CW: Suicide & Mentions of Prostitution

Thana Oblenski, 14: District 12 Female

What do you want from me?

Why don't you run from me?

What are you wondering?

What do you know?

July 6, 73 ADD: 14 hours before Reaping

I sigh to myself as I open the gate to the place where my parents reside. I remember being so nervous about visiting them. So much so that I'd get sick to my stomach just thinking about it. It's funny how quickly some things can turn around, though. Nowadays, visiting my parents is my favorite thing to do in my free time. I walk through the rows of stone until I reach the center of the graveyard. Two small gravestones have my parents' names crudely etched on their surface—Seth Oblenski and Pandora Oblenski lie six feet underneath, beside each other for eternity.

I place my hand on my dad's gravestone. Almost instantly, I'm brought back to a much simpler time in my life. Back when things weren't all that confusing and when I didn't have a care in the world. Nearly everything I remember about Dad brings a feeling of warmth that runs through my whole body. I can still see his face. His gray eyes were full of life. I can still hear his soft voice.

You be good, Thana. I'll be back soon.

He hugged me longer and tighter than usual that morning. It was almost like he knew something was going to happen. I was much too young to understand. Something bad happening to my father never even crossed my mind. In five-year-old Thana's eyes, Seth Oblenski was invincible. He'd be back home in the evening and I'd tell him all about my day like I always did.

My father was not invincible, and that morning would be the last time I heard my father's voice.

There was an accident in the mines. A cave collapsed and trapped my dad. The rocks pressed on his chest and he wasn't able to breathe. My dad suffocated alone in the darkness of that cave. No one could help him. It was a slow, painful death. And it was a death that brought about much more pain.

When I rest my hand on the gravestone belonging to my mother, a chill runs down my spine. Despite the warmth of summer, my mother's stone is cold to the touch. It matches most of my memories about her—bitter, dark, cold. Visions of my younger self knocking on my parents' bedroom door dance in my head.

Mom? Mom, are you in there?

I waited outside for several minutes, but got no answer. My grandparents would be coming over soon to check on us like they had been doing since Dad died. I grew impatient and opened the door. I knew I would be in trouble, but she wouldn't respond. I was left with no other choice.

Mom, why didn't you answer the—

I was greeted with the sight of my mother dangling from the ceiling, a rope around her neck, and a chair under her feet.

Pandora? Thana? Are you home?

I still remember the sound of my grandparents' footsteps approaching the bedroom. I can still hear the shrill shriek my grandma let out at the sight of my mother's body. I remember my grandfather scooping me up and carrying me out of my house. And I remember my mother's body being hauled in a body bag by peacekeepers. That was the last memory I have of my mother and that house, over nine years ago.

These days, the cemetery is the only place I find comfort. The dead are much more welcoming than the living. They don't judge me. They don't talk back. They don't whisper terrible things about me to their friends behind my back. Everyone around here is silent. I can speak without being ridiculed, or I can just stay quiet. I'm free to do whatever I please here. The gates surrounding the graveyard keeps all the noise of the outside world out. I can actually think clearly here.

"Thana!" The sound of my grandfather's voice brings me back to reality. "It's about to start getting dark, let's go!"

I don't respond. I want to spend as much time with my parents. I didn't get enough time with them when they were alive, so I must make up for that lost time here.

"Thana, come on!" my grandfather calls.

"I'll be back tomorrow," I tell my parents. Reluctantly, I leave the gravesite, but not before planting a kiss on my father's gravestone.

"I thought I told you that you couldn't be out this late," Grandpa says sternly. "You know you have to be up early for the Reaping tomorrow."

"I know," I sigh. "I just wanted to talk to Mom and Dad."

"You spend too much time talking to them," Grandpa says. He never liked the fact that his son, my father, got with my mother. He always thought she was unfit to be a mother. Dad wasn't hearing any of that. He defended her like his life depended on it. Then he died.

The events after my father's death solidified all the negative opinions Grandpa had about my mother. Her grief, her neglect, the three-month long melancholia, her death. To Grandpa, all of it meant he was right. Pandora Oblenski was not fit to be the wife of his son or the mother of his grandchildren.

"I know, I just miss them," I sigh, turning back to view the graveyard where they lie.

