*DISTRICT 11*
*NATASHA MARINO*
*TWELVE*
Natasha exhales. So this is what Rue felt like, she realizes. She used to be friends with Rue, before the girl went off into the Hunger Games, got everyone's hopes up, and then died. Natasha was a Katniss Everdeen supporter, unlike those who thought she was a dramatic bitch who went out of her way to stir up trouble. Natasha would support anyone who cared for Rue.
Rue, the sweetheart. Rue, the giver. Rue, the beautiful. Natasha used to sneak out the back door of the orphanage and lie in the fields with Rue, watching the sun set. She misses those carefree days, the days when she was 11 and Rue was 12 and neither of them thought they had a thing to worry about. Although maybe Rue just hid her anxiety. God knew she took out enough tesserae to feed an army of Peacekeepers. With four siblings and her parents, she had so many people to help care for. And she tended to forget all about herself. That was why she'd died.
Natasha runs a hand over her chestnut-colored hair and tries to think of something that doesn't depress her. But there isn't much. Rue is gone. Nobody will bid her farewell before she leaves. She will die, and no one will care. She misses her parents dreadfully.
She's only 12. She begs God as she cries that He will save her from the Games, although Natasha isn't quite sure what it is she wants to come back to.
But a surprise for which Natasha will be forever thankful greets her.
"Hi, Tash."
The little girl whirls around, shocked that someone is there. It's Ardsley, the older girl who had brought her to the park, who had just survived her last year of the Reaping and is now free to leave the orphanage and marry her boyfriend.
Ardsley smiles and sits down next to Natasha, taking her hand. "I wanted to come see you, Tash."
"Why?"
"Because you're beautiful, smart, talented, and a great girl," Ardsley replies. "Good luck, Tash. We're all waiting for you to come back."
Natasha bursts into tears. She hasn't cried since her parents died in the bombing when she was seven. But now she bawls, hiding her head in the crook of Ardsley's arm and almost screaming.
"It's okay," Ardsley whispers, soothingly running a hand over Natasha's back, not realizing she's making everything so much harder because now Natasha will actually have something to miss during the Hunger Games.
*DYLAN CRESCENT CARLISLE*
*SEVENTEEN*
Dylan knows that if he wipes the bitter expression off his face, he'll cry. So he retains the mean look, narrowing his eyes and tightening his lips, digging his sharp nails into his ankle and taking deep breaths. What is he even going to do?
God, he only had to get through one more year after this. One more fucking year. What were the odds?
But the catchphrase of the Hunger Games never exactly seems to work out.
"How are you feeling, Dylan?" Mrs. Carlisle wants to know as she walks straight up to her son and embraces him.
Maliciously, he squirms away. "Mom, that's my shoulder," he mutters. Then Dylan lowers his voice and hisses, "You know, the one that just got stung."
"I'm sorry," she murmurs. "I can't believe you're going to be at a disadvantage, Dylan."
"Your stylist will fix it," says Mr. Carlisle.
"You think?" Dylan spits. "I can't get stung by a Tracker Jacker unless I'm outside District boundaries, Dad. I was doing something illegal. No, of course they're going to leave it."
"What exactly were you doing?" James Carlisle demands.
"Hunting," Dylan mutters. "You know that. To put food on the table for our family. Since you don't do it." His eyebrows raise.
"I've been busy," Mr. Carlisle spits back. "It isn't fun and games to keep the market running."
Dylan knows his father means the tiny center on the outskirts of District 11, where a few courageous vendors sell salt, sugar, thread, meat, and other rare entities. It's called the Underworld, because the people store their precious goods in deep underground holes. The Peacekeepers regularly raid the Underworld, if they can find out. It's James's job to hide and supervise the market to ensure that it doesn't grow too large or noticeable. As of now, he's had to move the entire operation seven times.
Dylan knows that it isn't easy. But he wishes that Mr. Carlisle could at least be home once in a while.
"Please, Dylan. I know District 11 isn't much of a home to you. But it's something. Come back soon." Mrs. Carlisle is sobbing as she hugs her older child goodbye.
::
Dawn enters the second their parents leave. "Mommy says you're gonna go play a sport," she reports happily.
"You could call it that." He leans over to sit next to his young sister, but his shoulder throbs painfully. Something is definitely wrong with it, something worse than the usual tracker jacker stings that Dylan is no stranger to, but he doesn't want to examine it. At the moment, he simply wouldn't be able to cope. Maybe if I go into a coma, they'll pick a new tribute.
"Is it like soccer?" Dawn plays on a makeshift team of little kids who aren't hold enough to participate in the harvest. She's always nagging Dylan to be a referee.
"No. It's more like . . . fencing." He waves a lazy hand through the air to demonstrate.
Like the little kid she is, she forgets about it. "Will you wave to me during your interview?"
"Even better, I'll sing you a song," he teases, slinging an arm around her shoulder. "In the meadow, and in the forest, I spot a - "
"Stop!" Dawn hits his knee. "You're embarrassing me. Promise you won't really do that, Dylan."
But before he can make the vow, a Peacekeeper yells, "Time!"
Dylan is barely able to kiss her forehead before she is whisked out of the room.
*DISTRICT 11 TRAIN*
Myra Rosenblatt is behind schedule, and she hates it. She shoves people out of the way as she pounds on the doors of her tributes. "Out! Out!"
Dylan falls into step behind the escort, his angry footfalls accentuating his annoyance. Natasha skips next to them.
"What's your name?" the blonde girls asks. "I'm Natasha Marino. Are you excited? Are you gonna have a billion allies?"
"Dylan Carlisle. No. No."
"I am! And we're gonna be friends for life."
Dylan's heart pangs. "Congrats," is all he says.
"On! Get on!" Myra orders, shoving them. "Find an empty compartment. Take a seat. No talking. I'll send in your mentors."
"Yes, ma'am!" Natasha agrees happily.
i'm horrible. i'm so sorry for not updating in forever. i've been so damn busy. please please please forgive me?