Cactus' POV is just kinda icky ngl

Cactus Cleo- District Seven male (18)

I hated it when my shirt stuck to my skin. I could feel the weight against me even if it was the lightest and finest fabric possible. I turned to pick up a watering can and the fabric rubbed stickily on my back, making me tense up. I also hated whenever a bit of sweat beaded off and trickled down my back. There was nothing to do about it, though. A greenhouse in July was just plain going to be hot. I grabbed a towel off the table next to me and patted the worst of the sweat off.

Leo's greenhouse was my favorite place in the world. It was quiet and remote- no interruptions or noisy people. There were plants you couldn't find anywhere else in Seven, like the orchids or the rafflesia, though I tended to avoid the latter one. Sometimes I thought I should feel worse about my parents not wanting me, but really, why? If they didn't want me then why should I want them? And whoever they were, they probably weren't as rich or as cool as Leo. If they were as rich they would have just dumped me on a nanny and if they were as cool they would have kept me.

I frowned at the dirt under my fingernails. Normally I didn't mind dirt or blood or anything gross like that. It was only when it was under my nails. I hated the black line and the icky full feeling in my fingertips. I plucked a leaf off of the jellyfish tree sapling I was tending to and started fishing the dirt out.

"Almost done?" Leo called from across the room. We were working in the rare and exotic section of the greenhouse and soon we would be caring for the most special plant in the entire greenhouse.

"Yeah!" I called back. I hustled through the last two plants, not wanting to keep Leo waiting. He'd done so much for me and I was always trying to live up to him. I threaded through trees and plants as I ran across the room, hopping over the creek to reach Leo and the plant.

Roger looked like a normal, everyday plant. You wouldn't guess from looking at him that he was the only one in the world. He had a cluster of thick, succulent-type leaves near the ground and a single long-stemmed, five-petaled purple flower about as high as my chest. We hadn't given him a scientific name yet because we weren't sure if he was really a new species or just a variation of butterwort. He was the product of eighteen generations of selective breeding and technology. He was pretty hardy- he only needed bimonthly upkeep. I took up my hatchet and turned to the corpse on the table.

No one missed an addict. With a little financial encouragement the Peacekeepers even pointed them out to us. Sometimes they didn't even need a bribe. Fewer criminals meant easier jobs for them, and addicts tended to be the type with a few warrants. They were useless, worthless people and if you asked me their deaths were a blessing. The world was better off without them and Roger was better off well-fed. Funny story, how we learned what he liked. It probably never would have happened if Leo hadn't cut his hand chopping up the butcher scraps we used to feed Roger. The very next day he had his first bloom. Since then he'd grown to ten times his former size. I liked to think he was thankful.

It was harder than people thought to butcher a body. Just recently we'd discovered that an electric bread knife sped things along. As Roger grew it got easier, since he was able to eat larger pieces. At this point we often just removed each limb at the upper and lower joint and cut the torso in half. We'd tried using the mulcher but it had gotten blood everywhere. That wasn't the kind of thing you could have the servants clean so we'd spent all day hosing down the greenhouse, not to mention worrying about bloodborne illnesses.

I wondered sometimes if it hurt Roger, eating drug addicts. The man on the table hadn't even had a classy addiction like morphling. We didn't get too much of that here. Most of Roger's fertilizer was former inhalant addicts. Leo and I had both thought about feeding Roger inahalants directly to see if that was really what he ate, but it was too risky. It would have been tragic if we'd ended up killing him.

Rowena Aspen- District Seven female (14)

"I volunteer as Tribute!"

No one ever accused me of being too cautious. What was I gonna do, though? She'd called Juniper's name! If Juniper went to the Games she'd die. If I volunteered Juniper wouldn't go. Therefore, Juniper wouldn't die. What was the problem?

I see now the problem.

Back in the Justice Hall, alone with my thoughts, I was starting to see the problems in my plan. No problem. I can work through this. First off I'd get some allies. I could ally with the Careers, I supposed. It wasn't too unusual for Seven to do that. I'd been working with axes for years, not to mention my less conventional skills. There wasn't much opportunity for people like me in Seven. Sometimes you had to take a little opportunity off the people who were hogging it. In short, I was also skilled in stealth and sleight-of-hand. Pickpocketing, that was.

"How could you?"

I could tell it wasn't what Juniper really meant. It was just the only thing she could manage. She'd started crying as soon as I volunteered and now her face was a mess. She opened her arms to hug me, then forgot halfway through and just sat down.

"You were gonna die!" I said.

"Now you're gonna die!" Juniper wailed back.

"I'll be fine," I said, waving a hand. The funny thing was I really believed it. I'd never been one for long-term planning. There wasn't any point in it anyway for someone like me. People like me eked out a living until they got crushed by a tree or killed themselves with one addiction or another. Ever notice you never see old gang members? For someone like me all you can depend on is today.

"I can't believe you did this," Juniper said, laying her hand on mine. She looked as scared and panicked as I probably should have.

I shrugged. "I'll get to see the world," I said. I wondered if that hadn't had the tiniest part in my decision. I'd blurted it out as soon as Aurelia had asked for volunteers, but there had been those few seconds in between the name and the invitation where I'd had time to think. I wasn't given to self-reflection, but I had to wonder. I'd always thought I would die young. I'd always wanted to see the world. Secretly- so secretly Juniper was the only one I'd ever told- I'd hoped my life would be more than just trees every day until I died. If all we can hope for is today, we should fill that day as much as we can.

"Sycamore wants to come see you, too," Juniper said.

I sighed. "All right." I liked Sycamore but time with him was time taken away from Juniper. She was right, though. I needed all the advice I could get.

"What do you want us to send?" Sycamore asked as soon as he sat down. As much as I thought of him as a boring nerd, he really was the leader our gang needed. If I was in charge we'd all be in jail by now.

"Don't worry about me," I brushed him off.

"So anyway, what do you want us to send?" Sycamore's face didn't change.

"Really, I'll be fine. But I guess maybe some water," I admitted.

"Okay. I don't think we'll be able to afford an axe, sorry," Sycamore said.

"Don't worry. I'll get one in the Bloodbath," I said.

"Please don't do that," Sycamore said.

"What, because it's dangerous?" I said.

"You know, you can't see the world if you're dead," Sycamore said.

I stewed in silence for a minute. "What does it matter anyway? We all die someday," I said.

"Some of us earlier than others," Sycamore said.

"Get off my back, okay? I'll do my best!" I leaned forward on the bench, hands balled at my sides. If it wasn't Sycamore I'd already be yelling.

"Just please be careful," Sycamore said. "We want you back."

I didn't dare show how much it meant to me. I knew what happened when people saw your weakness. Even if Sycamore was someone I knew I could trust, I'd just never made that jump.

"Fine. I'll be careful," I conceded, my arms folded and my cheeks hot. The world was stupid and the Games were stupid, but I could do that much for a friend.