Maybelle's hands shook as she tried to latch the last button at the back of her neck. She had always been quick and nimble, unbothered and unaffected. I wasn't nervous before, but her anxiousness was contagious.
Stepping up behind her, I watched as my own hands, my fingers larger and more clumsy than hers normally, loop the button through with ease. Resting my hands on her shoulders, I felt more than saw her let out a ragged sigh.
I wanted to say something, to reassure her that she wouldn't be Reaped, that she would be safe and everything would be fine, but I couldn't even muster a smile, nevertheless the energy required to try and convince her something I didn't even really believe.
Breakfast was silent and the walk to the square was a blur. Time seemed to be going too fast and too slow at the same time. But that made even less sense than this whole thing, than the fact that a government demanded two humans from every District to be sent off to their deaths ever year.
Everything slammed in to focus as I felt Maybelle's hand slip from mine. Tightening my grip, I pulled her back towards me. "May,"I let out a shout of pain when a baton came down on my arm, forcing me to release my grip. “May!”
“Just- just go! I’ll see you after, okay? I’ll see you after!”
Her voice was calm, but I could see the fear in her eyes. Before I could make another effort to reach her, I was pulled away, two pairs of hands holding to me tightly. “Don’t give us anymore trouble! Let’s go!”
Allowing myself to be steered over to the rest of the men I sagged under the reality of what was happening. There was a fair amount of men in the roped off section, and even a few boys, but there didn’t seem to be as many women. I couldn’t lose her too, though. This couldn’t be happening.
“Hello, hello!”
I glanced up to the stage, only one thought on my mind as I took in the woman at the microphone. She was rather...small. Her voice was high and annoying and I found myself zoning out as I turned my attention back to the women’s section, finally spotting Maybelle in the small crowd.
“And the female Tribute is...Honour Arden!”
I felt a wave of relief wash over me as I realized it wasn’t Maybelle. She was safe. A tall, gangly looking girl moved forward, a scowl on her face, but I paid her little mind. She was just some girl, and my wife was safe from the horrors we watched out daughter go through just a year ago.
“And now for the male. Atticus Caldwell!”
Atticus Caldwell. Wait, but, that was me? Was that me? I blinked once, twice, unable to get my body to move when suddenly I felt myself being pushed forward.
“Get going, cattle man!”
Shrugging the man off, I stepped forward, suddenly aware of the wail coming from my left. Maybelle. I didn’t bother to try and give her a smile of reassurance. She knew as well as I did about how likely my return would be.
I towered over the two women already on stage and I felt like a cattle ripe for the killing.
“Yes, yes, wonderful!” Now that I was closer, the woman’s voice was even harsher, too sickly sweet, to enthusiastic. “Let’s hear it for this years Tributes of District Ten!”
The old man stood alone, leaning on a dilapidated umbrella instead of a cane. He wore the same faded short sleeved button up shirt and suspenders he wore every day into the fields. Others stood with family, most were just there to spectate. Farro faced the stage with grim and watery eyes, squinting in the morning light. His socks sagged around his ankles and the pale blue wool peeked out from under his sun bleached jeans. As the last of the people trickled in Farro heard the mix of whispers and jeers from parents and children alike. At least the attention was not only on the old man that day.
He shut his eyes and let himself sink into his mind. A pastime he usually saved for Sunday afternoons. But he couldn’t handle the propaganda and the young faces filled with sorrow. And at least in his mind the faces filled with anguish had passed on to happier times.
It was only when the pale escort reached her spidery fingers into the pitiful glass bowl that he returned his attention to the real world. Swimming to the top of his consciousness like a diver returning to the surface to gasp for air. But he choked on the first breath as they called his name.
Slowly he began to move forwards. It took him far too long to move to the stage. Every step was painful, and it was not physical. He moved about the fields all day long without this sort of stilted gait, and without the fumbling movements that plagued him now.
As he reached the escorts side, he bowed his head and trembled like a leaf in the wind. He could only see one thing, and it was his daughter standing across from where he had, exactly twenty five years ago. As the peacekeepers stepped forwards to flank their sides and lead them into the Capitol building, he sacrificed his umbrella to the nearest one, to walk on his own.
No one would come to see him off, there was no one left. He head seen them all off first. So he straightened his back, and did his best to ease his step, hand mumbled to himself. No one minded. Old men talk to themselves all the time.
