Luck.
"Destiny is a good thing to accept when it's going your way. When it isn't, don't call it destiny; call it injustice, treachery, or simple bad luck." - Joseph Heller.
Tirzah Ovata, District Seven Female.
The bark collides with the tips of my fingers and I grasp on as tightly as I can. Digging my feet into the base of the trunk, I ease up it slowly and with precision, timing each and every step as I ascend the spruce. Swirls of green and black trail through the cracks and I smile through every exertion of my muscles, absorbing the chill of the breeze and the soft pattering of a gentle downpour grazing my back.
In my element, here in the trees, I am my own person. A ruler amongst nature. There's nothing I cannot do in my kingdom, everything from the tallest tree to the saplings growing root in the soil, it's all mine. No one can take it from me.
The branches grow thinner as the top peeks out the canopy, I smile and take the last leap upwards, grasping with two hands onto the peak and raising one arm to the sky.
My heart pounds furiously against my ribcage and I savour the rush such an adventure gives me, soaking in the grey clouds shrouding the yellow sun. My eyes take in the view around me, my family's estate perched proudly on the hill, their forest teeming with wildlife stretching acres behind the main part of the District stuck at the bottom. Down there they whisper words about who I am, my family name. Up here though, they can't hurt me, my father can't order me around and my mother can't pull and prod me until I'm the doll she wants me to be.
They tell me to be perfect, so I be the child they want me to be. I won't let them take this freedom though, the one place I thrive and feel at home. Four walls and a bed aren't the comfort I desire, it's this lumbering giant and the countless trees sprouting from the forest floor that give me the feeling of shelter and belonging.
I don't need friends, I never have and never will. Or maybe I do and I'm just being stubborn, at this point in my life I don't even know anymore. It's hard to speak to a child your age when the only day you get to see them is the reaping, home schooling doesn't allow for interaction. Parents like mine block out any hope of finding a companion. It's my life though, I'm past the point of bothering about it.
Despite fighting against the bitterness that floods my system, it find its ground inside and I slowly sink lower and lower, the adventure not quite there anymore. A few splinters pierce the soft points of my fingers but I ignore the pain and land with a gentle thud against the leaves.
With the rain pouring from above, they'll be expecting me right about now. I hear what they say about me, these lonely hours I spend in the trees they cut down for their business, but they can't stop what they can't catch. I make it my priority to spend enough time here so my mind can free itself of the hassle that my family brings me, though I make sure to at least satisfy their wishes occasionally. Today being one: reaping day. The hardest day of the year.
There are only so many disgruntled faces I can take before I begin to feel the pressure overwhelming me, the desire to feel wood round my hands again. The reaping is just a concrete block of child nightmares coming true, the place where two kids are plucked from their lives and forced to face an environment unknown to them. There aren't many things that scare me anymore, but the Capitol does. The Hunger Games do, and I don't like fear. It leaves a terrible sensation in the pit of my stomach, it makes it hard to concentrate.
"It took you long enough," her grating voice attacks my eardrums the second I break through the foliage. My mother stands there, floral gown hitched up and protected under an umbrella Lindy Willow, our Nanny, holds over her head. The red of her cheeks complements the bombardment of lipstick splattered over her mouth. I'd chuckle if I knew there'd be no consequence. Instead I comply and with haste, follow behind her, bowing my head and kicking up gravel as we cross the garden and reach the back door.
"Miss Ovata," Lindy curtsies as I half-heartedly smile her way and step through the open door. Inside it smells of burning, a cake or something in the oven, awaiting the celebrations tonight. There aren't many people who abide by the yearly tradition of a post-reaping party, but my family understand it's good for business. More often than not the Mayor will venture up the hill just to see what my parents have on offer. A Capitolite or two as well might be here, it's a small little party but the amount of money they pay for what my parents have for other, I suppose they don't need large numbers.
