#cgtaskone

[cosima-silamide]

be careful what you wish for (i just might get it) 

Only two more years of this. Two more reapings and Cosima would never have to worry about her chances of being picked for the games again.

She stood next to Molly near the front of the crowd as her mother and Tahlia watched from the back. They would all meet afterward by the clock tower and head back to the apartment to eat lunch. The reaping was a holiday, meaning that there was no work or school to be had. For the longest time Cosima had looked forward to the day, but not since she turned eighteen. That was the year their lunch turned into a celebration that it hadn’t been her name called, but some other unlucky person’s.

She felt as if she had been standing in the crowd much longer than she had been when the Capitol woman who had been presenting the tributes for the past decade stepped onstage. The introductions always went on too long in Cosima’s opinion. She wanted the names to be called and for it all to be over with. She would only have one more reaping after this, and she could handle one more reaping. “It’s not either of us,” she whispered to her cousin. As a slip of paper was pulled from the glass bowl, she tucked a long strand of hair behind her ear.

“Cosima Silamide.”

Cosima stood still for a moment as she tried to decide if that really was her name. Perhaps she misheard, or perhaps she wasn’t even remembering her own name correctly. She looked over at Molly who hesitantly stepped away as if Cosima were suddenly contagious and knew that she hadn’t misheard. Smoothing out her white linen dress, she made her way to the stage, conscious of each step she took. A cameraman quickly came up beside as she got closer. She didn’t know how she had to ability to do so, but she smiled and waved into the lens.

Once she was onstage, Cosima couldn’t hear any of the words being said beside her. Her racing thoughts and the ringing in her ears were too loud, and she was focused on the screen streaming her image. She rubbed her thumb against the outside of her thigh, watching the image mirror the movement. She then subtly pushed back her shoulders and gently held her hands together in front of her, standing up just a little straighter. The girl on the screen looked so much more put together than Cosima felt, and that strangely made her feel calmer. It would be fine, she thought. She could make this work. It was an adventurous thought, but she had always wondered what it would be like to be a victor. She had said for years she wished that she could live in the Capitol, and perhaps this was her ticket in. Did she will this into existence? She only had to beat out twenty-three, or maybe twenty-two tributes. That didn’t sound like that many, but maybe that was the adrenaline talking.

Cosima finally peeled her eyes from the screen to realize she had missed the boy’s name. She scanned the crowd to find where space was made for the other tribute to walk through. He was just getting up from a kneeling position, saying something to the little boy beside him. It wasn’t until he was nearly to the stage that she recognized him- Jae… Something. He was a few grades below her back in school, about Molly’s age. As he stepped up onto the stage she looked him over. Had he always been so tall? Did she ever notice that? Did she ever notice anything about him? She reached over and shook his hand, as was customary at the reaping. Before the pair were led into the town hall, Cosima turned back to the district, smiled, and waved goodbye, watching herself on the screen as she did.

[merrit-greenside]

The Reaping eh? It almost feels like an age ago now. So much had changed already. Where do I start?

I remember the stage and where I was stood. Four rows back, maybe five. My sister grabbed at my hand, clenching it nervously with all the strength she could muster. I could smell my father behind me, stinking of booze, as was the norm. A silence fell over the crowd as they prepared to ready the names. They read hers first, ‘Daphne Willow’. Fuck. Why her? I thought as I watched my first love dragged to the stage. I wanted to call out, to be there with her. There was a time I would have, a time I would have done anything for her. The memories were too painful to linger on. I felt Ava’s grip tightened further around my hand, and pulled her into me, keeping her close as she buried her head into my shirt. 

Now was time for the male tribute, I hated this moment. This was meant to be my last. I guess either way it would be.  “Tai Walker” a voice boomed from the stage. Fate decided I would join her after all. A stunned silence struck District 12. I felt like someone had just punched me in the gut. I couldn’t move for a moment. I remembered Ava, I had to be strong for her. I knelt down and wrapped my arms around her. I felt her tears damped my back. I grabbed her by the shoulders, and wiped the tears from her face. “You have to be strong sis. Don’t let them see you cry.” I kissed her on the forehead and smiled at her. I stood up, feeling her hand leave mine. My father wouldn’t even look at me. I simply nodded as I passed him.  

