Jadira Littler - District Nine

A single beam of sunlight shone through the large paned window, hitting Jadira's back and illuminating the girl like an angel. Heads turned in her direction as she moved slowly down the hall, smiling sweetly and nodding politely at each and every person she came across.

It wasn't her beauty that turned heads wherever she went, the girl was far from being attractive, but the simple fact that Jadira Littler was the sweetest girl to ever grace the walls of the District Nine high school.

Nobody could deny how kind Jadira Littler really was, it was a quality that many admired and one that even more envied; not one person had a bad thing to say about Jadira. Eyes drifted to the carefully crafted basket she held loosely in her hands, plump and fluffy muffins peeking over the brim of the container.

She paused just outside of the office of Felicity Spinnet, a gentle hand raising to knock three times in succession on the History teacher's door. There was the sound of a scramble on the other side, and a few seconds later the wooden door swung backwards to reveal a blotchy eyed woman on the other side.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Spinnet," Jadira said, her voice dripping with politeness, "I was terribly sorry to hear about your husband. I know it isn't much, but I brought you a basket of muffins,"

The woman was silent as Jadira held out the basket, smiling innocently at the woman, whos eyes glistened with fresh tears.

"They're fresh, I promise. Skipped lunch to make them. I hope you like blueberry,"

"Thankyou," Felicity stuttered, reaching out and taking the basket from the sweet student, who positively beamed at the acceptance, "Thank you, really, Jadira. This means so much,"

"It's really nothing, Miss," Jadira said happily, "I'm just doing what I can. I must be going now, my mother expects me home soon,"

"Oh, well, thank you again." The teacher said as Jadira waved and turned away from the door. Whispers could be heard from lingering students, who eyed Jadira's back as she happily skipped towards the doors.

The streets were thick with traffic as Jadira made her way home, and the sidewalk was no exception. Jadira made sure to pleasantly greet each man, woman, and child that passed her. Everybody adored Jadira Littler, it was impossible not to. How could somebody dislike a girl so sweet?

The traffic lessened as Jadira made her way towards the outskirts of the district; buildings became more rundown and the people who passed by barely spared a glance at the girl. Eventually, she was alone, and it was then that she heard the cries of somebody nearby.

Nobody else was around to hear it. Only Jadira was there to hear the woman's pleas for help. Peering around the corner of a nearby alley, a terrible sight met her eyes. Three men had surrounded a woman who cowered on the floor, legs tucked against her swelling belly as she tried to protect the kin inside. The men kicked her without remorse, beating her face and body black and blue.

Jadira had seen the men before; they worked for The Snake, an infamous drug dealer who hailed from another district. The woman was Jadira's neighbour, a kind young woman who had only recently married her handsome husband.

The womans teary eyes met Jadira's as the men continued their assault, and with the last of her strength, she mouthed the word please. But Jadira knew there was no chance of her saving this woman, those who worked for the Snake never left their victims alive.

So, Jadira Littler turned her back on the begging woman; who no longer had the strength to even sob. As she retreated across the street, there was no trace of the innocent smile she had worn when she left the school. Now, she only wore a blank slate. An expression of no emotion.

Jadira's face yielded no insight to her thoughts as she peered down at the copious amounts of blood that stained the tiled floor beside the cornucopia. This was not the only splatter, another, smaller pool had gathered around the side of the cornucopia, just outside the mouth. A smear of crimson tainted the pristine metal, as if the person who had died had been sitting up when they were murdered.

She wondered which stain belonged to which person. She had seen their faces last night, Varick Lamare and Nathan Carlyle. Two boys who had both met a gory demise right where she stood. And she felt nothing.

There was no pity. No sorrow. No fear for the boys who had been slaughtered on this very spot. Only the fear that she felt for herself. The fear that she was no worse than those who had murdered the boys.

She remembered the way Felecia Coin's hand had felt as Jadira crushed it beneath her shoe. She had hoped that, when in the moment, she would final feel that guilt for harming another living being. Yet she felt nothing.