"You look dreadful Tirzah, I thought we told you last night not to go loitering about again in those infernal trees. Now we're going to have to scrub you down before we can get you dressed," her eyes flicker down to her watch and a gasp shoots out her lips, making me flinch as she steps forwards. "You really are a nuisance, look at the time!"
If there was ever a place to stand still and not put up a fight, it's when my mother believes we're running late when there is undoubtedly at least two hours to go. She pulls me up a flight of steps, allowing her precious dress to brush the marble flooring as Lindy takes me by the hand, into my bedroom and begins the process of making me the perfect little girl.
I'm to be seen and not heard after all, nothing more, nothing less. The brush snags on my hair as the rain pelts the window and I look through the glass, the forest calling out to me. I wish I could just run away and never look back, I'd rather be there than here.
Celene Fontaine, District Five Female.
With a final flick of my wrist, the curl of the cat's tail ends in a blaze of beautiful orange. I pull back the brush from the old sheet of cardboard and grin. Yes, perfect.
I roll my tongue and clap my hands, smiling at the art before me. It may not be perfect in technique, but it's my masterpiece. All of these are, from the tiniest little flower to the beast of a jungle shoved somewhere under my bed. The worst part is hiding them of course, this cat will be no exception.
"Sorry kitty, I don't want you being set on fire," I sigh and take the painting to the other side of my room. It's not fair, hundreds of other kids would function well with my strict family but it's me who has to have them. I love them, of course I do, but when it comes to being me... well, being me just isn't what they want of their daughter.
"Celene! Julius is here!"
My father's deep voice echoes from below, shaking the floorboards and sending a spiral of dust along the wood. I watch it float around for a second before my door flies open revealing my best and only friend Julian, gawking at me.
"Mornin' Jule!"
"Julius," he whispers, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. I giggle and grab his hand, pulling him into my room and forcing him unintentionally to the ground. He lands with a muted thud and I chuckle again. Julius is just a perplexed sort of dude, without really any knowledge of stuff outside science and maths, I enjoy revealing a different perspective on life. Not many people understand a simpler side and it's that which I try to encourage others to explore. Though most of the time I'm so caught up in my own whirlwind of an imagination it's hard to really piece together what they're thinking for themselves.
Whatever, I suppose.
"Your hands are messy," he nods at the orange coating my fingertips. Grinning mischievously, I catch the glint in his eye and before they even have the chance to widen, I launch myself at him and stroke lines of paint all over his face. My stomach hurts, laughter rolling out from my mouth as he struggles to push my body from him. A blush replaces his usual pale cheeks and after settling his bulky glasses on the bridge of his nose, he dabs at his cheek and sighs at the sight of orange.
"Really? Can you not for one day?"
"Orange suits you, you should try it more often," I tease, watching him blush even more. There's something so appealing about his awkwardness that just invokes these kind of reactions. I'm not usually so upfront, I understand some form of boundaries. As long as someone isn't so uptight, I'll give them peace that they rightfully deserve. But with Julius, he seeks me out either way, if he didn't like me he wouldn't be here.
"Secretly you love it."
He chews on his thumbnail in response, not another word to put in. I shrug my shoulders, acknowledging his wishes and slowly I start pacing back and forth. Occasionally I glance back over at my painting and smile to myself, then over at Julius who does nothing but stare at my feet as they kick up dust and wood chips.
He's not like everyone else, but he's not like me either. Julius takes life as it comes, always in the now. Present day life is fun, it's all there is for us really, but there's no harm in considering an outside alternative. A future that maybe... maybe could be better?
People call me idiotic with an imagination to match. Panem is destined for disharmony forever and ever, the Hunger Games continuing for decades after myself and Julius have passed. I don't want to believe that. I can't really.
There's always a time where things have to be taken seriously, but there comes a point where seriousness leads to indolence. If I act like the world I live in isn't harsh, then it makes me believe I'll start to consider that which we live like, how we're forced to mould our choices, is right.
And I can't accept that.
"Mind wandering, Celene?"
