|
Reaping
Jul 9, 2014 20:17:19 GMT -6
Post by Vester Lombard on Jul 9, 2014 20:17:19 GMT -6
Welcome to the reaping for the 3rd annual Hunger Games! Every year the twenty-four tributes of the upcoming Hunger Games are chosen during the reaping. An escort from each of the twelve districts randomly chooses the name of one male and one female tribute between the ages of twelve and eighteen. If someone so chooses, they may volunteer to take the place of a tribute who is selected. This is often done by Career Tributes who spend their lives training to compete in the Hunger Games. The selected tributes then board a train to the Capitol to meet their fate. Instructions:Respond to this post telling the story of your tribute's reaping. One to three solid paragraphs is recommended, but you may write as much or as little as you like. Make sure to read the Forum Rules before posting. Keep in mind that the sponsors will be voting on the quality of your submissions during the Training Days to determine each tribute's sponsor score. More interesting characters will receive more gifts in the arena. This year, the importance of sponsor gifts has dramatically increased as you will need items to pass certain obstacles. Submission Deadline: Tuesday, July 22 11:00 PM
|
|
|
Reaping
Jul 12, 2014 12:26:13 GMT -6
via mobile
Post by Veronica Braxton on Jul 12, 2014 12:26:13 GMT -6
One day two years ago...
"Braxton what are the Hunger Games?" The color drains from his face as he begins with a sigh, "I was really hoping to never have this conversation with you. It's a horrible vile show of the capitol's power. You see, a long time ago..." Braxton begins to regale the story of the rebellion and the capitols institution of the hunger games. V watched and listened with rapt attention, hardly reacting at all except for a faint hum or nod of the head when asked if she understood some particular point of the story. The evening drew on with scarcely a word between them as V and Braxton prepared to bed down for the night, but sleep would not come to V. No, her mind was far too alive for that.
Present day:
The sun wasn't yet high enough in the sky to cut through the thick cover of the forest canopy. In the dense morning fog a figure cuts through the hazy darkness, silently streaking towards town. A voice calls out from a distance in the thick, still, air, "VEE!" undoubtedly Braxton had followed her footprints to the creek only to discover they simply led in circles. She was careful to cover up her real tracks, last years failed attempt had taught her much. She arrived in town to find the somber commotion she expected. Nobody would notice the girl they rarely see with their minds scattered in so many directions. They had already chosen the male tribute, some boy V had never met. "And the female tribute from district 12 shall be," the escort said with a fluid, flourish, flick of the wrist, "*ahem* Jessica Altwit." the crowd goes silent as a young girl silently sobs and begins to move towards the center dias.
"I volunteer." said an unexpectedly chipper voice from the back of the assembly. "I can volunteer right, that's one of the rules?"
"Eh, yes. Yes, you can." said the escort with mild surprise at the girl's bravado and ignorance. "looks like we have a volunteer this year, please come to the stage. And what's your name dear?"
"V-" she started. She didn't remember being anything other than V. And Braxton had never explained why he chose to call her that in the first place. "V-Veronica... Veronica... Braxton."
"Well let's hear if for Veronica Braxton, the final tribute from district twelve!" synthetic trumpets blare as the capitols anthem is played over the loud speaker. The supposedly uplifting tune clashing with the macabre atmosphere of the reaping.
"So this is it," V thought, "I'm actually going to the Capitol!"
|
|
Deleted
Deleted Member
Posts: 0
|
Reaping
Jul 14, 2014 8:32:47 GMT -6
Post by Deleted on Jul 14, 2014 8:32:47 GMT -6
The sun’s rays had found their way past the clouds of smog, through the gap of the ratty old curtains, and brushed Ginger’s hair and eyes lightly as if to wake her. Ginger allowed the light to dance across her face as she contemplated rolling over and letting sleep take over her once again. This idea sounded delightful until an uninvited thought took over, the Reaping was today. Without a sound Ginger swung her feet over the side of the bed allowing them to lightly brush the floor before standing up. Across the room she noticed a pale grey dress had been laid out on her sewing table. Ever year her mother prepared a dress from scraps of fabric found at the shop.
Time had seemed to lose all meaning, the morning was lasting an eternity. Her mother and father had completed their yearly rituals of warning Ginger to keep quite. It seemed that their worst fear wasn’t her name being drawn; it was that she would speak up and anger a Peacekeeper or worse…volunteer. But the time of the reaping had finally come. Ginger waved goodbye as she made her way to the courtyard where the other children awaited their fate.
The Escort for District 11 was a plump and short woman who seemed to enjoy her job immensely. Ginger allowed herself to zone out the booming voice as she let her eyes fall on familiar faces. She surveyed the room she locked eyes with a boy from across the courtyard. Her heart fluttered and she broke the glance realizing now wasn’t the time to notice such things.
Ginger had miraculously survived each reaping, but this year her name was entered 20 times the number seemed daunting as she looked upon the bowl of names. As she nervously awaited the drawing she let her fingers trace the seams of the fabric. Ginger quickly felt a foreign object had been sewn into her dress, she folded back the seam of her sleeve to find a small silver button in the shape of a rat, and next to it her mother had embroidered the words, “Not her”.
“As always, ladies first!” the voice boomed. Ginger didn’t even get the chance to look for her mother before the name was drawn.
“Ginger Vasque!”
Ginger cringed at the sound of her name and her eyes fell to the small embroidery before raising her hand in defeat. As she was lead up to the stage Ginger began to shutter with body rocking coughs, but she managed to cover her mouth while being led to the center of the stage. Ginger let her eyes scan across the crowd before her one last time before looking into her hands.
