Just like fire, burning out the way
If I can light the world up for just one day
Watch this madness, colorful charade
No one can be just like me anyway
Lilac Bloomfield, 15
District Eleven Female
School is one of my least favorite places in the entire world. It's crazy that it's possible to feel so alone in a building full of people. I don't have many friends here. I guess you could say that I am different from a lot of the other girls in my district. It used to bother me a lot but I guess I have grown to be used to it.
I spend most of my time here in the music room, it is the only way for me to maintain my sanity. Music takes you to a place that nothing else can. I love the way that every different song takes you to a different place. To me, instruments are like people. They each have a different history and they each tell a different story. Some incredibly sad, and others bursting with joy. I am busy strumming the strings of a guitar when my teacher comes up behind me.
"Have a good weekend Lilac!" Mrs. Meyers says, patting me on the back as she walks by. "I love your enthusiasm for my class, but you can't stay here forever," she chuckles.
"I wish. I couldn't even think of a better life," I smile, gently setting the instrument back in its case, stuff the music in my worn out bag and head out the door.
My mind is off in an entirely different universe as I stroll along the dreary streets of District Eleven. The sound of screeching tires snaps me back into reality. There is a car less than two inches away from me. The door slowly opens, and the shiny black boot of a PeaceKeeper emerges.
"What exactly do you think you are doing?" He asks, gripping the baton that is strapped to his waist.
"I- I was just walking home from school Sir," I say, smiling.
"Do you realize how dangerous it is to walk in the middle of the street?" He asks, raising his voice.
"Yes Sir," I nod. "I guess my mind was somewhere else."
He doesn't respond. His dark beady eyes stare down at me causing me to break out in a sweat. I can feel the small beads running down my forehead and bursting when they hit the tip of my nose.
"Don't let it happen again," he says, patting his baton and getting back into his car. The tires squeal as he speeds away.
"Well, would you look at that," Rosemarie's voice says from behind me. "His car didn't hit you, that's too bad," she smirks.
"Please just leave me alone Rosemarie," My voice quivers.
"What's the fun in that?" She asks, flipping her long dark hair over her shoulder. The sun hits her face just right, illuminating her dark skin. She looks almost like an angel standing there. One of satan's angels maybe. "People like you are the cancer of District Eleven, Lilac. That car should have done us all a favor and taken you out," her tone is sharp and she is really going for the kill with this one.
"I'm not in the mood right now Rosemarie, I'm warning you right now," I say through my teeth.
"Oh, what are you going to do? Beat me down with your Violin stick?" She sticks her bottom lip out and shivers, pretending like she is afraid.
"Well, I don't know what the hell a violin stick is but I'm this close to beating you down with my violin bow," I tell her. "Obviously a music class or two wouldn't hurt," I say, turning around and continuing my walk home, feeling triumphant.
"Whatever, she is a lunatic," I hear her tell her friends.
I have been bullied for being different my whole entire life. When I was younger, I didn't know how to handle it. I would run home to my mom and cry in her lap for hours. I just simply didn't understand how someone could be so hateful to someone else for no reason at all. Now that I am a little bit older, though, I realize that I am gifted and that is threatening to people like Rosemarie who only have their looks going for them. Her good looks are going to fade some day and then she will wish that she had been nicer to people.
I'm going to tell stories with my music one day. Stories about how a girl who came from nothing worked her way up to the top, music as her only friend.
When I get home, my daddy is sitting on the front porch of our little rickety home, rocking in one of our rocking chairs. His eyes are closed so I tiptoe up the wooden steps, careful not to wake him up. The squeaking of the screen door is seemingly deafening. I wince at the noise.
"Lilac," he says, opening one eye.
"Sorry dad, I was trying to be quiet."
"Play me a song?" he asks with a smile.
"Of course," I smile. With that, I enter the house in search of my favorite instruments.
I'm my own shrink
Think things are after me, my catastrophe
At my kitchen sink
Arturo Ambrosio, 15
District Eleven Male
"And that is why we still have an annual Hunger Games," my voice cracks as I spit out the last syllable.
Everyone is going to make fun of you. You sound like a girl. You know that's what they are all thinking right now. I'm never speaking ever again.
My face turns bright red as I look out at my classmates. They don't seem to be laughing at me but they are probably keeping it inside to spare my feelings. I quickly nod at my teacher careful not to let one more word escape my lips before returning to my desk and taking a seat. No one says anything and before I know it, the next presenter walks up to the whiteboard.
I have never liked being the center of attention. That gives people too much time to look at you and study you over. They will create a judgment of you in their head and then they won't even bother getting to know you because they think that they have everything figured out already. I just don't bother trying to make friends. It's easier this way.
