POINTS (if any are wrong please tell me!)
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Guest: 5
Tyler Kaufman (D3 Male)
One slice of bread was enough to send me into a temper tantrum. And it wasn't because of the quality, it was because of the sheer amount. The only thing I would get to eat today were breadcrumbs, I thought moodily.
I knew that here in the Districts, I had to toughen up or whatever, but the Capitol's horribleness was just so frustrating I could scream. Why couldn't we have decent food? Why couldn't we have enough to fill our stomachs? We were the ones doing the work here, after all!
I stomped into the kitchen and sank down onto a chair, glaring at the slice of bread. My mother and father and sister were all there already, slicing it up and setting it around the table. I accepted my measly slice with a pout. I had always been the younger one, of my two siblings. One had died, another was nineteen and working hours upon hours a day. It was not fair.
"Can I have more? Can we get more?" I cried to my mother.
She shook her head. "I'm sorry, that's all we've got. We couldn't afford our usual breakfast today- you know how serious your father's broken ankle is." I scowled across the table at dad, who was hobbling around, a pitcher of rank-smelling milk in his hands.
I looked down at my small cup of milk and forced myself to chug it down, even though the taste was enough to send one vomiting. I didn't even like milk in general, so bad milk was just...ew. Next I devoured the bread, the crumbly and tasteless thing going down my throat way too fast.
The whole meal was intermingled with a sense of annoyance and frustration. I swear I could hear my stomach rumbling the whole time, pangs of hunger blazing through my bones. I would have to put up with it for the rest of the time at the Reaping. I could just feel the sun's immense heat burning down from the sky.
I put on the only pair of shoes I owned—gray sneakers that made a squeaky sound every time you put your foot down—and got ready to leave. It seemed that my entire family was extra nervous today, because my sister and I were still eligible in the Reaping.
"This is my second-to-last year," I muttered to myself. "Not much chance of getting chosen if I haven't before." Then a selfish desire overtook me that I was the one ruling the Capitol, that I was the one with all the power. Gee, that would be awesome. Awesome, but not possible in the slightest.
The air outside was damp, streaks of cloud worming its way across the sky. I had a feeling rain was going to come, and soon. I hoped it wouldn't be in the middle of the Reaping—hot, July showers were not exactly preferable when you were been soaked to the bone.
My mom tried to act cheerful for the rest of us, but I could see the strain in her tight jaw. "Come on, you two! Time for the Reaping!" she exclaimed brightly. I scowled. Sure, optimism could be helpful sometimes, but in times like these, they just served to make me even more depressed.
We padded down the street, obedient little dogs in search of a meal. Our meal would be a victory, our tributes' Games would be the long journey it took. Most of the dogs would fail; only one to find the riches.
I almost tripped over my own feet as we filed into the Square, loads of people taking up every square inch of the place. Three was a larger District than most, needing workers to make the technological stuff for the Capitol and all that.
I had a small amount of friends, but not many people hung around me besides. I wasn't popular in the slightest, and I bet half the people here didn't even know me. Stupid Capitol. Stupid Hunger Games. Stupid Districts.
Haydn Foxel stood at the front, our escort. Many people were bitter about the fact that the Career Districts skipped their own and just went straight to Four. I couldn't help but agreeing- what was so wrong about Three?
Everything, I thought ironically.
They took our their rage on Haydn, throwing rocks at him, but a few Peacekeepers went over to solve the problem. A few gunshots rattled the air, smoke filling my nostrils. I coughed despite myself, soot falling like a blanket onto the ground in its wake. The rocks being tossed at Haydn stopped.
Haydn would be part of the of the unattractive category in the Capitol, though still a long way better than us ragged people. It was clear his face was powdered white, and his eyes looked like an operation gone wrong: bulging out of its sockets like frogs' would. However, his hair gleamed healthily, his figure sturdy. Kind of to the lean side. A fine bit of muscle.
Haydn shouted for our attention, and we all snapped to focus like a spring. I glared with vehement hatred at him; I could hear a couple of my friends whispering, "Hey, man, cool down." Cool down? As if! Sure, I would never be the one to start a rebellion, but if somebody did, I would gladly join in.
Following the video, Haydn gave a speech about our previous victors, then proceeded to draw out the girl tribute. Quick as lightning, he unfolded it and called, "Calamity Astrea!" except when he said "Calamity" he pronounced it "Cala-mity", not "Ca-la-mity". I rolled my eyes. Typical Haydn.
The girl, Calamity, looked different from typical Three tributes. She had light brown skin and naturally curled dark brown hair. Her eyes were the color of deep, dark chocolate, her form a bit like Haydn's, but not muscular.
She started tearing up real bad, so that the only thing you could hear was a bunch of heavy crying. Her brow was knitted together in anger, eyes red and stormy.
Haydn cleared his throat loudly once she stumbled to the stage, declaring that he was about to draw out the boy tribute and we should all ready ourselves. I tensed up, and so did all my friends on either side of me.
"The boy tribute is Tyler Kaufman!"
