Chapter III - The World Is Ugly
Spring of 3189
District Three
D3F15 - Charlotte Bowman
The streets of District Three are unusually empty this morning as I hurry through them. But, of course, it's not a usual day. It's Reaping Day. I used to be terrified of this day, realizing more than most that death comes at any moment, but now I'd like to think that I'm as scared of it as any normal 15 year old from District Three. "Hey, girlie," I hear a rusty voice croak from the depths of a dark alley to my right. I glance that way and see a hunched over figure shift in the darkness. Light hits the person's face and reveals the wrinkles and greying skin of a dying man. I cringe and hurry my pace, ignoring the old man's calls.
Abandoned newspapers and loose pieces of trash float around my ankles as I reach the entrance to Zach's house. My knuckles hit the old wood door quietly, but it swings open almost instantly, revealing my friend standing in the doorway, an ominous ray of light dancing over one side of his face and peeking into the dark hallway of his house.
"Char," he breathes, obvious relief playing out across his face. "Do you have it?" he asks, eyeing my closed fist.
"Uh, yeah," I answer quietly, holding out my scarred hand. Two off-white pills lay in my palm, and Zach wastes no time in scooping them up and dashing into his house. He turns around halfway through the hall and beckons me over, then turns the corner, disappearing. I swallow nervously and slowly pad into the ramshackle house, gently closing the door behind me. The hallway grows dark, save for a few dusty windows filtering in light the color of ancient parchment.
Cries of pain echo from a room down the hall and to the left, where Zach turned into. I gulp and follow the sounds. I've never been able to stomach seeing people in pain. Too many bad memories. "Here," Zach says gently to his mom as I enter the room. The middle-aged woman is laying on a bed near one end of the room while Zach's little sister is standing at the foot of the bed, clutching a stuffed monkey, her blue eyes wide and scared. Zach kneels beside the bed, his hand outstretched to his mom. I cautiously walk over to him and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. He flinches slightly, but relaxes when he looks up and sees my sun-tanned face.
"She'll be fine," I say, looking at her disfigured hand. She'd gotten it stuck in a machine about a day ago at the factory she used to work at. Zach, Joline, and I have been scrounging for painkillers to help her until she's healed. I bite my lip, worried. She won't be able to work again.
"Zach?" she whispers finally, her head tilting to look at him. He smiles, relieved, and shows her the pills. I pull my hand away from his shoulder and push it deep into the pockets of my ripped jeans.
"We got you painkillers," Zach says. His mom smiles gratefully and swallows the two pills with the help of a glass water beside her. She starts to talk to him, her face scrunching into expressions of pain every now and then when she tries to move her hand. I wince and slowly edge out of the room, deciding to give Zach and his mother and sister some space.
I sit outside on his ancient porch, watching a few early risers walk through the lonely streets. A young girl stumbles past a surprisingly old couple and turns her dirt-streaked face towards me. She seems to not only look at me, but look through me. I fidget nervously and run the tips of my fingers against one another. The little girl looks at me for a few seconds more and then runs off, past an alleyway with an orange flickering glow on the walls. It takes me a while to realize what it is, and by then I wish I hadn't. It's a stupid fear, a stupid weakness, but I can't help it. My eyes are locked on the flames as a short woman with oily hair warms her gloved hands over the fire. A whimpering sound escapes my throat, as I find myself unable to look away.
"Char," someone says from my left. I jump to my feet, startled, only to see Zach leaning out from his doorway. He turns to look at what I was watching and he bites the corner of his bottom lip, his eyebrows pushing together. "You okay?" he asks, looking back at me with an obviously paler complexion then before. I nod, rubbing my scarred forearm behind my back. Zach eyes me suspiciously but doesn't say anything. "I'm going to stay and help my mom to the Reapings," he says, glancing back inside. I nod again, understanding, but not knowing what to say. 'Ok' seems too simple. 'Hope she feels better' seems somehow detached. It doesn't feel like the right thing to say. I end up not saying anything, just watching as he turns and heads back into his house.
I end up trudging back to my own home where I find my twin brother, Bix, lounging in an ancient wooden chair on our porch. His brown eyes light up when he sees me approaching, and he sits up straighter. "There you are!" he says happily.