She wondered where Felecia was now. Was she still sat in that room, staring at the photographs with that unnerving relaxed expression. Or was she dead? Murdered and taken from this world by a person who was no worse or better than Jadira.

With a heavy sigh, she raised her crossbow and aimed at the target she had set up. It was a large red backpack, sat atop a metal crate that lent against the wall of the cornucopia. With a grunt of effort, she fired a bolt. It sailed a little to the side, bouncing harmlessly off the wall of the cornucopia.

She loaded another bolt. She knew she had a choice to make, and soon enough she would have to decide. Would she succumb to that darkness within her? Use that space that should have been reserved for empathy to hide what was left of her humanity? Could she use it to her advantage? Or would she finally unlock the guilt she should feel for others upon taking another life?

She shot the second bolt. This time, she did not waver. The arrow pierced right through the fabric of the bag, spilling the contents inside to the floor. She made no move to pick them up as she loaded the third bolt, preparing to fire once more. Could she do it, if that was a person? If this was a person, one that had been injured and bleeding out all over the floor, could she shoot the killing shot? Would she be doing them a favour? Taking them out of the world and away from monsters like her. How soon would it be before she was forced to make her decision?

She fired the bolt.

Malcolm Edison - District Five

Malcolm had never been to a circus. Of course, they rarely strayed from the capitol. Only those living in the luxuries of districts One and Two were able to enjoy such entertainment.

Never before had he even seen the outside of a hall of mirrors, yet without ever entering one, somehow he knew that that's what this place was. It's funny, you never would have guessed from the name that the place was in fact, a hall filled with mirrors.

He hadn't realized how dirty he had already become since entering the arena. Already, a thick layer of grime covered every inch of his skin like a blanket. The room that had almost buried him in a mudslide had not helped with his cleanliness. A dried splatter of blood painted his right cheek, he hadn't realized Nathan's blood had tainted his body.

The kid deserved what he got. Ripped apart by a boy turned animalistic monster. It's impossible for anybody to refer to Malcolm as a monster when standing next to Wolf. Right?

He stared at his reflection, as if waiting for an answer. But nothing. Taking a tentative step forwards, Malcolm immediately smacked into the clear and reflective glass of a mirror. Groaning and rubbing his forehead, he turned around to find the hatch he had entered through was no longer there. Instead, he was once again staring at his reflection.

For a moment, he was worried that he had been tricked. Caged like an animal with mirrors making up his prison. But as his arm shot to the left, he sighed in relief as it did not hit anything at all. Turning in that direction, he took a few short steps before smacking into a mirror; this time with his hands preventing his nose from being crushed against the glass.

It took a while, but eventually Malcolm found himself in a steady rhythm. With each step, he would stick his arms out in all directions, and upon finding a space that was not made up of mirror, he would take another step.

But he noticed something strange after a few minutes of the process. The path would shoot in random directions, sometimes forcing the boy to backtrack a few steps, and every now and then he swore he was not alone. He saw it every few seconds; a dark figure just out of the corner of his eye that was dance away and vanish whenever he tried to look directly at it. Was it real? Was it a trick? Or was this maze of mirrors already messing with his mind?

He was so preoccupied with the evasive shadow that he slammed right into another mirror. With a cry of pain he stumbled away, and only just prevented himself from screaming when he realized the person standing on the other side of the glass was no longer him.

Instead, a young girl stood staring up at him. She had billowing brown hair that resembled his short and spiky doo, and had the same pale skin that covered his own body. The only thing that remained consistent between Malcolm and the girl peering up at him was those deep brown eyes that wavered with fear.

"No," Malcolm said, taking a step away. His back hit the cool glass of another mirror, and he found that he could no longer move. He watched as the little girl laughed; laughed at him. Her face twisted into a malicious expression that Malcolm hadn't thought himself capable, and to make matters worse; the girl extended a hand and reached out from within the mirror.

