Chapter Eight: Never in our Favor

The escort for District 11 was a pink-skinned woman (literally pink, somehow the Capitol had a way to actually permanently dye the color of one's skin and labeled it as a fashionable endeavor) with fuchsia-colored hair, wearing some scary-looking stilettos (that Maize would rather be caught dead than wear) in a vibrant gold monstrosity of a dress. Her voice was high-pitched and breathy as she spoke in the patented Capitol accent. It was grating. At least in Maize's humble opinion.

Tapping on the mic with a long colorful fingernail, a large plastic smile pulling on the corners of her golden lips the escort began, "Welcome, welcome! Welcome to the 70th Hunger Games! May the odds be ever in your favor!" the woman paused, probably waiting for excited applause or cheers that would never come, "Let us all turn to the screens to view a very important clip coming straight from the Capitol!" she ended with a little squeal as the reel started.

The clip was the same as last year. Damn Capitol propaganda, promoting the bloody Games and the failed revolt by District 13 leading to the creation of the Capitol's favorite televised program, narrated by President Snow. Maize did not really struggle to make herself look interested and not disgusted (something that she couldn't help but feel no matter how many years had passed since she was born in this universe) when the camera filming the event passed over her section. She briefly locked eyes with another teen when Maize turned her face away from the camera, her fellow seventeen-year old's eyes reflected boredom and hatred. Maize was positive that her own were as well.

"Beautiful! What a wonderful message from our President!" she chirruped gleefully, "Now let us get on with the reaping's, shall we? It is time to see who will have the honor of representing this District! Ladies first!"

The escort approached a clear fishbowl looking container filled to the brink with the names of the girls in her District. The woman fingered a few of the envelopes before grabbing one decisively and teetering back to the mic. How the Capitolite simply didn't fall and break her neck wearing those shoes was beyond her. Maize hated this part. The escorts in an attempt to build up the suspense for the viewers in the Capitol would open up the envelopes tauntingly slow. And this time was no different.

"Amla Ludwig!"

Maize choked on a scream, making a gargled "Wha?" emit softly from her lips. The girl next her gave Maize a pitying glance. Of all the names! Why did it have to be her Amla!

"Amla Ludwig, where are you my dear?" the escort asked as she blindly searched the faces in front of her. Maize turned around and locked eyes with her shell-shocked and terrified cousin. Amla's vibrant chocolate eyes were already screaming sorrow and defeat. Before her cousin could even move, Maize shot her arm up and shouted.

"I volunteer!"

Amla's eyes were impossibly wide in her disbelief, and it only fueled Maize further as she confidently stepped out of the row and into the clear where Peacekeepers were waiting. The escort looked like she was about to wet herself in excitement. It was disgusting.

"A volunteer!" the woman gushed as Maize was marched up to the podium in front of the camera next to her. "We haven't had a volunteer in ages! Tell me, dear! What is your name?"

Maize wasn't sure what kind of expression was on her face, she could only pray that she didn't look terrified or worse full of contempt or hatred (that wouldn't win her any Sponsors or supporters in the Capitol), "Maize Galloshire." her voice was surprisingly strong and steady.

"What a wonderful turn of events! Ladies and gentlemen, District 11's female tribute: Maize Galloshire!"

No one clapped, but the escort (Maize really needed to learn the woman's name) didn't let that pierce through her excitement. "Now for our male tribute!" the woman tantalized the anxious crowd of male teens once more before plucking out a card, "Cana Fairgrovel!"

A –familiar- horrified looking fourteen-year-old stumbled out before being escorted over. Cana lived in the neighborhood over from her own. He had three younger brothers, one of which (Ollie) was Brier's best friend and four older sisters that worked in the processing factory with Amla.

Cana wasn't like his siblings. He'd always been sickly, the first to fall under the spell of any illness going around the District. He'd come really close to death during the pox outbreak that had taken her grandmother. The only reason his mother had been able to get the medicine was because she'd gained the favor of a Peacekeeper. (And, though years had passed since then, Maize still heard the judging whispers from other women on how the mother had sold herself to Capitol scum, even if it was to save her child... people could be so cruel). Even so, Cana was thin and gangly. And unlike many of the teens in their District was free of any of the lean muscles gained from working in the fields.

Aloe's scared face overlapped Cana's.

He wasn't going to come home.

Maize silently promised herself, she would help the boy to the best of her ability. His family didn't deserve to see him go like this. Hell, Cana was a good boy. He didn't deserve to be ruined by the Hunger Games.

(Finnick Odair's face flashed behind her eyes. 'No one won the Games' rang out in her mind like a mantra).

The escort placed a dainty hand on both of their shoulders, "Shake hands."

Cana stiffly raised his hand towards her, and Maize gripped it in what she hoped was a comforting manner, shooting him a small smile in the process. It must have reassured him somehow since he lost some of the tenseness from his shoulders (though he still looked like was going to be sick) before they were made to stand apart once more with the escort between them.

"Our tributes for District 11! Maize Galloshire and Cana Fairgrovel!"

The last thing Maize saw as she was ushered into the Justice building was Amla's tearstained face, as her cousin clutched the fabric of her dress clinging to her stomach. As if she was shielding her unborn child from the cruelty of the reapings.

"Happy Hunger Games and may the odds be ever in your favor!"

No matter what happened...

It was worth it.

Amla would live.

A small secret smile tugged onto the corners of her lips.

Words: Around 1,054

Edited: Oct. 23, 2019