“A time to plant and a time to reap what is planted. Hmm?”
No one answered him.
“Are you ready?” Aurora inquired, her voice soft and relaxed as she expertly fixed her husband’s tie. David smiled, glancing at their children running around the living room. If they were to be reaped, it would be because of him and he didn’t think he would be able to leave with that. “Should I come with?” He nodded, kissing her forehead, before walking with his family to the Justice Building.
After hugging his wife and children, David walked towards the stage, finding Narcissa screaming at who he guessed was her assistant. He knew better than to intervene in her business, climbing the stairs on the stage. A crowd was starting to gather and David was starting to feel a similar kind of nervous as the day he volunteered. He hoped he didn’t have to mentor any careers but then again, mentoring by itself was already something he didn’t look forward to.
Sitting down, staring at the crowd, David gripped the armchair tighter, gulping as Narcissa took the mic. He didn’t intend on looking tense or worried as he faced the crowd - it was rare that he knew so many of them, between previous victors, family members of some of his fallen tributes and his own children, he knew the Reaping would be more devastating than ever before.
As the escort went on and on, David pinched at the skin between his eyebrows - she was obnoxious, clueless and a downright prototype of the Capitol. Her heels stumped to one of the bowls and, as she announced the girl’s name, David immediately recognized that last name. He remembered Pierson well. What he didn’t expect was the uprising that rose through the crowd when Fabienne removed her cloak. “Be quiet,” he shouted from his chair, glaring at Narcissa with a darting look for her inability to control the audience. Was it not enough that the poor girl was being sent to her death?
David found himself muttering under his breath for the woman to hurry up as she reached for the slip with a boy’s name. Looking to meet his sons’’ eyes in the crowd, the only thing he knew was that neither of them was picked. However, David didn’t have much time to dwell on this good news, as the boy he was to mentor was running from Peacekeepers like there was any way he could escape. Standing up, David raised a hand, instructing the Peacekeepers to let the boy speak. He knew the story well, as he guessed everyone did. He understood too well that victors’ relatives had a strange ability to always stand under the spotlight. It was better to let the boy speak, even if he would have to be the one to deal with his mentoree’s actions in the near future. As Buggie stood in place, finally letting go of the mic, David didn’t bother to sit down. Looking over at the District Four mayor, who stood in absolute shock and what he could only describe as disgust, he sighed.
“Follow them!” He had to order the peacekeepers as they seemed to focus on the crowd who didn’t seem to stand behind neither of the tributes. “Make sure Narcissa is alright before bringing her to the train.” Watching someone finally running to escort Fabienne and Buggie to the Justice Building, David allowed a peacekeeper to drive him to the train station and hand him the information the District had on the two, which he planned to read while waiting for his future mentorees in the main carriage.
When I get dressed, brush my hair, and then step outside with Hugo, it hits me that this will be my twentieth year being a mentor. In the twenty years that I have been mentor, I have not yet once been able to bring home a Victor. If it hadn’t been for Hugo, the absolute guilt probably would have eaten me alive. I’d probably be an alcoholic, a drug addict, or, perhaps, I wouldn’t even be here.
The fact that this is a Quarter Quell, the first of many, also does not sit well in my stomach. The entire time we walk to the District Square, I can’t help but think about yesterday. What if Hugo really does get Reaped somehow? Or Mom? Dad? Anyone, really. If any of them get Reaped, I’m going to have to mentor them. Based on my track record, I know that if that happens, I’m going to lose someone that I love for sure.
I must have been more quiet than usual, because Hugo suddenly poked me on the shoulder, causing me to look at him.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
It was obvious that he wasn’t buying any of what I was selling, but that didn’t really matter right now. We had arrived in the Square and, the second that I was caught in the sight of the peacekeepers, they bounded towards me. Ah, yes, how I missed being escorted by these lumps.
“This way, please, Mr. Belle.”
Without another word, the three peacekeepers escorted me to the stage. Before we made it, I looked around for Hugo, catching sight of him in the audience. He saw me looking and gave me a soft smile of support. I returned it and, as I took my seat next to the mayor, I crossed my legs, placed my hands on my lap, and waited.
