Chapter Text
We are the demons beyond salvation.
I am the bruise deeply buried in your godless soul,
The inextricable manacle clinging to your heart.
Her life restarts, alongside the countdown.
—— Reaping Day
Tick tock, tick tock.......
This is a good day, truly. Sunshine pours onto our shoulders like the golden grace from Panem, blinding my eyes and setting my blood seething . But beneath all the cheering and pride, there is something else --
“Any volunteers?”
Tick tock, tick tock. Only my breath echoes back.
“I volunteer!”
All the heads in this crowded square turn around to that voice, including me. My gaze follows the current to find who it is, and there, a boy lunges forward. Tall, muscular, some might even call him monstrous.
Cato Hadley, I know him -- literally the name and have seen him in the Academy. Nothing else. He is the greatest one in his grade, older than us -- maybe one, two or even three years old? I’m not sure.
We did train and even practice to fight with older children from upper grade, but just like the fate, the lottery never assigned us together.
Even so, the best class is not that crowded to miss someone’s name, yet with a vague impression -- at least, I am one of the youngers who passed the elementary training, then survived from the scary and violent fighting of older children. Because I was neither excellent in public training nor charming enough to catch his attention. Unnecessary to do that, or I can say that’s the most dangerous thing I could imagine -- attracting attention. Who else would want to let everyone know what they are capable of before the arena? I am the mid-upper students -- enough to get good training, but not letting people know me too much. If that’s a private training, I will run out of myself to show how far I can go.
Cato Hadley is one hundred percent the best, not only praised by trainers, but also girls. We were asked to observe his practice matches a thousand times -- every movement you can see how trained he was, You could hear the sound of his blade cutting through the air as it tore toward his opponent. Sadistic, vicious, even glacial intent. And what was worse, he never minded being observed -- he is the savage soldier and the glorious symbol of District two.
By the way, how girls depict him -- masculine.
That’s why I said I know him. Heard too much gossip about him, and the representative word -- masculine, endless time. Wow, to be honest, he was one of my source of amusement during lunch time. In this aspect, knowing him too much! There were so many juicy stories I heard about him, made me laugh so hard. However, not now.
Now, he is still as popular as before. People in the square are cheering, greeting and even hugging him to celebrate his magnificent feat, like he has already won this game before it starts.
A kind of unfamiliar feeling, curling beneath my proud smile, twisting my stomach like thread-like seaweed, which makes me feel a little sick. So weird. Although I stand under this burning sunshine in July, the cold -- if it could even be called that. It’s like in the end of the winter, you are wrapped in damp quilt, wind sneaking from a crevice, sinking into your keest. Then attaches on, until eternity.
Before he mounts up to the stage, I tried my best to look through all the vocabulary stored in my brain, trying to name it. What was that odd feeling!
All the praise from the reaper become to buzz integrated in to the background. What was that!
Until I get my mind back, it’s nearly to the end. The sticky-sweet voice hits my eardrum, “Now, shake hands to each other, my brave and glorious heroes!”
I turn to him and give my hand, while pretending to be calm even cold. But, why do I pretend? I should be --
The moment, his tough and layered hand touches my palm, something or a part of me sunk into sleep for a long time starts to wake up. All those memories at the beginning we admitted into the upper training class are reviving. The beat, crack and bruises on my back, forehead and lips, even those kind of dull pain from being beaten on the stomach.
That’s a proper shaking, suddenly, a the word emerges -- scared.
Even in just a blink, I feel a surge of hate, for Hadley and for all the girls in the legal age. Why does he volunteer? Why isn’t there any other girl?
I desire the glory for me, but I am not that fool to suppose there is a great chance for me when he stands in front of me. I don’t think so.
“So, I guess, nice to meet you, Kentwell.” He raises the corner of his lips, showing a facial expression that could be grouped in smile. Unreadable, but sharp. I can see the coldness and cruelty blade under the mask.
Narrowing my eyes, I can say this is like a test -- testing my place in the hierarchy I should be, a pitiful slave or an equal co-worker.
Then I give back a similar sarcastic smile back to him, “Pleasure, Hadley.” I say, staring straight into his eyes -- like a provocation.
This is not the right time pretending to be mild, not now, otherwise he will utilize or even enslave me until I die.
However, he wishes.
Marched by peacekeepers, I pass that long and decorated hallway, wall on the side hanging the sparkling medals and photo frames, where a place to engrave the honour of all the victors from District 2, also to inspire the fighting spirit of the new generation --
Die for glory, Live for District 2.
At the end of the hallway, they separate and conduct us in two different rooms.
The large steel emblem of District 2 is hung on the wall facing the door, two sharp swords crossing under it like guardians. And a bunch of flowers silently placed in a crystal vase, beneath the emblem.