"Come with me, Aisha," The girl said. Her voice was light and airy; it was like she was speaking to him underwater, "Let us be one again,"

"N-no," Malcolm managed to stutter out. This couldn't be happening, it just couldn't.

"You must, Aisha," The girl said. Her shoulder passed through the mirror, fingers edging closer and closer to the collar of his shirt, "Do what is right. What you're doing is unnatural. Wrong,"

"It's normal," Malcolm breathed shakily, "It's who I am,"

"No, Aisha," The girl said, her voice taking on a sharper edge, "What you are is an abomination,"

That's what snapped Malcolm out of his daze. Righting himself, he let out a desperate scream and swung his mace as the mirror. The weapon passed right through the girl's arm as if it were an illusion, smashing through the glass of the mirror and shattering the image of the girl with it.

And then he ran. Stumbled, was a more suited word; it was hard to run when you were smacking intro mirrors every few feet. Upon the fourth impact, Malcolm screamed and swung his mace, smashing through every inch of glass he could find until he was staring at large, gaping holes of steel that lay beyond.

"Malcolm!" Another voice called. This one was deeper, not at all like the voice of the girl. Malcolm slowly traipsed around a corner and found himself faced with another set of mirrors. Five Malcolm's stared back at him, but the sixth was the reflection of a young boy with a bloodied throat that was a mess of crimson, flesh, and quivering organ. Nathan.

"You really thought this would make you less of a monster?" The boy spoke; his voice gargled and cracked, "You thought disfiguring me would make things better? It didn't, you're still just a -"

Malcom didn't allow the boy to continue, with a scream he swung the mace and smashed through the boys face. The glass rained down upon him as he stumbled through the maze; now partially blinded by crystal tears. Up ahead, he could see another figure. This one was a man; one he could not recognize. He was young and wore a snarl; and when he spoke, he didn't even glance in Malcolm's direction.

"You should have done better, boy!" The man boomed, "I have never laid eyes on such a disappointment before,"

Malcolm didn't want to hear more. He didn't want to hear anything anymore. He screamed and smashed the mirror apart, and swung around as another figure appeared behind him. However, this time, the person in the mirror did not stand by and idly wait for their destruction. Instead, this person ducked, and as Malcolm stared down at wild eyes, he realized that the boy who he had narrowly avoiding bludgeoning was really there.

"Aisha!" The little girls voice cried again Malcolm went rigid and a look of recognition appeared in the eyes of the other boy.

"Malcolm!" The boy said, but Malcolm was not listening. He screamed and smashed at the closest mirror, skin burning as chips of glass slashed at his flesh, "Malcolm!"

A hand wrapped around his wrist and slowed his movement; and as Malcolm was brought back to those grey eyes, he noticed the necklace hanging idly from his neck. It was then that he realized that he knew the boy; a boy who had caused him pain and anguish ever since his transition. A boy who made his life a living hell.

And yet, he let that boy take his hand and lead him away from the horror that was the hall of mirrors.

Felecia Coin - District Twelve

When she was young, a primary school teacher once likened Felecia to a volcano. Like the ancient mountain of rock, Felecia was able to keep her emotions buried deep in the crust of her being. But as things in her life began to shift; to change and morph into a world she was no longer comfortable with, she would explode and spout emotions much like a volcano would drench itself in boiling hot lava.

As of the present, Felecia could feel an eruption coming on. Thick, black smoke was beginning to seep through the cracks of her laid back facade. Yet she still carried on with an easy-going smile that gave the impression that she was not phased by what was going on.

She didn't want to admit that the barren white rooms where getting to her; she didn't want to acknowledge that feeling of utter terror and defeat. She didn't want to admit that she was not trying to survive at all because some part of her didn't want to.

She stood with her back pressed against the wall, fingers lingering gently on the wheel of the hatch she had just clambered through. The room ahead was so vastly different to every other she had been in, and the sudden shift in scenery made the girl long for those rooms of white.