I blink a few times and immediately my room comes back to focus. The thin whisker of the kitty sticks out from the corner of my eye and I look fully on at Julius who's ever so slightly grinning.
"Did you want to stay round later? I don't mind if you don't want to. It'd be nice though if you could, reaping day always leave me feeling a little upset," I chirp, probably more enthusiastic than such a question should come out. Julius' grin twitches for a split second before a shift in his head, up and down, makes me laugh out loud again.
"Great, excellent! Are you nervous, I know I sure am."
"Nerves aren't worth it for something out of our control. Try to stay relaxed, it's easier."
I step over to him and fall downwards, landing within an inch of his crossed legs. Julius blushes again, although he wants to shuffle backwards he doesn't, for that I'm grateful.
"Nerves make me feel human Julius, I don't want to act like it's not bothering me. I don't like that."
"Celene, you shout at Peacekeepers, you once even climbed to the top of the bakers and leaped from the roof, barely landing in the pile of leaves. Everything you do, you've never cared. Why should the reaping bother you?"
Because... what if it is me? What if it is...
I couldn't handle that. Julius knows me more than anyone. I'm the girl who smiles and paints, chases people around, back-chats Peacekeepers and does stupid things just because she can. But that's because I'm happy with who I am and what I think about when I'm not going on such adventures, when I do dream of a better place to live.
If I'm reaped... that means I'm sucked straight into the system I'm trying to envisage not existing. That'll just ruin everything, it could change who I am.
I feel the soft tingling of his palm, fingers squeezing my shoulder gently. I look up at him and hold back a tear, instead going to punch him lightly in his own shoulder.
"Come on you, let's get this over with," I laugh, pulling him up with one hand and setting him on his feet.
"You're a good friend Celene, you are."
I stare at him, the sincerity glowing from his face. For once, there's no joke, nothing to bite back with and laugh about. He's my friend, that's more than can be said for anyone else in this District. More than can be said for my own family.
"You are too."
Nothing else needs to be said. With me leading the way, we start forwards, a reaping to go to.
Lochlan Clarington, District Two Male.
"Why are you dressed like that?"
My sister shoves her nose in the gap between myself and the mirror, smirking at the reflection that stares back at her. Hanging baggy, but not too baggy, is one of my father's old suits: sophisticated leather shoes, pressed pinstripe trousers and an old ruffled shirt. It looks ridiculous, definitely. But I like ridiculous, it's better than whatever tiny scrap of material my sister shoves herself into every day.
"I don't know," I shrug my shoulders and let out a short laugh. "Leaves an impression, I guess."
"On who?" she arches an eyebrow and snorts, patting out a crease in her own dress.
"Me. I'm impressing myself."
She rolls her eyes and turns to walk away, one hand on one hip and the other twirling a piece of her hair, round and round.
"You're so weird."
"Love you too," I growl and watch her strut out through the door and down the stairs, her receding footsteps followed by the front door opening and slamming shut.
"That went rather well," I mutter to my reflection, raising an eyebrow and breaking out with one last smile. It really did go well considering who Autumn is, and who I am. Autumn being the girl everyone loves and wants to be, an up and coming victor District Two so proudly wants to boast about. Then me, the guy who 'hates the world' as I'm branded on more than one occasion everyday. Maybe I do hate the world, honestly it's none of anyone's business what I think. Although I enjoy making it their business, annoying people just because they're so uptight about their training and arrogant about what they can do and hiding what they can't do, is fun.
I shrug my shoulders one last time and do up the top button of my shirt. Really it's far too cringe-worthy for me to be wearing something like this but that's why I want to wear it. I'm not exactly going to go out and punch a Peacekeeper, so turning up wearing mismatching clothes is my own, somewhat pathetic, attempt at rebelling.
Oh well.
I leave my bedroom door and walk slowly down the stairs. Behind a wall somewhere to my left I hear muttering; it's safe to say no one who could potentially be the person talking would want to see me.