"Hi," I say, smiling shyly.
"Where have you been?" Bix asks, blocking the entrance to our house. He's dressed in the only pair of clean jeans he has and a black T-shirt.
"I was with Zach," I say. "What time is it?"
"Your boyfriend?" Bix asks, rolling his eyes.
"He's not my boyfriend," I mutter defensively.
"Uh huh," Bix says, crossing his arms.
"What time is it?" I ask again.
"Uh, I dunno," he answers, shrugging. I bite the inside of my lip, looking around. A few more people are making their way down the street, all headed in the same direction with the same sense of urgency and nervousness. I look back at Bix and smile, suddenly realizing not for the first time how lucky I am to still have him here. "You good, Charlotte?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.
"What? Yeah," I say. "I have to get ready," I add hurriedly, stepping forwards. Bix moves aside and follows me into the house.
"Don't forget breakfast!" I hear my mom yell at me from the kitchen as I skid through the house. I reach the room I share with Bix and start to look for something nice to wear. My eyes settle on a simple grey dress folded neatly on a shelf in my closet. I don't believe I've ever worn it. Now's as good a day as any, I think to myself.
I pull off my dirty white sweatshirt and peel off my ripped jeans, then aggressively pull the dress over my head and straighten it over the rest of my body. I turn, admiring myself in a cracked old mirror(probably the only one in the house). The dress hugs my body and flares out at the waist, making my figure look better than it actually is. Unfortunately, it doesn't take much attention away from my scarred face, arms, and legs. I swallow nervously. I never like Reaping Day. Too many things always catch me off guard. I feel my hands begin to collect sweat and I fold them behind my back, closing my eyes. I imagine for a minute that I'm not a girl in Panem. That I live in a different world where the Hunger Games don't exist and nothing bad ever happens.
"Let's go," I hear Bix shout from down the hall. My brown eyes snap open and I take a few deep breaths, watching my chest rise and fall evenly in the mirror. "Charlotte, come on!" Bix says, closer this time. I quickly pull my curly brown hair into a messy bun with a few strands sticking out of it at odd angles.
"Coming!" I yell back, finding a pair of black shoes by the door to our room. I pull the right shoe on while awkwardly hopping into the kitchen. My mom shoves a piece of bread into my free hand and I take it, almost losing my balance, but recovering at the last minute. I stick the piece of hard, stale bread into my mouth and put on my other shoe, my mouth watering.
"Eat it on the way," my dad says, holding the door open for me. Bix and Mom wait expectantly in front of our house. I stumble clumsily out the door and follow slowly behind Mom and Dad, Bix keeping pace beside me.
The town square isn't very far from my house, so it doesn't take long until we start to see the crowd of people. Mom and Dad turn to us, their faces filled with feelings that would take an eternity to describe in words. So instead, they put comforting hands on our shoulders, wish us good luck, and are whisked away with the other adults and young children to the back of the square, behind the red velvet rope. I swallow nervously for about the fifth time that morning and walk towards the line of teenagers checking in. My legs feel like they're about to buckle and I turn around every few seconds to make sure nothing is out of the ordinary.
"You're safe, Charlotte," Bix reminds me. I turn to look at him and see kindness in his warm eyes. He wouldn't understand, but I'm glad he tries.
"Next," the Peacekeeper woman orders angrily. I turn sharply and hold out my hand. Her head tilts just the slightest when she sees my scarred skin, but she doesn't say anything or do anything else out of the ordinary, just pricks my finger and scans my blood. "Next," she says again, once she's satisfied. Bix steps up and I move aside. He waves goodbye to me with his free hand, so I take it as my cue and start to walk towards the 15 year old girls section. Peacekeepers litter the aisle, helping lost kids to their designated areas. The few victors that District Three has are lined up on fold-out seats on the stage. They all sit perfectly uniform with perfectly ironed outfits. The mayor hustles up the concrete steps at the front of the stage and plops down into his seat.
"Char!" I turn sharply, surprised to see Joline approaching me. She sidles up next to me, smiling her usual happy smile. Her face is clean aside from the usual acne spots and freckles, but there are no scars. I've been jealous of her before, but not for her appearance. I guess I'm jealous of her luck.