Blood.
"Let the games begin." she whispered as they drew the next name.
|
|
Ayla Farrow
Tribute
Victor of 3rd Hunger Games
Posts: 243
District: 5
|
Reaping
Jul 18, 2014 16:54:57 GMT -6
Post by Ayla Farrow on Jul 18, 2014 16:54:57 GMT -6
Ayla awoke early on the morning of the reaping. She dressed her five-year-old brother Jamie, and headed to the site of the reaping. The streets were crowded, there was no room to move about, let alone to think. Ayla couldn't tell who looked more nervous, the children or their horrified parents. She began to search for her own father. He had taken a late shift at the plant, and had not yet come home from work the night before. Through the crowd, she caught his eye.
"Ayla!" he called. She squeezed her way through the crowd, until she was able to grasp her father's hand and pull him to her and Jamie. "Are you nervous?" he asked. "Nah," she said with a falsely cool tone, "I know how small the odds are."
A few minutes passed with no words spoken between Ayla and her father. Finally, a voice came on over the loud speaker announcing that the reaping had begun.
When her name was called, Ayla blinked once, then stepped forward without a backward glance at her father. She couldn't. She didn't want to see the look of pain that was sure to have fallen over him.
"Your mother would have been so proud" he whispered, as she walked away onto the stage, without a backward glance.
|
|
|
Reaping
Jul 19, 2014 10:58:06 GMT -6
Post by Tristan Danio on Jul 19, 2014 10:58:06 GMT -6
The screams of circling gulls pierced through the air as all District 4 stood assembled in neat lines filling the grand courtyard. An early defeat in last year's Games had left the assembled fishermen, captains and crews humiliated and anxious to find their new tributes.
"Tristan Dan-ee-o!" Cried the Capitol's Reaping judge, holding the small token up for the assembly and cameras to see.
"It's Danio." Called Tristan out of habit. The silent weight of attention and cameras crashed against him as all Panem took in Tristan's tattooed arms, sea-tanned complexion and stern face.
A burly young man farther back in the lines stepped forward past Tristan, his hand raised high.
"I am Seamus Wortkins, and I volunteer!" He boomed with a wide grin. The assembly began excitedly chattering as they eyed their career tribute, chosen out of dozens as the best to represent District 4. Tristan felt the pressure slip away as the carrer walked up to the stage; he took a deep breath.
"No, I'll tackle this." The crowd was silenced as the cameras panned back to Tristan. "What's wrong with you, man?!" Barked Seamus, turning back angrily. Tristan ignored him and raised his arm high.
"I reject Seamus's offer, and stand as tribute!" Tristan threw his voice hard enough to be heard throughout the courtyard. The brutish career took a half step forward and suddenly the Tristan's world popped sideways. His vision darkening, Tristan was left with one thought before blacking out:
'I didn't know fists could move that fast...'
|
|
|
Reaping
Jul 19, 2014 11:13:13 GMT -6
Post by Ingrid Schuhmacher on Jul 19, 2014 11:13:13 GMT -6
Ingrid’s cold eyes scanned the reaping crowd. She rolled her eyes as she waited in line to receive her blood test registration. She had waited her whole life for this moment and it was taking forever. She wished she could stand near her family rather than being herded like cattle with the rest of the common people. She caught the eyes of her brother, Anton, from across the open green. He flashed her a wide grin.
The lines dissolved as people crowded together. Ingrid pushed through towards the front where she met her brother. A few minutes later a hush fell over the crowd. The buzzing of electricity could be heard over the stillness. A capitol woman gave a small speech, none of which Ingrid heard, before saying “ladies first”. She pulled a slip of paper from a large glass bowl and read, “Alice Jacobson”. A tiny girl stumbled forward and began to make her way up the large staircase.
Ingrid squared her shoulders, flipped her hair, and walked briskly forward. In no time, she reached the girl on the stairs pushing her aside and continuing up to the platform. She turned towards the audience not even facing or addressing the capitol woman and calmly spoke “I volunteer.”
|
|
|
Reaping
Jul 19, 2014 12:22:52 GMT -6
Post by Anton Schuhmacher on Jul 19, 2014 12:22:52 GMT -6
Anton's adrenaline was kicking in and he couldn't stand still. The Schuhmacher family had been looking forward to this day for years. In fact, Anton was more self conscious that his excitement made him look nervous like all the other scared children. He caught his sister's glace and flashed a confident, wide grin. Wait, what? He quickly turned and dashed down the lines until he reached the front. He searched the crowd for his friends, but failed to see them among the many strangers. Soon after, Ingrid arrived at his side.
Anton hated the idea of having the two of them in the camera together like how their parents had talked about, but at the moment it did feel a bit more comforting to have someone he knew at his side.
Most of the reaping ceremony passed unnoticed by Anton until Ingrid strode away and shoved the pitiful small child out of her way and spoke, "I volunteer." She then glanced down at Anton.
Anton straightened himself out, flashed his winner's smile, and waved as he strode up the stage before the host could reach a name out of the glass bowl. He then put his hand on Ingrid's shoulder and said, "I'm coming with her."
