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Daisy Mills
District Eleven Female, 13 Years Old
Train Rides: Pt. I
"Would you like me to get you anything?"
Seeder is sitting across from me, a plate of different cakes in front of her. I look at them, the cakes with the different icing on top looking like the ones daddy used to buy all the time. He used to buy these every morning for us, but we never finished them all.
There were too many for us to eat.
"No, thank you," I reply. "I'll get it myself."
I stand up, patting down the back of my dress. Daddy bought me this dress only a few days ago, since he said the green-color of it would bring me good luck. He wasn't right, but it was nice of him still. It's my favorite dress, especially because it matches my eyes well.
That's what he says, anyway.
I approach the table near the dining-portion of the cart, and as I reach for the plate, I look over and see Trevor sitting alone. I smile at him, but he doesn't see me right away, probably because I'm too short to tower over the counter. After getting my own plate, I put some fruit on it, taking it back towards where Seeder and I were sitting. As I pass Trevor, I stop and turn to him.
"Hi, little girl," he says, looking up from his plate. "Scared yet?"
I smile at him. "Scared about what?"
"Dying," he says, coughing a little bit as he swallows the food. "You're going to die, you know that?"
"Leave the girl alone, Trevor," Chaff says, sitting down next to him. "Pick on someone your own size."
Chaff and Trevor begin to talk with one another, which I take as a sign to go and sit back down with Seeder. Placing the plate down on the table, I sit back in the couch, watching the trees outside of the train fly passed us. I reach for one of the darker colored fruits, it being one that I've never seen before. It's small and it has a strong smell.
"Never seen one?" Seeder asks, crossing her legs. "Neither have I."
I shake my head. "Daddy never really buys fruit. And whenever he does, it's usually fake fruit for the table."
"Me and your dad are good friends," she says, and I smile again. Seeder has come over to my father's house a few times; for some reason, many of the victors of District Eleven like to visit my father, probably because he's the mayor's assistant. I'm not sure what that really means, but all I know is that he has close ties with the Capitol.
"Yes, he talks about you sometimes," I say. "Remember the time you came over and Amaryllis was with you?"
Before Seeder can say something back, there's a loud shout that comes from behind me, and we both look over. Trevor is standing up, a fork in one of his hands. Chaff is still sitting there, looking down at his plate, not doing anything about Trevor.
Why is he angry?
Did Chaff say something?
"You, of all people, cannot tell me what to do!" He shouts, walking away from the table. He slams his fist down on the counter, making the cups near him shake. Dropping the fork, he spins back around, not done with Chaff. "You know nothing, Chaff. You only won because of luck. You have no real skill."
"Don't worry about him," Seeder says, reaching for the table towards another small cake. "Chaff can deal with him."
Seeder goes back to looking out the window, but I still watch Trevor and Chaff, wanting to know more about why Trevor is so angry. Is he angry about being reaped? About going into the Hunger Games? If he is, then that would make sense.
Why else would he be? Chaff is only trying to help him.
That's what mentors are for.
"You have the audacity to tell me that Daisy might not die?" Trevor shouts again, pointing a finger at me now. Chaff looks over his shoulder, raising his hand at Trevor. "She's twelve, Chaff. If you can't see her being the first death then you're just deluded."
I'm actually thirteen, but I choose not to say anything. Whenever is someone raising their voice, you're not supposed to shout back. That will just make them even angrier.
"Please, Trevor," Seeder says out-loud, still looking out the window. "That's enough."
"Yeah, it is enough, Seeder. It is."
Trevor storms out of this train cart, pushing right through the doors and going off somewhere else. Chaff shakes his head, and as he goes back to eating alone, I want to invite him over. I choose not to, though, since it looks like he wants some time alone.
"What was that all about?" I ask Seeder. "Why was he so angry?"
"He's a boy, Daisy. They always get angry over nothing."
"Do you think he will be okay?"
"Yes," she says, nodding her head. "I'm sure he will be."
