DO NOT SUBMIT ANY MORE CHARACTERS, EVERYTHING IS RESERVED. Tysm for the reviews guys, I really appreciate it! :)
Skyrah Labelle (D1 Female)
"Guess what we're doing today," was how my father would start every one of our training sessions. I thought for a moment at what we had done all the previous days. Spears, archery, all sharp things. I had a feeling today would be something similar.
My first guess was, "Swords?" I was pretty good at swords, but there was always a time when I could sharpen up my skills.
Father shook his head. "You're already pitch-perfect at swords, there is no need." Huh. He actually gave me a compliment. That was a first. My heart lifted instantly.
"Oh...then knives?" I guessed. I wasn't so great at knives, since there were always different ways you had to hold them, and they just made me feel self-conscious.
His eyes glinted approvingly. "What kind of knives, Skyrah?"
My answer came quickly- this was the only kind of knife-fighting we did anyway. "Throwing knives."
"Excellent. I see you've got your memory back." In a flash, Father whipped out a knife from behind his back. It looked fairly ordinary, with a slender wood handle made easy for the grip, and a sharp edge, reflecting off the walls.
He handed it to me and I took it, wrapping my fingers around, my pointer finger slightly tilted to hold the weight. It wasn't exactly heavy..but I had to summon up strength to throw it, so being light as possible was a plus in these kinds of knives.
"Now," my father began solemnly, his usual gruffness back. "I want you to hit the target." He nodded to the circular wooden board with red and white circles going one around the other. We had used it for archery before.
I positioned my stance, my right foot just at the edge of the yellow tape marking the farthest you could go. I wasn't so sure I could make it, and I definitely didn't feel up to receiving Father's disapproval. My breath quickened, nerves bouncing all around me.
"Three...," Father counted down. "Two... One... GO!"
I grabbed the sheath of knives and hefted it onto my back, wincing at the sudden weight. I wasn't exactly small, but I wasn't that strong either. Long range combat would be one of my weaknesses. My mind flitted back to the "curse" Mother worried all about.
The "curse" was basically that my family had had a tradition, and my parents had broken it. A member of my Father's family had to volunteer for the Games every four years, and the female assigned a lover by their father, whom they would eventually marry and have kids with. My dad had befriended a co-worker of his and she had had a son named Ray. Ray, who was now my "lover" or whatever. He was..terrible, to say the least. He stole my jewelry to sell, cheated on me, all that. Therefore, you can tell why my life is just miserable.
One by one, I grabbed a knife and flung it at the board. The first stuck right into the ground. I didn't stop there. There was a repetitive sound of thwacks as each knife hit the board, its metal part clinging to the wood. Some fell straight down from the board, not having enough force to dig it far into the wood. Others sliced clean through.
"STOP!" roared Father. I immediately obeyed. This was when he was in a temper, and I didn't want to be stuck in the middle of it.
"Whoever taught you such knife skills?" he yelled. "You are holding it completely wrong- stop trying to cheat and hold it the right way!"
Nodding timidly and clenching my jaw to hold back the tears of frustration, I moved my pointer finger to rest on the top. "I-is this—"
"It'll have to do," he said dismissively. "NOW HURRY UP AND GET SOME PRACTICE IN BEFORE THE REAPING!"
Trying to ignore my father's troublesome shouting, I drew my arm back and threw it with immense force at the board. It stuck in the third circle, which was really good in my standards. In Father's...not so much. He muttered a whole bunch of stuff about me being incompetent and then sat back to fume silently.
The rest of the training session was the same—I got in a couple throws that landed decently, but most of them were crooked. I picked up the knives and stored them in the sheath, blocking out my father's harsh scolding.
"This year's your year," Father ranted. "You better be ready."
My doubt swarmed like bees in my mind, but I put in a confident face and nervously crept out. Getting ready for the Reaping was always the same- my father made me wear extravagant dresses, made me look extra showy.
But this year, well, let's just say the dresses were a lotmore fancy. And when I say a lot, I mean a lot. These dresses looked as if they were something the Capitol produced, not District One.
