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Nerva Vindex
District Six Male, 16 Years Old
Before Reapings
Today is just like any other day.
It's just like any other day in this District. The poverty, the malnourished, the discontent. Even with the Reapings, not much changes; perhaps, by being reaped, it gives you an outlet. It lets you escape.
It lets you have freedom.
To get away from this… this place that I have to call home. My home that's full of people that will die one day and full of buildings that wither away as time goes on. Time won't stop for anyone, especially not for District Six.
No one cares about District Six enough. Not even me.
Clutching the package in my hand, I open the front door slowly, trying not to make the creek too loud. It only creeks a little, and as I close it even slower, I finally step in all the way. I glance from side-to-side, trying to find some hint that my mother's home, and when I don't hear or see her, I smirk.
Walking up the stair case right in front of me, I glide my hand along the railing, these stairs making an even louder creek than that old door. As I reach the top, I take a left, leading right into my father's room. In his room, he's sitting there, rocking back and forth in his chair.
"Nerva," he states, not seeming to want a start conversation.
"Syphon," I deadpan back to him, never really caring to address him as father to his face. He's ungrateful about everything else.
As I get closer, it seems that the yellow hue of his skin is more noticeable today, and I can't help but scoff a little. I drop the package off at the table next to him, making sure to have slipped myself a little of it.
It's not he needs all this morphling.
He'll die eventually, so I'd rather not waste it all.
"Do you where your mother is?" He asks, his voice weak, and he reaches for the syringe. "She went out earlier today…"
"No," I reply.
"Do you know where your sister is?" He asks another question, beginning to fill the vile up with the liquid-morphling.
"No."
"Do you know anything?" This time, he sounds exasperated; even more than normal.
"I know that today is the Reaping Day," I answer, disregarding the sarcasm in my voice. "Do you know anything?"
My father stays quiet, and as he prepares to inject the morphling into himself, I turn away. When other people use it, I feel uneasy and a tad offended, but when I use it, it's okay.
People use it because they're in pain or they're sick.
I use it as an escape.
To deal with my problems, to escape from this reality, the taste of the hallucinations better than what I'm doing now.
But, maybe I won't use it today. How bad could it go? It's only Reaping day, after all. Not much changes on this day. I mean, except for two less children that District Six calls their own, but what does it matter?
We'll all die eventually, won't we?
For one, I'd rather die in the Hunger Games. You can't fight death, so why waste my time? These Chariot Rides, Interviews, and everything in-between are all a waste of time.
It's just prolonging the inevitable.
As I reach the bottom of the stair case, I grumble at the sight of my sister, Daia. I try to slip around her, but once she notices me, she drops the plate onto the counter. I feel obligated to at least wave at her, and as I come into her view, she waves her finger at me.
Sulking, I reluctantly walk over to her.
Daia always has something to say.
Daia glances down at my pocket, already knowing what's inside of it. She rolls her eyes, bringing the fork back up to her mouth, making a face as she tastes the food.
"Plan on killing yourself today, Nerva?" She teases, but really, she sounds serious. She knows me too well.
"Just make sure to spit on my grave," I jeer, winking at her. "Hope you choke."
"Hope you over-dose."
At her retort, I let out a deep chuckle, for once actually enjoying her sarcasm. Not that I really care for it in general; sarcasm is just a way we cope with life. If you make a joke, it makes everything seem less… less serious, you know?
Sarcasm is just another form of protection.
Sort of like this morphling for me.
I take a seat next to Daia, beginning to play with the food on the plate. I figure that if I do in-fact get reaped today, I might as well eat something. The Capitol's food might taste as good as this garbage.
"I'm home!" From the kitchen I can tell that it's my mother's voice, sounding a little out of breath. "Nerva? Daia? Syphon?"
"In the kitchen," Daia calls out, placing her fork next to her plate. She gets up from the table, swinging the door into the kitchen open, revealing my mother behind it.