I hope Trevor is okay. I don't like seeing him angry; I don't like seeing anyone angry.
One time back in District Eleven, I was walking with my mother. We came across two Peacekeepers and a man, and the man was shouting at the Peacekeepers. Before I could see anything else, my mother turned us the other way, but I could still hear the shouting. After a while, I couldn't hear any more shouting, so I think it all worked out.
For some reason, I think District Eleven is just an angry District.
Why would they be angry, though?
I have nothing to be angry about. Even if I was reaped for the Hunger Games, I still have a life back home. I have my father, my mother, and my friends. I have a nice house with a nice pet too. I have it all, so there's nothing to be angry about.
I just want to go back to all of that.
I don't want to be here.
I want to be home.
Cerise Hessian
District Eight Female, 18 Years Old
Train Rides: Pt. II
"Was that your sister at the Reaping?"
"Oh, the red-haired one?" I ask, and as Cecelia bites down on her bottom lip, I keep going. "Yeah, that thing is my sister. Isn't she lovely? Always crying, making a scene in front of everyone."
Cecelia gasps, sitting up in her chair. She uncrosses her legs, and as she opens her mouth to speak back to me, I can hear her voice already trembling before it comes out. "That is your sister, Cerise. You should not speak of her like that. I was only asking a question."
"A question that doesn't deserve a dignified response, I may," I snap, glaring at her. "I won't ask questions about your life if you won't ask about mine."
Cecelia sulks back into her chair, the young girl who only won the Hunger Games two years ago being afraid of someone like me. I'm used to it at this point, and frankly, she does it to herself. Apparently, she hasn't matured enough yet to know when not to stick her nose in other people's business.
It's not like it was an important question, anyway. It was about my sister. The wide-eyed creature that my parents disrespectfully put into my life, the thing that looked so much like an alien. Cashmere, that's her name. Isn't that such an ugly name? I think so.
It really is an ugly name the more I repeat it in my mind. Cashmere. Atrocious, really.
When she came into my life when I was ten, it all changed. She began to receive all of the attention, but did she deserve it? She was only a baby, a baby that could barely breathe and couldn't speak yet. It brought nothing to this family – she ruined my family. She's what caused us to break apart.
She's just an evil creature. That's all she is.
"Well…," Cecelia whispers, and I'm not even sure if that was directed at me. Does she still want to talk to me? I respect her for her perseverance, although it's annoying. I shouldn't have even given her the regard at all.
"Speak up," I quip, looking over at her. "Didn't your mother teach you manners?"
"I just wanted to," Cecelia begins, but her voice gradually quiets down, going completely silent soon enough. I raise an eyebrow, but she looks away quickly, looking right over to Rove.
Oh, that's right. They're here too. I haven't been paying much attention to Rove, nor Wick, for that matter. I like their silence more than Cecelia's incessant babbling, though. At least they know their boundaries.
"I can't hear you, Cecelia. Don't make me get up and come over there."
From behind me, I can hear someone get up and shuffle their feet a little, and I assume that it's Rove. He's been rather quiet, and I know that Wick doesn't talk much, but I never guessed Rove would be so silent. Glancing over my shoulder, I look at him, a smirk on my face.
I'm glad he decided to join us.
"How are you, Rove? I love that color on you," I say, winking at him. He places his plate down on the counter, and as I look over at Wick, I look away before we can make eye-contact. Rove shakes his head – that's all I get.
"I would recommend for you not to get snappy with me," he says, chuckling to himself. How old is he now, anyway? Fifty years old? Sixty? I don't keep track.
"Don't tell me what to do."
"Don't be impudent, Cerise."
"Don't be intrusive, Rove."
"Don't hurt yourself with big words like that."
"No, no, I'm sorry," Cecelia whimpers, fidgeting with her fingers in her lap. "I shouldn't have brought it up… I just, I just have my own sister… And I couldn't even imagine what they would feel if…"
I sigh.
I don't have time for this.