It was this fancy purple dress, complete with matching leggings, striking violet shoes, and a bunch of ribbons in my medium-length black hair. I looked like a royal queen of some sort, the image my father always followed every year.
My sister, Toni, walked over with a slightly nervous smile. "You're going to the Reaping this year, aren't you?" she asked in a low voice.
I squeezed my eyes shut and nodded. I can do it. I can do it. I can...not do it. Ugh, I wished my confidence levels were a tiny bit higher.
Toni hugged me tightly. "Don't worry, we're District One! Of course we'll do good. And besides, we've already got tons of victors. You'll just be the same."
"You really think so?" I mumbled, pessimistic thoughts running through my head.
"Yes," Toni said seriously. She was very mature for her age, maybe because of the Hunger Games, or from my influence, I didn't know which.
I smiled slightly. "I'll try my best."
"Yes, you will," Toni responded.
The doorbell rang and I went to get it. My heart skipped a beat. No, not in that kind of way, in the way that I was irritated and angry. Ray was my assigned "lover", but heck, no we did not love each other. Maybe in an alternate universe, but never here.
I pulled open the door and welcomed him in. He gushed things like, "Oh, it's so great to see you, Skyrah!" and "Love your dress." I wanted to punch him so bad.
My parents came over, got under his spell. I could see the dark glittering of his eyes as he said it all, though, could almost feel the evil intent.
We made our way to the Reaping, me feeling like it was the last time I'd ever see my little sister, behind us, again. The dress made it hard walking, so I had to kind of lift it up with one hand. I desperately wished I didn't look too showy, but even so, I was attracting attention rapidly.
Ray was just about the most opposite anyone could get from me- he had no manners whatsoever, foul-mouthed, and generally terrible. I hated him so much, but it wasn't like I could do anything about it, because Ray acted like an angel around my parents, so I couldn't exactly complain. I just put up with it the best I could.
Ray usually never came over unless it was a special occasional or he wanted to freaking sleep with me. Ugh, hating him was an understatement.
We chose spots in the crowd and settled in; the Reaping began a little while after. Our attention went to the stage.
The escort was one of the most loved people here in One. His name was Jorge Monroe, and pretty much all the girls here had a crush on him. Except for me, of course. I could never really fully trust any of those people after the Games and Ray.
My family could be considered to the more wealthier side, but with the "curse" over us, most people disrespected us. My social life wasn't exactly great, either, because Father made me train day and night, around the clock.
Jorge Monroe gave his signature smile, bright as the moons from whatever teeth cleaning they use in the Capitol. "Hello, hello, my friends!" he cried out. A cheer rose from the crowd- me and Toni didn't join in, of course.
Ray shoved me and I gave an unenthusiastic shout, anger swelling just under the surface.
"Ladies first!" called out Jorge. A flurry of excitement rose among the girls'. Ever since Jorge had become the escort, replacing the old man we'd had before, there had been more people fighting to volunteer, because they wanted to impress him. I wondered if I could even be the first to do it. But I had to save my mother, Toni, and I from the curse. I had to try.
Earlier, my mother had been trying to convince me not to volunteer, but I'd stubbornly refused. The curse would never lift if I didn't do what I had to. We couldn't run away without the money.
Jorge chose a delicate piece of paper and unfolded it quickly. "Opal J—"
"I VOLUNTEER AS TRIBUTE!" I shouted as loud as I could. Everyone swiveled around to stare at me and my showy dress. Not many people knew me, and I hadn't trained at the Academy. There must've been a designated volunteer, who hadn't gotten the chance.
I made my way up to the stage, wondering what Ray's reaction might be. Probably really happy that I was going into an arena to get myself killed, I thought bitterly.
Jorge beamed. "Name, please?"
"Skyrah Labelle," I told him, trying to smile for the sake of the cameras and the pride of District One. They usually always had blonde, beautiful tributes, not ones with glasses and braids.
"Our girl tribute!" Jorge swept an arm magnificently, and I felt everyone's eyes burning into me. I hoped I wasn't turning tomato-red right now.