The rest is a bit of a blur. The whispers of the crowd as I passed them. A few people patted me to on the shoulder as I walked to the stage, a feeble attempt at reassurance. I scanned the crowd and saw Joseph, fighting his way thought the crowd over to Ava. I remember thinking that she would be okay, Joseph would keep her safe. I’d known him since we were kids, our mum’s were friends so we spent a lot of time together and that never really stopped. We were inseparable, well.. almost. I cracked a smile, at least I’d have those memories. 

Well, that’s it. That’s me really. A farm-boy that loves his sister.

[fortwest]

Fenn’s reaping

It wasn’t until he was on the way back from his morning swim that Fenn remembered it was reaping day. Even then, his brow furrowed only for a moment, before he felt a pat on his back as he was greeted by one of the morning fishermen. He smiled and pulled on his shirt, returning the greeting and setting off for home. The man watched Fenn go with pity in his eyes, it was how all the adults looked today. But Fenn didn’t notice - he was watching the sun glinting off of the waves crashing onto the beach below as he walked the ramp up towards town. 

When he opened the door, Cordelia was already ready, and sat with their parents in the living room. His parents smiled at him, smiles that tried to communicate a warm hug - Fenn returned the smiles and said ‘g’morning’, but he didn’t feel this day as heavily as the rest of his family did. Meanwhile, he could see the fire in Cordelia’s eyes was already stoked - a kind of anger he just didn’t have the energy for. They had never hated one another, and he loved her, but theirs could be a strained relationship, and he decided not to press her with a joke about her hair or the downtrodden atmosphere in the room. Not today, he thought.

He slicked back his hair, tied the shell bracelet around his wrist, and slipped on some smarter clothes, before joining his family downstairs. They held hands in a circle and prayed quietly before leaving the house to join the throngs of people making their way to the village square, once grand but now dilapidated and crumbling and cracking in the salt-air. Cordelia was silent and had gritted teeth the whole way journey, but she returned Fenn’s squeeze of the hand just before they were separated.

As the capitol lady tottered up onto stage and spoke, Fenn could feel the ripples of injustice and anger in the crowds. It never used to be like this - but since the rebellion his district was restless and angry. Fenn ignored it, though, and fought to suppress a yawn throughout the speeches and formalities.

It took his peers looking at him to realise Cordelia was making her way onto stage. Fuck. Not good. He saw the grim determination in her eyes, and for the first time the gravity of it struck him. He bit back the urge to shout after her, and was searching through the seas of faces around him for his parents - he couldn’t find them. When he was a kid and had been taken on a fishing trip with his mother, he had fallen into the water and didn’t yet know how to swim. He could feel the water filling his mouth now and although his body and face were stony, he could feel his limbs flailing. And his mum wasn’t there to pull him out. His sister didn’t deserve this - maybe they didn’t see eye to eye, but she was bright and had a passion for life he didn’t have. She deserved better.

“Fenn Havelock,” and the panic faded to be replaced by something else. He could hear people muttering - Two siblings. Fucking hell. The poor Havelocks. They don’t deserve this. Nobody volunteered, and he couldn’t blame them. His district hadn’t been churning out victors for a little while now. He heard a man wailing somewhere in the crowd, but he didn’t want to look at his dad.

Climbing up the podium, he shrugged away the hands proffered to him and looked up at his sister. The fire had been extinguished. This complicated things. As they held hands - all part of the ceremony - he squeezed hers again, and she didn’t return it. He could have laughed had this not been so tragic - he really needed his sister not to abandon the fight now. If he was going to save her, he couldn’t do it without her input. 

And he had made up his mind - he was going to save her. He could have laughed - outside, he had no hope of helping his sister. Inside, though, he did. All through the hurried and teary goodbyes, and waving through the blockade of peacekeepers to the handful of past-teachers, friends, and even dock-hands that had gathered outside of the building, this kept him going. 

“It’s going to be okay. I’m going to get her home. I promise,” he whispered to his parents reassuringly. With or without me, he thought, though he didn’t say it. He even kind of believed it himself.

All too soon he was buffeted away from his parents. Smiling one last smile over his shoulder, he felt the smooth, beach-worn stone in his pocket - his mother must have dropped it in, and reached up to feel where they had kissed his cheek. He looked over at Cordelia, and she didn’t look back. She always was a tough cookie, Fenn smiled to himself.