The popular District 1 family received a tremendous round of applause. There was even a panty thrown at Anton as he raised a fist into the air. Anton picked it up, laughed, and shouted into the crowd, "Thanks! This will be my token!"
|
|
|
Reaping
Jul 19, 2014 23:42:07 GMT -6
Post by Jorn Oxen on Jul 19, 2014 23:42:07 GMT -6
Jorn stood quietly next to his two smaller cousins, tightening his fists and digging his dirty cracked fingernails into his rough and callused palm. Everybody in the yard was sweating, it was a brutal heat outside and humid. He looked at the ground and drowned out the anthem and the customary fanfare that followed the entrance of the capital folk who would stare uncomfortably at the hungry eyes that stared at them. The fear was palpable, the odds of anyone being drawn into the reaping was almost too much to bear, but they all stood in silence, more afraid of the lash than most things.
Then without warning Jorn was being nudged forward by a peace keeper, his cousins looking at him wide eyed as if he had just picked up a poisonous snake. Jorn snorted in derision and looked back at the peace keeper with a reproachful glare before hearing his name called for a second time to come up to the stage and stand before District 11 as the selected tribute. Suddenly he was a lot colder and a lot sweatier.
Jorn had never expected to be selected for the Hunger Games, and always expected he would die from the whip before anything else. The Hunger Games had never even entered his mind as something he could ever have been chosen for. Muscles rippling in a panicked but inspired stride Jorn hustled his way up the platform and tried to look as imposing as possible, he was already being watched... Already being Judged... Already being decided on whether or not he cut the bill for the Champion of the Hunger Games.
Jorn looked up to his cousins who has never shown him much fondness and then to his Uncle, and all he could see in their eyes were sorrow and relief. Jorn was a little sad but he realized it would be best if it were him anyway, he had no connections to this place besides a few friends from work and school. But otherwise he realized that leaving it behind would not be the hard part. Surviving long enough to miss them would be.
When the spotlight was on Jorn he flexed his monstrous shoulders and flared his nostrils giving out a bestial roar. Savage Strength would be what he showed, he would save his wits once he began.
|
|
|
Reaping
Jul 20, 2014 13:03:52 GMT -6
Post by Jaffe Maddox on Jul 20, 2014 13:03:52 GMT -6
Jaffe lined up in the square with all the other children, her jean jumper blowing lightly in the wind. Her father's words had been running through her head all night. "Listen Jaffe, I got us into a whole mess a trouble. I was being clumsy and they caught me," his voice shaky. "They're trying to punish us now, teach us a lesson for going against the capitol. They've turned the whole district against me with all this propaganda on the television." he paused taking a deep breathe. "They also threatened to pull your name at the next reaping if I don't start outing the other members. You know I can't give them up, right?" The words still stung Jaffe.
"I was never his parents first priority, always an afterthought, a liability," she thought. His last words were the only hope she had left.
"It's not over though. I got one more trick up my sleeve," she pictured the slight smile on his face as he whispered those words. "I think I can undo all of this, I just need to slip away. I need you and your mother to stay low. I'll be back in a couple days." It had been almost two weeks though since they last saw him.
The reaping started, the escort pulled a slip from the bowl and opened it. "Jaffe Maddox!" Jaffe's heart sunk as the district 3 peacekeepers brought her to the stage.
Jaffe could hear her mother's panicked voice, "Please someone volunteer for her, she's only 13!" No one volunteered.
|
|
|
Reaping
Jul 20, 2014 22:26:45 GMT -6
Post by Gaston Gallant on Jul 20, 2014 22:26:45 GMT -6
Gaston awoke very in the morning, he needed to for today. He washed himself with care making sure he missed no dirt from the night. He sighed a little wondering what he had been doing last night in his sleep. He was sore and tired like he ran all night. Getting out of the bath he stretched and his muscles groaned with the effort until they were loose. Putting on his very best both on his body and mentally on his face he began to practice his smile. That “Gaston Guile” that he always worked on got him so far in life and it would continue to do for him now. His parents knew so they did not say anything or stir while he ate in their presence for the last time. Gaston whistled with delight the whole time, even singing in his ever so charming voice. Her mother began to cry and left. His father looked at him as he was about to walk out the door and said, “You know you do not have to…there are a few who wish to volunteer most likely.” Gaston looked at his father…sympathetically but then with hardness and said, “I have to join them…I have to be at the capitol. I need to be famous. This is my destiny and you will not intervene!” He turned and slammed the door. This would be the last thing his father remembered of him and he felt content. His parents meant nothing to him. They were against him…another obstacle to overcome. With that out of the way and his charming, innocent smile spread wildly along his face he walked with as much grace and eye appeal as he could. Everyone would know his name today…if there was anyone left who did not.
He arrived early. He always did every year. He wanted to be up front. Everyone would look at the stage and indirectly him. As people started to show up he made his hellos and mingled as best he could with everyone. Eventually too many came and he simply could not spread himself. He had no “real” friends. He had a group he hung out with and he imagined many of the girls wanted to be with him, after all who would not, though he never picked up anyone. He had never dated because he was too enveloped in himself. Who could compliment him? No one…unless he cloned himself. Being a lover to himself would be the best. Maybe after he won this he would try to find a suitable male or female to accompany his days with. First thing was first though, he needed to win. When the announcements began they eventually moved to the main event, the male tributes. A lot road on them, the male and female of this district, they needed to win for the District. As loudly as he could, yet with the most jovial voice, and smirk to go with he said, “I volunteer as Tribute.” At first he was confused…wait…no he had heard right? He shifted and noticed that everyone was looking between him and another person. Another male…
That Bastard Volunteered at the same time.