Briiiiiing
The bell that dismisses us at the end of the day sounds, jolting me out of my thoughts. My classmates start to scurry but Mr. Graeme stands in front of the door.
"The bell doesn't dismiss you, I do. Everyone back in your seat right now," he says, leaning against the door hinge. After a few minutes, he finally decides to let people go. "Have a good weekend and please be smarter out there than you are in here," he rolls his eyes.
"H-have a good weekend Mr. Graeme," I say, pressing myself against the wall so that there is no awkward touching.
You stuttered. He is judging you. He thinks you're stupid. Walk faster. Keep your head down.
Ever since I was a little boy my thoughts have been louder than my real voice. I have never had the easiest time expressing my feelings. No one really knows why I am the way that I am. I didn't have a traumatic life, I was raised in a home with pretty average parents. My dad is just there and my mom is always there.
"Arturo go out and make friends!" is her favorite phrase. She says that it pains her as a mother to see me sit in the living room writing day after day. I personally think she just doesn't understand me. She has never had to be a fifteen-year-old boy so she doesn't get an opinion on this.
After a long walk home, I throw my book bag down on the table and a sigh of relief follows. I can move and speak freely in my own home without the fear of someone judging me. It's the best part of the day for me. I kick off my shoes and face plant into the sofa.
The edge of the cushion pushes up my pudgy fifteen-year-old cheek. It's not comfortable but I am too lazy to move so I just give in to the pudge.
I don't remember falling asleep but when my eyes finally fluttered open, it's pitch black outside. Unfortunately, this is my everyday routine. Sleep all day, party all night. By party, I mean write in my journal.
I used to be insecure about having a journal, but the older I get I realize it's the only place that I can fully be myself. It's not like I'm sitting in my room telling a piece of paper all of my emotions. I'm creating a world where I can just simply be Arturo.
In my little make believe world, I have more friends than I know what to do with. A thought pops into my head and I speak it instead of holding it in. In my world, insecurities are just a figment of my imagination and I can do anything that I set my mind too.
I am about to write an ending to a story about a big party that is thrown just for me when my mom walks in.
"Arturo, it's 3 in the morning. You really should be in bed," she says gently.
"I'll go in just a second mom, I'm finishing up something," I tell her, adjusting my journal so that the words are just out of her line of vision. I would never hear the end of it if she read these.
"I wish you would use your writing for something, sweetie. You are so talented."
"Thanks, mom," I say awkwardly.
I'm not used to getting compliments, even if they are from my own mother. I guess the way I see it is that there is so much wrong with me that everyone is lying to me. They are trying to make me feel good about myself so that I don't permanently shack up in my room and never come out again.
In this reality, things don't seem like they will ever get better. I'm always going to be the boy who was too afraid to do anything with his life. I want to get out there and change it, but my thoughts always win. They are always there to remind me of my flaws. I look up from my desk and smile. I know that if she sees me smile, she'll leave me alone.
"Well, get some shut eye soon. You need the energy to tackle the day." she places a kiss on my forehead and closes my door.
It's going to take a lot more than energy to me through this life.
His voice was loud clear. He cleared his throat and repeated himself just in case anyone missed it the first time. The crowd of people all lifted their cups to cheers.
I will be someone. One day I will be the center of attention and I will love every second of it.
Just like magic, I'll be flying free
I'mma disappear when they come for me
I kick that ceiling, what you gonna take?
No one can be just like me anyway
Lilac Bloomfield, 15
District Eleven Female
Lavenders blue, dilly dilly, lavenders green. When you are king, dilly dilly, I shall be queen.
The melody of the lullaby my parents sang to me when I was younger fills my ears with such joy as I sit on the front porch lightly strumming a worn out guitar and humming to myself.
Life was so much easier when I was little. If someone bullied me for being different, I could just rush home and climb into my dad's lap. He would sing to me and make sure that I knew being different was something to embrace. Daddy could still get around then. Now we are lucky if he even gets out of bed.
A few years back he started getting really sick, that was when my world started falling apart. The man that once sang to me every single night until I fell asleep was lucky if he could even get out a few sentences. I watch him wither away every single day and it's hard for me so I just indulge in music and loose myself.
"Lilac, come inside please," my mother says from inside.
"Coming," I say, taking a deep breath and setting down the guitar as gently as I possibly can.
"Go try this on," she says, holding up a dress that she had made.
"Mom! You didn't have to do that," I say wide-eyed. The material looks familiar. I slowly turn around squinting at the bright light that is now entering through the curtain free window.
"Go out there today and show Rosemarie that you can be kind and fabulous at the same time," she says winking at me.