[jae-g0det]

Jae understood the weight that the Reaping held. For one day a year a collective district held its breath as two names were called and the lives of them and their families were changed forever. He had learned to prepare for the worst. Every year he held his breath along with the rest and up until now he’d been able to let it go. A slow, weight-lifting release. The Reaping hung especially heavy this year; he held his breath so tight he felt the sky begin to close in on him. He watched Cosima approach the stage dressed all in white, and as blurred at the edges as she may have been he knew the weight of this too. She was a sweet girl, a splash of colour within grayscale lines turned mixed and muddied. Soon to be unrecognisable. 

They’d called his name next. Jae Godet. He might not have registered it if not for the way his mother had shrieked beside him. His brother Elias, just six years old, sucked in a breath Jae didn’t even know his little lungs were capable of. He stood as still as the arms of a broken clock but his mind ticked. Ticked away the seconds he had left with his family, the moments before he became the Capitol’s property, and the miniscule amount of time he had to leave an impression on those that mattered most. 

Kneeling down now, he held his brother’s face gently in his hands and looked him in the eyes with all the strength he could muster, the first of his lies.

“I’ll be back for you,” he whispered. “I promise.”

A promise to shroud them in. Let this be Elias’ constant. Let him remember the last words he’d given him before he went away for a while. 

He took the time to plant a kiss as light as butterfly wings on his mother’s cheek; he was in no rush. This wasn’t a goodbye, not by a long shot. Jae took a promise very seriously. He would be back for them. 

All he had to do was win.

[rowantorwyn]

Rowan Torwyn. District Seven. 24 years old.

The rebellion hit District Seven hard, that was what Rowan remembered thinking three days ago. He had watched his mother feign confidence, though worried and desperate about their finances. It hasn’t been a year since his father was laid off from the lumberyard, his trembling hands no longer suitable for the work. His sister, his only sibling, hasn’t fared well in her chosen career either. The restaurant she works at caters to the other lumberjacks but only to them. It was consistent work but it hasn’t moved her closer to where she wanted to be.

Rowan Torwyn. District Seven.

Rebuilding not just the district but also their community was slow, and to an extent, it wasn’t as painless as most of them had hoped. The Capitol offered them little to no help. Why would they? The Capitol doesn’t care about them, only their lumber. All that their rebuilding efforts could rely on were the measly leftovers from their shipments to the Capitol. Their suffering was great, but to be fair, although the rebellion did not really change the lives of Rowan and his family, at least the lives of those worse off were. That was something to be grateful for. At least. 

“Rowan Torwyn.”

At the mention of his name, Rowan mouthed a swear under his breath. Why did he even think that would work? Saying his name over and over again? Even mentioning his district and his age? There wasn’t another 24-year-old Rowan Torwyn in the district, or for that matter, another Rowan Torwyn in any other age. The lumberjack swallowed air, heaved a sigh, and then looked up. Squinting, he made sure to memorize the layout of the podium, the direction towards it, up on it. The last thing he wanted was to slip in front of everyone there.

On his way through the crowd, up the podium, he gritted his teeth, thinking how he had been so close to seeing the games’ backside, no longer dreading each and every second of reaping day, of this god-forsaken day. A few hours ago, his parents, even his sister, had told them they’d pray he wouldn’t get picked, his mother even telling her to repeat his name in his head just in case. That last part was supposed to keep his name out of anyone else’s mouth, especially the capitol lady. Obviously, it didn’t work. Why would it? There was no logical explanation for it. It was just one of those superstitions that only works when you get lucky. Rowan has never been lucky.

Standing firmly on stage, Rowan looked out for his family. The capitol woman had greeted him with a really weird smile, though it was probably normal for those at the capitol. ...bunch of weirdos. It took him a few seconds scanning the crowd before him but he did find them, his family, his father holding both his mother and his sister. Rowan smiled. At least for a moment or two. He was glad he had at least said goodbye to them a few hours ago, despite his mother’s protests. It was probably the last time he’d see them, talk to them, be with them. 

You’d think that would make Rowan feel sad, burst into tears, but he didn’t. Strange, he felt nothing at that point, on that stage. It was as if he was muted, all his fear, his anger and his sadness, all of those feelings merging into one giant blur. He simply felt…empty.