My mother and Daia engage in some small talk, my mother occasionally glancing at me with a worried look. I make a face at her, trying to help her get over what today is, but apparently, it doesn't work. I just don't see why it's such a big deal.
It's only the Reaping Day.
It's only the day where two teenagers from District Six will go down the path to death a little earlier than most would. I still cling onto the idea that going to the Hunger Games is better than living here.
The smog, the dirt, the garbage.
It's not as lovely as it seems.
On the corner of the table, there's a newspaper, and before I grab it, I chuckle to myself. As if anything they post in these papers is true; it's all censored beyond belief. To protect us from the truth, to help us live our lives without worrying.
Without worrying about the pollution, the poverty, or how the Capitol treats us.
That's not how District Six people should live. Or, at least, that's what the Capitol wants – to the problems that we're facing to be a secret. Then, no one would be unhappy with what's going on.
I'm not that stupid, though. I see all of these things.
Skimming through the article on the front, all I see is the word 'Capitol' repeated over and over again; it's always about them. It's funny, though, how District Six's media perceives the Capitol; clearly, it's regulated and influenced by them, but still, it's worth a laugh.
District Six thinks that the Capitol admires them for producing transportation. They think that the Capitol genuinely cares about them, and that one day, we might get something out of it. That's all bullshit.
The Capitol couldn't care less about us.
They probably care more about the drug ring in the District than those silly trains and hovercrafts we make.
The Capitol probably cares more about District One or District Three. One is where luxuries are produced and the other one where new gadgets are made. The Capitol's narcissistic like that.
It's just a bunch of kings and queens of naivety. They're only happy when they get to show off their new clothes or toys to their friends, flaunting off the District's work, not even their own.
But, the government themselves, now that is something else. It's just laughable. I recognize how the Capitol attempts to control the Districts through the Hunger Games, but really, what are they getting out of it?
As if killing a few children every year would make things better.
Am I the only one who sees this? The corruption and how warped it all is?
All of this just reminds me of one of my errands. I was delivering some morphling to another customer, this one being more secretive and undercover. When I arrived at his house, he was too busy talking to himself, and once he saw me, he kept babbling.
He asked me: What do I think about rebellion?
I shrugged. I really don't care about rebellion.
His response was, "The shorter leash you keep on them, the further they will go when it snaps."
At first, I smirked at him. I thought his words were cute, but after a while, it came to me. I didn't care about it snapping, I just wanted to know when it would. I wanted to know when that leash would be snapped.
Now, that is something I would want to live for.
After seeing a rebellion, I could die happily. That would bring some excitement to my life.
Maybe even the Hunger Games can too. How bad can being reaped be, anyway?
It's only death we're dealing with.
There are for worse things in this world than death.
And being reaped is not one of those things.
Narissa Vire
District Two Victor, 19 Years Old
Reapings
It was just a year ago.
A year ago I was down there, shaking nervously. Standing there with broadened shoulders, mentally preparing myself to run up to this stage. To run up to this stage, to take down whatever gets in my way. It was my turn to volunteer.
It was my turn to win.
And, in that moment, as I glanced at my mother, the look in her the eye showed me that this was the right thing to do. To volunteer for her, to volunteer for District Two. I wasn't in it for the money, the fame, or the reputation.
I was in it for my District.
For my mother. To follow in her foot-steps and to become the victor that she was. The spunky, patriotic, and refined victor that Nashira used to be. She was an idol for District Two, and as she begins to age, so does her reputation. And we all knew it; she needed someone to revitalize it.
So, there was me. I was her outlet to regain a reputation.
Now, here I am – the Victor of the Fifty-Ninth Hunger Games. And as I sit here, completely disregarding the video that's playing right now about the Dark Days and Hunger Games, I find myself looking at my mother again. This time, she doesn't even glance at me, and for a moment, I feel like I've done all I could.
That there's nothing else she wants from me.
That killing five people wasn't good for her or that winning wasn't enough.