District Two, ever chilly, runs rampant with the training kids flocking to the streets. Instantly, there are kids I recognise, sporting their uniforms and chatting amongst themselves. Their raised voices do nothing to placate my bitterness, but it's fine, I don't mind the way I feel. Several of them quieten down when I join behind them, prodding each other in the shoulders and ever-so-subtly nodding in my direction. I smirk at each and every person that attempts to make eye contact and instantly they turn away, whispering far too loudly about me.
Autumn would love the attention, be it negative or positive. I hate it, but it's not like I try to stop it either. Sometimes it's far too tempting to say something
Above the chorus of cheers and hooting, somehow I can make out Autumn's incessant cackling. Amongst her friends she's some kind of icon, Clarrisa my other younger sister thinks it's overwhelming to be related to someone so... inspirational. Me, well, she knows my thoughts. She just doesn't like hearing them, no one does.
The whole of Panem assumes we're all worshippers of the Hunger Games. We're not, I know of a rare few who hates them as much as I do. But we'll never have a voice or be known, those the other Districts know are those who volunteer and want to kill. People like me are judged before we even get the chance to open our mouths.
It only takes another ten or so minutes for this wave of bobbing heads to part at the front of the Square. Peacekeepers line up strictly, scanning through the crowds as we join a queue and wait for our turn. Impatience is a guarantee, there's no real system of volunteering, anyone can go. The Peacekeepers are always on high alert for fights, potential volunteers always like to ruin another volunteer's chances before the time arrives... pretty funny, if I think about it.
"Next."
I move forwards instinctively and stare down at the little woman. She frowns at me the second I do rendering conversation immediately pointless. I let her get on with what she's paid to do and hold back the wince as I'm processed and shoved forwards rather aggressively into the main part of the Square. Celebration wise, the District loves to hang banners and posters of Victors around its inner housing. I spot the President on one of them, nearest to my own section.
A few people spare a second or two from their conversations to look over at me though they return the second I step past. I don't stand too far in the centre. With a space somewhere near the aisle I might as well be closer to a position where I can leave before the unfortunate volunteers who didn't quite make the cut, shove and scream in fury. Again, pretty funny, but pretty dangerous if you're caught in the midst of it all.
"District Two, District Two. Lovely to see you all gathered today," the mayor taps the microphone and a groan sweeps the District at the noise the speaker makes. He grins at us all, like this is some kind of torture, and nods slightly at the three Victors who step out onto the stage.
I recognise them immediately but pay less attention than the rest of the crowd. They mean nothing to me, so I don't really like to associate myself with them. Why bother?
He goes into his yearly spiel of rebellion and a time where the Capitol was forced to fight us all into a bitter defeat. I push it all out from my head and roll my eyes, nodding sarcastically and mumbling to myself. Then, the escort bounces on in a flourish of hands and feathers, grinning at us all with that wide mouth of hers.
She introduces herself and immediately begins to walk over to the female bowl. I look over at the countless stream of trainees preparing themselves. Autumn knows next year is her turn so I don't bother trying to find her. The second the name is pulled, all hell breaks loose and for once it's actually enjoyable watching them tear each other to pieces in hopes of making it to the stage.
The girl that does make it to the stage looks the least enthusiastic out of any of the girls who sob and scream below the steps. Saskia deValier, as she announces herself, shrugs her shoulders and looks out at nothing in particular. For once, I actually like... or at least, can put up with, a tribute from our District. The bored look is interesting, maybe she's not all bitchy and bloodthirsty like the rest of these idiots.
"Lochlan Clarington!"
I blanch for a second at the sound of my name, one ear ringing and one ear trying to make sure I heard it right. Me... Lochlan? I am Lochlan right?
I laugh and stare around at all the boys, waiting for the volunteer. When no one actually steps forwards, something sinks into my stomach and red shifts up from my gut and sets behind my eyes. Clenching my fists, I step out and walk towards the stage.