"Hey Joline," I say quietly. We talk casually about regular friend things as if we're not about to take part in a death lottery. I start to feel a sickening feeling settle in my stomach and rise to my throat, threatening to choke me. So of course, I'm oddly glad when District Three's escort, Verdane Dunes, appears onstage seemingly out of nowhere, his high heels clicking ominously.
"Hello, District Three," he says, his 'S's drawn out like a snake. I shiver uncomfortably. "I'm so glad to be here representing you," he adds, his lips parting to reveal two perfect rows of serrated teeth, much like those of the famous Enobaria. He gazes over the crowd for a half second and then steps aside, pressing a button on a remote he's holding. I watch as dark images of the past rebellion and the Dark Days appear and disappear on the large screen, then happy, bright pictures of present-day Panem following shortly after. I wonder for a minute where exactly they got the pictures, considering the Panem I know looks nothing like how they're depicting it.
"Wasn't that just… nice?" Verdane says, giving a tight-lipped smile. He's almost more terrifying than the stereotypical Career. "Now, my dears… shall we select our female tribute?" Without waiting for an answer of any sort, he glides over to the immense glass bowl containing the names of every eligible girl in the district. I don't know if I expect it to make a difference, but I find myself hoping it's neither Joline or me. Please. I watch intensely as he dips a thin hand into the pile of folded papers, finally selecting one and delicately pulling it out. He wastes no time unfolding it and reading out the name.
"Charlotte Bowman," he says, his hazel snake-like eyes glued to the paper hungrily. I stiffen, suddenly realizing that he called my name. My name. My name. I start to shake slightly and I notice Joline looking at me with horror. My name. That's my name. I realize I need to start heading towards the stage unless I want Peacekeepers to ungracefully pull me there. I swallow one more time and step out into the aisle, my stomach flipping over and over again. Three Peacekeepers flank me as I make my way over to Verdane who looks down on me as if he's a falcon and I'm an exposed mouse. Exposed. I feel so exposed. I turn and look at the Peacekeepers, pausing slightly. Maybe I could make it if I tried running away. People have done it before. No, I realize. People have tried. The two Peacekeepers on my left and right snatch my arms and almost drag me towards the stage. I yelp in surprise and try to yank my arms out of their grasp to no avail.
"Well now, let's see who our male tribute is, shall we?" Verdane says, slithering over to the male reaping bowl after looking me over as if I'm a snack. I barely have time to hope that it isn't Bix or Zach before he read out the name. "Emrys Langley," he says, drawing out the 'S' again. I breathe a sigh of relief, then watch in horror as a little boy with curly red hair and haunting hazel eyes makes his way to the stage, trembling. I cringe as a cry of emotional pain rings out from the front of the crowd of girls, where the 18 year olds stand. A sister maybe. I feel a twinge of guilt for hoping this kind of future for anyone, but I'm still glad it wasn't my brother or friend.
Emrys trips on his way up the stairs and the Peacekeepers haul him to his feet and practically throw him forward the rest of the way. I wrap my thin arms around my body, shutting my brown eyes tight. I'm going into the Hunger Games, I realize. I'm going to die, my not-so-confident conscience adds.
D3M12 - Emrys Langley
I'm up before my sister Dawn, snoring loudly in the bed above me. I yawn once, wiggle my fingers, and then spring out of bed as if I've been up for a long while. It's about 6:30 which makes sense, as that's about the time I wake up for school and seeing as I've never missed a day, waking up late would be abnormal. I glance back at my sister. She deserves to sleep in. She's worked so hard trying to give me a factory-free life. So have my parents. The irony of it is that they've all three had to take long shifts working in those dreaded factories. One day I'll have to as well. We can lie about how Dawn and I will get good grades and good jobs and good lives, but in the end I'll have to take shifts at the factories too. I'll grow up and live a just as harsh life.
A series of excited knocks echo obtrusively around my humble home and I jump, a little startled. I glance down the short hallway to see my friend Heath cupping his hands around his face and peering through our old window. "Em? Hello? Where you at, bud?" he says, his voice muffled.
