The only thing I have to do is pay my taxes and die
Air.
The air of District Seven was intoxicating; gone was the cloying smog of the Capitol. Instead, rich oaken aromas and biting scents of pine dusted the atmosphere, sending Asher on a pseudo high that made him thoroughly miss his home.
The open air licked at his skin and filled his lungs, giving him a temporary feeling of lightheartedness, only to be torn down by the looming podium before him.
His shoulders tightened as he eyed the bins full of names; the dull sounds of the propaganda video behind him made him bristle further. The names in those bins were like death sentences, regardless of whether they were pulled or not, and he could not help but feel that familiar sense of guilt trickle in as he pictured himself pulling out the unlucky contestants’ slips of paper.
He tried to turn his attention to the crowd spread out in front of the platform. The young faces were stuck in a frightened stare as they watched the trash behind him, but the older audience was fixed on him. He shifted uncomfortably, feeling their stare bore into him. They had an odd mix of contempt and admiration on their faces; it always bewildered him, that they could look up to him, even be proud of his victory all those years ago.
The contempt he understood.
There was another part of them, he saw, that looked something like curiosity. As if they were wondering as to what he had become. He recognized some of them from the days before his Games. Several of them were his friends before he was reaped. But as he looked on them now, they seemed foreign, as if they were nothing more than a face he had seen sometime in a crowd.
Now he was the man who could condemn their children.
The video ended, and he approached the microphone.
“All right, guys. You saw..that...and now it’s time to bite the bullet and go forward with this.”
He reached into the girls’ bin, pulling out the slip of paper. It weighed two tons in his hand, and it took all of his strength to unfold it to reveal the black ink hidden within its crease.
“G-Greene Took.”
His voice hitched as he said her name. In all the years he had been doing this, never once had he said the first name clearly. He had never gotten the words out properly.
He watched as the crowd parted slightly around a dark skinned girl with bright eyes. Realization crawled into her face and she took a shaky step forward. He swallowed and nodded to her as a sign of respect. She caught his gesture and set her jaw, steadily walking up the steps of the platform. He felt a fearful strength radiating; she was terrified, but she had made it up the stairs, which was more than a lot of Tributes had done.
She shook his hand, squeezing so hard he felt his knuckles crack. He gave her a sad smile, and she nodded back.
“Now for the boys.” He never offered the Tributes congratulations like he was supposed to. This was not the moment for that.
He dragged out the male slip, swallowing hard before reading off the name.
“Rowan Maelik.”
“NO.”
The cry boomed through the crowd. A slight young man stood in a clearing in the crowd, his face drained of any color. But a voice kept screaming from the back of the crowd.
“NOT HIM. NO! I VOLUNTEER!”
“BIRON, DON’T--”
“I VOLUNTEER AS TRIBUTE, DAMMIT, I VOLUNTEER.”
The screaming man pushed his way through the crowd, which now had gone silent. Peacekeepers were on edge around the perimeter of the crowd, watching as the volunteer moved forward.
He stopped near the boy who was originally called, taking his hands and whispering to him. Asher felt his heart sink as he realized what was happening; the volunteer kissed the other, passionately wishing him goodbye.
The volunteer moved up the stairs to the platform, his eyes fixed on the boy he was leaving behind. Asher stepped toward him, moving to shake his hand. He refused, pain leaking from his eyes.
“What is your name?” Asher asked calmly. “I need to tell them.”
He got up to the microphone and spat, “I am Biron Yule, and I volunteer as Tribute.”
Asher waited until he had left the mic, and then leaned in to say his final words to his home before going back to Hell.
“I present the Tributes of District Seven: Greene Took and Biron Yule. May the odds be ever in your favor.”