To say this room was enormous was an understatement, even to describe it of a monstrous height was not quite fitting. It was simply bigger than Felecia could possibly comprehend. She found herself standing by a regular sized hatch at the side of comfortable looking bed. The room was a bedroom, she could decipher that much; a teenage one at that. The bed was a single, draped with blue sheets and soft, black pillow. From where she stood, she could see a desk pressed against the wall opposite; complete with a top of the line computer, a set of stationary, and various books and notes.

But there was one simple fact that made this room so terrifying, and that was the fact that Felecia was only about an inch tall. The bed towered above the girl, she did not even reach a quarter ways up the closest post. From where she stood, she could see a set of metal rungs plastered into the side of the wood, allowing somebody of her size to climb onto the bed. The pencil she could see tilting just over the edge of the large desk was bigger than she, and could probably badly injure her should it fall on the girl.

She wasn't sure what to do, the monstrosity of a room had paralyzed her. Her knees felt weak, a cold feeling flooded her chest, and her hands were shaking at a tremendous speed. Everything about this felt unnatural; wrong. And yet, she was intrigued.

Instead of turning away, instead of turning back and climbing right back through that hatch and into safety, Felecia instead made a move for the bedpost. The climb could take a while, she was so far down that the very surface of the bed felt as if it were a million miles away, and despite that fear she felt, Felecia pushed it back down. She pushed it away and locked it inside of the cupboard that was already overflowing with her emotions; the cupboard that was so close to bursting.

"But not yet," Felecia said to nobody in particular as she reached for the first rung, forcing another casual and relaxed smile onto her face, "Not just yet,"

Ivy McKinnon - District Two

Ivy McKinnon smiled as the blurring countryside finally shifted into the outskirts of a well populated district; squeezed in the backseat beside a number of sleeping bags, tents, and luggage, she was eager to finally get out and stretch her long legs. The journey from District Two to District Eleven had not been a comfortable one, but in Ivy's eyes, it was more time to spend with her family. Maybe her sister's recent passing had been a blessing in disguise; at least the backseat was a little less cramped.

Her mother's knuckles were growing whiter as the passing houses became more and more condensed, her previously relaxed face twisting into a serious and determined frown. Her father looked anything but; his eyes would flick over to his silent wife every few seconds, and when he wasn't looking at her, his worried eyes would peer at Ivy through the rearview mirror.

The family seldom passed any cars on the road; most in District Eleven were not wealthy enough to afford a vehicle, only the richest of the rich could obtain such a luxury. Most in District Two had the money to afford a vehicle, but only those interested in inter-district travel would bother with one. Ivy had been surprised at her mother's sudden purchase of the ratty car and suggestion that they take a vacation; and maybe she was a little curious to as why they had left without the proper papers or the clearance of the Peace Keepers, and the fact that they had fled in the middle of the night was curious. But Ivy was yet to ask questions. She didn't want to ruin this precious bonding experience.

"It's not too late," Quintin McKinnon whispered to his wife, Ivy supposed the lowered tone implied that she should tune out, but that did not stop her from eavesdropping, "We can turn back now before things get out of hand,"

"Backing down is not an option," Melissa McKinnon answered, her voice as clear as day, "I am not letting Paser get away with this. He robbed us, Quintin. We can barely afford food as it is,"

"And yet you went out and blew the last of our savings on a car!" Quintin growled, eyes once again flickering to meet Ivy's in the mirror. Her mother did not answer, her grip on the steering wheel growing ever-tighter, "Mellisa, if anybody finds out about this. . ."

"Nobody will know!" Melissa snapped, and then with a groan, she twisted around in her seat to look at Ivy. Her once bright and beautiful red hair was now straw-like and discoloured, her skin was the colour of paper and her eyes that used to dazzle those who met them were now sunken and dark, "It will be our family secret, okay Ivy? Nobody can ever know. . ."