The process was just as long and tedious as it usually was. It started with the mayor giving his same speech about how glorious the Capitol is, the story about the Dark Days, and then more mindless babble about the Hunger Games. It was absolute fluff, all of it. We didn’t really need to hear any more of it since it had all been engraved in our brains, but they talked about it each year, anyway.
Eventually, the Escort walked up and introduced themselves and then, soon after, introduced me, the only Victor of District Eight. Upon hearing my name, I knew the cameras would be trained on me, so I took both my hands, placed them on my lips, and gave a large, dramatic kiss to the cameras. I could feel the intense glare of the audience as they watched me. Most of the District knew that I wasn’t actually a flamboyant piece of Capitol-loving trash, but some didn’t know. God, I wonder what they thought of me sitting there, acting like an utter fool.
Resting my back against the chair one more, I waited patiently as the Escort walked over and picked a name out of one of the large, glass bowls.
“Wren Acardi!”
I scanned the crowd, looking for the owner of the girl who possessed that name. After a few moments of searching, I found her.
I... I really don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t this. It wasn’t this at all.
A middle aged woman stumbled up to the stage, clearly drunk as a glamorous skunk. The clothes she was wearing immediately identified her as one of status or wealth, possibly both. Once she made her way to the stage, she stared right at me and then, of course, lifted her flask in my direction. I didn’t do anything. I barely acknowledged her as she went about her business. On the outside, I was as cold and as emotionless as a brick wall, but on the inside, I was screaming up a storm.
This poor woman... she won’t last.
A few seconds later, the escort walked on over to the next bowl and, after a moments hesitation, plunged their hand into the bowl and pulled out a name.
“Phox Keengrove!”
The first thing I thought when I saw Phox was simple. He might actually survive, not because he was physically strong or capable, both of which I had no idea of, but because he was, in a word, pretty. The people in the Capitol would eat that up with a golden spoon.
When it all came to a close, I watched as the two tributes were ushered inside. As the doors slammed shut, I got up, dusted myself off, and made way towards the train. When I entered the platinum shuttle, I sat at the nearest table, placed my face in my hands, and let out a long, deep sigh.
This was going to be something special, this Quarter Quell. Hopefully Wren and Phox can survive long enough to have an actual shot at winning. But... then again, who knows what’s going to happen. All I can do is have faith.
Looking in the dingy, full body mirror, I smooth out any creases in my shirt, blazer, and pants and then stand at attention, looking for any other last minute details I need to fix. My eyes danced, looking up and down the mirror until, to my utter horror, I found a dust stain on one of my black loafers.
“Shit.”
Walking over to the breakfast table, I raised my leg and planted my shoe on one of the chairs. Taking a napkin off of the table, I furiously scrub at my shoe, hoping that the stain won’t be permanent. After a little faith, hope, and good fortune, the stain comes off and I breathe a sigh of relief. Today is by far the most important day of my life. I do not need random stains to ruin it for me.
After checking to make sure that no other flaws exist on my person, I head out the door and quickly make my way down the stairs. Fortunately for me, I don’t begin to sweat because of the many flights of stairs, something that I was worried about, and I bolt through the door and into the streets. The sky looks rather gloomy today, but that isn’t about to hinder me on my quest to eternal happiness.
Today is my day, and absolutely nothing is going to stop me--
“Oi, watch where you’re going!”
“Wha--”
Turning to the side, all I see before me is a flash of blue and then, suddenly, there is a woman on the ground in front of me. Her hair is long, curly, and blonde, and all of it is scattered in a halo on the concrete around her. While she looks like an angel sent from above, the severe and fiery look in her eyes says otherwise.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” I start, hurrying over to her and offering her my hand. She takes a good look at my hand for a few seconds and then, with a scoff, bats it away.
“I don’t need your help.” She says plainly before getting to her feet and walking away, giving me the literal eyes of the devil as she passes. “Just make sure you watch where you’re going from now ok, okay?” Then, with a flick of her head, she walks away.
“I see you’ve met Ms. Girard.”
Turning, I see Ms. Ruiz standing in the doorway, looking at me with a smirk on her face. Part of me should be surprised that Ms. Ruiz has actually left he apartment, but I’m too busy staring at the fleeting blue figure.
“Did she just move into the building?” I ask, turning my attention back to Ms. Ruiz who, of course, has started walking away from me, too. She looks back at me over her shoulder, that same sinister smirk still on her face.
