Post by will johnwayne d2m [aya] on Jun 1, 2018 23:02:37 GMT -5
"It is time," they said as they stood over the impatient people of the District, "To once again send two of our own children to the Capitol to compete in the Hunger Games. Let us begin the Reaping!"
They did not look to see the reaction of his district before reaching into the glass ball that held the names of the female children. "Ladies first," they announced, pulling out a slip of paper. They unfolded it and read out to the crowd, "Wynter Rochelle!" They then reached into the other ball. "Ubbe Hammerfell!"
OOC- RPing is allowed. If you wish to volunteer, let the tribute post first either accepting or stepping down from their place for volunteers, and then post. If the tribute doesn't reply by Tuesday, June 5th, a staff member will post saying that volunteering is open. Please do not post until you see this staff message. FIRST COME, FIRST SERVE.
Tributes, please do not make your acceptance or denial of your spot in character; instead, please leave an ooc note at the end of your post stating whether they accept or are stepping down for volunteers.
Post by steel campano | 8f | zoë on Jun 2, 2018 21:06:07 GMT -5
We were twelve years old and I held her back.
"Don't!" - I had ordered. "Don't you dare."
And someone else's twin died in her place.
Maybe I should have gone instead. I could have said that I was her, pretended. Died in the cold and the snow. Nobody would have noticed had we swapped places. Not at first, anyway. Maybe I should have volunteered myself and let my body bleed out as hell froze over.
It was no place for a girl called Summer.
Maybe it would have been a place for me. Would I have thrived, thawed, died, lived?
I'm getting like her again. Over-thinking things. She's learnt not to annoy me, not to make too much noise. There's a comfort in the silence between us, but the space is gaping and our distance aches. We don't talk like we used to. We didn't even talk after that reaping. We went back to how we were, tiptoes and band-aids and ironing boards, I'd burn my skin in the shower and burn hers too, just trying to make things right again.
It seems that I don't know how to fix her. I only know how to hurt her, to bandage up wounds I carved into her, to hold her back. Keeping her safe, all those years ago, was bruises on her forearm.
Now we stand together, silent, as always, I want to scream because everyone's so noisy and when they cheer at the Capitol anthem I flinch-
Am I thinking that to them, or to myself?
Things always seem bad around reaping day. Everything's infuriating. Summer is infuriating. Mom and Dad are infuriating. I'm infuriating, dresses and pretty hair and Careers hollering as they walk to the District Square, shut up! Idiots, all of them - I scowl in their direction.
I wear my ear plugs the whole way. Pulse in my ears and heart beat in my chest, I time my footsteps with its rhythm and stare at the ground with Summer in tow.
She's perfect, I'm not.
Death senses that.
It's like I always knew this was coming. A life for a life, so I give mine instead.
I'm a ghost now grown, letting go of my sister's hand as I walk up to meet my fate upon that stage. Maybe I'll live, maybe I'll die. It's all an unknown, but that's okay. What's not okay is that I don't even know if she cares - but I still turn back to look at her. My weakness, my strength, my reflection.
Regret is a bitter new taste I can't seem to swallow.
It's alright. I've prepared for this. The fighting, the bloodshed, the killing. I can be a murderer. I can drown in crimson. Summer couldn't. Summer wouldn't have lasted a day in there. Cardboard cut-out career tribute, I hope I become more than a name lost in a sea of disappointment. I hope my sister lives long enough to grow old, to have kids, to find someone to show her love and take care of her like I couldn't.
I hope she finds solace in my death. Maybe my absence will be freeing.
People cheer, clap, I try not to flinch. I smile - they taught us that, look confident. I beam at the thought, clenching my fists, pinning them to my sides in an effort not to slam my palms to my ears and block them all out - microphone squeaks and I f l i n c h, if only for a moment. (Shut up!)
"Congratulations!" our escort shrieks and it hurts - maybe I'll cut out her tongue on the journey to the Capitol.
I wave to the crowd and let them cheer back, glory - all mine. I look to Summer and whisper, so quiet, lip movements so subtle my message is exchanged just between the two of us,
I hope she can hear me. Because all I hear is the lack of her voice.