He chuckled a little and turned to the man. He was what a year or two…no definitely two older than him and he was bigger. They looked at each other and the silence took over. “I’m sorry but I think it is time that you take a seat old timer, I will be this year’s tribute.” The big glutton with the ugly face responded kindly with, “No, this is my eighteenth, I must go this year.” He stood taller and as proud as he could. Gaston was annoyed with him. He pinched his nose and then smiled and looked at him kindly, “Tell you what, let’s settle this with a simple game of rock paper scissors. Whoever wins gets to be the tribute.” The giant was reluctant but the announcer made a look that was polite but said hurry up. He nodded and they both leaned forward and put their fists up. “On three….ready?” They nodded to each other and then in unison said, “One…two…three!” Gaston leaps and yelled “Rock!” and punched the man clean in the throat. The giant stunned fell to the floor with a satisfying thud. Gaston looked down on him as peacekeepers came running over and he held his hands up and for public display wiped them of his body and said, “Looks like Rock won…know your place.” He gave him a dark, wild smile and cackled as he walked up to the podium. He turned to the crowd as they tried to pull the large thirteen year old away and smile his brightest smile. He moved to swish his hair and said, “My name is Gaston Gallant, your wonderful male tribute!” With that he would bow and take his place to allow whatever normalcy was left.
He grinned with the greatest delight. First round went to him.
|
|
|
Reaping
Jul 21, 2014 14:16:40 GMT -6
Post by Jessie Zwinkler on Jul 21, 2014 14:16:40 GMT -6
As they were about to draw a name for the male of district 12, Jessie yelled, "I volunteer!" When everyone turned to look at the volunteer, what they saw was a 12 year old boy and began to talk among themselves because they were confused why a boy so young would volunteer so readily. He was obviously not a career tribute. He was much too scrawny. In fact he looked malnourished more than anything.
"Oh what is your name?" the person leading the ceremony asked
"Jessie Zwinkler," the boy responded as he began to feel the eyes of everyone on him.
"Why are you volunteering little boy?" the person asked once to no response. "C'mon you can tell us? Are you shy?"
"Well... muh-my father is in a lot of debt... So much in fact that they have been sending thugs to try and kill us for whatever money we have... which is barely any..." Jessie said with his voice cracking a bit as he looked around at all the people staring at him. "It's gotten to the point where I figured that by volunteering I am not any less safe from danger. However, if I win..." Jessie paused then suddenly seemed extremely irritated at all the attention he was getting. "Wuh-What are you guys staring at? STOP IT! STOP IT!" He then put his hands over his face and tilted his head towards the floor.
The crowd stood stunned at the troubled boy's story. "Umm... Well, uh thanks for that story... We all wish you luck in the games. Come on down and we will help you get started" the person leading the ceremony said as he began to clap his hands trying to move things along after that awkward encounter.
|
|
|
Reaping
Jul 21, 2014 15:13:48 GMT -6
Post by Seth Judkins on Jul 21, 2014 15:13:48 GMT -6
Seth made his way down to the District square, linking arms with Erica, the elderly woman who had sheltered him for the last year. He always felt a bit self-conscious walking with her, and wondered if other people thought about their seemingly reversed roles. Erica was a healthy, energetic old lady who was an occupational therapist at the power plant. She firmly held Seth’s left arm to keep some weight off his left leg, the weaker of the two. Seth normally hobbled along just fine on his cane, but it was half a mile to the square.
Seth and Erica watched the reaping ceremony from a distance, which Seth was perfectly fine with. He was happy to not be trapped in the lines of people massed around the stage, and he was even happier that there was no chance of his name being drawn. As far as the District 5 officials knew, he didn’t exist.
“I wonder if they’re calling your name right now somewhere else,” Erica chuckled.
Seth laughed too, thinking of the trouble the peacekeepers would have to go through to sort it out. But their smiles quickly faded when the male tribute’s name was announced, “Montan Stern!”
The next few moments were a haze. For the first time in a year, it was Erica’s legs and not Seth’s that gave out and she collapsed beside him gasping softly, “Not my Montan, Not my grandson!” Seth’s gaze shifted between the 12 year old boy walking on sturdy legs toward his impending doom, and the woman who had quite literally given him a second life.
“I volunteer!” Seth cried suddenly, stumbling forward on his cane toward the crowd. A peacekeeper grabbed him, realizing he wasn’t in line with the other boys. “Let go of me, pig! I volunteer!”
|
|
|
Reaping
Jul 21, 2014 21:13:08 GMT -6
Post by Rosie Wikus on Jul 21, 2014 21:13:08 GMT -6
This was the day that Rosie had been waiting for. This was the day she got to pick to fight. No matter what was set to happen, she knew that she would be one step closer to figuring out what had become of her parents. Were they still alive? If so, did they suffer more brutally than she did, with her scar? Then she became fixated on the scar, that ever-present and cruel reminder of a moment for which she would always seek revenge.
Rosie took her seat at the Reaping next to Jedediah Biggerstaff, an 18-year-old with his piercing green feet; gangrene was rampant amongst District 9. In better times when healthcare was available in the black market, Jedediah had been Rosie’s paramour. With his powerful looks and his mad charms, he easily seduced the usually introverted Rosie. They spent many nights in the tall cornstalks just beyond the District boundaries exploring the most intimate parts of their mangled bodies. Now, Jedediah’s infected appendage repulsed Rosie, who found it difficult to get past her self-consciousness without her usual dosage of Valium. He would be her first kill.
Blinking back against the harsh sunlight, Rosie was numb in her single-minded focus of killing. She could smell the stench coming off of Jeremiah. It was overwhelming as she looked at his pale face wheezing so softly next to her. Dead weight. She stood tall as she walked towards the stage of doom, and without any cause or warning, blood began spontaneously dripping from her fingers. A sinister smile comes across her cold hard face as she stares the announcer in the face. “ I volunteer.” Rosie says. She takes her place set back to the right of the microphone as everyone watches with mouths agape.
