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| The Price of a Promise- The story of the 607th Hunger Games | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Feb 7 2011, 10:39 PM (349 Views) | |
| Dancer67 | Feb 7 2011, 10:39 PM Post #1 |
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Chapter 1 “Ceryni, wake up.” A hand shakes my shoulder, and I open my eyes groggily to find myself staring right into Amera’s bright green eyes. I roll over and groan. “No.” I mumble, reluctant to leave my semi-warm bed. Today is the day of the reaping, I realize. I reluctantly roll out of bed into a semi-upright position, seeing Amera dressed in a little pink dress with a bow in her wild brown hair. I peer through the small gap between my eyelids at the dress my mother has picked out for me, which is sitting on the end of my bed. It is a forest green, the same color as my eyes, with a halter top and a long skirt. There’s a knock at my door. Astron pokes his head in, and I almost laugh at the expression on his face. He hates getting dressed up, and apparently Mom picked out his wardrobe this year. Even his hair is combed back in a neat fashion, which is unusual for him. “Amera, Mom needs you downstairs,” Astron says, messing with his hair and trying to make it look semi Astron-like again. “Oh, and she says you need to get dressed, Ceryni.” Amera bounces out of my room with Astron leading the way downstairs, and I am left alone to get myself prettied up for the Capitol. I slip out of my night clothes and into my dress. My mother picked well. It fits perfectly, and somehow it brings out the green in my eyes. Something on my bed catches my eye and makes my throat close up. It’s a single emerald green bead on a necklace. Riala’s district token. A few years ago, I had another sister. Riala. She was the female tribute for District 7 in the 605th Hunger Games. She was only twelve years old. When she died, it tore our family apart. Our father committed suicide. Our mom broke down. The only reason we survived was because Astron and I worked extra hard in the lumber mills, and even then, we barely scraped by with enough food for the family. I push back the tears welling up in my eyes and swallow past the lump in my throat as I carefully place the necklace around my neck. I pull on the uncomfortable high-heeled shoes my mother has left out for me, then click, click, click awkwardly downstairs on the wobbly heels. My mother smiles when she sees me in my dress. “You look lovely, Ceryni.” Lovely. She never uses “elegant” words, lovely, for example, unless she’s nervous. Who can blame her, after two years ago? Her eyes travel to the necklace I’m wearing, and though her smile remains, it does not reach her eyes, the ones so like Riala’s, the ones so full of pain and grief. “Thanks, Mom.” I say awkwardly. She looks me up and down, then says: “We need to do your hair. No good going on television with hair not worthy of the Capitol.” Amera and I agree with a little too much enthusiasm, but it seems to go unnoticed by our mother. Even though she’s only five, Amera knows about Riala. Amera was three when Riala died. Three is an age for memories. Amera’s are of Riala. The next hour is a blur of doing and undoing my hair until it looks perfect. I am relieved when my mother looks at the clock and gasps, “Oh my gosh! You’re going to be late!” She quickly finishes whatever hairdo she was working on and shoves me out the door, calling for Astron to hurry up. I almost fall flat on my face when my heel gets caught on the door frame, but I instantly catch myself and hurry behind my mother. When we get there, Anvyra Poren and Maple Wood, District seven’s past victors, are already up on stage. Anvyra is observing the crowd with her intelligent green eyes. The mayor is finishing the same speech he recites every year about how the games started when Astron and I take our places in our sections. When he’s done, Holly Korel, a representative from the Capitol, comes forward, all bright-haired and fancied up. I can never understand what the Capitol considers “fashion”. I don’t get why they think it makes them beautiful to have rainbow colored skin or day-glow hair. Holly is one of those fashions I don’t get. This year, she sports neon green hair and orange skin. Gold tattoos cover both of her orange arms. To me, she looks like a pumpkin. Holly approaches the podium while balancing on pink high-heels that must be at least six inches tall. She starts off by beaming at the crowd and introducing herself, though we all know who she is. “It is such an honor to be here in District seven.” She punctuates her statement by putting lots of emotion in her voice and placing her hand dramatically to her chest. Holly finishes by wishing us a happy Hunger Games and crosses to the first large glass ball, the one that contains the girls’ names. I hold my breath as Holly swirls her tattooed arm around in the glass globe. She grabs a piece of paper, and the whole square goes silent. Nobody breathes. She opens the paper, and