“Yup. From what I hear, she’s going to be moving into the room right next to yours. Have fun with that!”
Of course she is. Well, thankfully, in a few weeks I’ll be moving into my new house in the Victor’s Village. Then, I’ll probably be Liucija’s roommate--
Then, in that moment, as I’m looking at my outfit to make sure that no blemishes were obtained in the little incident with Ms. Girard, I realize that I forgot about the Reaping.
“Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck-fuck!”
Ignoring the looks I get from random passerby, I sprint as fast as I can to the Square, hoping that I haven’t just ruined my entire life. My heart is pounding, my eyes are wide, and I just can’t stop thinking about one thing:
If I am denied this, I am literally going to make Ms. Girard’s life a living hell.
Eventually, after a few minutes of running, I make my way to the square. A minimal amount of sweating has occurred, but thankfully it’s not that obvious. Looking up to the cloudy, dark heavens, I praise whatever divine being has allowed me to arrive unscathed. After that, I push my hair back, get checked in, and make my way over to my family.
It was weird, seeing them all in one place. Apart from my father, I hadn’t seen the majority of these people in years. Once I moved out of our home, started living in that apartment complex, and started teaching at the Academy, I just lost contact with them. But now, they were all here and all of them looked as nervous as can be.
“Hey, Klaus.”
“Hi, dad.”
“Are you still going to... you know?”
“Yup.”
“... Are you really sure about this, son?”
I look at him out of the corner of my eye. I can see based on his facial expression that he still doesn’t think that I should do it. A twinge of annoyance courses through me and I just turn away from him, not even bothering to give him a response. He knows just how much this means to me... he shouldn’t have to ask me this.
The rest of my time spent waiting for the Reaping to begin is filled with anxiety and anticipation. As families start to appear, I find myself eyeing them, wondering if any of them will have someone who will volunteer. Judging by the looks of the people, I’d say probably not.
I was staring at the clouds in the sky, wondering if we were about to get poured on, when I heard a voice welcoming us all. Turning around, I see that the voice belongs to our Escort. One look at her and I could tell that this was her first time as an escort. She radiated enthusiasm and appeal, but she lacked the grace that more experienced Escorts had. Still, I didn’t think any less of her because of that. The poor thing was probably scared out of her mind.
“Hello, hello! Oh, it’s just so great to be here! I am Faye Summers and I am going to be District Two’s near Escort! Now, because I just love the Games, let’s get things rolling, shall we?”
With that, the bubbly girl bounced her way over to the large bowl filled with the slips of many girls and women, all varying in age. As she flicked her hand inside the bowl, the thought of just how big the variety of tributes was for this Games. Klaus could end up being the partner of some poor, scared little girl, or he could end up being with a woman who was as wise as she was old. Plus, of course, there was the fact that Liucija could be selected...
Pushing the very thought from my mind, I held my breath as Faye made her way to the microphone and read out the name on the slip.
Please don’t be Liucija.
Please.
“Izara Nixus!”
Oh, thank God.
Well, Liucija was right about one thing: a past Victor was definitely going to be reaped. Scanning the crowd, I spotted Izara making her way to the stage. She was definitely one of the more well known Victors of District Two. One of the more well known Victors in general, perhaps.
It was obvious that she had done this before as she swiftly made her way to the stage. In that moment, she seemed to be the incarnation of the word “grace.” Although, everyone knew what exactly Izara was capable of, so the mask of being just a pretty face didn’t fool anyone.
Once she made her way to the stage and Faye started her journey towards the other bowl, my eyebrows furrowed. With each click of her heels, my heart started beating faster and faster. It seemed as if she was trying to actually kill me, this girl, because when she dunked her hand in the bowl, she kept it in for a few seconds longer than she had for the girls.
When she suddenly pulled her hand from the bowl and quickly walked towards the microphone, my heart almost stopped completely.
“Ch--”
“I volunteer!”
Without even waiting another second, I walked up to the stage as fast as I could. As I walked, I looked at each person who stared at me as I walked, daring them to say anything or to object in any way. They weren’t going to ruin this for me, not at all.
Soon, I eagerly climbed the steps and stood next to both Izara and Faye. I attempted to look Izara in the eyes as I passed by her, but it seemed that she wasn’t going to be having any of it. Mentally shrugging, I walked up and shook Faye’s hand, giving her a smile which, in turn, caused her face to turn beat-red.