It wasn’t the first time this had happened. Holes in her hands, accompanied by a graphic and detailed vision. Had she murdered Jebediah? In Rosie’s mind, yes – but it was her own blood that had paid for his sins.
|
|
|
Reaping
Jul 21, 2014 22:21:13 GMT -6
Post by Derrick Voss on Jul 21, 2014 22:21:13 GMT -6
Derrick sat as he was supposed to in the crowd for the Reaping. He started getting bored with all of the pomp and circumstance so he decided to see if he could catch the eye of a certain someone. Failing at that he sighed and looked at the sky. Watching the clouds float by and trying to figure out the shape they made.
"-Derrick Voss!"
Snapping out of his daze, Derrick stared at the stage, confused. Once he saw several pairs of eyes turn towards him, including the pair he tried to catch, he got up and numbly moved towards the stage. He he felt a hand brush his arm and looked to see Emily, a girl who worked in the paper mill whom he ate lunch with a couple times a week. She looked like she was going to cry, so he gave her a smile and mouthed a "don't worry."
Continuing his journey to the stage, Derrick finally caught the eyes he most wanted to look at him. Oh, Daniel. The foolish things Derrick would do just to make that boy smile. All for naught at this point. Derrick gave his best smile to Daniel, as well as a wink, but his mouth remained a thin line as he turned away.
Once Derrick finally reached the stage the woman announcing, he couldn't for the life of him remember her name since his head was in the clouds, said to him, "So how does it feel to be representing your district in this year's hunger games?"
Derrick shrugged, "I guess chopping wood all day is going to be useful for something."
|
|
|
Reaping
Jul 22, 2014 6:55:33 GMT -6
Post by Fortune "Yun" Paramore on Jul 22, 2014 6:55:33 GMT -6
You could barely hear the announcement over the constant roar of trains, helicopters and cars that made up the background noise of District 6. Most Districts reserved Reaping Day as a time when people could stop working, but here in 6, where they were responsible for keeping the vehicles of Panem up and running, there were no breaks. Clicks, whirs, and buzzes echoed in the air, and Yun was one of many who just opted to keep their earplugs in.
Only here had the Capital opted to bring a large white screen which they had set up the night before. As the announcer spoke his imperceptible words, images of past victors came up, from his and other districts. Daring moments of popular games. The members of district six all stared glumly ahead, ready to begin work again.
Yun began to yawn, and his father pinched his shoulder with a stern look, his older brothers standing at rapt attention as a girl's face appeared on the screen. "Keena Chanavich the text under her name read, and he could almost hear horns crescendoing in the background before he heard her panicked scream. He grinned a bit to himself.
"And now the male tribute..." The sign began to read, flashing pictures of swords, the male symbol, and a few obviously phallic examples...
"Jules Dimi-" The screen flickered for a second, the music stopped, the background animations froze.
"Fortune Paramore" came up on the screen in plain text, not accompanied by any music, or special effects. Only the name. There was no applause, no weeping. His father looked only at him disappointedly before looking back at his taller, stronger brothers.
Yun only smiled and squeezed the flash drive that hung around his neck as the announcer apologized away the "technical difficulties."
|
|
|
Reaping
Jul 22, 2014 11:14:07 GMT -6
Post by Jeremiah Robinson on Jul 22, 2014 11:14:07 GMT -6
"Fok!" There Jeremiah hid, crouched inside of a sewer pipe, as the stammering steps of angry men rush past. Jeremiah could finally breath. As a crowd of people walk past Jeremiah quickly blends in, walking in the opposite direction of his assailants. His heart is beating rapidly. He almost didn't make it out of that one.
"Ah con't believe Ah got caught!" Jeremiah thinks to himself, looking sweaty and bruised.
The night before, he was to be in his biggest fight to date. If he'd won, he would have been two fights away from the title. But it seems that it wasn't in the cards for Jeremiah. He wasn't the most beloved of brawlers. Constantly knocking opponents out in few rounds, not entertaining the crowds. He never fought dirty. Underground promoters caught wind of this and tried to put an end to him before he rose too high in the ranks and took the sport down with him.
As Jeremiah walked stealthily with the group, it became clear where they were going. It was the day of the reaping. With the excitement of the night before, he had forgotten all about it.
Before his big fight the promoters decided to have a little pep talk with him. Outside. It was a trap, and Jeremiah was suddenly put face-to-face with 3 of the biggest guys he'd ever seen. He tried to fight. He took one of the ugly gorillas out, but 3 were just too many. Laying face down in the dirt, Jeremiah could hear the crowd of drunken factory workers and whores cheer as the last fight was over. "Now maybe you'll learn your place. Good luck in there. It sounds like you're up." smirked the promoter as he lead the thugs inside.
As the group of people Jeremiah was blended in with took their places, he looked around nervously. "Well at least no one will staht anything while I'm hea." Jeremiah looked on. There was already a girl that had been reaped. About his age from what he could tell. Now he just had to think of a plan and kill some time.
Laying down on the ground, he'd had it. Jeremiah took a piece of metal scrap from close by, hid it inside of his shorts, and headed inside. Bruised and bloody, he entered the ring. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the promoter, and his disgusting smile. Ding Ding! Jeremiah took a bare knuckle punch right to the face, followed by two more to the sides. Then, his little piece of metal fell out from his shorts. The fighter stopped. "He's a fucking cheat!" yelled a man from the crowd. Jeremiah, stunned at how wrong this night had gone, ran.