"Oh, s***." I wasn't expecting to get chosen, but now the reality was right on my shoulders. Now I was the dog, and I was the one walking to my death. My hands shelved deep into my pockets, I tripped over my feet walking to the stage.
How can this be? I can't be chosen! There is no way- this is all a dream. Somebody must volunteer for me...
I looked out across the sea of people, and didn't see one sympathetic face but my friends and my family. I gulped. I didn't want my friends volunteering...
They didn't. They just stared right back as I swallowed my saliva and choked on oncoming tears. Somebody will volunteer for me. Somebody will volunteer for me. Those thoughts raced through my head. This cannot be. I am not going into the Hunger Games. I am not!
I shook hands with Calamity- her palm was glistening with sweat, same as mine. I'm dying, I'm dead, I'm too young to die...
Calamity Astrea (D3 Female)
"Honey!" my father called out. I turned around, not expecting to hear his voice.
"What?" I said snootily. He frowned at my, um, what was it, temper? Most likely not that. But then again, being polite was far from my range of thoughts. I had wanted to grab a book and just read until the Reaping, but it seemed like my dad had other plans.
"Actually, I wanted to ask you if you would mind helping clean the lab," he said apologetically. "It's getting quite messy..."
"Alright, alright," I replied, pushing myself to my feet and ending this with a spectacular roll of the eyes. "Let's go." Dad raised an eyebrow, but led the way to the lab without a word. It felt so eerie and silent here, but also perfect for my thoughts to wander through the air. I could think clearly here, without all the disrupting noise.
That is, until Dad declared, "So, Calamity, there's a bucket and sponge right in the corner right over there. All I need is some scrubbing done on the glass—wouldn't want it to get all grimy. Also, the floors need to be brushed and mopped, and the counter wiped."
I muttered something like, "So am I your personal servant?" from the annoyance of having the stillness around me split, but got right down to work anyway. Careful not to touch any of the fragile testing equipment, I reached out and grabbed the white rag that hung limply on the side of the sink.
I spent the rest of the time lurking in my daydreams and fantasies as I scrubbed the glass clean, my hands working mechanically to make this place shine. Lost in those daydreams, I didn't notice that my mother had stepped in. Her name was Callie, and she was warm, kind, anything you'd expect a mother to be.
"Hon'," Mom said tentatively, "it's time for the Reaping."
I snapped out of my brief trance and stared at her like she'd gone mad. "The Reaping. Right." I gave a sharp nod and we exited the lab together, without speaking. I wouldn't say our mother-daughter relationship was that good, but it was kind of just, mostly nonspeaking, we divided the chores between us. It worked efficiently, we got stuff done.
"We have our special Reaping Day breakfast," Mom began to fill in the silent gaps between us. "Waffles with butter."
I wasn't really intending to talk at all on the way back home, but I supposed it made pleasant conversation. "Waffles with butter sounds good," I replied simply.
Mom smiled softly. "Good." Her words fell into thin air as we walked our way back home, nothing more exchanged. I was deep in my daydreams; Mom was likely thinking about something else. Either way, we got there mutely, opened the door and stepped over the threshold.
My stomach was growling out of sheer hunger, and I couldn't wait to eat. A couple plates were set around the table for me, my mother, father, and younger brother Andie. I bit into the waffle, and a delicious taste filled my mouth. We never ran out of decent food, I thought.
Afterward we just set off to the Reaping, content and full. I wasn't even in the mood to walk all the way there; the only thing I felt like doing was taking a long, refreshing nap. But the Capitol ordered that everyone must come, and what if my name was drawn and I wasn't there?
I left my parents and brother to go to the sixteen-year-olds cluttered in a group near the back, while Andie joined the thirteens. I wished my birthday was earlier so that I could technically be seventeen by now, since this was my seventeenth year, but such miracles did not happen in a world of cruel judgement.
The Reaping flew by quickly. I was sweating from head to toe because of the humid air, plus my purple blouse was being soaked through by the rain. The fool Haydn began to draw names, and that was when my ears perked up.
Because the words that came out of his mouth, "Calamity Astrea," was unbelievable.
I didn't care that he'd said my name wrong. In that moment, I wanted to scream. My friends all gasped at me- friends I had met outside of school because I was home-schooled. I could see the clear looks of shock on their faces, however much they tried to hide it with nervous smiles.
Then the sobbing began, tears filling my eyes from the thought of having to fight in the Hunger Games. I let the tears fall without even caring, all my anger directed toward the Capitol reddening my face. This- could not- be happening.
Haydn cleared his throat but I was too busy surrounded by my own woes to even care who the boy tribute was. He would just be another person I would have to kill to win. It didn't exactly matter, in a way.
The boy was a redhead whom I did not recognize. A look of stunned disbelief was imprinted onto his face, and it seemed as if it would stay there forever. I felt the same- as if I could never be happy again. And I never would.
I reached into my hair and pulled out a dully-glinting silver hairpin, one I had gotten from my mother earlier this morning. Instead, I pinned it onto my blouse. It was something my mother had touched, and with that, a feeling of hope came, that she would be coming into the arena with me from an inanimate object.
Just a pin, but with much more meaning. And that was all that mattered.
7/31/17