"Thanks guys. Thank you so ever much! I guess I'll take my place then right?" I shout, watching them all as they look up at me. Someone laughs, followed by another guy jeering at me. Someone from the back shouts he meant to volunteer and was about to but I had accepted my place so it was too late.
Bullshit.
Saskia looks me up and down, then resumes looking like this really isn't something she wants for herself. I don't either. What the hell is going on...?
Me, a tribute.
Yeah. Makes perfect sense.
For once in my life, I want one of those mindless brutes to do... something! But it's too late. As the escort places a hand on my back and guides me to the centre, I look out at their smug stupid faces and know that it's really happening.
Ironic, in a sense.
Who'd have thought it eh? This is going to suck.
Kitty Lynch, District Twelve Female.
Further on ahead I see my brother holding my younger sister's hand, pulling her along. Amongst their faces I see other people I recognise mixed in with a whole bunch I don't. The atmosphere on reaping day is always unbearable, no one puts up with a smile unless it's meant for comforting... fun isn't allowed because it's classed as abnormal.
With my head high and lips set apart, I skip as quickly as I can towards them. A few people already crane their heads at the gentle clacking my shoes make compared to the monotonous death march, but for once I allow myself a moment of non-conforming.
Zane turns to face me just as my feet land gracefully behind him. Ivy looks behind and immediately lights up and reaches forward, wrapping her arms round my waist and pulling me in. We're not many years apart but I enjoy the fact she sees me as a sort of role model. I know I'm not, and that quashes the tiny amount of happiness this feeling gives me, but it's enough for now.
"Are they not following you?" Zane stands taller on the tip of his toes and searches the crowd over my shoulder, scanning for our parents. "Guess not."
"They told me to run on ahead."
"Well, we don't want to be late, we'll get in trouble." Ivy's hands are pried apart and immediately Zane begins walking off ahead of me. Quickly, I pick up speed and follow afterwards, ignoring the looks several people send my way.
"We won't get in trouble Zane. When I was late last year, nothing happened."
For a second Zane halts, hanging his head, but it's only brief and he resumes his silent pace. I feel my teeth bite into my lip and roll my eyes. It's best I don't focus on it, I don't want to be down today. Not like everyone else. For once I'll ignore their looks and their words and focus on remaining positive. Reaping day can easily get to a person, I'm determined to not let these people ruin what I'm holding.
Zane soon gets swallowed by the crowd. I give up searching and continue by myself slowly but with a lot more bounce in my step. I don't set out to be annoying but I understand it's part of who I am, people have always called me it. Even my older brother struggles to be around me, maybe I should look at myself and attempt a change. Transformation isn't something instant though. I push that idea to the back of my head and step closer and closer to the parting crowd, splitting into the queues.
Keep focused and things will be alright, even if it's hard.
Not many people talk, those who do only whisper quietly amongst close huddles of family and friends. It's awkward being by myself, I can't see anyone I know to latch onto which makes the impatient wait that much harder. By the time I reach the desk at the front, I frown at the Peacekeeper and immediately shrink back at the glare he reciprocates with.
Without warning, he jabs my finger and a tiny yelp parts from my lips. I scowl and put my bleeding finger in my mouth as the registration device bleeps and he ushers me on forwards. Even if I wanted to stand still, there's no real way to do so. The crowd hurriedly guides me on, pushing me towards my section without really meaning to.
The other fifteen year old girls stare at me as I squeeze along the line, holding a breath and sucking in my chest to push myself down. Finally, I take my place between two taller girls and look up at the blank stage.
Stay calm Kitty, stay calm. You've always tried to smile. Smiling is what you're good at...
"Miaow," I jump up at the girlish squeak and frown at the giggling that follows a second after. The girl in front of me twists her neck and makes a face, staring at the other one next to her and sharing another laugh.
"Good morning... Kitty," I hear one girl making a stupid purring noise which only makes my fingers clench tightly into fists. Up on stage I see the mayor walking out alongside our only Victor: Callan, and begin the treaty.
"Interesting morning?"
