AN: I have always thought that the other tributes deserved to have names.
Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to The Hunger Games.
The Tributes from District 8
Audrey
It does not sink in at first. Everything goes blurry when the escort from the Capitol calls out her name. She knows she must have gotten up on the stage somehow because she was, after all, there. She does not know whether she made the trip on her own or someone brought her to the stairs. She vaguely recalls shaking hands with the boy standing beside her, but she does not remember whose name was called. She does not remember looking at him. It must not be someone she knows because that would have broken through the fog, wouldn't it have? She does say her goodbyes to her family. She knows she told them she loved them. She knows she hugged her little brother tightly and told him a whole list of reasons why he makes her smile.
That is the only part of the rest of the day that is clear in her mind. It was likely the only part of the day she was fully present during. She had to be. She could not miss that last moment with him. She hopes it was enough even while she knows that it really cannot be. This is something from which she cannot protect him. She cannot take him out of the coming days of wondering and waiting and seeing the blood and violence played out on screen. He hates blood (is petrified of it really). They have never really figured out why that is. He once sobbed uncontrollably for over an hour because of the blood on his thumb from a hangnail. He was convinced that he was dying. She had been the one who cleaned him up and calmed him down. He was eight when he figured out that the people in the Games on the nearly impossible to get away from screens were really dying. For three years now, she has sat beside him and blocked his view whenever the tributes' deaths involved blood. Would one of her parents remember to do that in her place now that she would no longer be there? She meant to ask them to remember, but the Peacekeepers had come back and taken her brother out of her arms (and with the loss of him the fog had returned to settle over her thinking).
Her thoughts flitted from point to point never settling in one place. She could not focus. She could not tell what was going on around her. The fog refused to lift, and she found herself lacking motivation to attempt to fight it. She did not really hear anything anyone said to her, but she thinks she might have said something in response. She may have eaten. She may have simply pushed something around on her plate. She does not know. She does not know anything except that nothing seems real. The first piece of information that breaks through and causes something to click in her brain is the girl from District 12 yelling out a name.
Everything comes into sharp focus. Their escort had made them settle onto couches in front of a television to watch the replays of the Reapings. He wanted them to "check out the competition." Something in the back of her mind must have been paying attention. The girl from 12 is taking the place of her younger sister, and Audrey knows why this event broke her out of her stupor. It is her worst nightmare playing out in front of her. This girl has done what she has always known that she could not. She would not be able to save her brother if he were ever called. They do not let girls replace the boys.
That has been her greatest fear from the time that she understood what "volunteering" meant. If he were ever drawn, she would not be able to protect him. She would not be able to do anything but stand aside and watch. She has never done anything but protect him, and she does not know what she is in a place where she cannot. She cannot protect him from the coming weeks. She feels a kinship with this girl from 12 who obviously knows how she feels. She will likely never speak to the girl, but it is a comfort somehow to know that she, in some bizarre way, is not really alone. She will have to trust her parents to keep their heads and look after him. She will try to make sure that her death is bloodless. That is the only thing left for her to do for him. And maybe, maybe her being chosen will be an assurance of his future safety. What are the odds of two children being chosen from the same family? Better for the second, she knows, if the first one does not win.
She does not know anything about the woods that make up her arena. She lives in 8. All she knows are textile mills and sewing machines - she is a long, long way away from either. It is cold, so she does the only thing that she really learned to be good at during their days of training. She lights a fire. She wants the light so that her brother can see her. She wants to reassure him that she was not part of the blood spilt at the Cornucopia. She hopes a camera is trained on her so she can tell him one more time that she loves him.
That it was the wrong decision for her to make occurs to her very quickly. She should have stayed in the dark. She should have found a way to freeze to death in the cold. That would have been bloodless.