What else could I do? Bring home another victor? Produce another daughter, who would eventually win?
Is that what she wants?
I can do that for her, and I'll do anything for her.
The escort claps her hands, the sound snapping me out of my thoughts. My eyes shoot up, looking back into the crowd, and as I turn to the left, I see my mother. She's attentively staring at the escort, her hands folded over each other in her lap, her back being completely straight.
She always had good posture.
"Now, District Two," the escort pauses, building the anticipation in the audience. "It's time for the Reapings!"
The escort backs up, letting the screen behind her going completely black. There's silence throughout the audience, and even on the stage, now. I'll admit that I am intrigued by the Reapings, partly because it's my first year as mentor and the other part because I know what it's like.
I know what it's like to stand down there, waiting for the right time to volunteer. I just hope that they know what they're doing; I'd rather start my mentor-years off with a bang.
I chuckle a little at my own joke. A bang, not as a cannon, but as something good. I wouldn't want to be wasting my time.
"Let's start with males, shall we?" The escort speaks into the microphone, and as I look over, she's already at the Reaping bowl.
It's pointless to pick a name. We all know that there will be a volunteer.
The escort hesitates to pick a card from the bowl, and before she knows it, there's a male in the aisle already. It's a tall boy, and if I may say so myself, he's rather handsome. Just from his appearance, I can recall seeing him in the Training Center, but I can't figure out his name. I'll figure out soon enough.
He walks up to the stage, a certain confidence in every movement. He keeps his arms tight to his side, making him look more muscular than he already is. Walking up the stage, we make eye-contact, a smirk growing on his face. I can't help but smile back at this boy.
At the male who will represent District Two this year.
"Kace Edevane," he states, a smile on his face that shows all of his teeth. "My name is Kace Edevane."
I remember the name from somewhere, but for what, I don't know. I shrug, knowing that I'll get to know him later on in the Capitol. The escort grabs his hand, and he complies, slipping his fingers in between hers. That's cute; a boy who doesn't mind playing up the girls.
Maybe he'll be more interesting than I think.
"Now, for the girls!" She calls out, sauntering over towards the female's bowl now. "Your female tribute for this year will be…"
I look over the crowd quickly, trying to see if I can see anyone already ready to volunteer. Although I don't concern myself with the Training Center too much, I heard that a girl was picked from the trainees and mentors to volunteer today. There's a rumor, though, that this girl dropped out or something like that. It's nearly a shame.
"I volunteer," a girl calls out, but it's not a shout; it's more-so a statement. As if we knew all along that she would volunteer – that there's no doubt that she would volunteer. Confidence, apparently.
Looking through the aisle, I try to locate this girl, and that's when I see her. The dark-skinned girl slips into the aisle, her arms held tightly to her side as well. She walks up, much quicker than Kace did, repeating herself one last time.
"I volunteer," she states, this time in a more serious tone.
"What's your name, dear?" The escort asks, leaning forward a little off the stage.
"Ceres Milani," the girl replies, looking right into the eyes of the escort. "And I volunteer."
As Ceres walks onto the stage, she stands next to Kace, not even giving him a glance. As the audience goes quiet, all eyes are on the two tributes now, and that's when I see Kace moving his face towards Ceres'. Kace plants a gentle kiss on Ceres face, a smile following it. To my surprise, Ceres turns towards him, kissing Kace right back on the face.
Well, that isn't something you see every day.
District partners who are so fond of each other already. It might be just to please the audience or to play it up, but at this point, I don't care. I'll cling onto this; in order to win, they need to be cooperative and they have to work together.
That's how I won.
Not by killing five people without even flinching, but by working with my mentor. By listening, by being creative, and by being intuitive. I didn't win with arrogance or brute strength.
I won, and now, so can these two. I can work with them.
From first-glance, they seem to have potential. To have that extra edge that could maybe – just maybe – bring home another victor. Another victor to bolster District Two's reputation.