"Well, you weren't the one reaped, were you?" I ask, not really intending to come off as insensitive. If it did sound like that, though, I won't do anything about it. People should know when to speak and when they should keep quiet.
Cecelia's just too emotional.
That's her problem.
"I was reaped," Cecelia says again, and every time she opens her mouth, I just want to get up and leave. But, I can't. Everyone else is here, and although I don't like talking to them, I like being where everyone else is. That's usually where the excitement is.
Even if they might not like me so far, that matters little to me. No one has ever really liked me.
District Eight was full of boring people. They were all inferior, with their tattered clothes, dirty skin, and disheveled hair. That District was a mess, really. The only time I ever took any satisfaction is when something happened – a public whipping, for example. Or when a tenement was burning down or there was a bomb threat in a factory.
That's what makes things interesting.
And with the people that District Eight has, they could use something to spruce their lives up. If that takes a fire or some public punishment, then so be it. Words cannot even describe how lowly I think of all of them.
They probably think lowly of me, too. But, I deserve to be thought of in that way. I'm not proud of the things I've done, or the things they've said I've done, but why does that matter? I have a reputation.
People know my name.
People know what I can do and, at times, I wish the rumors were true. That I killed an Avox. That I'm immune to disease. That I control a prostitution ring. Those are interesting, aren't they? I wouldn't mind living a life like that.
But, I am only Cerise Hessian, the girl with the wealthy family that is treading on thin ice with the whole District. The District full of people that loathe me, the District where I'm not wanted.
They branded me the residential narcissist. The one that cared too much – the one that didn't care enough. The one that was always at the right place at the wrong time, the one they all couldn't trust. The one that they wanted to stay away from.
So, that's what I became.
I am only fulfilling the image they set for me.
And there's a chance I might even enjoy doing this.
Allan Barre
District Twelve Male, 14 Years Old
Chariot Ride Prep.
"Your District partner," my stylist says, closing the door slowly behind her. It latches shut, and she continues speaking, "Lavender, right? Well, she's a handful."
I shrug, crossing my feet over one another as I sit up on the table. "I like her. She's funny."
"The mean ones usually are funny," she mumbles, making me shake my head. She taps the bottom of her clipboard on the metal table in the corner of the room, a closet next to it. With her fingernail, she taps the closet next, and as she looks at me, I grin. "Allan, hm? That's a nice name."
"It's my grandfather's name," I say back, and as she turns away from me, I get that she isn't interested anymore. She just wants to make conversation, I guess. That's nice of her – most people usually just give up with me immediately. Lavender at least talks to me, though.
Haymitch isn't as communicative.
He doesn't do much to talk to me. Or Lavender, for that matter. He just keeps to himself.
"What do you have planned for me?" I ask, and as she glances over her shoulder, she lowers her glasses to look at me. She nods her head again, not really answering my question, so I just go along with it. I'll figure out soon enough, anyway, and besides, I just wanted to keep the conversation up.
I think I'll be spending more time with her later on, so it'd be nice to get to know one another.
"What is your name?" I ask, finding it rather odd she never really introduced herself to me.
"The name's Davina," she replies, turning around completely now. She holds her clipboard out in front of me, and as I look down, it's a drawing of me. It's not exactly on point, but at the right angle, it might look like me. There are smudges of black and gray colored pencil marks all over, with some thick parts of black over my body that I assume will be fabric.
"Coal," I say, realizing what I'm supposed to be almost instantly. I admit that it's not the most creative, but whatever; she knows better than I do. "I like it."
"Whenever you're ready."
Davina gestures towards the mirror in the room, and as I walk over to it, I don't really think much of what I'm supposed to do. As I begin to get undressed, I get uncomfortable as she watches me, but the quicker I get this done the quicker I can put clothes back on. Before this, her prep team scrubbed me down and cleaned me up, so that Davina can go right into it.