“W-well, uhm, yes!” She stuttered before grabbing us both by our arms and raising them into the air. As she did so, I could feel the wide smile creeping up on my face. I looked down and all eyes were on me. Finally...
“Your tributes for the first annual Quarter Quell! Izara Nixus and Klaus Traugott–”
Suddenly, the sound of thunder booms in the distance and, immediately after, the feel of raindrops falling from the heavens above becomes apparent to everyone in the Square. The squeals of many girls, including Faye, echo around the Square, but none of that matters to me. All of those outside noises... none of them matter to me right now.
Finally... my name has been said. I am a tribute in the Hunger Games.
A wash of grey spread over the sky and wedged its way into the darkest corners of the Victor’s Village and the smallest cracked stone of Two. The mood on the ground was far from somber, the excitement of the Reaping was something that ran through the veins of everyone in District Two. A surprising number of names were struck from the list of potential tributes and the numbers dwindled in the weeks leading up to the Reaping itself, much to the dismay of a few prominent families.
The day had finally come, however, and each slip of paper that had been placed in one of the two small glass bowls carried a history with it. Two of those slips were to be read aloud to the entirety of the District, and the owners of those names were to be sent off with more than the burden of victory on their shoulders. They would be sent off to avenge those that they had lost.
When Izara first laid eyes on the drab oatmeal mess her mother intended for her to wear she thought about burning the drab thing and leaving the ashes to rest on Katerina’s doorstep. However, her darling mother didn’t deserve such an effortful performance, so instead she simply tossed it out the window and moved on to better options.
Clad in a form-fitting black ensemble that would drive Katerina and the Capitol crazy, and left ample room for the familiar dagger to lie against her thigh, Izara left the village house behind and set off on the familiar path to the heart of Two. More often than not, this trek was taken with the charming company of a few peacekeepers and a pre-planned agenda for the rest of the night. Otherwise, the victor was left stumbling home with her pumps thrown over her shoulder after a few too many drinks despite Macil’s thinly-veiled threats of punishment were that to happen. He never did touch her. After all, sending a Victor out with a blooming bruise was asking for negative publicity.
Not giving two shits about how close she was, Izara didn’t realize she had reached the District’s center until an elbow found its way into her gut. Quick to grab the blade resting against her skin, the owner of the rogue limb soon found himself holding his breath in an attempt to distance the cool blade from his throat.
No words were necessary, a few seconds of a life threatening situation and the man’s legs turned to jello and his heartbeat quickened against his will. The two young girls gripping the stranger’s pant leg looked up at Izara with confusion in their eyes and the woman, presumably their mother, dared not move closer.
“I’m sorry,” the whispered words were carried away on the wind and only a small fragment reached the victor’s ears. It wasn’t the hushed words or the pleading look in the man’s eye but the deep voice that came after that caused Izara to roll her eyes and drop her knife.
Refusing to reward the command with a verbal reaction, Izara simply turned to face Macil and toyed with the knife in her hand. As soon as her attention was directed away from the family, they were escorted away by a peacekeeper who was presumably ordered to not interfere until that moment. It would have been so much more fun if Macil wasn’t afraid of a little bloodshed.
The father and daughter held their gaze until Macil broke and beckoned a peacekeeper to his side.
“Escort Miss Nixus to her place.” Cold and stoic as ever, the man placed just the right amount of emphasis on the last name he knew drove Izara mad. Knowing that she was expected to wear his last name as a badge of honor was enough to make her sick. In a way that many things did not.
The Capitol puppet knew enough to not touch her as he led the young woman to the area of the Square, where the rest of the Nixus bloodline was lying in wait. They looked like predators, the lot of them. Some of the youngest still held a bit of fear in their eyes, not knowing what to expect from the next few moments. As Izara walked closer to the stage, the age of the possible tributes increased until she was standing at the front of the group surrounded by the strongest and most deadly District Two had to offer.
The clouds grew darker and drew closer so that when the bumbling Capitol idiot they called an escort stepped out of the Justice Building she stood out even more against the dark stone facade. The shoes she wore would put even Izara's to shame and the thin stilettos sent a wave of high pitched noise across the square. It seemed the young woman couldn't contain her excitement as she bounded to the microphone at center stage and cleared her throat before addressing the District, and all of Panem.