I hold eye contact with the smallest one, the other girl nudging her and egging her on. The girls either side of me continue to stare ahead, pretending not to notice. No one really cares about a little unfortunate interaction. Especially if it's me involved.
"Good, thanks for asking."
"Had a fight with a Peacekeeper? Escaped a mine explosion? Killed the President?"
The two girls burst out laughing, high-fiving one another as warmth spreads across my cheeks. They turn at the sound of static and I stare at the ground, willing for it to be over. Whatever I tried to do, that's all gone. In less than a minute, I want to go home and stay there for the day.
Why do they bring it up...?
I know, I don't help myself. I know all that, I know! But does that matter right now, today of all days? Besides, killing the President is totally unbelievable. I wouldn't be that stupid to make up such a thing...
I really don't help myself.
"Time to pick our lucky little lady, let's do this girls!"
I concede to watching the show, the escort beaming sunshine and rainbows and... kittens. I laugh at myself and watch her fingers swirl in the midst of all those slips. I have quite a few but not near as many as a lot of girls. A voice lingering in the back of my mind wishes for the girl in front to be picked, but I hold that back and scold myself. No, no one deserves that. Not even a short little bully.
"Kitty Lynch!"
Immediately, the girls around me split apart. Some laugh nervously, others look at me for once with pity, whilst the girls in front openly giggle. Do they not understand what just happened? That was my name. Kitty. Kitty Lynch. I'm a tribute...
I'm a tribute.
What happens next isn't something I mean to do, or something I want. But at this point, control of my emotions has all but gone. All I see through my tears is a watery blur, a tiny little sound coming out my mouth as a Peacekeeper guides me up to the stage.
I am a tribute.
Today wasn't a day for me to smile about, I shouldn't have fooled myself about anything. People don't like me because I'm not what a person wants in a friend. And it's come to haunt me, is this fate sneaking up or just bad luck?
Either way, I don't want to go... I don't...
"Please."
No one listens to me as the male name is called. I'm just another tribute now, another name to add to the list of dead. I'm nothing, and I hate that. All I want is to be something and that's been taken from me, the minute my cannon sounds... I'm just another girl. Another tribute. Another nobody.
Atarah Neve, District Nine Female.
I try to wish away the bad thoughts but nothing seems to work. My fingers clench tightly round the midsection of my dress, my back pressed deep into the cushion whilst I stare at the door. I sense tears building up, a sob somewhere tickling the back of my throat, but I push that all down. As well as the tears, there's something else. I don't like it, but it's there. The accusation of the escort, the desire to call her out and demand why it was me... why me of all people. I can't though, I don't like anger. I hate it; those who are angry are people who are unhappy about their lives and take it out on the world. I like my life... liked... liked Atarah, you haven't got that long left.
My body quivers just in time to the door silently clicking open, the Peacekeeper pushes in with his visor blocking the top section of his face. The second my father crosses over from the corridor towards me, I leap up and bolt into his open arms. I feel his chest shaking, a hand patting the back of my head as drops of water fall onto my hair. He's crying and that only makes things worse for me. We've always been strong together, for one another, that's the way it works for the pair of us. We get through things together, as a team, it's how we pass the days with a smile on our faces and remain appreciative of a world that only wants the worst from us.
How can I remain so calm and quiet when this has happened? I bet it's a question everyone in my shoes has ever asked, but it's one that presses at the back of my mind. Why me... why me...?
"It's okay," I embrace him tightly, taking in his warmth and trying to build a memory inside my head for me to cling to. If he's there with me, maybe it will make the process easier. Through the darkest of times he's always been by my side, and now that there's no physical way of him accompanying me, I can take him mentally... he'd want that, I'm his little girl no matter how old I am, he'd want to help me somehow.