"Jeremiah Robinson!" Jeremiah was ripped from thought. Everyone was looking around. He couldn't believe it. A couple of Peacekeepers approached him to escort him. He looked at the Peacekeepers face as he struggled to understand what was happening. "C'mon" said the Peacekeeper. Jeremiah exclaimed, "Fok That!" and punched the Peacekeeper square in the face. He quickly turned to address the second with a tackle and some body shots. The crowd gasped at the sight.
Jeremiah was apprehended. He had taken out 4 keepers before they could restrain him. As he was escorted to the stage, with an eye swollen shut and lip like an over inflated tire, he caught the eye of the female tribute. He winked as best he could and threw a kiss in her direction.
"Well this oughta be foon yeah." And he smiled a proud bloody smile and began waving to the crowd.
|
|
|
Reaping
Jul 22, 2014 18:01:17 GMT -6
Post by Alistair Kingsley on Jul 22, 2014 18:01:17 GMT -6
The Hunger Games reaping was both the most anticipated and most dreaded event of the year in the District, although Al could assume that it was the same way in every district. His parents have already gone through this many times, his oldest sister and brother were both in the clear. They were almost numb to it by the time he was able to be chosen and truth be told, so was he. He lived through his siblings living through each year not getting chosen for the Games. He saw the reaping as a social event, choosing to stand with his friends and silently react to the poor saps that were chosen every year. He could laugh because it wasn't him.
Whenever you hear about a car crash or an accident of any kind, or some act of nature so unbelievable, you always think "that will never happen to me."
His dad was up much later than usual last night, he could hear the whispers about the Reaping and his fear of Alistair getting chosen. They know about his hacking, he said. The Capitol has to know his skill and what threat he would possess should he live up to the danger. There's no way they couldn't know. He'll be chosen to eliminate the problem. Like vermin, keep killing them off...eliminate the problem. That was the solution. Information was as lethal as manpower these days, and the right information in the wrong hands could lead to disaster. Hacking wasn't just discouraged, it was downright illegal and dangerous. Should he get caught, he knew the consequences, but still he continued to search. He'd just get the information to someone else, someone who was more capable of making things happen. At the end of the day, he is nothing but a retriever and he sure as hell wouldn't be caught with the smoking gun when it all goes down.
"It won't be me" was the mantra Alistair carried through every one of his first Reapings. Only one boy from the Third District would be chosen, and the odds were in his favor...when he was younger. The older he got and the more times his name was placed in the drawing, the mantra became stronger. He never said it out loud, he kept his usual bored poker face strong as a long pale hand snaked through the pile of papers searching for its next victim. It won't be me. He didn't want to admit that the previous night spooked him, but he had thought about it. He had thought about sneaking out of bed, going to the computer, seeing what he could do to change what would happen. To ensure his own safety and the safety of his friends. But he didn't. There was nothing to worry about. It won't be me. A piece of paper had been selected and although Al was pretty far back in the crowd, he swore he could still hear the paper crinkling as it was pulled out of the bowl. It won't be me.
"Alistair Kingsley."
It won't be me
|
|
|
Reaping
Jul 22, 2014 21:38:13 GMT -6
Post by Ashton McCall on Jul 22, 2014 21:38:13 GMT -6
Ashton stood with the rest of the boys in his year, tugging at his shirt in discomfort. It was too hot to be wearing clothes like this in the dusty commons; the stench of livestock everywhere. Although he should count himself lucky: at least his clothes didn’t smell (or so he hoped). He played with the two coins in his pocket he’d swiped earlier that morning, turning them around in his pocket in hopes that occupying his hands would make the time go faster.
The odds weren’t in Ashton’s favor: they never were but the older he got, the less he concerned himself with it. His first Reaping he nearly cried before the anthem played. Their idiot Capitol escort thought Ashton was just ‘overcome with patriotism for our great Capitol’ which had the other lads in stitches. One of the first times Ashton figured out skinny kids weren’t meant to take on building-sized lads. It only ended in being strung up outside of the barn window.
“Ashton McCall.” Fuck him. Fuck him three times. Fuck him three times over with a rake. There was no way someone would volunteer for him—but the parting crowd around him showed off that—yeah, he indeed was the unlucky victim. Maybe this was payment for stealing that cloth off of the laundry line last week or the dog outside of the barn at the edge of the District…
Ashton felt like he was drowning, staring at the circle of faces waiting for him to go onto the damn podium and his legs felt like lead. Could he go through the five stages of grief before he made it to the Podium? He made it to anger when he stepped onto the stage. He caught sight of his mother quietly crying into her apron, and Ashton felt the twinge in his heart. He knew there was nothing he could do; he wasn’t the type of person one would volunteer for. Small, scrawny, terrible for the kind of life in District 10: it was a blessing in disguise, having the boy die in the Arena rather than of starvation in the district. He tapped his chest three times while staring at his mother and she nodded tearfully, a silent ‘I love you’ he could give as he stood on the platform.
“Well, aren’t you a tiny thing?” If Ashton had control of his limbs, he would’ve tried to kick him or hit him at least. Just to get that stupid smile off his smile. Did this dude get off on sending kids to their deaths? Did he…enjoy this?