And if I were to bring home another victor on my first year as mentor, she would be ecstatic. Maybe then I would have her approval once again, seeing the same look in her eye like I did a year ago.
I miss that look she had in her eye.
It made me feel wanted.
It made me feel like I finally did something good in life.
I just want to see that look again.
Coleen Morisette
District Four Victor, 48 Years Old
Reapings
Where is he?
Looking out into the crowd, I scan all of the kids, looking for a particular one.
Once I get to the eighteen-year-old male section, I look a little more carefully, finally finding the boy that I wanted to find. There he is; Clyde, my brother's son. I smile a little, letting out a breath of relief, seeing that he's too far into the section to leap out into the aisle.
I was hoping that he wouldn't plan on volunteering at all.
My brother, Evan, tried to convince Clyde not to. It took a few years for Clyde to even think about volunteering, and once he became serious about it, I had to do something. I couldn't let him go into the Games.
I couldn't do that to Evan.
I couldn't do that to myself.
To mentor my own nephew, digging my nails into my leg as he ran off into the Bloodbath. I wouldn't be able to watch him in the Games, nonetheless mentor him. Convincing him wasn't as easy as I hoped it would be, but after a while, I got through to him.
Clyde was too proud to let go of the idea. He told everyone that he was going to volunteer, that the next victor District Four would have would be this year. That he would this year's Games. He had no idea what he was getting himself into.
I told him that I had all the money he needed. Then, he said it wasn't about the money; he wanted to make something of himself. He reminded me of myself, in a way, when I was eighteen years old, just like him. We were similar, but I still couldn't let it happen.
Even if he wanted to volunteer now, he's too far into the section. Someone else would get to it first.
"Welcome, District Four!" The escort cries out, stumbling on her heels a little. "To this year's Reapings for the Sixtieth Annual Hunger Games!"
The number sixty resonates in my mind, making me think quickly about my Games. Thirty years today was when I volunteered, not knowing that I'd eventually win. Here I am now, sitting upon this stage with the five other victors for District Four.
Here, I feel at home.
Over the years, I've gotten use to all of them, learning things about them that they would never share. I even mentored a few of them, so the development that they all went through is one thing I enjoyed watching. They all turned out be such great victors – every single one of them.
It lets me take pride in my District.
The District that treated me as such once I won.
"Ladies first," the escort says into the microphone, hunching over the female's bowl. She picks out a card, and as I scan the girl's section, I can't see anyone already going to volunteer. "Do we have a… Kairi Lasson?"
And that's when I see a girl coming.
She makes her way to the stage, looking at the girl's section, and then at the boy's section. She sways her head back and forth, acting like she owns the place, and I laugh quietly to myself. I'm sure I looked like that all those years back.
Just as sure of myself.
This girl walks up the stage, and I sit back, admiring her appearance. She's not the typical District Four girl, since she seems to be more edgy. She has that extra kick to her, apparently, just from the way she made her way up here. Maybe we have something different this year.
Perhaps someone like me.
I don't know if I could deal with myself twice, though. Once was enough.
"Carina Ellison," she says, craning her head upwards, looking down at everyone.
Carina doesn't say anything else, waiting for the escort to continue the Reaping. Before she can read the name off the card she just picked, we already have the volunteer for this year, standing broadly in the center of the aisle.
It's a dark-skinned boy – something you don't see every day, especially not a volunteer. Most are tanned, but this one, he's not from white-descent. He makes his way up, his foot-steps dignified and he walks with a certain aura to him. He walks up the stairs, not even glancing at Carina.
These two will be interesting.
"Alamar Seward," he states, his voice deep.
And he doesn't say anything else either. The two of them just want to get straight to the point.
Glancing to my left, I see Mags and Atlas there, all staring at these tributes. I know that Mags doesn't want to mentor this year – she made a request not to – and I'm not sure about Atlas. He's always up for a challenge, even as he's getting older. Then glancing to my right, I see Morty and Triton watching the tributes too, not paying much attention to me.