I hurriedly walk to the door and push it open, glancing at Heath. "Emrys!" he says happily, throwing open his arms out for a hug. I awkwardly accept it and then follow him back into my house. He throws open various cupboards while asking me general conversation-starting questions, all of which he knows will only get one word replies. I nervously look back down the hallway, wondering whether to ask him to be quiet or not.
"My parents are sleeping," I say quietly, following him around our kitchen. He doesn't seem to hear me.
"How you been, Em?" I answer with a hum. "Yeah, me too man, me too. Excited for our first Reapings?"
"Uh," I say.
"Joke," Heath says, turning to me with a loaf of surprisingly fresh bread in his right hand and a jar of some substance in his left. I peer curiously at the bread. Where did he get that? "You look like you've never seen bread before," Heath mutters, rolling his eyes. It was probably a Reaping Day surprise, I think. My parents deserve better. "Reaping Day sucks. I mean, there's a really low chance you'll get picked, what with your sister stopping you from taking tesserae and all," Heath adds, turning back around and slapping some of the spread on the bread. I'd wanted to pull my own weight by signing up for tesserae the second I was able to, but Dawn wouldn't let me. At least now I don't have as much of a chance of being reaped as I would've.
"Yeah," I say in response.
"Same. Hey, how's it going with Everly?" Heath asks, smirking at me and raising an eyebrow.
"Wha-" I start, feeling my pale cheeks turn a sudden red shade.
Heath chuckles and looks back at his sandwich, cutting it neatly in two with a dull knife. "Yeah, that's what I thought." Everly has been my crush since… I don't know… two years ago? We've had classes together for three years now and I've still never had the courage to talk to her. Not like it matters much.
I plop down on a rusty barstool and put my chin in the palms of my hands. Heath slides the sandwich to me and leans over the counter, mimicking my position. I furrow my eyebrows together looking at the sandwich and he laughs. "You ever seen a sandwich before?" he says loudly. Once again, I attempt to tell him my parents are asleep but he waves his hand as if it doesn't matter much. I guess it doesn't for him. He's basically part of my family.
"No, thank you," I say meekly.
"What? You'd reject a gift?" Heath says in mock hurt.
"No, it's not that," I say. "I ate last night."
"And…?"
"I'll eat after the reapings," I explain. It seems like a waste to eat so soon after I just did. Heath gives me a bewildered look and then snatches up the sandwich.
"Well if you're so busy trying to look like a twig, then I'll just eat it myself," he says. Then he eyes me warily. "But seriously. You need to eat more."
I see a small wooden pencil sitting on the old counter and I pick it up, twirling it around my fingers as Heath goes on about some drama going on in school that he doesn't realize he's already told me about. "And then Elektra was like 'Bitch,' and she straight up slapped her in the middle of the hall, right in front of Mr. Taylor's room," Heath says, leaning in.
He's probably expecting me to have a surprised reaction. "Wow," I say.
"Yeah, I know dude. And-" his eyes flicker to the hallway and I turn to see my sister groggily rubbing her eyes. "Hey Dawn!" Heath says, waving excitedly.
"Heath," Dawn replies, stepping forward to walk past him and then stopping. She points questioningly at the sandwich. "We have bread?"
"Oh no. That was supposed to be a Reaping Day surprise," Mom says, showing up seemingly out of nowhere at the end of the hallway. She hurriedly walks over to the counter and pats the loaf. "Well. Surprise, I suppose!" she says, her weary voice sounding sore and raspy.
"Sorry, Mrs. Langley," Heath says, sheepish for once.
She shakes her head, obviously tired. A pang of sadness hits me in the stomach and I wish I could do something to help her. I wish I could fix all of Panem. Maybe I could? "It's fine," she says.
Heath looks awkwardly at his empty plate and I twirl the pencil around faster in my fingers. "I'm getting dressed," I state shortly. Dawn nods, twirling a strand of hair around her finger.
"Me too," she says. "Why don't you have breakfast, Mom?" Our parents leave early and come home late so we're never sure whether they've eaten anything except the stale pieces of bread supplied to the factory workers on their ten minute lunch breaks.