Once I'm down, I cross my arms over my chest, watching Davina as she opens the closet. Inside, there are a few pieces of shiny and, from what it looks like, tight fabric that is hanging. She takes them out, passes them to me, and the first thing I put on are the pants – I think that's what they're supposed to be, anyway. They cover my mid-section, but they barely go down to upper-thigh.
It's more of underwear if anything, and as she passes me the other pieces of fabric, she raises an eyebrow. "Slip them onto wherever you want. They're supposed to be random."
There's about five pieces, so I slip one up to my shoulder, one on my knee, one on my ankle, one on my wrist, and then on my elbow. She nods her head, and as she pulls out a drawer, I see her having make-up now. I guess she plans on smudging blacks and grays all over me, really making sure I look like a piece of coal.
Holding out my arms and spreading my legs, she takes a rather large brush and begins to brush it all over me. She smudges it here and there, making it darker on some parts. It covers up all of my pale skin, not revealing too much of it anymore. Some of the powder gets near my nose, and I refrain from sneezing, not wanting to interfere with whatever she's doing.
I know that this is the Chariot Rides, but I never thought that I would be wearing something like that. I wouldn't be rude and say I don't like it to Davina, but from what I've seen, other tributes in past years have worn things more… creative, if I may.
"Almost," she says. "Almost."
When she's done with all of the powder, she takes out a canister of gel, scooping up a rather large amount in her hands. She begins to play with my hair, pulling it here and there and patting it down. She's being rather messy about it, but I'm sure this is all a part of some plan to make us look like coal.
The more I think about it, actually, the more I like it.
Coal – District Twelve. There isn't anything abstract about it.
"How do you feel?" Davina asks, backing up and looking at me from behind.
"I still have to sneeze," I joke, only really making myself smirk. "I like it, though, Davina. I like coal. Do you think Lavender will like it?"
"No," she responds quickly, shaking her head. "No she will not. I hope her stylist can tame her, though. If you hear any screams, you'll know who it is."
I still don't see the problem with Lavender. Sure, she was a little edgy on the train with Haymitch, but she wasn't that bad or anything. The Capitol people just seem dramatic.
"Excuse me for a moment."
With that, Davina slips out of the door, the door shutting behind her again. It's silent in the room now, and as I look at myself in the mirror, I find myself chuckling. It really is an ugly outfit and makes me look like a blob of pure black, but that doesn't matter.
The Chariot Rides might be important, but I can't let this bring me down. Besides, it's kind of funny; I just want to see what everyone else will be dressed up as. Like, District One and their luxury, District Four with their water, and District Nine with their grain.
I'm sure I can't look the worst out of all of them.
I just have to keep reminding myself that this isn't all that matters. In the long run, the Chariot Rides mean nothing.
Things don't get serious until the actual Games.
And that part I'm dreading.
Emery Adrion
District Three Female, 16 Years Old
Chariot Rides
"I, for one, like dressing up like this."
Gage makes a noise, nodding his head a little. I shrug, adjusting the wires on the bottom of my skirt, wanting to make sure it looks the best it can. This whole wirey-type outfit, with different colored wires stemming from different parts of my body, might not the most creative outfit, but it's nice. It's better than what last year was; they were dressed up as tablets of some sort.
That was just funny.
The Capitol liked it, though. And that's all that matters.
The chariot at the front begins to roll out of the garage, and as I peer over the edge, I realize I can't see much. I pout, wanting to see what District One looks like, but they're too far out already. I'm tempted to turn around to look at the rest, but I don't, either, since it's almost our time to go out.
"I'm so excited," I whisper, not expecting Gage to answer me. He looks at me, though, for a quick moment, and that's good enough. "Are you? I hope they like us."
"Even if they don't," Gage replies, his voice drowning from the cheers as we begin to roll out. I lean in a little closer to see what he had to say, but I couldn't hear him at all. I shrug again, bracing myself to go in front of the whole crowd. I've never been in front of a crowd this large before, especially in a place where I know nothing about.
