SHIT.
FUCK.
FUCK.
This could not be happening.
Everything seemed kind of fuzzy. The crowd muttered angrily; they were not pleased with having the innocent (my ass), sunny Feliciano being chosen as Tribute. Someone was gripping my elbow, which was the only thing preventing me from falling flat on my face.
Then I saw that it was the potato bastard, and I wondered if falling on my face would've been better.
I saw the horrified expression on Ludwig's face. Yes, falling on my fucking face would've been better than watching his face collapse because the true love of his fucking life walk to his death.
Feliciano's face was pale and looked like he wanted to take the fuck off like the proud Italian he was, but instead managed to stumble forward.
Seeing him in the yellow shirt that I picked out for him (since I was more fashionable of the two Italian brothers) and how it did not look great with his white, frightened-to-death face (which was usually tan), something in me snapped.
Fuck this shit.
I staggered forward, but the stupid German held me back.
"What the fuck?" I snapped at him. "You are wrinkling my sleeve."
The potato had the balls to keep a grip on my wrist. "Don't do anything stupid," he warned.
I sneered at him, then kneed him in the wurst- ha!- and he let go of me real quick, sinking to his knees.
I shoved aside random unimportant people and caught up to Feliciano, gripping his shoulder so hard that he cried out, the weak little pipsqueak.
"I-I-I vol..." I gasped, then stopped, because my voice came out trembling and shrill as fuck and twice as gay.
"I volunteer to be your fucking Tribute."
Feliciano screamed, and I mean screamed because I couldn't hear shit for about thirty seconds. His hands latched on me like fucking claws, talons, whatever.
"Feliciano, fuck off!" I snapped, waving my arm with my brother still attached so I probably looked like some mental spastic bird.
I caught the glint of a camera fucking recording every moment of this shit, and I knew right then my life could not get any fucking better.
"No!" Feliciano wailed loudly, his nails digging in deeper and I swear he was going to tear little Feliciano nail prints or whatever into my nicest non-brand dress shirt.
"Veee~ You can't go and die! You can't go and leave me alone forever! Who's going to keep the shadows away at night?!"
I stared at him for a moment. "That's all you think I'm good for?"
"Well, you're pasta making skill isn't as good as mine, but I can lie if you want me too..."
I wanted to fucking throttle him, or at least change my mind about putting my head on the fucking chopping block.
"Oi! Potato bastard!" I hollered.
Feliciano's eyes widened as he realized the fucking brilliance of my move - five seconds too late, my dear stupid brother - and he screamed again - damn he sure knew how to use and abuse decibels while acting like a fucking girl in the process - as Ludwig appeared and hauled him away.
But not before he had effectively wrinkled my sleeve.
I sighed and began the long walk to the stage with a thousand fucking eyes watching me and probably a million more thanks to the fucking cameras.
At least I looked sharp.
Like I said: sad, but sharp.
Feliks held out a pink gloved hand to me, a sympathetic expression on his girly face (which was surprisingly naturally beautiful and free of makeup except for some tasteful pink glittery eyeliner and sparkly lip gloss and dammit don't ask me how I noticed these details), but I wasn't going to be helped onto the stage like some weak little girl.
But that step was awful high. Fuck.
So I hopped onstage. Like I was so graceful and cool and shit.
Too bad the microphone"s fucking wire was in the way.
And as the floor came rushing up to meet me for the fucking second time today, someone grabbed me by the scruff of the neck like I was a fucking kitten - no a MANLY dog ... wait that doesn't even make a shred of sense and it was sure as fuck was not the girly announcer because I could smell stale wine and body odor. I was sure Miss Princess would not smell like that.
I could be mistaken, of course. Even with my fearsome intelligence I was a man and therefore made mistakes.
I wasn't wrong though. Ha!
After flailing my arms like a fucking windmill I righted myself and looked at my savior/kitten grabber.
Which turned out to be none other than fucking Julius Abernathy.
What the shit? When did he crawl back up onstage anyway?
"Like, our first Tribute of District 12!" Feliks announced to the cameras, and started clapping, but it wasn't even real clapping because his hot pink stripper gloves were muting the sound.
Haha.
Anyway, he stopped real quick.
Because no one else was clapping. The audience all quiet, even Feliciano, because though I couldn't see him I couldn't hear him either so there.
It was the only way they could protest. With fucking silence. That's how fucking pathetic we were. We do not fucking support this. This is so fucking wrong.
...
That"s probably what they were thinking, minus all the swearing.
...
Then they all raised their hand, giving me the three fingered salute of the district. It could mean thanks, admiration, and goodbye to a loved one, or it could mean "Westside, bitches." Or a peace sign with an extra finger.
I'm sure it meant the first option.
I stood there wishing they'll all fucking magically disappear because I felt my vision blur - I was NOT going to fucking cry, you hear? I just got some fucking dirt in my eye!
Yeah.
I sniffed and then all of a sudden I remembered the drunk asshole next to me because he fucking grabbed my arm and raised it up.
"I like this one!" he slurred. "He's got... guts! More than you!" He pointed randomly to people. "And you!" He pointed to Feliks, who put his hands on his flat (but ruffled) chest like he was afraid Julius would fucking dirty him with his finger point.
Then I felt his hand on my ass.
"He"s got a nice ass too," Julius muttered, "and a nice-"
Nobody else got know what else I had that was so fucking nice. Because I fucking elbowed him with my killer sharp elbows and he bent over, and I used my super kung fu skills to roll him off the stage.
It's not like I wasn't strong enough to toss him off the stage, dammit! Just look at my manly muscles! I just - didn't - want t-to -
Never mind that.