I run to the bathroom and hold the wine colored dress up to my body. The color really compliments my dark complexion. Shimmying out of my hand me down pants proves to be a task as I trip and fall, nearly hitting my head on the counter.
When I finally get the dress on, I have never felt more beautiful. The sleeves hand just off my shoulders and the dress ends just under my knees. I spin in circles in the mirror, taking in my appearance. The other girls in the district have a way of making me feel like I'm not good enough but for the first time in a long time, I am ready to go face them.
I scrunch my tight curls a few times before turning the light off and heading back into the living room to show my mother her creation.
"Lilac," my dad whispers as I walk by the bedroom. "You're beautiful," he manages to spit out. He spins his finger in a circle urging me to twirl. He claps his hands together and gives me a slight smile before laying his head back on his pillow
"I love you, sweetie," he whispers.
"I love you too dad. I'll come sing you a song when I get back from the reapings." I tell him. He nods his head and just as quick is asleep.
I give my mom a quick peck on the cheek and head off the reapings, going over what song I will sing to my dad when I get back.
Pointless curses, nonsense verses
You'll see purpose start to surface
No one else is dealing with your demons
Meaning maybe defeating them
Could be the beginning of your meaning, friend.
Arturo Ambrosio, 15
District Eleven Male
"I, Arturo Ambrosio of District Eleven will do my best to bring back a victory!" My reflection in the mirror is the only person standing in front of me listening to my speech. I picture myself standing on the stage, looking out at all of my peers from my district and being as brave as I can be.
I'm not stupid. I know that there is less than a five percent chance of my name being called today at the Reaping but part of me hopes that if for some reason I was, that I would be able to swallow all my fears and win the hearts of sponsors everywhere. My voice would stay deep and everyone would be too in awe of my words to judge me on anything else.
"Arturo, come on!" my mom shouts from downstairs.
"Coming mom," I shout back.
I hate crowds. I don't want to go. I close my eyes and start pacing the short distance that is the bathroom.
Everyone is going to be looking at you. Don't talk. Your voice will crack. They're all going to laugh at you.
"Shut up!" I yell into thin air. I wish for just once that my thoughts would be positive. They never are, though, they are like a constant dark cloud looming over my head keeping my in my own little bubble forever.
"Are you okay?" My mom peeks her head in the door.
"I'm fine," I say, taking a swig of water and rushing out the door.
When we get to the big open area where the reapings are being held, there are already people everywhere. There are groups of friends talking somberly and parents hugging their children just in case they are about to say goodbye. Then there is me, standing alone in the middle of a crowd of hundreds, biting my lip so that I remember not to speak. I just want to get this over with so I can go home and write a story about it,
"Well hello there everyone!" A woman wearing a long purple dress and silver sparkly shoes stumbles onto the stage. "My name is Flora Vineyard and as much as I would like to say that I am excited to be here, I'm just really not!" She winks at the camera and takes another gulp out of what appears to be a wine glass.
"Well.. Less gets started," she slurs.
She wastes no time in walking over the boy's bowl and misses the opening a few times before finally drawing out a slip of paper.
"Your male tribute for the whatever is… Arturo Ambrosio!"
I can't feel anything. This can't be right. This must be a mistake. I look around just to see if maybe someone had a plan to volunteer but when I realize that is wishful thinking, I slowly put one foot in front of another until I am at the stage.
"Hello there little guy," Flora spews. "Do you have anything that you want to say to the crowd?"
I gulp, and open my mouth to begin speaking, but my thoughts get the best of me.
They're all going to laugh at you. Just shut up and take your place. Shhhh.
I nod my head no and quickly take my place behind her.
"Well, every boy needs a woman to survive, so let's give him one." she giggles at nothing and walks over to the other side of the stage, quickly drawing out a slip of paper.
"Your female tribute is… Lilac Bloomfield," she says, chugging the rest of her wine.
A girl in a red dress emerges from the fifteen-year-old section. She stands there for a moment with tears gathering in her eyes. A Peace Keeper starts towards her but she balls up her fist and lifts it towards him. She doesn't let him get near her but instead walks right on the stage and right past Flora. She takes her spot nex to me and gives me a reassuring smile.
"Well, that's that," flora says. She throws her wine glass into the audience and then leads us into the justice building.
Hey y'all! :)
Here are the District Eleven reapings. We only have one left before we can get this story rolling. I am so excited to finally get going.
I loved these two a lot, I thought they were both really unique and although I struggled with Arturo a little bit, I am excited to develop him further.
What did you think of these two?
Do you have a favorite so far?
Do you even remember the other tributes since it takes me a million and five years to update? :P hahaha
QOTD: Would you rather never be able to walk or never be able to talk?