"This isn't fair, this isn't..." his voice breaks to a sob that crawls its way out of his mouth. I feel my insides breaking, a vice clenching round my heart as I watch my father break. It takes every ounce of strength I can possibly conjure for me not to tall in a heap and let my emotions pile out. It's not fair for me to do so, not for my father. He needs to know I have some hope, a tiny shred of something that he can cling to knowing I'm not just going to give up. If his last image is of his daughter, broken on the floor, what does that tell him? I'm not the strongest of girls, I know that, but I can at least try... right? All I have is my ability to try, hopefully that will be enough.
"Nothing's fair, father. It never has been." I gently unwrap myself from his embrace and step backwards, staring up at his tortured expression, eyes watery red and lips quivering. I close my eyes for a brief second and take a deep breath, settling my stomach at rest. When I open them, a smile curls up my face and for the smallest of seconds I picture myself returning to see him.. and I like it, I like it a lot. I know victors don't return the same but that's a sacrifice I'm willing to take. I don't want to hurt others, all I've ever wanted is to go along life peacefully and help those in need of help. But from this moment on, the people who need help are the people who will try to take my life... there's no second option here.
If I want to see him again... I have to-
My mind flips at that and I stumble forwards, barely landing in my father's arms once more. I'm not a killer, what am I thinking really? There's no conceivable way I can go from a field worker to a murderer, is that even possible? Visualising taking the life of one of those careers, the people who asked for this, is one thing.. but the others, the people like me who are terrified and want their parents to tell them that it's alright like any parent should do, is that fair of me to think this way...?
"I don't know what to do, I don't," I let the first tear roll down my nose and then the next, before I even process what's happening I open myself up and let my body shake with the sobs that finally unleash themselves. My chest burns, my mind blurs as my father cradles my shaking body, stroking my back and telling me it'll be okay. It won't though... I'm a girl from District Nine, I work on a field of grain, I'm not a killer. I'm not what the Capitol wants as their victor. I'm a normal girl who smiles at strangers and tends to their needs if they have any.
Why me?
"I know Atarah, I know," he cradles me in his arms, blinking back his own tears so I can shed mine. I want to see him again but at the same time I can't take away another parent's right to see their own child. That makes me a hypocrite... selfish... I'm not those things. I can't be those things.
"I don't want this. I don't want this..."
Nothing else is said, there isn't anything else I can say. My throat burns, my chest aches, every fibre of my body is tired. I just want to go to sleep and let this nightmare disappear, wake up in my bed and have my dad comfort me and tell me it was all a bad dream. It isn't though. This is now my life, my future. If I want out, I either die or kill. At this moment in time, who knows what the better option is. Kill or die. Or both. Neither isn't an option, not if I want to win. If I'm to see my dad again, at least one life will have to drift away by my hand... I can't cope with that... but I have to. I know I have to.
"It'll be okay," he whispers into my ear. "It'll be okay."
It won't be okay, not anymore. From this moment, nothing's ever going to be okay... and I'm scared of that.
Alton Shelding, District Ten Male.
The moment they step through the door and enter my waiting room, they crumble. It's not a gradual change, something that takes time as the three step over the carpet and tread carefully, it's instantaneous. My sister wails into my mother's scruffy shirt, clinging to her hip even though she's an eighteen year old girl. The so-called man of the house grabs his wife by the shoulder and sobs into the crook of her neck. Meanwhile, the only woman I can count on for such a lack of emotion has a face the colour of milk, tears so plainly obvious as they trail down her cheeks, joining the wave of them that the other two continue to shed.
A part of me urges my eyes to roll, that this really isn't something they should fret over. But it is... isn't it? I mean, what kind of person sentenced to death doesn't let it all out and hug their family in their last goodbye? It's not something I have any control over, really, for a while now it's just been how it is. And how it is is all they're going to get, even if the sight of water marks and red eyes stirs something in my chest.
Nothing is enough though, it's just bad luck my name was the one pulled from the bowl.
"W-why..." my sister's voice croaks, reaches a pitch higher than usual, and fazes out. Her face creases as she cries out for me, though none of them close the gap. The way they stare at me, it's almost like the fact I'm reaped is infectious, one touch and they'll be whisked away to the Capitol. A smirk plays on my face, though I don't mean it to. I guess this really is it.