reads the name: “Ceryni Thief.” I can’t breathe. I’ve forgotten how to. I feel lightheaded. Gentle hands are pushing me forward, and I stumble over my feet. A hand catches me, and I look to see it’s owner. It’s Astron. His pale complexion has become paler, if possible, leaving him as white as a sheet, drained of all color. I right myself, and walk forward with slow steps towards the stage. All eyes are on me. The cameras are on me. And tonight, all of Panem’s eyes will be on me. Scenes from Riala’s Games are running through my mind. Riala’s name being called. Riala’s interview. Riala getting injured at the Cornucopia. Riala nursing her arm back to health. Riala making an alliance with the tributes from District five. Riala dying. I push from my mind the image of Riala’s peaceful face the day they sent home the casket, instead concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other, not tripping over myself like a complete fool. I keep my eyes to the ground, not making eye contact with anyone. I climb the steps and take my place on the stage. Holly beams at me again, then walks to the globe that contains the boys’ names. She swishes her arm through the names a few times, then pulls out a name. She opens it and reads it. “Mike Lane.” I don’t recognize the name, but a boy who looks to be about my age steps forward and walks toward the stage. He holds his head high in that tough, boyish way that most boys his age have. He has brown hair with faint streaks of blond in it. His olive colored face sports a splash of freckles across his cheeks. I blink a few times and realize that he’s quite handsome. He walks up the stairs of the stage with a confident air about him. His chocolate-colored eyes meet mine for a second, and my knees turn to jelly. I quickly look away. He takes his place onstage. “Ladies and gentlemen, the District seven tributes for the 607th Hunger Games!” Holly Korel cries enthusiastically, gesturing widely to the crowd. The crowd doesn’t clap. Sound effects of cheering will probably be cut in by the Capitol later. “Happy Hunger Games!” Holly cries in a singsong voice, making up for District seven’s lack of enthusiasm, and Mike and I are escorted to the justice building. We are led to separate rooms for tributes. I recognize the way because I came this way with my parents when Riala was a tribute. I am left in a room decorated in warm colors; blood reds, deep blues, warm oranges, velvety purples. I ease myself into a plush, red sofa. As I wait for visitors, I play with my necklace. Riala’s necklace. No, I tell myself. I can’t think of her like that. This is my Hunger Games. I have to be strong. I’ve learned from her mistakes. I will win. I hear a knock, and my first visitor comes in. It’s my mother. The door closes behind her. She stands there for a moment, then drops onto the couch and hugs me. She begins to sobbing and stroking my hair. “Ceryni,” she whispers, “I love you. Don’t forget that. Ever.” She pulls away, and looks into my forest green eyes. She touches the bead on Riala’s necklace. “Never give up. Don’t give up on me, Ceryni. Fight. And don’t ever stop.” She embraces me again, and I hear the door open. “I will, Mom. Promise.” Our time is up. My mom squeezes me tightly one last time, kisses me on the cheek, then leaves. My next visitor is Astron. He plops himself in an armchair and studies me, probably looking for the right thing to say. “Come back alive, okay, Ceryni?” Probably about as sentimental as I’m going to get, but he surprises me. “You have to come back!” His voice breaks, and I realize just how close he is to breaking down like Dad did. He already lost Riala. He can’t loose me, too. It would leave too big of a gap. He takes a deep breath, and regains his brotherly nature. He reaches across the table and ruffles my hair. “You’ll be okay, little sis.” Our time is up. We give each other an awkward goodbye hug, and he walks out of the room stiffly. I have one last visitor. Amera. I tell myself I have to be the strong big sister for her. But she’s the first to cry. She hurls herself onto the couch and presses her tiny body against mine. She looks up at me. “Ceryni, you’re coming back, right?” Her huge green eyes, so much like Riala’s, are brimming with tears. “You’re gonna win. And then we’re gonna have lots of food and live in Victor’s Village and have lots of money and Astron can stop working in the orchards and. . .and. . . We’ll live happily ever after! Right?” Happily ever after. Just the kind of thing a five-year-old thinks of. I find myself agreeing. “Yeah, Amera. Happily ever after.” “Pinky promise?” She holds out her pinky. I lock pinkies with her. “Pinky promise.” She buries her face in my dress again. “Love you, Ceryni.” “Love you too, Amera.” And that’s that. I’m going to win. It’s not just for Riala anymore. It’s for Amera. And my mom. Amera has to go. She squeezes me tightly with her skinny, bony, five-year old arms, then she’s gone. And I’m left alone with a little piece of Riala to keep me company, and a pinky promise to uphold. |