[jade-ametrine]

Jade Ametrine - Reaping.

This was the day that Jade has anticipated for years, The first Reaping that her name could be drawn and the first time that The Capitol would have the opportunity to take her out without raising the suspicions of District One. In Jade’s mind, there was a plan of action in place and she knew what was to come, and what would happen and exactly how she would respond. Everything in its place. Including her. 

Everything was prepared and she knew what was to come and with that in mind. She began. 

In the back of her mind Jade knew that this was the first time that The Capitol would fix their eyes on her for consumption so she’d have to stand out. Represent herself well. Take the time to be what they wanted from a victor and that all started with her outfit for The Reaping Ceremony. Her dress was cut perfectly to her silhouette, clinging to her hips and falling to her ankle with a slit along one leg, the material suggested strength, the figure femininity. She could play to those that expected her to be a fighter and those that wanted her to be a lover in equal measure. The makeup was soft and subtle with a dark pink lip that accentuated her features instead of masking them. This was her design, and The Capitol would take note. 

There was one thing that remained sentimental in Jade’s outfit, the fur she wrapped around her shoulders against a non-existent chill belonged to her late Mother and still clung to the scent of her. Jade would take this with her and use it as a reminder of the lessons that Persia Ametrine had instilled in her. That everything had it’s worth, even this, the double meaning of District One made furs showed that Jade was still one of them and that eventually she would return to be one of them again. The Capitol would miss the symbolism, but not District One, they would understand. Every one of them. District One would take note. 

The journey to the town square was short, Victors Village was too far away to go on foot so a driver arrived promptly with enough time to take her, she could see other cars on the streets taking other families while she sat alone and pondered what would happen now. The Capitol would call her name, she would take to the stage, Onyx would be there already. He was the variable she didn’t want, she would be better without him but, everything has its use. The Reaping itself wasn’t met with any form of celebration except for the escort who stood at the podium, his eyes ablaze with glee at the pomp and circumstance and pageantry of being in District One as their gateway to The Capitol. He’d been here before and Jade couldn’t even remember his name but she already despised the man as he watched the message from President Coin about how and why the games had been reinstated. Jade did everything that she could to keep her expression calm and collected as he waddled over to the first Reaping bowl. The girl would be read out first and it would be her. She knew it. 

“Jade Ametrine!” The man cried into the microphone as Jade moved her lips right along. The cameras would catch that, and the embers of questions of why and how she knew would begin to glow in The Capitol. She smiled her most genuine smile up at the stage as those around her congratulated her on being Tribute for District One, this was an honour for most and for her she knew that this was a death sentence, The Capitol wanted her dead and this was their machination. 

Hands were shook, smiles exchanged and Jade was the epitome of grace and virtue, nobody would see her sweat even if on the inside her heart was beating loud and sweat was forming on her brow. Onyx’ name was called and of course being the pompous idiot that he was he took to the stage with the showmanship and cockyness she’d come to expect of him, he had his use though, he was bold and brash enough to be a distraction should she need it and he was easily manipulated too, a weapon that she could use. 

In the end, Jade knew that she wouldn’t be visited in The Justice Building, there wasn’t anyone to visit her that really cared for her the way family would. So she spent the time picking at the small amount of food that was served as they waited for the train to arrive. It would be better to eat when and where she could now that she was going into the arena, where even the best laid plans could come undone in the blink of an eye.

[valentinedonahue-thg]

the reaping.

Dawn had not long since broke, illuminating each and every home and business with a tender apricot glow. It could have been considered beautiful had there not been an overclouding of thick grey heading in from the west. It was peaceful. Tranquil. Almost as if the hefty burden of the day's events was not weighing on everybody's shoulders.

He had been in the shared kitchen since the early hours of the morning, sitting at the small, uneven table. He often sat there when the night became overbearing. The only light that could be seen, minus the glow outdoors, was the soft flicker of candlelight lighting the sheets of the journal he hunched over. The weak quiver of the flame told him it would soon die out. Continuously, he wrote, endless streams of thoughts, and the occasional sketch of something good he kept near to his heart. The busier his mind, the quicker time would pass.

"You’re up early. How are you?" Milo’s gruff voice filled the quiet kitchen, seeming too loud at such early hours.