I'll never forget the day my brother volunteered for the games. Ivar was always determined to succeed despite his many handicaps he lived with. Sometimes I think he made such a stupid decision, but it was his decision, and I admire that he wanted to live his life. We fought like any other brother would, but it doesn't mean I miss him any less. Sometimes I'm left wondering when my time will come, when I'll get the chance to do what Ivar didn't.
I put on my best outfit my father laid out for me. Just a nice button up shirt, and a pair of black slacks. Never have I understood why everyone dresses up so nice for the reaping. Why not just wear a t-shirt with holey jeans? That's what I would pick if my father would let me. But he wants me to look nice - he wants all of us to look nice. Once I'm finished, I run my hands through my scruffy hair trying to make it at least look decent. It's hard looking great sometimes. Once I'm ready, I see my two brothers running around. It's hard not seeing Ivar crawling around on the ground ruining every outfit he had.
But soon we're all out the door and heading to the district square. The walk is boring, but we get there quick, and we're making our way through to the crowd. I take my place with the men my age, and I'm staring at the stage listening to the same stupid speech over and over. I just want to get to the fun part. The reaping. I want to know if it's my chance. If it's my turn to represent the district and bring home a victory. Once the speech is over, I fully focus my attention. I watch unamused as the female makes her way to the stage, and then I'm standing there with my fingers crossed. Volunteering is the only way to really make sure I'm the one in the games.
For a moment my heart drops because someone could volunteer to save me, and even before I have a chance to make my way towards the stage, I hear someone volunteering in my place. My heart drops even further into the pits of the unknown because I have no clue who this man is. But then I realize he's the man that has been reaped the past two years that one of my relatives saved, and someone else saved the year before. I guess for him, the third time is a charm.
Ubbe steps down as 2m tribute Volunteer post to come.
Any night before the reaping, I make sure I have a good night rest, and this one wasn't any different. The last two years people made me look like a fool. The Hammerfell volunteered, and the pathetic excuse of a human being died to the hands of such a tiny kid from district three. Horrible if you ask me. And then the year before, the brave, yet stupid Shan may have stood a chance had he not followed the path of the giant behemoth. This year is my year unless of course I'm the lucky one drawn from the bowl once more. Sometimes it's inevitable, but I've never witnessed such crap in my life. Two years someone saved me, and I don't even know who they are, but it's every man for himself. It leaves me wondering if this year will be the same, or if the third time is a charm.
I've never been afraid of the games, or much of anything for that matter. Usually I like slipping around in the darkness trying to prove that I'm a force to reckon with. Not that it matters because if my fate is in my own hands, I'll enter the games this year, and I will do what I can to win. Sometimes it may not even be the best because it may go against what my brother wants. Maybe he wants me here for some massive plan. Will he even care if I'm the one that's standing on the stage being sent off to represent district two?
A huge grin spreads from ear to ear as I put on my reaping outfit. I've wore it on so many occasions. A white button up shirt, a black jacket, and a black pair of pants. I'm not really fond of dress shoes, so I just put on a pair of old tennis shoes. I don't think people will look at my feet because I'm unsure of what their reasoning would be. It didn't matter because now it's time to go, and I'm ready to make my name known. I won't be just another face hidden within he district.I want to bring honor and joy to my family. To myself. To everyone in district two. None have been worthy. It's a shame that these people claim they're careers, yet they fall victim in the worse possible ways. Let me show them how it's done.
I waltz through the entrance, and I make my way through the crowd until I'm standing where I need to stand. The edge is a nice place because I have to be first especially if my name isn't the one that's called. I'm not a very patient person, so when the same speech and motions are repeated year after year, it gets old fast. But soon it's done, and soon the actual reaping process has begun.
A girl's name is called, and I watch the lonely girl make her way to the stage, and it's almost like a celebration. But when she's on the stage, the escort reaches into the bowl, and draws out a name - I take a breath in anticipation, and I'm counting how fast I can run the words through my head, and I almost expect to hear mine, but it isn't mine. It's a Hammerfell. One took my place once. He stole my chance, and I refuse to let this one do the same.
I take a breath; "I volunteer!" The kid hasn't moved, and I'm out in the middle of everyone rushing to the stage. The feeling of someone stealing this away. This is my moment. My chance. My life. My everything, and I will not let it come crashing down. This is the last time I'll ever be hiding in the dark.