District Seven

She tried to watch with an unaffected gaze but it proved to be a difficult task. She sat on the leather couch trying to discern her competitors from one another. The sleek movement of the Capitol train did nothing to appease her worry. The holographic image played on with every pixel being accounted for.

The tributes from district one appeared. The girl with excessively coloured hair and the boy with a handsome build stood tall and proud. The girl didn’t look particularly lethal but the sweet image she pulled off easily was lacking a fragment of truth. The boy on the other hand looked capable. More than capable of strangling someone to death with his bare hands. She shuddered at the thought. The boy flashed a set of pearly whites to the camera; in the distant background the sound of feminine sighs was heard.

“He’s just a pretty boy, nothing to be afraid of,” Doojoon said beside her. “And the girl doesn’t look dangerous.”

She swallowed her saliva and accepted his assumptions. She needed reassurance even if what he was saying would turn out to be terribly wrong.

The image flickered and dissolved into a new district. All of the citizens were well dressed and somewhat expectant to discover the results. District two. This career district had made her nervous. With their polished fighting skills and aggression towards winning the games she hoped that the district would’ve voted for tributes who weren’t bloodthirsty hunters.

A girl named Krystal stood on stage. Her dark locks were held to the side and the severity in her eyes was intense. Despite her petite looking figure the assertiveness within her eyes made Nara’s own orbs want to wither. But the worst was yet to come. The male tribute of district two strode onto the stage. Unlike the girl’s eyes, his were completely inhumane. A disgruntling black and an all too frightening appearance. She prayed that she would never have to come face to face with such a tribute. He looked just like-

“A cold blooded murderer – that’s what he reminds me of,” Doojoon said absentmindedly.

Nara couldn’t help but nod her head in frightened agreement. She wasn’t cut out for killing but seeing the other tributes that were, it had chilled her more than she thought possible.

Doojoon looked over at her – her left leg was shaking as if it had been electrocuted. He placed his hand on her erratic limb to help her relax. Her wide eyes locked onto his and she felt like weeping. Weeping over a death that was inevitable.

“I’m scared,” she whispered. It was so soft and vulnerable, similar to the state that she was in. “I don’t want to die.”

“I know,” he replied.

“I don’t want you to die either,” she murmured even quieter than before. A silence engulfed the two.

He leaned in and embraced her. His arms stretched over her back and enveloped her in compassion. In the previous hour she had experienced enough hugs and kisses to last her lifetime. Loved ones crying on her shoulder as she spat out promises that never rang true and excruciatingly tight hugs that signified the end were all that she had received when her family and friends visited her. She was sick of the empathy that they attempted to show towards her. She was sick of all of it. But when her guard was able to be down for just a moment, his single embrace was all she needed.

He retreated, holding her in place by gripping her by the shoulders. “Listen to me. You’re not going to die and I’m not either. We’ll work together and get through all of this. We’re a team now and I need you to work hard for us to live okay?”

She nodded. He hadn’t always been kind to her; constantly throwing paper at her during class when they were young and pushing her out of the way when they were foraging for the better trees. But she was more than willing to forget their petty fights if he would protect her.

He would have to be a good friend and an even better ally if the both of them were to survive.

The train was oddly silent as the recording of all the Reapings played. There were twenty two faces he would have to recognise and twenty two faces he would have to forget if he ever survived the games. However, he doubted that he would need to forget anyone.

The faces rolled by quickly. A boy with a quirky smile from five. A girl with ferocity from six. They were all just more obstacles standing in their path for survival. He didn’t have an affinity to killing, or even violence for that matter. But if he were to stand any chance in the arena then murder wouldn’t be as much of a controversial issue.

The screen flickered to district seven; his district. There was his stoic face staring directly ahead in an attempt to not make direct eye contact with the camera. He appeared stronger and deadlier than he initially thought he did. He appeared to be competition. Then he looked at her face. Her chestnut waves were still for once and her body had become a victim to paralysis. The very sight of her looking like the embodiment of weakness made him unfathomably mad. She didn’t belong in such a monstrous game.

He grabbed the remote and turned the images off. The carriage became darker. He hadn’t realised it was night. It had occurred so quickly, without his consent or knowledge. The darkness gave him time to contemplate, even if it was just for a while.

He glanced at her. Her head weighed his shoulder down as she drifted in and out of sleep. At times she would mumble incoherently but for the moment, she was silent. Doojoon sighed. She was only a few months younger than him yet she looked too young. All of the tributes always looked too young whenever they were finally chosen.