"Eyes on the road!" Quintin shouted, going rigid in his seat and shooting out an arm to grasp the steering wheel as the car swerved. Melissa whipped back around to face the front and screamed, yanking the steering wheel to the right so violently that Ivy smacked her head against the window. But her attempt to dodge whatever was blocking the road was in vain. The car gave a sudden and drastic lurch, the sound of crunching metal met Ivy's ears as she was thrown forwards, thankfully restrained by her seatbelt. Her chest burned as Ivy fell back against the seat, for a moment she just sat and whimpered with pain while her parents gasped; her mother giving out a shriek.

"Oh my god," Melissa whispered, her voice no longer clear and confident but fearful and shaky, "I didn't. . .I couldn't. . .,"

"We have to go, Melissa," Quintin said sharply, "You have to drive, just back up and. . ."

"I can't!" Melissa shouted, "Quintin, we can't just walk away from this! We have to. . .we have to do something!"

"Melissa, if we get caught. . ." Her father's eyes peered at Ivy from behind his seat, "If we get caught, you know what's going to happen. We can't do it again. The price we payed the first time, Melissa . . . We can't risk it again,"

"You're right," Melissa breathed, reaching for the gearstick and shifting the car into reverse, "We can't risk it,"

Ivy heard a scream from outside, and watched as a young, dark skinned girl stumbled away from her open front gate. Tears were streaming down her face as she shrieked and begged for help as Ivy's mother shifted into drive and drove around whatever it was she had hit.

She only saw it for a second; a brief flash of blood on the pavement and lifeless eyes staring up at the sky. The body of a little girl lay twisted and bloodied on the bitchumen, with an injured but very much alive cat squirming in her dead arms.

Nobody spoke for a long while as the car sped away from the scene of an unforgivable crime; after an unknown amount of time, Melissa doubled back and soon small houses with picket white fences gave way to open and dry bushland. When Ivy's eyes caught her mother's in the mirror, she saw they were now red and blotchy with tears.

"Don't worry, mummy," Ivy said, leaning forwards in her seat with a smile, "It will be our family secret, okay?"

***

Ivy found herself reflecting on the day she was presented with her first family secret as she watched the girl resting in an uncomfortable position on the wooden bench inside of the cell. Of course, it wasn't the last secret her family had accumulated over the years, and in Ivy's experience, the truth had a way of finding it's way to light.

The repercussions of the death of the young District Eleven girl did not catch up with the McKinnon family for over a year; her parents had thought they had hid the evidence very well. Nobody had known the family had briefly vanished from District Two on that fateful weekend, and after her mother assured the family that the car had been properly disposed of, it appeared they were in the clear.

Unfortunately for her parents, that all caught up with the family after Ivy found herself plastered all over the interdistrict news after a breakthrough was made in the case of Ivy's sister's kidnapper. The sister of the young girl the McKinnon family had killed must have recognized the redhead due to an exclusive interview, and shortly afterwards the damaged car was pulled from a lake on the outskirts of District Two. Her mother was arrested seven days later, but Ivy never worried. She wouldn't let such a tragic event crush her spirit, after all, she had been able to visit her mother whenever she wanted, and her imprisonment only brought Ivy and her father closer.

Once a week, on Saturday morning, Ivy would visit her mother in prison. The woman was out of it most of the time, lost in an insanity she had slipped into after her criminal act of manslaughter. Ivy would stand on the otherside of those bars, watching and hoping that her mother would wake up. But at the same time, Ivy felt happy for her. She was safe, there was no more reason for her to fear. And she looked so peaceful while asleep, just as the girl inside of the cell now appeared.

She sat on the foot of an oddly placed bed, wondering why the girl had opted for the cold prison cell and reveling in the remainder of how she last saw her mother. She stayed like that for a while, hoping to move on before she woke up, but apparently the girl was not doing much sleeping as she growled, "How long are you going to just sit there and watch?"

"How long have you been awake?" Ivy asked awkwardly.