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| Dancer67 | Feb 7 2011, 10:53 PM Post #2 |
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Chapter 2 Whether it is an hour or five minutes later, I couldn’t tell. Anyway, eventually a Peacekeeper comes and takes me to a car, where I also find Mike. We are herded into the car, and it takes off through I observe the smallest details to distract me from reality. I find myself absently picking at a microscopic thread that’s sticking out of the hem of my dress and wondering if Mike has a girlfriend. I dismiss the thought, telling myself that even if he didn’t, I would have no chance of being with him. Both of us would probably get killed. Even if we didn’t both get killed, it’s impossible for both of us to survive. This is the Games. I can’t afford to fall for him. He might end up killing me, after all. At the thought of being killed by Mike, or anyone else for that matter, I find myself getting clammy and sweaty. Memories of Riala flood my mind, and I unsuccessfully try to block them out, or else I will go into shutdown mode. I can’t afford to completely break down whenever I think of Riala, either. It’s a weakness that could lose me sponsors. In the arena, no sponsors amounts to almost no chance of winning. I don’t want to be seen as a sniffling psychopath, either. That amounts to no allies or loss of ones I might end up with. “Penny for your thoughts?” Mike’s smooth voice breaks through my mental rant. “Just thinking about. . .You know.” “Oh.” There’s an awkward pause between us. “What’s your family like?” I assume he’s trying to break the ice. I give a half-smile. “Don’t you owe me a penny first?” Mike reaches into his pocket and pulls out a coin. He flips it, snatches it out of the air, then opens his fist and offers it to me. “It’s not a penny, but--” “That’ll work.” I take the coin and tuck it into my silky pocket. He grins, dazzling me momentarily. “So, back to my question,” Mike says smoothly, “What’s your family like?” “I have a sister and a brother.” I choke up, and I decide to tell him about Riala. What could it hurt? He seems nice enough. “I used to have. . .a-another sister.” My voice drops in volume drastically, and I hate myself for stuttering in front of this incredibly cute boy, even if he is the enemy. “Her name. . . Her name was Riala. She died. . . In the Games.” I drop my gaze, unable to look him in the eye. I can feel tears welling up in my eyes and my throat closing up. “Oh. I’m so sorry. I really shouldn’t have asked.” His voice is full of sympathy. He puts a hand on mine, and I realize my hands are shaking. We’re quiet for a long time. “Hey,” I meet his chocolate eyes. “You’ll be fine. We’re gonna make Riala proud. Promise.” I notice he says “we”, and I decide I can trust him. Maybe. The rest of the ride to the train station is ridden in silence. As we pull up to the station, I ready myself for the lights and camera crews of the Capitol that will be filling the station. I arrange my hair, smooth my dress, and straighten my high heels so as not to face plant in view of all of Panem. I can already see the crews of reporters and cameramen through my side of the window. The car stops, our doors open, and Mike and I step out into the station. The noise of the large crowd hits me all at once. It’s stunningly bright in the station from all of the camera lights. I find myself looking around and sucking up every last bit of District Seven I can before we board the train. I snatch a quick look at a camera monitor. Mike’s face is an unreadable mask, devoid of any emotion. He walks silently beside me, looking strong and handsome. I, on the other hand, am clipping awkwardly along in my uncomfortable high heels (thanks, Mom!), and looking quickly around like a startled rabbit. It only gets worse from there. As I’m trying to compose myself, my heel gets caught in the seam of the cement squares that cover the platform. I stumble into Mike, and, being the nice boy that he is, he grabs me in his arms so I don’t fall. The cameras eat it all up. I can just imagine our interviews before the Games. Ronald Flickerman asking Mike and I about our “relationship”, and us having to deny everything, not without some raised eyebrows and whispering in the crowd. I straighten myself, and Mike and I hurry quickly onto the train. Once the doors of the train hiss shut behind us, I slump, and let out a sigh of relief. I hobble on my heels to the nearest sofa and flop onto it ungracefully, not really caring at this point. “Now, we can’t have that, now can we?” A soft but firm female voice says about five minutes later. I open my eyes and see Anvyra Poren, my mentor, standing in front of me with her arms crossed and a disapproving expression on her face. “You’re a lady, Ceryna. Please act like it.” “Ceryni,” I correct her. “No matter, we have a lot of work to do before we get you to the Capitol. First, we need to teach you some manners. An for goodness sakes, Ceryna, sit up. You look like you have no