Heath follows me into my room and I pull out my pre-chosen reaping clothes. "That's the best you can do?" Heath scoffs. I shrug, looking down at my ripped black pants and similar black shirt. They were the best things in my closet at the time. "I bet I could do better," he says, stepping past me to reach my closet. He slides open the door to reveal only a few pathetic options. He comments on each one of my clothes and then finally throws a tan button-down shirt at me and makes a disappointed face. "Try that," he says. "It's better than all black."
"Thanks," I say, and quickly exchange my comfortable pajama shirt with the tan one. Heath goes around my room commenting on every piece of decoration I have, which is mostly only random little items I collect from off the streets. I shimmy into the pants which are obviously a little small, revealing my thin ankles. Heath turns around and looks me up and down.
"That'll work. You excited for everyone in Panem to see you?" I almost roll my eyes at him.
"I don't think anyone's going to notice me. The cameras will be too focussed on the tributes and that scary escort," I say.
"Woah, you're talkative today!" Heath answers, holding his hands up like I'm a wild, untamed horse. I let out a small laugh and he grins cockily at me.
"The most noticeable thing about me is my hair," I add, patting my bright, curly red hair. I wish it was just a common brown like Heath's or that I lived in District Five where red is the usual. I don't like drawing attention to myself. It's uncomfortable.
"Yeah, I guess you're right," Heath says, sitting down on my bed. "Ready to go?"
"You're not going with your family?" I ask.
He shrugs and opens his mouth to say something but then decides against it, which is odd for him.
"Cool," I say, filling the silence. He cracks a toothy smile at me and then follows me out to the rest of the house.
"Good morning," Dad says happily, sitting on the same ancient barstool I was sitting at this morning. He sips some hot liquid out of a chipped brown mug, his tired, worn face smiling broadly. Mom and him must love Reaping Day in a way. It's one of the only days they can spend time with Dawn and me.
"Morning," I answer shortly, as always.
"Shall we go?" my mother suggests quietly, looking down at her old, somewhat broken, watch.
"Sure," Dawn says from behind me. I swivel around to see her dressed in a flowy black skirt with a pretty off-the-shoulder white sweater tucked into it. She smiles sweetly at me.
"Oh honey, you look nice," my mother says, rushing over and smoothing her hands over Dawn's shoulders as if they're pieces of fabric with wrinkles in them. Dawn's cheeks grow red and she shrugs.
"Thank you," she whispers. "I figure I may as well look nice for my last reapings." I swallow nervously. If she can get past today, she'll be home free. But I'll still have six more reapings to sit through, I think worriedly. What are the chances of me making it? Probably higher than you think, I assure myself.
...
I spend the whole half an hour walk to the square listening to Heath spill about more drama going on in different schools. Dawn listens in to some of it and comments more than I do, since it seems Heath knows more about what's going on in her high school than she does. Along the way, I find an old bottle cap on the dusty path, dented but pretty in its age somehow. I pocket it and continue on my way. Eventually, after several short one-word responses to Heath's long rants, we reach the square. I start to tremble and my mother and father hug me, then send me off with Dawn. She grabs my hand and leads me to the line of kids waiting to get their blood drawn. Heath is suddenly silent and I look at him curiously. His eyes are wide and his face is pale and terrified. Almost more terrified than me.
"You haven't taken tesserae," I remind myself. I haven't taken tesserae. "A lot of these kids have. We don't stand much of a chance of being picked," I say. He nods his head slowly.
"Next," the Peacekeeper demands sharply. I step forward, my sweaty hand slipping out of Dawn's grasp. The white-clad man grabs my hand and pricks my finger than presses it onto a piece of paper. He scans it, nods, and motions for me to step aside. Dawn smiles at me reassuringly and then steps over to the other line of kids getting their blood drawn, closer to the side of the square she's supposed to be at. I nervously tap my fingers against my thigh and wait idly by as Heath gets his blood drawn.
We don't have to walk far to get to the 12 year olds section, but I still feel largely out of place as I shuffle through the crowds of mingling teenagers to my spot. Heath stands next to me and we wait in unusual, suspenseful silence until our frightening escort, Mr. Dunes, steps up to the microphone, his high heels clicking. I don't really understand why people wear those shoes. I remember my sister had to wear my mother's high heels for her 8th grade graduation, and she'd hated every bit of it. For an odd, grateful second, I'm glad I don't live in the Capitol where I'd have to go along with those stupid trends. I watch Verdane Dunes while the video is playing. He gazes over the crowd as if he knows how much power he and his Capitolite people hold over us. All of us. I wonder what it'd be like to be him.