"Since before you came in," The girl said. Her eyes slowly opened, and in a maneuver that appeared to require ample effort, she swung her legs over the side of the bench and twisted into a sitting position, "I was waiting for you to leave,"

"Sorry," Ivy said, fiddling with the straps of her handbag, "I lost myself in thought,"

"Well, if you mind," The girl said, sneering disgustingly Ivy, "I'd like to sit and die in peace,"

Her voice was raspy, sounding as if she hadn't had a drink in ages. It suddenly hit Ivy that she most likely hadn't. So, being the kind soul that she was, a hand dipped into her handbag and pulled a full water bottle. Standing from the bed, she traipsed over and stuck her hand through the bars of the cell, "Would you like a drink?"

"That kind of defeats the purpose of waiting to die," The girl grumbled.

"There are less painful ways to kill yourself," Ivy prompted, "If you're going to die, you might as well do it in comfort,"

The girl sighed, and after a moment of hesitation, reached out to accept the bottle. Ivy watched intently as she unscrewed the cap and had a drink, draining three quarters of the bottle before finally detaching and gasping for air.

"Feel better?" Ivy said with a smile.

"No," The girl grunted, and as she passed the bottle back, she whispered, "Thanks,"

"My pleasure," Ivy said, placing the bottle back in her handbag, "My name is Ivy McKinnon,"

"Tracey," The other girl answered, and just as Ivy opened her mouth, she held up a hand, "Just. . .Tracey. You don't need to know my last name,"

"Fair enough," Ivy said, and after a pause, "Would you like something to eat?"

"What do you have?" Tracey answered, a little too eagerly. She was now pressed up against the bars of the cell, trying to take a peek inside of Ivy's handbag.

"I have muffins, peaches, bananas, muesli bars, and a packet of what I assume is cold beef," Ivy said; and she could see the girl's mouth watering with each suggestion. Ivy's guess was that Tracey was not used to going more than a few hours on an empty stomach, "You can have some-"

"Thankyou!" Tracey said, reaching towards the handbag through the bars only to swipe at thin air as Ivy pulled the bag out of reach.

"If you agree to free yourself and accompany me for a short while," Ivy said with a smile, "I could use a companion. Last night was quite lonely,"

Tracey looked at her with scepticism, "Why do you want me of all people?"

"You seem perfectly normal to me," Ivy said pleasantly, "Now, why don't you let yourself out?"

"How do you know the door is locked?" Tracey asked, passing a sly glance towards the locked gateway.

"I assumed it was for your own protection," Ivy said, and then as an afterthought, "Or because you had not intended on leaving,"

"Well, don't you have me all figured out?" Tracey said. Her face was dark and a sneer played on her lips, but her tone was playful, Ivy almost suspected that the girl was enjoying their little interaction, "How do I know you won't just kill me if I leave?"

"You want to die anyway," Ivy said, cocking her head, "So why does it matter?"

Tracey considered the question, "I guess it doesn't,"

Her voice was now glum, yet she pulled a silver key from her pocket all the same. She walked with a slight limp towards the door; Ivy wondered if it was from an injury or because of a very uncomfortable sleep. Ivy smiled widely as the girl unlocked the door and slipped outside; arms folded across her chest in a mean of defence that was highly ineffective. Ivy stepped forwards and handed her bag towards Tracey. Maybe the girl would snag the bag and run away with it; but Ivy would not mind, she was sure she would be greatly rewarded for helping another in need. If the girl was just tricking her, and a knife lay somewhere on her body, ready to pierce Ivy's body, then that would be okay too. At least then, she would be able to see her sister once more.

But neither of those things happened. Tracey tentatively took the bag, and dug a hand inside, pulling out a slimy packet of beef and sitting down slowly on the bed. Ivy sat down beside her and watched with a smile as the girl dug in like a ravenous animal. Maybe it was wasteful to pass food onto a girl who had no intent of living, but Ivy was never one to look at the negatives. All Ivy saw was a companion, and that is all she needed to see.