*DISTRICT 2*
*CILENNA ERIN MOWAYED*
*SIXTEEN*
"Cilenna! Why aren't you up?"
The harsh voice of her father brings Cilenna back to reality. She clicks off her flashlight, slips a bookmark into her spot, and peels the covers off. "I'm awake, Daddy. I'm awake."
"I hope you didn't have your nose buried in another goddamn book when you should have been at training."
"Of course not." She stands, already pulling her waist-length chesnut-brown locks into a high, tight ponytail and securing it with a black elastic.
"Go for the six to seven slot, understand? And then come back. We have to have you ready for the Reaping at 8:30."
"Yes, Daddy." After he leaves, she dons a black catsuit-like outfit with hard padding over her chest, stomach, and knees and laces up old white sneakers. Then she leaves via the back door and crosses over to Rosie's house.
Rosie is Cilenna's best friend. With her empathetic eyes, kind demeanor, and loving family, she's everything Cilenna wants to be. Rosie greets Cilenna with a quizzical smile. "What are you doing here, Lenna?"
"Dying," she moans. "They keep saying if I don't volunteer this year they'll disown me."
"Oh, Lenna, I'm so sorry." Rosie embraces her friend. "But at least you have a fighting chance."
"They think I'm at the training center," she whispers. "Can we go inside?"
"Of course. Mom's making a special Reaping breakfast. Do you want some?"
She grins. "When wouldn't I?"
They sit down together at the high-finish dining room table, waiting for fruit and pancakes to be ready. As they lounge on the wooden chairs, they discuss the Reaping.
"Are you going to volunteer? For real?" Rosie asks.
"I don't know." Cilenna bites her lip. "I'm scared." It's hard to get the words out. District 2 children aren't supposed to be scared of the Games. They're supposed to be excited, bloodthirsty, ready to kill. They're supposed to be especially experienced in drawing out deaths to make them suspenseful and painful. They're supposed to be the Capitol's favorite District.
"Me too," Rosie whispers, and lets her head drop to Cilenna's shoulder.
She fights off the urge to cry. "Listen, Rosie, I think I am going to volunteer."
"You don't have to be worried. We'll take you in. Mom and Dad will say yes. They know how your parents are."
"It's not just that. I really hate my life sometimes. I love you, of course, but I can't survive like this. Maybe I just need to... get away."
"Lenna, you can't leave me. You can't." Rosie chokes on her words. "I won't let you. I'll go instead."
"Thanks, Rosie, but don't. This is something I need to do on my own. Come visit me when you get to say good-bye. Please."
*STYX FLAME*
*FOURTEEN*
"Come do target practice with me," Crimson says, nudging Styx with her shoulder as she tests the weight of a spear.
"Alright." Styx grins and follows Crimson over. This is his last chance to practice for the Games before Reaping. He's not planning on volunteering, but if he gets Reaped, he will damn well get out of that arena, and kill every girl and boy who stands in his way. Except the little ones. He's always had a soft spot for the little ones.
"Ready?" Crimson asks, her finger poised over the button.
"Go for it." He grips the wooden handle tighter, pointing the spear at the chest of a dummy.
"Three, two, one... Now!" She slams her hand down.
Styx throws the spear, runs to retrieve it, and spins as another silhouette advances on him. He plunges the weapon into that one's chest, then into another one's head, before chucking it at a figure sneaking up behind him. With a wild flourish, he lunges, pierces a leg, plunges into a heart, and bows, as one by one the neon green illuminations crackle and pop, fading into the air.
"Nice, Styx!" shouts Brent Edwards, who is grappling with an assistant.
"Way to go, man!" yells Crane Farson.
"Thanks!" He smiles and bows again.
"Good job, Styx." His trainer, a lean, tough man named Shania, who won the 62nd Games, approaches him, limping slightly. "Just remember: you can't rely entirely on that spear in the arena."
"I know. I can use anything, really, darts, trident, whatever. They'll have something."
"Great." Shania nods deeply before staggering over to Crimson.
Styx sighs. He needs to save his family, needs to get them money. His father sunk into a horrible depression after his youngest sister, Lief, died, and later killed himself. His mother, Kelna, tries her best to support her three children, but he knows it's hard. He has to help. He has to give himself over to the Games. He has to win.
*DISTRICT 2 REAPING*
Gracie-Lyn May is the worst escort in the history of the Games. That is the one thing everyone in Panem agrees on. "Good morning, tribu- er, children of District 2!" she screeches in her nails-on-chalkboard soprano. "How is everyone today?"
No one bothers to reply.
"Fabulous, just enchanting! Now, now, I supposed I'd better select our young lady's name first." She clears her throat directly into the microphone, the disgusting sound of saliva hitting the transmitter makes everyone cringe. "Well, well," she murmurs. "Billie Jacobson. Come up here, Billie! Let's see your beautiful face."
Cilenna is so relieved her name hasn't been called that she forget she's supposed to volunteer. Then she catches sight of her parents' faces. Maria looks furious. Her teeth are gritted in a horrible scowl, and her eyebrows are knitted together ferociously. When she makes eye contact with her daughter, she mouths a complicated word, made more confusing by how quickly she says it. But Cilenna has heard it so often she has no trouble deciphering it. Volunteer. Paul's face has turned red, and he is straining to break through the black velvet ropes that separate the ineligible residents of District 2 from the potential tributes. Maria is holding him back, her nails digging into his shoulder.
Volunteer.
"My name is Cilenna Erin Mowayed, and I volunteer as tribute!" She's shocked no one has yelled out sooner. Usually, District 2 falls all over themselves to go into the arena, but maybe it's been less time than she thought. As soon as her voice breaks the silence, there are shouts heard all over the square.
"I volunteer!" "Let me!" "No, I want to go in!" "I volunteer for the Games!"
"Cilenna?" Gracie-Lyn asks. "You were the first one I heard. Come on up!"
Quickly, she lifts her head, puts on a haughty expression, and makes the journey from her spot up to the stage. There is a small riot, as there is every year, hundreds of girls rushing the stage, hoping to steal the coveted spot away from Cilenna. Armed Peacekeepers hold them back.
Oblivious, Gracie-Lyn continues. "Now for the young men! Let's see now!" She dips her fingers with their eight-inch gel tips into the glass bowl and feels around. Although almost no one in District 2 needs it, practically everybody signs up for tesserae to increase their chances of making it into the Games, so the container is stocked to the brim. "Eenie, meenie, miney, moe. Take a tribute by their toes. If they holler slit their throat. President Snow says to pick the very best one and you... are... it. Find a tribute nice and new; I... choose... you!"
Everyone stares. Some shuffling of feet and awkward coughs are heard as people prepare to volunteer.
"Ryker Flame!"
My brother. That's my brother. Styx gulps and shouts, "I volunteer!" As he walks up to the platform, he focuses on only his destination, which will be back home, safe and sound, in a matter of weeks.
The Games will be the easy part.
Styx doesn't know how he will say goodbye.