"I do too," Grandpa says in what I hope is a rare moment of understanding. "Well, your father at least."

Once again, Grandpa can't contain his disdain for my mother. He never passes up the opportunity to show how much he disliked her. That part of him lets me know he's still shackled to the past, despite him constantly telling me to move on. Death seems to affect people in very different ways. Grandpa seems to want to do the opposite of me, separating himself from it the best he can. He's trying to push the feelings of loss away, but to no avail. It's better to accept the inevitability of death. It will come for us all eventually. For some, it creeps up slowly, like the hour hand on a clock's face. For others, it strikes fast and unexpected, leaving the ones they care for to pick up the pieces. For me, death follows, always close behind, never too far from my reach.

Cypress Albano, 17: District 12 Male

It's empty in the valley of your heart

The sun, it rises slowly as you walk

Away from all the fears

And all the faults you've left behind

July 7, 73ADD: 3 hours before Reaping

The weather is much cooler than usual this morning. The sky's gray and a gentle breeze blows through the Seam. I have a feeling it might rain later. The clouds definitely look heavy. Granted, it's still pretty early, but I can tell that today is going to be a rather gloomy one and it's not just because of the weather.

Reaping day is always a somber affair in District 12. Every year, two innocent teenagers are offered up to be slaughtered for the Capitol's entertainment. Twelve rarely ever does well in the Hunger Games. Being the poorest district in Panem, it's very seldom that a kid that's strong enough to do well gets reaped. And in the off chance that it happens, the Capitol makes sure they don't make it past the halfway point. Like last year, when Callum was arguably the strongest outer district tribute, but the gamemakers sent a mutt to kill him.

I swear, the Capitol has a vendetta against District 12. It must've started when we got two victors in six years, which happened before I was even a year old. Ever since then, no one from District 12 has made it to the top half. Hell, hardly anyone has made it past the bloodbath. Through the Hunger Games, the Capitol has re-established my home district as the laughingstock of the country. Those sick fucks love watching us suffer, that's pretty obvious.

Things are still pretty quiet as I walk through the Seam. Some folks might be up, but the Reaping isn't until 10, so some people are still getting the extra sleep that Reaping day offers them. Not me, though. I already told Catalina I'd meet her in the merchant sector this morning. She said she might need some backup with one of our clients.

As I get closer to the edge of the Seam, I can see the merchant sector in the distance. The sturdy brick buildings and paved roads stand in stark contrast to the rickety shacks and dirt paths of the Seam. Extra peacekeeper trucks line the streets in preparation for the Reaping. They're already out on patrol, which'll make dealing with this client much more difficult. I would normally just push this little meeting off until after the Reaping, but Catalina needs her money and there's no guarantee that she'll get it if I'm not around.

I'm met with dirty looks from the peacekeepers when I walk into the merchant sector. My reputation around these parts isn't the best, especially amongst the peacekeepers. They don't like me and I don't like them. Just looking at them makes me sick. I can barely hide my disgust as I make my way down the street. I turn off the main street and onto a residential parkway. The homes on this street are much nicer than anything in the Seam. Hell, only Victor's Village has nicer houses.

This street is dead compared to the main avenue, which is both good and bad. Good because there's no one around to see me, but bad because there's no sign of Catalina. We agreed to meet up outside our client's house around 7:15. It's not like Catalina to just bail. Something's going on, and I don't have a good feeling about it. I make my way over to the client's house. He never locks his door, so I walk right in. Right there in the living room stands Catalina and our client, peacekeeper Basilius Burnham out of uniform. Based on their body language, things are already pretty tense.

"Oh thank goodness, you're here," Catalina says, obviously relieved.

"Hey, Cat." I don't even acknowledge Burnham. "What's going on?"

"This fucker won't give me my money," she says.

"You're asking for more than what we agreed upon," Burnham says.

"You said a hundred for an hour," Catalina says. "I gave you an hour, give me the damn money."

"I never said that. You're trying to steal my money." Burnham steps closer to Catalina. "All you little Seam rats know how to do is steal."

"Hey man, back off." I step in between Cat and Burnham, giving the peacekeeper a little push in the chest. Burhman swats at my arm. At the same time, I pull the makeshift blade I keep on my person out.

"Don't fucking touch me, you filthy bastard!" Burnham shouts. I brandish my blade, making sure Burnham sees it.