spine.” “Ceryni.” I sit up. “Where’s Mike?” “He’s with Maple. You two are to be mentored separately.” She walks forward and lifts my chin with her index finger. “There. Keep your chin up. You have an image to maintain. Now, your room is down that hall and to the right. The door will have your name on it.” I realize the train is moving. Faster than I’d realized it would be. I walk tall towards my room until Anvyra is out of sight, then I relax my spine and walk awkwardly down the hall to my room. I find the door marked “Ceryni”. Across the hall is Mike’s room. When I open the door, my breath rushes out of me with a gasp. A huge light fixture hangs from the ceiling, adorned with diamonds ranging from the size of my fist to the size of a pea. A gigantic bed is on the far side of the room with more pillows than I can count and a huge plush quilt. The walls are colored a delicate lavender color. Atop a small set of drawers sits a large mirror. A set of double doors leads to a huge walk-in closet, and another door ends me up in a bathroom twice the size of my bedroom back home. Slipping out of my green dress, I take an extremely long and hot shower. When I finally get out, I put on a plush blue bathrobe and check out what’s in the closet. I put on something simple: An aqua blouse and a pair of jeans, along with Riala’s necklace. I walk barefooted to the bed, then lay down and wrap myself in the warm sheets. They smell wonderful, like the fresh lavender Amera so often picks for our mother. I fall asleep inhaling the scent that smells so much like home. |
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| Dancer67 | Feb 27 2011, 03:55 PM Post #3 |
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[bigger]Chapter 3[/bigger] Though it only feels like I was asleep for a few seconds, a loud rapping on my door jerks me from sleep. “Ceryni?” Trills Holly’s voice from the other side of the door, “Ceryni, dear, are you planning to eat dinner? The reapings are on television, if you care to join us.” My stomach rumbles as if in response to the word “dinner”. “Coming.” I mumble, rolling out of my wonderfully warm bed. I hear Holly clip loudly down the hall, apparently wearing high heels. I stretch, comb my fingers through my hair, and slip on a simple pair of black flats, having already learned that I hate high heels. I trudge out of my room and down the hallway, where I find Mike, Maple, Anvyra, and Holly. Holly is waving her arms and talking animatedly about some new fashion trend in the Capitol. Mike is glued to the television, practically inhaling food. Anvyra is sitting poised and calm, slowly chewing her dinner. Maple is sitting silently in an armchair. The reapings have already started, just as Holly said. By this time, they’re already to District three, and an extremely...uh... blue boy who looks about my age is walking up onto the stage to accompany a redhead girl. The girl must’ve been about a few years younger than me, maybe thirteen, fourteen or so. As I sit in the only empty armchair, the screen changes to District four. A girl with black hair and green eyes, much like Riala’s, walks to the stage. Ayanna Hollis, according to the slip of paper. After her is a tall, skinny boy with greasy hair and brown eyes, Tristan Evans. Ayanna and Tristan exchange venomous glares, so I assume they know each other. A blue-eyed Avox girl comes and places food in front of me. My mouth waters at the scent wafting from the tray. Soups, meats, breads, cheeses, anything I can imagine, all covers the tray. I immediately begin to shovel food into my mouth, so hungry I don’t care about appearances. “Jeez, with the daggers coming out of her eyes, Tristan’ll be dead long before the Games,” Mike mutters past a mouthful. I’m startled into a laugh, nearly choking on the food that I’ve been shoveling into my mouth, and earning a disapproving look from Anvyra. District five: A bright-haired Capitol representative calls the name Ivy Savage. Behind the representative, the mouth of one of the Victors drops open. He clamps it shut quickly. The Victor looks somewhat familiar to me, for some reason. Ivy walks smoothly to the stage, jaw tight, and I immediately see the similarities between her and the Victor. The curve of their jaws, the green of their eyes, the darkness of their hair. It all adds up to one thing: They’re related. Siblings, to be exact. Next is a boy, youngish, pretty scrawny, probably around twelve, Izak Jacobs. I kind of feel bad for the little guy. He’ll probably die at the Cornucopia. Next, District six: First is a short girl, Alex Pine. Her hair is brown and cropped short, and her blue-grey eyes look kind and intelligent. John Matrix is next, and he’s in a similar situation to Izak: On the small side, thin, and frail. Probably another one who’ll die in the bloodbath. Next our district is up. My name is called, and I am shown walking in short, awkward steps to the stage. Mike is called. He looks great, and I swear I can almost hear the girls whispering from the Capitol. District