District 12
Audra Norris
District 12 has always fared badly in the Hunger Games. Our tributes hardly ever make the final eight and, of those who have made it that far, only two have gone on to win. In fact, we haven't had a tribute who lasted more than a couple of days for several years; for as long as I remember, they've all been knocked out early. So, when my name was called at the reaping, I knew I was as good as dead, unless someone volunteered to take my place. And did anyone volunteer? What do you think?
Anyway, I'm District 12's girl tribute in the Seventy-third Hunger Games; my district partner, Travis, and I are waiting for the start of the tribute parade. We are dressed up to represent coal mining, our district's main industry. I'm wearing a charcoal grey crop top and black mini skirt, clearly an attempt to make mining look sexy. But the effect is ruined by my clumsy black boots, not to mention the black powder that's been sprinkled all over me to represent coal dust. My headdress is a miner's helmet, charcoal grey to match my top; it even has a working lamp.
I don't need to look in a mirror to know I look hideous; I've seen enough tribute parades to know District 12 always has the least flattering costumes. Just black or dark grey clothes, miners' helmets and fake coal dust. And that is supposed to appeal to the Capitol audience, only it never does. The only good thing about what I'm wearing is that at least I was given an actual costume, unlike those kids who were put on their chariot wearing nothing but black dust.
I find myself thinking about my family. My father used to be a miner until an accident underground forced him to give it up; since then we've been scraping by on the money my mother earns taking in sewing. Which isn't very much, so my oldest brother, Keith, and I both had to sign up for tesserae. But Keith is now eighteen, so he will soon be starting work in the mines. He says he will work as many hours as he can to save our younger siblings, ten-year-old Lily and eight-year-old Abe, from having to take tesserae.
But coal mining is a dangerous occupation and many miners are killed or injured every year. The only way I can be sure Lily and Abe won't have to claim tesserae is to win the Games and I know that's highly unlikely. The tributes from Districts 1, 2 and 4 have been training for these Games their whole lives. I'll only have three days in which to learn how to use weapons. Add to that the fact that our only mentor is Haymitch Abernathy, a surly drunk who doesn't do us any favours when it comes to attracting sponsors, and I'm pretty much doomed. My only chance may be to get a good training score, but I don't have any skills to speak of.
There are people in 12 who sometimes slip through the fence around the district to go hunting and foraging in the woods. It's against the law, but our Peacekeepers generally turn a blind eye to such activities; some even frequent the Hob, the black market run from an old warehouse. But, until I was reaped, I'd never been outside the fence in my life, so wilderness survival is another skill I'll have to learn from scratch. But it may be my only chance of surviving beyond the first two or three days in the arena. Even then, the odds will still be against me, as I'll still have my fellow tributes to contend with.
For a moment, I consider following the example of the girl who dropped her token during the sixty-second countdown at the Cornucopia, blowing herself up. But I realise I must try to survive the bloodbath at least, especially given District 12's record. Since the Hunger Games started more than seventy years ago, there have only been a handful of years when we didn't lose a tribute on the first day. I have no wish to add to those statistics.
I am still contemplating my fate when the chariots start to roll out.
Travis Fletcher
I keep expecting to wake up and find that this is all a bad dream. But I must face the fact that it is reality, that I really am a tribute. And that means I will almost certainly be dead within a few days; District 12 tributes like myself rarely last long in the arena. A few make it to the final stages, but not many. Coming from the poorest district in Panem, our tributes have every disadvantage you can think of.
And it doesn't help that they always have the worst costumes in the tribute parade. Costumes like the ones my district partner, Audra, and I are wearing. We are from the coal-mining district and, as they do nearly every year, our stylists have chosen miners as their theme. My costume consists of a pair of black trousers and matching boots; my chest has been left bare to represent a miner stripped to the waist while working underground. My entire body is covered in black dust and, just in case it wasn't already obvious which district I'm from, I'm wearing a dark grey miner's helmet.
I know what the outcome of these Games will probably be as far as District 12 is concerned. If Audra and I survive for more than a couple of days, we'll be lucky. If we're both still alive after a week, it will be a miracle. Neither of us are very strong physically and we'll be up against kids who've been training for these Games all their lives. But, even if I can't win, I want to take at least one of my fellow tributes down with me. So, during the three-day training period, I'm going to spend time at the weapons training stations; if nothing else, I should be able to pick up a few tips on how to handle a knife or a spear.
Before I left for the Capitol, my parents brought my little sisters (nine-year-old Sage and five-year-old Penny) to say goodbye. Penny begged me to come back safe and well, so I had to tell her that I would; she's only little. But I knew it was much more likely that I'd been coming home in a wooden box. We haven't had a victor for over twenty years and it's been almost that long since we had a tribute in the final eight.
I made my parents promise that they will do whatever they can to make sure Sage and Penny won't have to claim tesserae. I signed up for tesserae on my twelfth birthday two years ago; I knew it increased my chances of being reaped, but we needed the grain and oil. This year, I had eighteen entries in the reaping ball, compared to the three I would have had without the tesserae. I don't want my sisters to face the same increased risk, but I know there are no guarantees that my parents will be able to keep their promise. Having one or more kids who are claiming tesserae is often the only thing that can save a family from starvation.
Right now, my family must be among those gathered around the television in District 12's community hall, waiting for the start of the tribute parade. Our old television broke down several months ago and we can't afford to replace it. So, if there is any mandatory viewing scheduled, my family go to the community hall. And they will doubtless be spending most of their time there in the next few weeks, especially as the Games near their climax.
Of course, it's unlikely I'll still be in the running by then. More likely I will have died, if not at the hands of my fellow tributes, then by some other means. Starvation, dehydration, "natural" disasters, mutts . . . There are many things which can kill a tribute, but dwelling on it will do me no good. All I can do once I'm in the arena is try to stay alive for as long as I can. Which, given District 12's record in the Games, probably won't be very long. But, like I said before, I'm determined not to go down without a fight if I can help it.
The doors to the Remake Centre open and the chariots start to roll out onto the streets of the Capitol.