Whatever idiotic phrases fell out of her mouth, Izara had better things to listen to. Like the sound of nothing. The speech was always the same, and though the view left much to be desired the new escort covered her nerves with idiocy and was much less entertaining than last year’s. At least she had an interesting personal life.
It wasn't until the whispering died down and the sound of acrylic on glass rang out that Izara finally tuned back in. What poor soul would be sent off like a performing monkey this year?
Her name was all that registered in the victor's mind and before the girl behind her could shoot up her hand to volunteer or raise her voice, Izara sent her a look over her shoulder. That shut her up good and well. It was expected that someone volunteer, oftentimes the top of the class. But to volunteer in place of a victor, a Nixus victor at that, well let the records show that from here on out it was unacceptable. Thoughts flitted through Izara’s mind, mostly obscenities cast out to the idiots in the Capitol who decided on this Quell. At first it had been entertaining, before her own name had been drawn. There were better things to be doing, but at least she could get out of the horrific dresses and stop sipping on champagne and not-so-kindly turning down monetary offers to fuck her for an hour. Bloodshed was always welcome, just not on someone else’s time.
Despite her initial reaction of annoyance and disdain, the young woman raised her chin and made her way up to the stage, knowing full well all of Panem knew what this meant. If one of the most well-known victors could be sent back into the arena, then truly the Quell would be interesting. The silence was deafening as her own shoes now filled the void, the metal heel of her shoe on metal creating a high-pitched scream that was no more welcome than the lack of sound.
Refusing to go any closer to the idiot who personified Capitol stupidity, Izara stood closer to the glass bowl that was now holding one less name and waited to meet her competition. Before long, a name was read and the cry of children reached her ears. It seemed as though the poor bastard who had gotten in her way earlier was going to be her competition. No competition at all, really.
However, before the man could detach himself from his wife and children another voice shouted out claiming his position as a volunteering tribute. The voice dripped with desperation and a facade of strength, but the face showed otherwise. Excitement. A raw emotion strewn across his face for all of Panem to see. A dangerous emotion, at that. Well-built, obviously trained, a semi-recognizable name. Izara's lips rose in anticipation, he would be a fun one.
When the man finally reached the stage, the fool decided to grab hold of Izara’s wrist in one hand and the other tribute’s in the other, raising them up as though they were an offering to now extremely ominous sky. Before she could begin to speak, Izara wrenched her arm from the escort’s and reached for the knife that she had put back after the run in earlier. Much to her dismay, the weapon was missing from her holster and as she searched the crowd for the face she knew would hold the answers, she landed upon Macil toying with that same dagger. Instead of the violent satisfaction she craved, Izara stood stoic beside the escort, disappointed that there wasn’t the slightest possibility of punishment for the idiot who put her hands on her. Moments later, after having gotten over the embarrassment caused by her female tribute, District Two’s escort began to speak again.
"Your tributes for the first annual Quarter Quell! Izara Nixus and Klaus Trau--" her words were cut off by a sudden, and convenient, downpour. Before anyone could comprehend the dramatic placement of rain, the Capitol-sent dunce shrieked about her dress and hair and how the rain was ruining everything before rushing into the Justice Building to save her outfit. Leaving the two newly reaped tributes standing in the pouring rain. Thankfully, they both remember shoes.
Izara turned on her heel and escorted herself into the Justice Building, not bothering to hold the door for her soaking wet competitor.
After my eighteenth birthday, I assumed I was safe from the Hunger Games. Many like me rejoiced after realising that the Capitol no longer had the power to force them into an Arena where they most likely wouldn’t get out alive. The blessed age of nineteen gave everyone a sense of security. However, just months ago, all of Panem was reminded that there was no such thing.
I suppose it didn’t matter whether I was applicable to compete or not. The Bloody Pageant has always been a part of my life. Growing up, I watched as the names of children from District One get plucked from a bowl and shook my head in displeasure as some of them volunteer. When I became mayor, I treated the lucky Victors during their tours with lavish hospitality while grieving the Tributes that I hoped would return but never did. The routine was the same in District Five. None of the boys and girls that were Reaped came back to their homes.
Our driver shook me out of my thoughts as we reached the location where the Reaping took place. “Clear the road for the mayoral family!” He shouted. People moved out of the way to let our vehicle pass.