And then suddenly, silence cascades over the square again as the video finishes, and Verdane steps ominously up to the microphone. He says something about the video and selecting a female tribute, and then floats to the immense bowl. My hearing grows a little fuzzy and I rub my fingers together worriedly. I have just enough time to hope with everything in me that he doesn't select Dawn's name, and then his long arm retreats from the bowl with a piece of paper he quickly unfolds and reads out.
"Charlotte Bowman," he says loudly. I sigh in relief and feel a small smile grace my features, then instantly frown. Whoever Charlotte is, she probably has a family too. But… Dawn is safe, I think, looking down at the ground and letting a ghost of the previous smile appear.
The girl walks up to the stage with the help of some Peacekeepers and I realize there's something different, shiny almost about her tanned skin. I don't have much time to really study her though, because Verdane is now moving towards the glass bowl for the boys. I watch with scared anticipation as he reaches a snake-like hand into the swamp of off-white pieces of folded parchment. He quickly selects one and unfolds it.
"Emrys Langley," he reads out clearly. No, I think instantly. No. I feel tears start to well up in my hazel eyes. No. My brain won't stop repeating the word. I don't know what to think for the first time in a long while, but I know I want to get out of here. No. I look around stiffly and realize everyone seems to be looking at me except for Heath, staring straight ahead, his brown eyes wide. How do they know it's me? I'm trembling. Is that it? If I don't step up maybe they'll think I'm not Emrys. Someone pushes me slightly and the Peacekeepers start to notice the source of the attention. I step out into the central aisle before anyone can do anything. A cry of pain comes from the 18 year old girls' section and I glance over, trying to find Dawn, but I can't. A few people look sad. Maybe that's because I'm 12. I'm only 12. Am I going to die? Is this it? It feels like a long walk to the stage, longer than what it actually is. The tears in my eyes blur my vision and threaten to spill over. And then I'm at the stairs and I'm shaking as I step up. No. The word sounds more pitiful now, like a plea. Like maybe this is a hyper-realistic dream. Then my foot misses the next step and slides and I fall, my face hitting the hard concrete. The two Peacekeepers behind me roughly grab me and haul me the rest of the way up. I swallow nervously as Verdane Dunes glances at me, his harsh eyes betraying the smallest of emotions.
I glance over to my left at Charlotte, who has wrapped her skinny arms around herself and has her eyes closed. I realize suddenly that what I saw earlier were curious scars winding their way around her limbs and face. I gulp nervously and look out at the crowd. No. A warm, helpless feeling courses through me and I feel like throwing up. No. Verdane asks me how I'm feeling and shoves the microphone in my face. The word keeps running through my head and I feel sweat drip down my forehead. Everyone can see me right now. Please just ask Charlotte, I think helplessly. Please. And for the first time in what seems like forever, I can't think of anything right to say. So I don't say anything.
A/N: hey guys, i'm back! sorry for the delay, i finished half of this last saturday and was planning on updating sunday but then the superbowl happened and i live in america so it's basically a national holiday lmao. also your girl made the dive team! it's really painful cause i'm as graceful as a snail so i just flop a lot lol.. also i'm kinda pissed rn cause my water polo coach sent an email out to my team that she needed to get a team together for this really litastic seven day tourney or something in Hawaii and i'm like holy heck sign me up so i email her back and she's been like ignoring me ig cause just yesterday i overheard my teammate say she was approved to go to Hawaii and i just saklfhdkjsklf sorry for getting off topic lmao
i may or may not update sooner than expected because i have this monday off thanks to a pal named Abe Lincoln. depends whether i'm feeling up to smash out another chapter on my mom's deteriorating macbook
don't forget to review! it really makes my day to read reviews :) what did you think of these two? how far do you think they'll make it?
- knifey :)
shower thought of the day: if i die, all of you guys would think i just gave up on the SYOT(which won't happen so if i don't update for like a month it's prolly cause i'm dead lol)
(also this has nothing to do with ff but if you have an ig pls follow my photography acct gigitakespictures)