Just shut the fuck up.
The crash Julius Aber-something made falling off the fucking stage for the second time seemed to wake Feliks up. He smoothed his dress and smiled radiantly around.
That's when I noticed for the first time his eyes were fucking pink.
No, not all bloodshot and shit, but the irises were a creepily bright magenta that- of course- matched his entire outfit.
I was so engrossed with trying to sneak glances as his curiously colored eyes that I almost missed the next name.
"Like, what a looong name, but totally worth it since its totally sexy sounding! Will you, like, come up here, Antonio Fernandez Carriedo?"
I felt my jaw fucking drop and crash to the stage. Metaphorically of course. So they wouldn't have to scrap pieces of my body of the fucking stage.
Feliks calmly reached over and snapped by jaw back up.
…
Shit.
So, as Feliks would put it: the odds were totally not in my favor today.
"Sooo, like, any volunteers?" Feliks calls. The audience is silent as Antonio walks up and I noticed that he had a pretty nice ass-
Nope. Not going there.
Lovino, you're fucking straight, remember?
His handsome- no no no- normal face is held up high and for once there was not a smile on his lips. Even though he has a three brothers, no one volunteers for him.
Such as shame that gorgeous body won't be in one piece after-
Fuck.
Must not think about it.
...
I was talking about thinking about dying in the Games.
What else did you think?
Perverts.
Anyway, I feel like I owe you guys a flashback. Yes, it's very dramatic.
Okay: so once upon a time and all that crap, my mother suddenly died when I was about four. I didn't really remember much of her, except that she was a kind, beautiful woman who laughed a lot and loved me as much as she did Feliciano.
Father died in a mine explosion when I was eleven. Money quickly ran out after that.
So Feliciano and I was slowly starving to death (and I had to sell my fashionable designer clothes, remember? *shudders*) and no one was willing to help us because they were all starving to death too.
I had to wait three more fucking months to get tesserae, and by then my brother and I would be skeletons in the fucking ground, so I had to do something.
I went out with the last of our clothing that I couldn't sell on Panem's eBay and nobody was rich enough or tasteful enough to admire designer clothing so I couldn't sell them.
And because I was the pathetic Italian I couldn't bear to return home and tell my brother that we were going to starve to death and become skeletons in the ground I decided I didn't give a fuck anymore and just die on the streets.
Did I also mention it was raining? It was raining. Because it's more dramatic and depressing that way.
Ew. All that mud and shit.
There.
So I decided to torture myself a bit and crawled to the front of the cafe where I could smell the wonderfulness that is food. And in the storefront window were a display of fucking huge, shiny tomatoes.
Smart move, huh?
So I sat in the disgusting dirt and was going to lay down and die when I noticed a boy staring at me. The only reason I recognized him was because he had the most fucking beautiful shade of green eyes and I was jealous because my eyes were brown but I wasn't really jealous since it wasn't like I could dig his eyes out and transplant them into my own sockets.
Anyway I thought this was just fan-fucking-tastic because now I got an audience to watch me as I kicked the bucket. Yay.
But the boy had the decency to turn around and go back inside his disgustingly good smelling cafe and I realized that his face was kind of beautiful (objectively speaking of course, so don"t get any weird ideas) and I also realized that it would be the last beautiful thing I would ever see.
Unless I could see my reflection in the window. Which I couldn"t, so there.
Then there was some loud clanging and I was pissed because I still couldn"t die in peace and some bitch was yelling really loudly.
The boy appeared, now sporting a red slash across his cheek, carrying a burnt cake-shaped omelet thing and several tomatoes. He ripped a few pieces from the omelet and tossed them to the pigs, then wrapped the food (and tomatoes) up in a scrap of cloth and threw the bundle in my direction and ran back into the store.
I stared at the food as if it was ambrosia and nectar from the gods that have ignored me for sooo long. (And still ignoring me, by the way.) You saw how fucking beautifully that Reaping turned out, no?
So I suddenly decided not to die anymore. I snatched up the food, and tucked them under my shirt to keep them from the rain and ran home to tell my brother that we were not going to fucking starve - at least not for the next forty eight hours.
As my brother and I sat down at the table and ate the (Spanish!) omelet and tomatoes I suddenly realized that they boy must"ve burned the omelet on purpose so he would have an excuse to give it to me (and snuck me a few awesome tomatoes)- and suffered the punishment from his bitch of a mother.
The next day the boy didn't even look at me in school, now sporting an ugly bruise across one cheek. I was on the playground when I saw a dandelion growing on the side of a fence.
I know. You"re probably thinking big deal, it's a fucking weed, but I realized I could eat it.
Not that single, lonely dandelion, mind you. But out in the wild, beyond the fence. Where there were millions of edible plants that were, you know, edible.
And more than that. My father still stashed bows and arrows he had crafted somewhere. Maybe I could learn to shoot, and then we'll have meat. Fresh meat. To trade for flour to make dough.
For pasta.
Always for pasta.
And then a few months later Elizabeta was sent to us to be our caretaker, and though she a crazy bitch who starts spurting blood from her nose whenever she saw two (or more) hot men together doing things, she really was a nice motherly kind of person.
...
Antonio was the one that gave me hope to go on living.
And tomatoes.
Fucking gorgeous tomatoes.
...
End flashback.
As I watch Feliks finish wrapping up this crappy little FAIL party, I wondered if I could thank him before I kill him?
Assuming I wanted to kill him.
Because anyone who loves tomatoes should never have to die.
I'll have to kill everyone first. And that's a lot of fucking work.
I think I'm sticking with plan A:
Run like an Italian.