Victoria opened the window to greet those who were ecstatic to have a closer look at their king and queen. They screamed in adoration at the sight of us as well as my two children Elena and Simon. The image of my family was one that became adored over the years. We were loved not for the crowns on our heads but for how we used them to help those who were in need.
“It’s the royals! They’re here!” Screamed a woman jovially.
A fury of people rushed over. Hands were mere inches close to grabbing us when we stepped out of the car. Our guards, as well as a few peacekeepers led us safely through the ecstatic crowd and to our prospective seats. The bowls for potential Tributes were small but terrified me to know that the names of my family and I were in them.
Sebastian, the Head Peacekeeper, assured me that everything was running smoothly, as always. The crime rate in District and Five was low, but nonetheless, I was grateful that they were able to maintain order. He insisted that we take our places behind the podium, even if my family was applicable to get Reaped. “Your majesties,” he bowed before me and then placed a kiss on my wife’s hand.
When he left, my grandmother spoke up. “As a ruling king, you must learn how to read people, Jasper. Why do you think your Head Peacekeeper has always been so nice to you?”
A chuckle left my lips. What kind of question was that? “Sebastian probably wants some sort of promotion so he’s sucking up to me. Don’t find fault in him, he’s doing his job perfectly. Jealous that he didn’t kiss your hand, grandmother?” She obviously didn’t agree with my response by not saying a single word to me, so I tried again. “He’s interested in Victoria,” I replied with a sigh.
“Wrong. He’s interested in you,” she corrected me. The Grand Duchess smirked at my reaction. “This Sebastian fellow was quick to kiss Victoria’s hand just so you don’t notice how long he’s been staring at you.” My grandmother directed my attention to our Head Peacekeeper. “He thinks he can hide his lustful eyes underneath that helmet. No one can resist a royal, I would know with your grandfather. Wink at him,” she instructed me.
Her argument was plausible, so I gave it a try. I grinned seductively and winked at him. Surely enough, Sebastian hastily turned his head away, most likely blushing like a maiden in love. “You’re the best, grandmum.”
She cackled. “Don’t you forget it!”
Our Escort Serena struts through the stage and enthusiastically introduces herself before welcoming everyone to the First Annual Quarter Quell. She plays the Panem Propaganda Film and clasped her hands together when it was done. “Now to get back to the Reaping. Ladies first, as always!” She flipped her hair and reached into the bowl. “Our female Tribute is… Ember Knight!” Serena called out.
The crowd focused on the young woman whose sobbing brother wasn’t plan on letting go of her hand until she yanked it free. Peacekeepers marched over to her and led Ember to the stage, but not before her sibling offered to take her place. Everyone was confused at first, knowing that a male couldn’t volunteer for a female. But apparently, Kindle was in fact a girl. His love for Ember must really be deep.
Serena continued on with the Reaping, reaching into the male’s bowl. She picked a card and opened it, only to look down on the ground, holding the piece of paper in her hand. The crowd waited to know who it was, but Serena remained silent. She slowly turned around from the podium and looked at me. “J-Jasper Luminel… p-p-please take your place next to me.”
I lowered my head and nodded. Victoria sobbed and walked beside me until I was next to Kindle. My grandmother held Elena and Simon in her arms, preventing the tears from pouring out of her eyes.
Gasps and cries filled the air. “Pick another man!” Someone screamed.
“Don’t take away our king, we beg you!” A girl pleaded.
Chaos began to erupt. People threw things at Serena, who didn’t know what to do. My enraged subjects demanded a replacement. “I’m afraid I can’t do that! The Capitol’s orders—!” She ducked underneath the podium when a rock was flung at her direction.
Before anyone could get hurt, I walked over to the microphone. “Stop!” I shouted, my voice echoing but the havoc went on.
Our Head Peacekeeper fired his gun up towards the sky, successfully ending the mayhem. “His majesty demands order!” Sebastian’s voice was twice as loud as mine, even without a microphone. “King Jasper didn’t rule over savages. If you truly care about him, volunteer!”
I spoke before anyone was even going to consider raising their hand. “No. I’m Reaped and I wouldn’t be able to live with myself knowing someone sacrificed themselves for me. At least this way, I can save at least one innocent life in my beloved District. Consider it my parting gift before I die...” I trailed.