When the careers find her, she begs. It is not because she is afraid of dying (even though she is). She has reconciled herself to dying in spite of her fear. She begs because she has seen what the boy from 2 has done during training. She has heard him talking. She knows her death will not be simple. She knows it will not be quick. She knows that there will be blood, and she wanted so much to protect him in this one last way. She hopes, that perhaps, one of them will decide to quiet her quickly if she makes herself loud and annoying enough. It does not work. Her only hope left is that her brother is at home (not at a public viewing with the Peacekeepers watching), and that her parents are paying attention to him and not to her.
When the boy from 12 comes back and whispers to her while holding her hand, she almost changes her mind. She thinks it might not be so bad if her brother is watching now, and she hopes he knows that she did not die alone.
Zip
Everyone knows that their name is in the ball. Everyone thinks that it will not be them. He is sure his face shows surprise. He remembers to walk, though, and takes his place on the stage. There is a tumbling sort of feeling in his head as if his mind cannot decide which thought it wants to think. It is not like he needs to listen to the reading of the Treaty. He knows what it says. He has heard it all his life. Now, listening to it would just be listening to confirmation of his death order. Most tributes do not come back. He vaguely wonders if his mother regrets insisting on only one child now. He knows his father wanted more. His mother always insisted that they could not afford it. He thinks, sometimes, that his parents forget just how thin the walls in their apartment are.
His mother must be heartbroken. She scrimped and saved and always made things work. He never had to take out tesserae. She was always so proud of that fact. It did not do them much good in the end. He is still here on this stage. He is still going to be offered up as entertainment or as punishment – who even knows anymore – in a kill or be killed environment. He wonders if he could do that. He wonders if he could kill. He wonders what could make him want to take someone else's life.
He turns his head slightly to study the victors in their chairs. He looks at Woof who seems oblivious to what is going on around him. That probably has nothing to do with being a victor – the man is completely ancient. His eyes flick to Cecelia. She is smiling softly at someone on the edge of the crowd. He cannot tell which person it might be from the angle from which he is viewing. It is probably her husband or one of her children. They always point out Cecelia in school when they want to talk about the wonders of being a victor in the Games. She will never have to work a day for the rest of her life. She has a lovely family. It must not be so bad – killing – if you can go through it and come back to be like Cecelia.
His mother would not have to scrimp any longer. She would not have to worry about money. He still does not know how he would go about killing. He does not know how. He only knows noisy weaving looms and how to fix them when they snag. That will not help him come home again. His eyes shift from Cecelia to the others – the ones who did not end up like Cecelia. There are always whispers about the way only Cecelia seems to have a family. There are always whispers about how soon her children will be reaped. They are only whispers, so maybe he should not listen, but whispers seem to be the only way that the truth is spoken in Panem.
His eyes shift to his fellow tribute as they are escorted away. The girl looks detached but not in a confident way. The Peacekeepers just kind of push her where she needs to go, and she does not seem to notice. He walks on his own. It may be petty, but his choices are limited now. He chooses to walk with his head held high. He has that left. He will hold on to it.
The room in the Justice Building designated for their good-byes is silent for their allotted time. The three of them sit with no words exchanged between them. His parent's look more shocked than he feels. He should feel cheated. He should feel as if he has missed out, but he does not. It seems right to him, somehow, that they remain silent because there is not really anything to be said.
He attempts to learn things that might be useful during training, but his heart is not really in it. What can he actually learn in two and a half days? He does okay with several skills, but he does not excel in anything. He has nothing impressive to show the Gamemakers. He is not sure whether he wants to have. Shouldn't he be feeling something other than the semi-apathy he has sunk into ever since his name was called? He needs to make up his mind. Is he going to try? Is he going to kill? Does he want to commit to doing what he will have to do if he wants to go home? He does not know. He does not want to decide, but the clock is ticking down. If he does not make his choices soon, the decisions will be made for him (deadlines work like that).
He is still in that in between place as he rises into the arena that morning. He still has not made up his mind. He does not see what hits him. All he knows is he still has not made up his mind when everything goes black.