, judging by her demeanor.
At a complete loss of alternate ideas, I turn and run, sprinting away from the thirteens section.
I don't run to the stage, though. I run in the other direction, away from the reaping and the escort and Juliana and all the shocked, unrecognizing faces staring after me. I run as fast as my weak, bony legs can carry me, my barely-healed ankle screaming in protest.
I don't make it very far before the peacekeepers catch up to me, blocking my path and lifting me up, each one grabbing one of my arms. I make myself completely limp in an effort to hinder their efforts, make myself heavier than I really am, all to no avail. They carry me with ease to the stage, dumping me harshly at the escort's feet. There's no escaping now.
I slowly, shakily pick myself up, not even bothering to dust myself off. Juliana stares at me, the mask back on but still slightly cracked. Her eyes are just slightly widened in shock at my display.
"Now, now Tobby. I know you're excited to get to the train and start the Games, but you still need to shake your fellow warrior's hand and see your family off, right? Plus, the train is the other way."
I stare wide-eyed at him with no attempt to respond. Not only did he completely misjudge my attempt to run away, but he even assumed I have a family. No need to tell him any of that.
"Alrighty, now without further ado, I present you: Juliana Marris and Tobby Weatley, District 7's fabulous Hunger Games competitors! Shake hands, lovelies!"
I turn towards Juliana, staring right into her raven-black eyes. For once I don't have to look down, she is my height. We shake hands, her grip firm and her gaze stern. But she doesn't look like she wants to kill me, at least.
I stare out into the crowd one last time, taking in all the faces I never got to fully know, and that I most probably will never get to know.
Julianna Marris
I sit in the tribute room, not expecting any visitors. I don't have any friends. The only person I am expecting is my dad.
The door swings open suddenly, revealing him. My father walks through the door, his face wiped clean of emotion, just like mine was on that stage. He comes towards me, keeping his distance.
"Juliana, I don't really know what to say to you. I know you can win this. Life's hardship has made you strong, stronger than any of those other tributes, especially those coddled babies from the Career districts. You've had to work for your strength and you know what it's like to go hungry. So, just go out there and do what you have to do."
I nod stiffly and don't respond. I know he's right.
"Pair up with your district partner if you have to. He looks like he knows how to handle hardship too. Completely dressed in rags like that and covered in grime."
I nod in understanding, although I do not plan on having any alliance. Allies only serve as another obstacle; you get attached to them and then their death causes you grief, or you eventually have to turn on them when you're the only two or whatever left. No, thank you. I've never had friends before, and I'm definitely not making friends in the arena.
My father stares at me for several long seconds before reaching into his pocket.
"I want to give you something."
With that, he pulls out a wooden carving of a pine cone.
"This was your mother's. Her own mother carved it for her when she was very young. I carry it with me everywhere I go, and I want you to have it. Keep it with you in the Games. It could be your token."
He places the wooden pinecone in my outstretched hand, my eyes slightly welling up with emotion that I immediately force back down.
"Thanks." I whisper.
The peacekeepers come in then to summon my father, who leaves with one last encouraging nod in my direction. I nod back, silently reassuring him that I'll be okay.
Because I will.
Tobby Weatley POV
I don't even know why I had to come here. I obviously won't have any visitors, might as well allow me to wait on the train. But they wouldn't have it.
So, here I am. Sitting in on overly decorated room, filled with luxuries I have never seen in my thirteen years of life, waiting for visitors that will not come.
Or so I think.
The door opens, startling me. I jump and turn towards the door to see Frank.
"Hey, kid. I'm supposed to be coming to get you to the train – and I am – but I wanted to give you something first."
He hands me something, and I take it out of curiosity. It's his family symbol.
"Oh, no, Frank…I can't take this. I'm not worth it, trust me…"
"Nonsense, of course you're worth it!" he exclaims fiercely, "I've known you for years, and helped you like you were my own son. I wish you could have been!"
I just stare, not knowing what to say. I never knew I could have ever meant that much to another person in my life. Especially when all I've done is beg him for food and money.
"You're part of the family, Tob. Come back. So I can visit you every day in the Victor's Village."
The realization suddenly hits. I could live in the Victor's Village. Complete luxury, all the food and money I could ever need or want after ten years of fighting to survive.
As Frank leads me to the train, the cameras flashing in my face, a stony-faced Juliana by my side, there is only one thought running through my mind.
For once in my pitiful life, my future looks somewhat bright.
A/N Well, that's that! Hope you all liked it.
The updates should be picking up now. My skating season's over and school seems to be calming down.
January, February and March are terrible months for me, because I compete almost every weekend and leave home for a full week. Then when I come back, school work needs to be caught up. Yeah.
So, now that that's behind me my updates should be kind of a lot faster! Thanks to everyone who stuck with me!
Remember, reviews are love (and may bring faster updates! ;)).