As our chariot rolls out of the garage, it all comes as a shock to me. The clapping, the screaming, the whistling; they're all staring down at us, cheering us on. It's ironic, isn't it? It's funny, too, how they're dressed just as oddly as we all are. Like with District Two, they're dressed in some warrior-type costume, with the girl's being a little more revealing. It almost looks exactly what the Capitol people are wearing.
We make it down the large road, and I begin to get a little fidgety, unsure of what to do with my hands. I move my fingers around, and they graze against Gage's, and before I really think about it, I interlock my fingers with his. Gripping onto his hand, I feel his squirm a little, but I don't let him take it away.
It makes me feel more comfortable.
And I think the Capitol will like it.
"I love this," I say, not really to Gage, but myself. I can't even hear my own voice over the loud cheering and clapping, and once I see that we're almost at the circle beneath where the President will speak, I finally look behind me.
District Four is there, with the girl not looking as happy as the boy does. When the boy sees me, he winks, waving his hand a little. Trent was his name. They're wearing some sea-shell outfit, with the shells covering different spots and revealing others. They're both tanned, definitely good-looking.
I hope that Gage and I look like them.
I turn back around, and as our chariot comes to a stop, I grip the railing of the chariot with my other hand. Keeping my right hand tight around Gage's, I hear that's it quieting down a little. The District chariots are forming a semi-circle around the tower in front of us, and even though I should be paying attention to that, I can't help it.
District Twelve finally makes its way to the end of the semi-circle, with both of them dressed up as pieces of coal it looks like. The girl definitely has dark skin naturally, since it's much darker than what the boy looks like. They both have dust of some sorts smudged all over them, making them look exactly what District Twelve is known for – coal.
I'm sure that's what our stylists were going for too.
The crowd finally goes quiet, and above, the doors swing open. President Snow steps forward, taking his place at the edge of the overlooking tower. He wraps his hands around the railing, peering down at us.
"Welcome, tributes!" He says, bringing his hands together. The crowd around us claps, but once the President raises his hands, they all go quiet.
I want to say something to Gage, but I keep quiet now. I'll tell him later.
"Tributes, we salute your courage and sacrifice," he says, making the crowd gradually get louder with their applause. Leaning my weight on Gage for a moment, I can feel him tense up, so I stand back up. Standing here is tiring, especially when all of the wires are in uncomfortable places. "And we wish you a happy Hunger Games!"
Well, they aren't very happy, are they?
The Games are one thing I can't see a positive side to.
"May the odds be ever in your favor!"
Once again, the crowd erupts into applause, screaming, and whistling. The President leaves the tower, the doors swinging back shut after him. This time, District Twelve is the first chariot to turn back around and lead us all back into the garage.
"What do you think of him? The President, I mean," I ask Gage, but I'm not sure he can hear me. I nod my head, knowing that we'll have more time to talk later. I like talking to him, even if he doesn't reply all the time.
He hasn't told me to be quiet yet, so. That's always a good thing.
District Twelve goes into the garage, followed by District Eleven, District Ten, and then so on. We make our way closer to it, and as I look at the crowd one last time, I find myself smiling. They're all looking at me, all seeing what I'm wearing, even if it's silly.
I wonder how they like me and Gage.
"Do you think they like us?" I ask Gage, who turns his head a little to glance at me. "I hope they do."
"As I said before," he replies, going back to what I didn't hear back in the garage. "Even if they don't, it shouldn't matter. We'll be fine without them."
When he says the word 'we'll', I smile. I nod my head, knowing that maybe he is going to think about allying with me. Beetee and Wiress made the point that in the Games, everyone should have an ally. I immediately went to Gage, but Gage didn't look too interested.
I hope he is now.
It'll be easier to get through this with someone like him.
Author's Note:
Hmm. I am rather late on this update, actually. But school and stuff, you know? At least school's over at this point (except for finals), so updates should be more rapid as the Summer begins.
So, what'd you think of the tributes here?
Who stood out? Who do you want to see more of?
And that's about it.