"That's a big question." Milo nodded. "It requires a big answer." He nodded again.

Valentine Donahue wanted to spin one of the lies he’d been reciting for three years, but he could see from the concern in Milo’s eyes that there was no believing Valentine’s lies today. He was a burly man with a square, chiseled face and a five o'clock shadow. The bags under his eyes were a waned shade of purple. He'd been up all night too. Worrying about the housemate he knew so little about.

“Pull yourself together, Donahue. It’s your last year, it’s not going to be your name they pull. This isn’t you!” He had his thumbs hooked through his belt loops, trying to be intimidating. But, like Valentine’s lies, he could see right through it. He tore his eyes away from Milo’s, focusing instead on the framed certificates lining the wall and the overpowering stench of polish.

The morning passed by in a haze, though it was no different to any other morning. A silent coffee with Milo, and then a long shower to wash away the night terrors. He’d been sitting on his bed, staring at a chipped piece of wood in the floor when the soft, alarmed murmurs from outside alerted him it was time to leave.

Call it instinct, superstition, whatever you will, but Valentine knew his name was going to be called that day. Valentine was amongst the crowd of males, older at the front, younger at the back, and he could just about make out Milo’s bald head down one of the side alleys, watching on a large television screen. 

The reaping. The day where two chosen individuals were to be treated like old toys; used for brief entertainment and then left to rot when something better came into question. It happened the year before, and the year before that. It was a never-ending cycle. Even a mass rebellion couldn’t stop it.

A silent pause.

And then began the speech. Untruthful words of vow and gratification, grasping each individual and giving them the sense of false hope. Each year, the speeches got longer. Each year filled with yet more bullshit that the Capitol provided to sweeten the moment. 

“Valentine Donahue.”

He'd known it was coming, he had been adamant. But the realisation, the knowledge, none of it could cushion the shock of the fall. Strangely, there was no fear in his stomach. All he felt was anger, and his expression made this clear. His hesitation to move caused Peacekeepers to grab him by the arm, leading him towards the stage. He pulled free of their grip in anger, spitting on the floor where they stood in disgust, before walking up alone.

[savannahawthorne]

TASK 001 - THE REAPING

It had started out as a dare and accepting a dare was a lot like life, once you took the plunge you couldn’t go back. Besides, the sting of the needle hadn’t been as bad as her friends had joked it would be. It kind of felt like the time she had been stung (rather unpleasantly) by a pair of angry wasps in the forest.

“What do you think?” Savanna asked as she pulled her hair over her shoulder showing off her brand new tattoo that now rested on her shoulder blade. The chuckles and gasps had been enough to confirm Savanna’s own thoughts. Here mother would have a kitten if she could see it, but that would require her being around.

That was why when the Escort for District Twelve started talking, Savanna couldn’t help but yawn. Every year it was the same spiel and dance and more people dying. In her head, she wondered if her father ever pondered the thought that all their sacrifices during the Rebellion hadn’t been worth it. They had wanted to end the Hunger Games and here twenty-five years later, they were still participating.

If the Rebellion hadn’t happened, would Katniss still be alive? Would her father have won her heart over with more time? There were no doubt in her mind that was what her father had originally had planned for his future at one time. Everyone had thought they would end up together until her sister’s name came out of the Reaping bowel.

The 74th Hunger Games had shaped so many lives; her father’s, the woman he would have married otherwise, her mom’s sister had also died in that fateful games. There were also the invisible scars it had left on Savanna’s life before she was even born...

At the sound of her name, Savanna was brought back to reality. Right, she was going to the Capitol. Big surprise. Anyone that knew her and her family, knew with this twist she would be going. The Capitol hadn’t changed that much, they couldn’t resist the drama. Here was a child of a would-be-lover of the fallen Mockingjay, a girl that was named after the Mockingjay, and a niece of a tribute that died in the Games. It was as if her life was written for some cheesy Capitol soap opera.

With a nonchalant shrug, Savanna pulled her hair back off her shoulder exposing the open back of her dress and her shoulders. More importantly, the golden mockingjay that had been inked there a year earlier. From somewhere on her left she could hear the old Victor, Haymitch chuckle.

Maybe she was more like her namesake than she had originally thought.