"Now to the boys," Jorge announced. I saw him reach into the glass bowl from my perfect vantage point on the stage. The bowl was actually smaller than it looked from the crowd.
Jorge snapped open the paper and declared, "Mark Seashire!"
Somebody moved to get to the stage. He was the typical tribute, dark brown hair messed up in the way that boys think looks cool, piercing dark blue eyes, tanned skin.
"Our boy tribute!" said Jorge loudly. Applause greeted him this time, but it looked more genuine than for me. I could see why.
The Peacekeepers swarmed around us and walked us to the Hall where goodbyes were said, and tears were shed. But in District One, there could be no such thing as tears.
Mark Seashire (D1 Male)
I sat on the velvet blue couch, leaning back against it with a sigh. It had been extraordinarily hot out, and I was glad to get some good air-conditioning, much better than the ones at home. Sweat still beaded my forehead from the heat.
I smirked. I still couldn't believe I had snagged first place by charmingly persuading my teacher that I was much better than that Epic Lawrence. I was obviously better.
My family came in first, my mother and father. Mom exclaimed, "You are going to bring it home this year, honey, I just know it!" while my father's eyes shone with pride.
"I knew you'd find a way to convince your teacher that you're the true best," Dad remarked. "Mark, you are going to do it, you are going to get first place and bring us home all the riches of the Capitol!"
I smiled smugly at them. "Of course I am."
Mom gushed, "My confident, sweet little baby!" and blinked adoringly at me. I laughed inside. Wow, it was so easy to manipulate their feelings.
"Mommy loves you so, so much!" she added, her voice honeyed and sweet. Almost as if she were talking to a toddler. Couldn't they see I'd grown up?
"You are going to win, son," Dad stated it as if it were a fact. I knew I was going to win, I didn't need anyone to tell me that.
"We got you a token, just in case you get homesick and start thinking abut Mommy and Daddy," Mom continued, passing me a small wooden ball. I stared down at it unblinkingly. It had my mother and father's names carved into it, for whatever reason I did not know. I made note to throw this away as soon as possible because it seemed just ridiculous compared to the previous tributes' tokens.
"Have fun in the arena!" Dad exclaimed, a note of cheerfulness in his voice. I scoffed. The arena wasn't going to be hard, but it wasn't going to be so easy he needed to treat it as some daycare event. This was serious. Did he think I was having a child's playdate or something?
I just smiled and said, "Oh, I will, Dad."
Mom cooed, "The experience will be good for you, darling. You'll be famous and rich at a young age."
"I know," I grinned.
Just then the Peacekeepers came in and my parents were ushered out. Thank goodness. I had had enough of their little thing where they acted like I was a baby and I didn't know how to count. I was seventeen. Surely that was age enough for my parents to stop worrying about me and putting a curfew. I could do things myself, not have everyone bossing me around.
Which was why I wanted to prove to myself that I could survive in the Hunger Games. I could do it alone, I could be independent and survive just fine.
It was still kind of coincidental that I was the chosen tribute for this year and I had been reaped. Oh well, either way, I would've ended up in the Career Pack, with the other District One tributes. I didn't really care how I got there.
Surviving in the wild was always interesting to me. I'd started training at the Academy, but I hadn't really paid much attention to my studies, sometimes cheating on tests, that kind of thing. I only started it a year ago, and I had only picked up the weapon things. The survival stuff was too boring for me to care much- so I just flew through it and guessed some answers. It wasn't like me, a Career, would ever be hungry or thirsty. I would always have my supplies right at hand, and I would definitely gets loads of sponsors because I was from a popular District. I mean, One made all the fashion stuff for the Capitol, so we were kind of the whole reason they had all those pretty outfits. Of course they'd root on us.
The other people who visited were just some acquaintances and the rare friend I'd picked up in the Academy. Those goodbyes were just us debating whether I was competent enough to get first prize- though I zoned out partially during their words because I was too focused on the fact that I'd actually get to be alone, surviving, for once.
Alone, surviving, in the Hunger Games that I knew nobody had a better reason to go to than me.
7/26/17