"Let's not do something we might regret," I calmly speak. Not to deescalate the situation, but to show this pig that I'm not phased by his pathetic intimidation tactic. Burnham looks at my blade, then back at me.

"Is that a shiv?"

"I call it a shank," I say. "But it'll do the same thing if you don't pay up."

"Cy, this might be a bit much," Cat says.

"Don't worry, I got this," I say. I shift focus back to Burnham. "Just give us the money so we can go."

"But I didn't–"

"Quite frankly I don't give a fuck what you did or didn't say," I interrupt. "Pay up and we won't have any problems."

"That's not what I agreed to," Burnham protests. I hate having to do business with this guy, but he's our most loyal client. Still, his Capitol bootlicking mindset makes him think he can just shortchange us without any issue. Fuck that shit.

"That's fine," I say, obviously not okay with the situation. "I'll be sure that head peacekeeper Osbourne knows that one of his cadets is paying to have sex with an eighteen-year-old Seam girl."

Burnham loses all his gusto. His expression changes to one of apprehension. He almost shrinks away as he backs off from me. Serves the motherfucker right. He should be scared. Of course, the perv still tries to call my bluff. His only problem is that I'm not bluffing.

"You're not gonna tell my boss anything," Burnham says.

"Who said I was gonna be the one to tell?" I say. "I just said he'd find out."

I can almost see the gears turning in Burnham's pea brain. He's trying to think of a response, but nothing he says is gonna make me budge. He better pay up, or there's gonna be serious problems. Lucky for him, he just gives up on the daunting challenge of forming a coherent thought and reaches in his pocket for his wallet.

"You want your fuckin' money?" Burnham says as he fishes out a few bills from his wallet. "Here, now get the hell out of my house."

"See? That wasn't that hard now, was it?" I say, grabbing the money from Burnham's hand.

"Whatever," Burnham says, dejected. "Just get out."

Without replying, Catalina and I walk out of Burnham's living room, all while he mutters something about us 'fucking broke ass Seam kids'. Just before I walk through the front door, something catches my eye. A piece of paper with the words 'Peacekeeper Duty Stations' sits on an accent table. Without a second thought, I swipe the paper and exit Burnham's house.

"Thanks for the help, Cy," Catalina says. "That creep wouldn't fucking budge."

"That's what I'm here for, Cat," I say, handing Catalina the money. She tries to hand me a twenty dollar bill, but I refuse it.

"Don't I owe you a twenty percent cut?" Cat asks. I shake my head.

"I got something much better," I say, holding up the paper I took from Burnham's table. A sly grin forms on Catalina's face.

"Cypress Albano, you sneaky son of a bitch," Cat says, punching my shoulder. "Now we'll know where all the peacekeepers are posted up at!"

"Shhh," I say, looking around. "I haven't looked at it yet. One of those pigs might be right around the corner."

"Oh shit, my bad," Cat says much quieter. "Just got a little excited."

"Hey, you gotta try and find a little something to celebrate on Reaping day," I say.

"Speaking of Reaping day, I need to get my little brothers ready," Catalina says. "I'll see you later."

"See you later, Cat," I say, hugging my best friend. "Stay safe now."

"You too, Cy," Cat replies. "I'll see you soon."

With that, Catalina and I part ways. I still have a little more business to take care of before the Reaping. A little more than I expected with the new intel I just gathered. I need to let the folks down at the Hob know. This'll make our plan a lot easier. I just need to get through the Reaping to really set things into motion.

Holy fucking shit I'm finally done with intros. Back when I started this SYOT I would've never thought that it would take over 3.5 years to get through introducing all the tributes. But alas, I made it. I really enjoyed getting back into this story and I still have absolutely zero intention of abandoning it. Thanks you to those of you who have stuck with me so far.

A special thanks also goes out to adoxographyy for Thana and to Mags2000 for Cypress. I thoroughly enjoyed writing these two.

Thana: bury a friend by Billie Eilish

Cypress: The Cave by Mumford & Sons

Now that intros are finally done, expect to see a change starting in the next chapter. I won't say what is is right now, but I think it'll help me write better and tell much better story overall. Nonetheless, I hope you all have enjoyed what you've read so far.

Until next time,

Ty