Fuck him.
|
|
|
Reaping
Jul 22, 2014 22:24:29 GMT -6
Post by Arnie Thistle on Jul 22, 2014 22:24:29 GMT -6
For years this day had been one of luck, he always managed to scrape by and avoid hearing his name. Usually the days before the Reaping were filled with anxious field work, but this year was going to be different. In the days leading up to the Reaping, Arnie Thistle had been convincing himself to volunteer for The Hunger Games. He always seemed to get the upper hand when he played games, and he had a knack for finding out what it took to win. If anyone in his district was to have a fighting chance, it may as well be him. Each day he seemed to puff himself up more, proud of his courage to volunteer. I will become a champion that my district has never had before, I will compete!
As a crowd quietly shuffled into place Arnie began to question his choice, those thoughts of volunteering came from a part of him that always wanted to be the hero. Working in the fields he had a lot of time to spend with his thoughts, and he had learned how to shut it all out and focus. All that focus convinced him that he was capable of bringing honor to his home. While it was a nice thought, a lucky farm hand had little chance again some of these monsters who trained for years to become killing machines. Before long,It didn't take too long before he was terrified again. This day wasn't going to be glorious as he thought, this is just as bad as ever before. Retreating into his thoughts, Arnie braced for the inevitable destruction of a family.
Shaken from his silence, Arnie began to piece together his memory of the last few seconds. A name that was familiar to him.
"Arnie Thistle."
Why would they be calling for him, did he need to...
A bone chilling shiver reverberated through Arnie as he pieced together the somber reality of the situation. He had been called. Every year prior he had been to this point and escaped. Finding himself no longer in the crowd but in front of it, Arnie began to feel sick.
|
|
|
Reaping
Jul 22, 2014 22:39:51 GMT -6
Post by Avalon Bancroft on Jul 22, 2014 22:39:51 GMT -6
The sky was dark, and it was rainy softly. The boy tribute had been called, but I wasnt worried. I had made 4 years without being called so the feeling of anxiety had passed. I was standing next to my brother and happy for his safety. As the mentor drew the name, my brother's hand tightened on my as the name was read. "Kathy Bartman," the mentor announced. That was the name of my brother's girlfriend. My brother's face was pale and full of fear. His eyes were empty. She is barely 14. I knew what I had to do. I stepped forward. " I will take her place!" I shouted.
|
|
|
Reaping
Jul 22, 2014 22:52:58 GMT -6
Post by Mave Talley on Jul 22, 2014 22:52:58 GMT -6
The morning of the reaping, Mave woke up to the smell of her friend's mother making breakfast. She kept her eyes closed and smiled, letting it sink in yet again that she was in a real home, a normal home. For the past 8 years of her life, she watched the two people who were most important to her in her life — her mother and father — waste away under powerful morphling addictions. After her mother died last year, her father's negligence and unpredictability only escalated. She'd been raising herself for at least the last six years, but his turn for the worse was the last straw. She left a few weeks ago, moving in with the kind but overlarge family of her best friend. They didn't have much, like the others in District 6, but they still stretched what little food and resources they had for her.
She got up, careful not to disturb her friend and her friend's little sister who all slept on the same small mattress. She went downstairs and began helping her friend's mother with breakfast, humming a tune her mother used to sing in the mornings. "You seem chipper for a morning like this," the mother said, giving her a tired smile. "Morning like..." Mave started, and then remembered, "Oh. Right. The reaping." She realized she'd have to see her father at the reaping, as everyone watches. Her stomach felt like lead and she barely tasted her breakfast as the other children woke up and ate around her at the large table. She still loved her father and missed him every day, but he wasn't himself, hadn't been for a long time.
At the reaping, Mave barely heard the opening remarks as she scanned the crowd warily for her father's face. She was scared to see him - maybe he'd look worse. And when her name rang out — "MAVE TALLEY" — she didn't even register it. Her friend, letting out a sob, grasped her shoulder. That's when she realized. She didn't move, just started whipping her head wildly, looking for her father's face. She didn't care if he looked horrible. She had to see him. Chances were, it would be for the last time. If he's not here, what does that mean? Is he passed out somewhere? Did he run out of money and let himself starve, spending what little he made on morphling instead? The peacekeepers neared her, and she began pushing through the crowd to the edge, screaming. "DAD! DAD!!!" Tears ran down her face as the crowd parted for her. The peacekeepers caught up to her by the time she reached the families ringing the reaping area. They dragged her roughly to the stage as she continued screaming.
When she reached the stage she broke into low sobs. The woman on stage with the crazy colored hair patted her back awkwardly. "I know it's emotional and exciting dear, but you'll be able to say goodbye to your dad before you leave! We'll let him come say goodbye!" She said cheerily. Mave tried to slow her breathing so she could respond. She looked up with red eyes and all her sadness turned to stony, cold anger. "No. I won't be able to say goodbye." The woman looked slightly taken aback, but aware that the first few rows could hear their exchange, she smiled. "And why is that dear?" A mock look of concern crossing her face. "Because he's gone. You've killed him. It's your fault." The woman looked confused for a moment, staring into Mave's face. Mave took one more breath and spit directly into the woman's face. Mave heard the crowd's gasps only briefly - the Peacekeepers were on her immediately. Mave didn't care. Morphling comes from The Capitol, and Mave couldn't have hated The Capitol more at that moment.
|
|
|
Reaping
Jul 23, 2014 0:05:58 GMT -6
Post by Emerald Manor on Jul 23, 2014 0:05:58 GMT -6
3 years ago...
"Shut up, BITCH"
The slap rang throughout District Two as Emerald fell to her knees in pain. Yet, not one tear was shed as she wouldn't take back her comment. Emerald's father reached down and grabbed her by the throat and slammed her against the wall.
"You WILL volunteer as a Career for the hunger games and you WILL win!"