eight is up. The girl is Angel Whitefeather. She has shockingly bright blonde hair, and sly, brown eyes. When she is called, she doesn’t seem to notice at first. She’s off in a small group of girls who are giggling as she sings a ridiculous, dramatic rendition of a song I don’t recognize. The girls stop giggling and get her attention, turning dead serious in an instant. Angel stops singing and pales, then walks stiffly to the stage. She stands with her knees visibly knocking together while the Capitol representative calls a boy’s name: Alex Beat. He has bright red hair with black streaks. His eyes are dark green, and he has cinnamon colored skin. He has an evil glint in his eye, and I feel sorry for Angel for a minute. The screen changes to District nine. A girl with wavy blonde hair and blue eyes walks to the stage. Jenny Picker, by what the slip of paper says. The male tribute, Aster Wolfe, comes to the stage next. He’s good-looking, probably around sixteen or seventeen, with messy blonde hair and the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. The smirk on his face says, I’ve got this in the bag. Piece of cake. In the next district, ten, there’s a volunteer. Anglia Bernhard volunteers for Blake Midera, and it’s obvious they’re best friends. Blake bursts into tears as she hugs her friend and hands her a small object: A braided bracelet, fashioned out of grass and vines. Anglia’s flaming red hair stands out against he shockingly pale skin. She looks like she didn’t sleep well last night; Who can blame her? It was the night before the reaping. The male is a large boy of about sixteen. He has olive skin, short, brown hair, and is extremely muscular. His name is Dalton Rain. “He’ll be one to beat,” I mutter. “If you notice, he’s favoring his left leg a lot. That could be a weakness. Remember that,” says Anvyra quietly. I look closer. She’s right. I store the tidbit in my mind for later reference. The last district has appeared on the television. The female tribute, Hazel Grant, walks onto stage, and I can hear a small girl weeping from the audience. The camera pans to the source of the crying, and I can tell that it’s her little sister. There are definite likenesses between them. I catch a glimpse of a boy in the background with a stunned expression and similar qualities. I assume it’s her brother. Finally, the last tribute is called: Bracken Riggs. He is large and muscular, looks to be about seventeen or eighteen, and strides to the stage with a ridiculously confident air about him. His blue eyes peer through shaggy black hair at Hazel, and he looks at her like one would look at a rat. The reapings are over. The anthem plays, and the Capitol seal glows on the television. Anvyra clicks the TV off. “We have work to do,” she says, “Tomorrow, you and Mike will be tested as to what your skills are. We will work from there.” I nod with my mouth full, savoring every last bit of delicious food on my plate. Once I’ve scraped the last bits of gravy from my plate, two girls come in and clear our dishes away. I know they’re called Avox. My father told us of Avox when he was still alive. He was given the opportunity to go to the Capitol once, and when he came back, he told us about everything there. He told us about the Avox named Trey who waited on him and the others from District seven. He told us about the extravagant fashions. He told us about the amazing technology. That was a year before Riala was reaped for the Games. A year before our family fell apart. My mouth drops open as I realize why I recognize the Victor from District five looked familiar. “Ash Savage,” I say quietly, earning some confused looks from the everyone in the room. “Ash Savage,” I say again, “He was the 605th Hunger Games Victor. My, uh, sister allied with him and the District five girl.” Anvyra looks as if she’s trying to recall the 605th Games. “Yes, I do believe....” She stops momentarily. “Yes. I remember that girl. I mentored her, I believe. Riala wasn’t it? Riala Thief.” I nod, busying myself with smoothing the wrinkles in my jeans. Tears are threatening to come pouring out, so I don’t trust my voice. “Such a shame,” continues Anvyra, “Such a smart young girl. So young. Twelve, I believe. Pretty young thing, too. Such a kind girl, though her compassion was her downfall, I believe. She definitely fancied that District eleven boy, though it was him that turned on her, if I remember--” “I’m going to sleep.” Mike says abruptly, interrupting Anvyra’s recollections. He stands so quickly he bumps his knee on the table in front of him and winces. “Good night.” “I think Mike has the right idea. I’ll need my beauty sleep for when we arrive in the Capitol,” says Holly with a toss of her green hair. “You should be off to bed as well, Ceryni. You have much to do tomorrow. We’ll be arriving in the Capitol day after tomorrow.” Anvyra suggests. Without a word, I rise from the couch and head to my room, still fighting memories of the 605th Games. |
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