On the marble floor in black and white, the rust red arm chairs made by velvet are set in the corner, behind the window, which is blocked by elegant iron art guardrail. Under the sill, is a short end table cast by the same material of the guardrail. On the glass surface, there is a cup of tea and pieces of cookies placing on bone porcelain tableware.
I walk directly to the armchair, sitting down , nearly laying into it. The soft fabric touches my skin, I am already feeling tired, even I don’t want to admit. The cookie tastes too sweet for me, but I still sitting there, nibbling it until finishing all of that piece. Otherwise, I have nothing could do, but wait in this awkward silence.
It becomes more weird, while hearing the noise from the street outside the window. Everything just works like any other day. But no, not in this way.
Tick tock, tick tock ...
A faint sound attracts my attention. It is so easy to be distracted in this kind of quiet place, no voice, and the sound of steps -- the hallway is like the dead place.
Well, seems like also no one coming for the superstar. Hey, wait, ALSO?
Actually, I do have friends. At least, all of us call this kind of relationship as friendship. As I mentioned before, there were other students having lunch, spending spare time, training, even sharing snacks with me sometimes. However, we never talked about ourselves deeply, the personal stuff, like family, and our future. Those conversation is meaningless for us, aimless, useless, and people? Careless. I should have expected this earlier --
Picked up as a tribute is the greatest honour you could ever have, if there is an excess? Must be becoming the winner of the hunger game.
All of them may already start their first celebration together, to cheering for the new champion born from District 2 of this year. No matter is me or him.
Not sure either the window isn’t closed too tightly or the more sensitive instinct of human being in this quite place, the noise comes from the window and the silence from the hallway starts to get close, compressing me. When I stand up, wiping my dress, and walk closer to the clock which is pinned on the wall, the door is opened.
Tick tock, tick tock ...
The coming one is my little brother, Oakem, an extreme unfitting name -- how would someone give a short, thin, fragile and mild boy this strong name?
Of course he fought back for himself, we fought fiercely, and the result? Obviously, I taught him how to behave and talk properly to his older sister. Yet, he still declared firmly, “I will grow taller and stronger, and that day would be the end of your pride!”
I lifted my eyebrows, shrugging carelessly, “Hum, we will see.”
But now, he still is a mid-high boy, while his shoulder grows wider. Thirteen years old, as tall as I am, maybe a little bit higher than me, don’t know the standard of boys.
He pushes back his hand, closing the door. The first time he enters this room, his eyesight starting to flow to the cookies on end table. Forced by my eyes, he stands still.
“ You’ll win, right? Then bring tons of money back and buy all the Coke we want. So I don’t need to get up early to that damn Academy.”
I staring at his face, when did he grow up like this? When did the teen period start? Does he start it? The most deep memory of him is about coke. I like it, either him. But trained as a career tribute, I have to control my diet to keep my physic flesh in the greatest state, the rate of fat, blood glucose, and blood pressure. Every time I wanted to have some, the rest was for him. I left the bottle in my room, or behind the door in back yard, in case my parents found out. He kept it every time. I knew it.
“ So, you will win, right?” he asks again, “ you will win and bring your glory.”
I think for a while, “ I will. But you have to keep going to the Academy.”
He nods, a tangle of curly brown hair breaking free from the constraint of hair gel flowing to his forehead, while bouncing as his action.
Like a squirrel. That kind of fat one always eats nuts before winter, and bury some of nuts.
“Fine. When will you be back?”
“ Few weeks.”
“ Ok.”
“ You have your last one minutes.” we are interrupted by the peacekeeper.
Tick tock, tick tock ...
“ Here, take it.” he grabs something from his pocket, placing a brand new coin in my hand, “ Take it. You can buy a coke on your way, or after get to the capitol. ” while speeding up his pace unconsciously. “ All of them said Capitol is the metro and fashion place, remember to bring me a gift!”
Gift? I pause, thinking about that word, gift? The next moment, I launch to that desk setting beside the armchair, grabbing all the cookies from the plate although part of them becomes crumbs under the hardness.
“ Take this Oak -- ”
Suddenly the door opening, peacekeepers yank him and slam the door.
“Goodbye!”
This words slip off my mouth. Yes, Goodbye.
The splendid room returns to the silence it had before, and only me and the untidy crumbs scattered in a mess.
Minutes later, we get into the shuttle. And after a short ride, it is the station.
Panem drew up extremely strict rules to limit the transaction between districts. I have ridden trains several times, but never been this kind of train. The compartment looks like a luxury hotel -- crystal chandelier, mirror-like floor, velvet curtains and silk-covered sofa . The glasses on the table are in different kinds of shapes and color, and the red one -- I once heard only the gold dust, calcined at high heat,can create this blood-red hue.
Light, Gorgeous and Expensive.
All the flash and noise from cameras are blocked up by the closing door.
Then, the space beside entrance and the doorway darkening, while I hear the elegant voice,
“Welcome, Ms. Kentwell and Mr. Hadley.”