Sebastian took off his helmet, commanding the other peacekeepers to do the same as he got on his knees and bowed down. “May the odds be ever in your favour, your grace. Please return to us. We wouldn’t know what to do without you. You’re our leader… our king… our liege lord.”
Everyone in the Reaping Square knelt down and bowed before me. Their act of reverence towards me… I couldn’t have asked for anything better during my reign. “You along with District One will be under the leadership of my wife, and my last request is that you all treat her with equal respect as you did with me.” I turned around and kissed on Victoria deeply. “All hail Queen Victoria!” I hugged her tightly and cried. Eventually I let go and shook hands with Kindle, forcing myself to smile at my District Partner.
Serena got up and announced District Five’s Tributes for the Twenty Fifth Annual Hunger Games to all of Panem.
“Long live King Jasper! All hail Queen Victoria!” They chanted as I entered the Justice Building. I was overjoyed to have been able to give those under my rule a taste of happiness, even if they were slaves of the Capitol. Right then and there, I could die happy. My life has been full of nothing but accomplishments. I became a mayor, a husband, a father, and last but not least, a liege lord.
Staring back at his reflection in the hallway mirror, Peter coldly calculates the characteristics that made up his face. He became aware in full detail his distinguished beard, well groomed hair, chiseled abs and monstrous height, growing more fond by the seconds that passed of his appearance. Peter liked, even cherished, the way he looked. He took great pride of what his parents gave him and just wished others would appreciate this gift of man as he did.
Like a moth drawn to a flame he remained in awe at the mirror for a good half hour, half expecting some kind of response to today’s meaning. For Peter there were absolutely no more barriers to cross. Today was the day of notability and resurrection of power. With everything he developed as a direct result of past events, uncontrollable, insane, vicious and evil, the utter indifference towards it all has now surpassed. His pain remains constant and sharp like a knife, he does not hope for a better world for anyone anymore. In fact, Peter would prefer his pain to be inflicted on others. He wants no one to escape. But even after admitting this to himself many times, there is no true catharsis; like the great villains in history his punishment continues to elude him, gaining no deeper knowledge of himself.
Hearing the alarm go off to signal the Reaping, Peter smiles in the mirror one last time, perfecting his shirt buttons to reveal the right amount of chest. He felt satisfied with the retro look, giving himself enough praise to leave the house.
Like the flick of a switch Peter’s cold gaze turns malicious and ill. He proceeds to channel this sudden onset of rage and begins to smash his forehead against the mirror, violently banging his head repeatedly against the vanity. With each whack the power behind it grows, cracking the mirror into hundreds of shards. The void becomes filled with the sounds of dull bangs bouncing off the walls, elicited by the shattering of glass. All the pain he was feeling was now a second thought in this moment as he felt a sense of relief doing this absurdly painful act.
After a few minutes pass he promptly stops the outburst like a finely tuned machine, disregarding the event all together as if it never happened. He adjusts his hair accordingly and moves it around with such ease, meticulously hiding the fresh wound in plain sight by his hairline. By the looks of how well maneuvered and quickly his clean up was it was apparent how often he’s done this.
A blur of seemingly irrelevant events occur in lieu of the mornings beating and Peter now remains towering amongst the other eligible attendees at the Justice Building. Slowly but surely more individuals begin compacting themselves behind the velvet roping. Peter paid no attention to the faces that passed as he finds them both repulsive and pathetic.
Indica babbles onto the stage like the true clone she is and selects the female representative from the bowl. Not two seconds later after reading the slip another voices chimes up and desperately volunteers to take her place. Although Peters outward presence maintained a sense of calm his mind began to race at the sight of the girl volunteering. If she was just as eager and brave he would have to step up his game to be remembered. He refused to be out shined at this important event.
“Whoa nelly Princepessa-” Indica mumbles gathering a hand full of slips from the male bowl. “Competing alongside Ms. Lesauvage is…”
“Peter Reznikov!” Peter interrupts before Indica has the opportunity to read the slip.
“Whoa Peter is it? Chill the fuck out, is that your way of volunteering because rude.”
Bush did nine eleven.
Without skipping a beat Peter makes his way up to the stage and greets both Indica and Essa with a hand, ignoring his selfish actions that lead him there all together. He looks out to the crowd and lets out a formidable smile as Indica lifts the microphone up towards his head. “For the ladies out there who didn’t hear you, what’s your name again?”