Emerald just stared into her father's eyes not moving a muscle. She could smell the whiskey coming from his breath as he inched closer and closer to her face. As her face started to turn blue, Emeralds father released his grip from her causing her to tumble to the ground. He then turned toward the door and stormed out slamming the door causing the entire house to rumble. Emerald hauntingly arose from the floor and tumbled onto her bed. She shifted herself onto her back and released the valve of emotions building up inside her.
I'll do it if it gets me away from HIM. I will not let him treat me the way he treated Mother let alone Daniel. He sent him off just as fast as he's sending me off. He cares more about our family name then he does about any of us. If I win, I will take Mother and feed him to the dogs. When he puts on the peacemaker uniform, he thinks he's untouchable. Just wait Father, you're time is coming...
Reaping...
Emerald threw on her smile as the lights on the podium grew and the Escort emerged from backstage. As the Escort made her opening announcements, Emerald couldn't help but want to roll her eyes at this crap. Yet another year will go by as another unnaturally fit female career will be called onto the stage. The only reason Emerald is her is because of her father. He pulled a few strings and had her enrolled into training for the game. Emerald's strength was nothing sub-par yet she couldnt compete with the machines spit out by the Capital. With the roar of the crowd, Emerald snapped back into reality and realized it was time, time for the list. The list was a submission by the board of trainers on which they choose a career they feel are fit for the Hunger Games to volunteer.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, it is with great honor that I present to you the 3rd annual Hunger Games District Two volunteer! This year's female nomination will be..."
The escort takes a dramatic pause as if this was drawing for the lotto. He rips open the envelope and breaks character as he reads the name to himself.
"*ahem*...the female volunteer is...Emerald Manor!"
Before Emerald can compose herself she's lifted onto the stage by the fellow careers. As her eye's adjust to the brightness of the stage, Emerald makes eye contact with her father as she realizes that he's getting what he wants, she's going into the Arena. However, what Father doesnt realize, Emerald is nothing to be messed with. She's ready to avenge her brother and take down her father.
Let the games begin...
|
|
|
Reaping
Jul 23, 2014 3:36:39 GMT -6
Post by Taylor Shorthorn on Jul 23, 2014 3:36:39 GMT -6
Rosa nervously adjusted the small metal band on her finger. It wasn't made of a precious metal and it wasn't adorned with even the slightest bit of engraving but it was precious to her for what it symbolized.
The ring slid easily around the base of her finger as she fidgeted quietly standing among many other children her age in the town square. The ring spun loosely because of the room that had been allowed to let her grow into it since at 17 she still seemed to be growing slightly. She was tall for a woman at about 5'10" and her curly hair did little to hide the decent length of her neck.
At this point her brother who was just a year older than her was only about an inch taller and she teased him mercifully about that fact. As she played with the ring, hoping that she would in fact get the time to grow into it, she was comforted by the fact that although she pestered him, her brother would have done anything he could to protect her from anything that could have come her way. But although he was standing next to her, trying to look brave, if her name was called there would be nothing he could do.
She glanced at the metal band on her finger.
She couldn't live without the promise it represented...
If they called her name she would have to-
"Rosa Shorthorn"
Run.
|
|
|
Reaping
Jul 23, 2014 3:47:01 GMT -6
Post by Taylor Shorthorn on Jul 23, 2014 3:47:01 GMT -6
What happened next was a frenzied mess of shouting and missed tackles. As the tall brunette from district ten went to make a break for it several peacekeepers closed in on her location.
"What am I doing... I should jus-"
Suddenly a large smacking sound like a fresh slab of meat from her family's herd of cattle slapping against concrete jarred her from this downward spiral.
She looked up to see her brother standing over what appeared to be fallen peacekeeper.
She stood agape. Its not like he was strong or anything but he was quick and perhaps he had gotten a sucker punch in-
"RUN!" he shouted as he took her under the arm and pushed through the crowd of people at an alarming rate just managing to dodge some of the quicker guards barreling towards them. His arm suddenly jerked as he pulled her over an embankment and they tumbled down the side of a steep hill just out of sight.
Tears were streaming down Rosa's face as she looked disbelievingly at her brother, "They'll kill you for this you idiot!"
He didn't meet her eyes with his own because he knew that if he did he would breakdown as well, "You have a life to live and a life that depends on you accomplishing that! Whatever happens just keep moving!"
"I can't can't," she pleaded as she looked down at her ring remembering the child, the wedding, and the promise she made, "They'll find me I can- You need to run!"
There was a moment of silence as they both realized what was going to happen next and what had to happen.
He nodded at her silently and took out the bag he had brought just in case.
She nodded back.
|
|
|
Reaping
Jul 23, 2014 3:55:35 GMT -6
Post by Taylor Shorthorn on Jul 23, 2014 3:55:35 GMT -6
"Over here! We found her!" a nameless Peacekeeper cried out as he reached the bottom of the hill.
He grabbed Rosa gruffly causing a pain to shoot through her arm. She wouldn't cry out. She wouldn't give him that satisfaction.
"Where's the boy?" another more senior peacekeeper shouted moving into view.
"Seems like he ran. Just a scared little animal like the rest of these cow fuckers." He grabbed Rosa by the cheeks, "Seems like your prince is a little princess. I wouldn't be surprised if he was castrated just like those bulls you all love so much."
Rosa's dress hung awkwardly over her shoulders as he dragged her back over the hill and into the guarded waiting area before her forced relocation.
"This is how it has to happen," she thought to herself.
She didn't need help. She didn't need them to worry.
"I just have to die so that they can live."
|
|