Then I see Tigris.
She's staring back at me, the look in her eye making me smile gently at her. She remains expressionless, only staring right back at me. Perhaps she wants to volunteer.
And I can't blame her.
She won her Games fair and square, no matter what anyone says. Maybe she wants to prove herself; honestly, a few of us didn't want her to mentor anyone. She's too intrusive, too out-of-the-box. She's not all there in the mind, even if I hate to say it, but maybe this year we'll let her.
Tigris could even bring someone home – who knows at this point.
We all try different things, and although it's unfortunate, nothing has worked. Even with my age, I still have the desire to mentor in me, but I think that's it's time to let someone else do it. To bring in new ideas, new tips.
"Here you are, District Four!" The escort hollers, raising the hands of both of the tributes. "Carina Ellison and Alamar Seward!"
Carina and Alamar.
They sound like good victor names, don't they?
Carina Ellison – District Four's newest victor! Or, Alamar Seward – District Four's newest victor!
I laugh quietly to myself again, resting my back against the chair. Folding my arms over my chest, I look at everyone one last time, and for a moment, it doesn't seem real.
Even after all these years I still can't get used to it.
That I was once a tribute, but for me, it turned out differently.
I did more than participate in the Games.
I won them.
And maybe one of them will too.
Limnic Hablitz
District Five Female, 16 Years Old
Goodbyes
Me.
Limnic Hablitz reaped.
Looking out the window, I see that crowd is now dispersing, and as every other girl walks away, I feel jealous. Jealous that they're not the one up here, and that I'm up here now, waiting to say my good-byes. Good-byes from people that I couldn't care less about. People that, even though I've wished it before, I probably won't see again.
And I accept that.
As I hear a knock on the door, I bring my finger to my eyes, wiping away any tears. I straighten my back, shaking a little, wanting to suppress any visible emotion. I'm not here to look sad or to look pitiful; I'm here to make them want to miss me.
They could at least think of me while I'm gone.
I can hear from the sobs behind me that my first visitors are my family, and as I turn around, I already have my mother wrapping her arms around me. Behind her are my father and my siblings, Aleah, Granger, and Carzule. I smile at them, only getting a smile back from Granger and Carzule, but not from Aleah.
I roll my eyes.
If there's anyone I couldn't break, it was her. She was never fond of me, and frankly, I don't know why. I don't really do much.
Seeing her grit her teeth, I begin to whimper in my mother's ear, the warmth of her around me making me get emotional. Pushing the genuine emotions aside, I cover them up with fake ones, not wanting them to see what I'm feeling. I look back up, letting a few tears slid down my cheek, staring right at Aleah.
"Why are you doing this?" I pout, clutching onto my mother tighter. "Do you not understand what's going to happen to me?"
My father places his hand on Aleah's shoulder, and she rolls her eyes and shrugs her shoulders. I let go of my mother, letting her turn back to the family, embracing a hug from my brothers.
"What's going to happen to you?" Aleah snaps, taking a step forward. "You selfish brat."
Perking up at her words, I quickly suppress the anger that boils inside of me, not wanting to start something. I don't want to leave on a bad note with my family; not now. My father pulls her back a little, and as the Peacekeeper comes to the door, even I want them to leave.
Before my mother goes, though, she drops something off at the table near the door. I don't look at it yet, not wanting to see what it is or what it could mean to me. If anything, I wouldn't have wanted a token, but I'll accept it. It's the least I could do for them – not be selfish, just like Aleah said.
They all look at me silently, not saying a word to one another. I guess that these are their good-byes.
Aren't they just wonderful?
The door doesn't even close, my next visitors coming in. This time, it's my friends – that's what you call them. Friends. People you trust, people you spend time with, people you like. That is what these people are to me.
Friends.
I laugh at the thought.