"Why what? Why I was chosen. I guess it's fate sis, my destiny to be a tribute and all that," I joke, watching for any hint of something lighter than what they're currently showing. Truthfully, this is more awkward than anything. I've never really seen my parents fret over anything other than food and sustaining our family, and that never crosses over from simple pacing and hurried voices.
I pat down a crease in my trouser leg and avert eye contact. If they're looking for some sort of emotional reaction, I hate to disappoint. Some people believe that the reaped tributes were always destined to be tributes from their birth, that nothing could divert from the path something had chosen for them. My sister's one of those people all big on destiny and I enjoy teasing her about it. Back when I was more into shows of such dramatics and silliness, she'd fight back at an equal display of passion. Now, we get along more because I'm not all into that. Surely she understands that since I've toned myself down, she can't rely on me to stand up and tell her it'll all be okay. Because, it won't, will it? I'm dead. I know I'm dead, I was dead ever since 'Alton Shelding' rang out from that idiot's mouth for all the world to hear.
If I can accept that, my family should. Clinging to some sort of meager hope that I'll step off that train, a new victor for Panem to fawn over... it's ridiculous... stupid... it's something I want.
"You laughed son, you laughed when you were called?"
I remember that vividly, it only happened around ten or so minutes ago. I bet they all thought I was crazy... good I guess, if there ever comes a time strategy plays a part in my future choices, I could use that to my advantage.
"The wise man speaks," I chuckle. Sometimes I scold myself for being inappropriate, but if there was ever a time to lighten the mood it's now.
"You don't laugh when you're reaped Alton... it's not normal."
Mother and father have dulled down the tears in favour of coherent speech, though my sister stands there shaking and quivering, knees knocking together as she stares wide-eyed at my face. A joke forces its way to my tongue but luckily this time I hold it back and look over to my parents once more.
"I laughed because... well, honestly, it just came out."
For the first time since stepping in, they move once more. The invisible barrier is broken and my sister lurches forwards, clutching my knee her sobs go silent but body grows more and more violent in movements. Mother spares a second to look down at her with pity then back up at me. I'm the star of the show after all, aren't I? Sister's tears are nothing compared to a corpse that currently hasn't died yet.
"Maybe it's possible, maybe it is."
"Winning?" I let out a short laugh and shake my head. "I don't really think I'm the victor type, do you mother?"
She rubs her cheeks furiously and bites her lip. I know she doesn't but why let the truth out, it's easier to bottle things up and pretend otherwise. That's a trick I learnt to stop using, in the long run it's simpler to accept fate rather than tackle it and try to change what has happened. Honesty over delusion, that's what I always say.
"If it means anything, I will miss you guys."
I will, even I'll admit to something like that. It's not enough to spur some heartfelt farewell and cradle my broken family, but it has to be enough to satisfy them; at least leave them knowing I actually cared. A boy howling with laughter at being reaped isn't the lasting image I want to give them.
No one really says anything anymore, the clock ticks down these fleeting minutes as the three of them embrace me and whisper sentiments into my ear.
When it's time for them to go, I step up and see them off, watching their backs leave behind an open door that closes the moment they turn the corner. I will miss them. They're my family through and through, nothing can change that. I just hope my death doesn't hit them too much, I don't want to hurt them when there's nothing I can do to make it any better.
Not that making it better is something I'm good at, if anything I only make things so much worse.
And here are the first six tributes!
There will be eight of these pre-game chapters, six POVs per one which enables every tribute to star twice before I start to kill these lovely guys and gals off ;D
This is out earlier than I expected. I thought I'd be writing the ending for my other SYOT but instead I got too excited and wanted to start writing for this. Maybe there will be a delay in the next chapter since I do really need to write this other chapter, but hopefully not. I'm having a lot of fun!
Favourite from these six and why?
Next chapter will take us into the Capitol. Until next time!