Kerrington, Fyfe, Jeremiah, and Mango all usher in, all of them surrounding me immediately. They all just stand there, their minds probably going through all the memories that we shared. They are thinking of the memories where I feigned interest, just nodding my head or smiling at anything.
Those are the memories that I have no regard for.
Around me, they all murmur, and I put a smile on my face. It's not a genuine smile, and even if I convince myself that I don't care if they're sad, it does hurt a little. I've never seen any of them like this.
"Oh, come on, guys," I say, extending my hands. "How bad could it be?"
Kerrington sneers a little, shushing herself after it. "You could die?"
Fyfe shoves Kerrington with her hand. "Are you kidding? Now is the time you decide to be annoying?"
I laugh.
It's all I can manage to do.
We sit there in silence for a few more seconds, all of us just gazing into each other's eyes. What is there to say, really? Good-bye? See you soon? Have a nice trip? Good luck?
It's all trite, meaningless, and stupid. I'd rather sit here in silence and stare at the ground than hear any of that.
"So, this is it…," Jeremiah murmurs, looking down at his feet. I look at the boy, smirking at myself as I recall that he's the one that always did my work for me. He always was there to do whatever I asked him to.
That's what I'll miss most about these people – oh, wait, they're my friends. That's what they are; not just people.
The Peacekeeper walks into the room, holding out his hand, gesturing that it's time for them to go. They all give me a hug, some of them lasting longer than others. Once they're gone, I wait a moment, making sure that I don't have any more visitors.
I didn't think I'd get that many, so even those were a surprise.
Sauntering over towards the place where mother dropped my token, I look around, fighting the urge to just leave it there. But, as I get closer, I realize what it is – it's the doll my mother made for me when I was about five.
It's a fabric doll, one with a nice blue dress on it and blue ribbons in her hair. My mother always told me that this doll resembles me, in a way, because I always looked like a doll.
A doll for a doll.
Seems fitting.
Holding the doll tightly in my hand, I think back about all of the people that just visited me, and for a moment, I feel nostalgic. I feel emotional, something I'm not really used to it.
Not genuinely emotional… I'm usually feigning it, just making it up to get a reaction from people. I never meant anything I felt, said, or did.
And now that everyone has said good-bye, it makes me realize something. It makes me realize that my life was never serious. Not until now, that is; now I have to take things seriously if I want to survive.
I don't want to survive for them. I want to survive for myself.
Maybe that does make me selfish.
But, what does it matter? What does it matter what any of them think about me? Their opinions are useless to me.
I never really cared. They were just there to entertain to me, to keep me company. They never meant anything to me, so why would they now? I'm off to the Hunger Games.
There, I will have to deal with a bunch of whole new different people. Not these impressionable kids of District Five. Maybe I'll finally meet someone that poses a challenge; one who I can't captivate so soon.
That would make things interesting.
Someone who I can't woo over with my words, with my gestures, with my appearance. Someone who I can't have wrapped around my finger-tip, becoming the pawn of my creation.
And maybe that's what I'll miss most about District Five.
How much control I have. How much influence I have. How many people I have.
I can't think about them anymore, though. I'm over it, really. I always knew that one day, they would leave, and I would have to as well. Everything is temporary here, and now that I was reaped, this is my outlet.
My outlet to start new.
And if I have to take down a few people once I get there, so be it. I'm sure they'll be just as easy. I'll use my words, use my looks, and use anything else I can come up with. I know to how work people – that is one thing I'm confident with.
Nothing could go wrong.
Unless… No.
I know what I'm doing.
Author's Note:
(I had this whole author's note planned out.. then deleted it, but hey-ho.)
Anyway, there we go! The first Reaping chapter. I'll have one more after that in the same style of format (One before, two Mentor during, and one after.)
That'll probably be the last chapter before I'm going away and take a break from FF for about twelve days. We'll see.
Well, I don't have any specific questions, but.. What did you think of the tributes? Any of them stood out to you?
And a personal one!
If you were a tribute, what would you want as your token?