The two of them had known each other for majority of their lives. Playing together, learning together and working together. They shared the same experiences and memories despite not being conjoined at the hip. They both worked with a group of other eighteen year olds who worked with cutting down trees. They would use their axes and as a team chop down tree by tree. It was tedious and required a lot of physical exertion, but their friends were entertainment enough. He hadn’t realised it until a couple of months ago, but he had actually developed muscle. And so had Nara. This miniscule fact gave them a fighting chance. They were strong and experienced with axes.

It hadn’t been too long ago that the games began introducing axes as weapons available at the Cornucopia. Usually they were always present. He just hoped that they would be there when the games would begin. Otherwise the two of them would have to rack up willing sponsors.

She mumbled within her sleep. Doojoon didn’t have the heart to wake her up. If he did he would just awaken her to the cruelties of reality. And even though her sleep was uncomfortable and restless it was better than what was waiting for them at the end of the train ride.

He sighed sombrely once again. She wasn’t worth losing and she didn’t deserve to die. He would fight hard for both of their survivals. But he knew that ultimately, in the end, he wouldn’t be able to fight hard enough to secure his life. There would and could only be one victor. He swore on his soul that she would be it.

District Eight

Tiffany kept shut as she passed by the various bands of crying girls. Dark circles were visible under every single eye as they all grieved over what was to come. The Reaping. It never left district eight without leaving evidence of its visit.

She hurried over to stand with her friend Taeyeon. Both were hushed as they waited for the real ceremony to begin. The shorter dark haired girl finally had the courage to speak. But her words were not anything that Tiffany wanted to hear.

“I heard that it’s going to be you,” she said. There wasn’t a hint of falsity or even regret in Taeyeon’s voice as she uttered the words. They had both vowed honesty to each other for a long time. To break such a promise, especially at the most important moment of both of their lives, was irrevocably wrong.

“It’s not fair …” Tiffany muttered in reply. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I know. But your mother is a different story.”

Tiffany flinched at the memory of her once loving mother. The woman who had given birth to her knew nothing of what was going to occur. The unshed tears within Tiffany’s eyes stung with brief sorrow. “But she’s gone now. They can’t blame her anymore.”

“You know how people are just as much as I do,” Taeyeon said matter-of-factly. She looked at her friend.

A flock of older girls passed by the two, giving Tiffany a plethora of dirty looks and rude hand gestures. She whipped her head another way. People were crueller than she had remembered.

Ignore them. You’re better than that, Tiffany would tell herself. She needed to at least hold onto the last shred of dignity that she owned.

“And now it is time to begin,” the district announced.

Tiffany shuddered at the thought of her time being so limited. A single question began to prod her mind. It was preposterous; it was so ridiculous that she felt like abandoning it. But she couldn’t. For some odd reason she had to know the truth even though she was smart enough to know her friend would never do such a thing.

“Your female tribute for this year’s Quarter Quell is …” the began, her voice a shrill pitch as the excitement built up. She took her time carefully opening the envelope with her lemon coloured nail polish.

“Taeyeon,” Tiffany’s precautionary tone began.

“Hm?”

“Please be honest with me,” she pleaded, turning to face her one and only friend. “Did you vote for me to become tribute?”

“Tiffany Hwang! Please come up darling,” the ’s voice boomed with clarity. At the mention of her name Tiffany deserted her friend and parted the crowds as she walked to join the death sentencer on stage. Her face was set in a harsh grimace as she stood onstage. She did not smile her typical enchanting grin but held her lips in a tight line. The memory of her friend became embedded within her mind as she recounted the remorseful nod. She was living in a place so corrupt that being the daughter of a seductress would cost Tiffany her life. Even her friend had agreed to the punishment.

The crowd stared at her with solemn eyes. Everyone had dry faces and even drier eyes. The only person who displayed outward objection at her calling was the girl who herself had sentenced her to an inevitable death. The single tear that dripped out of Kim Taeyeon’s eye was tainted with guilt. Tiffany looked away from her.

If they had voted her as tribute, then she would have to win to prove them just how wrong they were.

He was Kim Kibum. Also infamously known as the dressmaker’s son and that one kid who would always be a victim to bullying. He wasn’t exactly the most loved person within district eight. He had experienced a rough childhood, and when he had grown up, an even rougher adolescent life.

Since he had been six he was different. He hadn’t wanted to be, but he was. Maybe it was his attitude, the way he presented himself to others. He had a light smile and a strong aura. On his first day of school he had forged many friendships. Everyone had loved him. But somewhere along the road his personality stuck out like a sore thumb and he was recognised for being strange. It wasn’t desirable.

The boys from his street followed him around one day. They called out names that made his seven year old self run back home. He cried to his mother who didn’t want to hear it and his father who scolded him for not being a man. He sobbed some more afterwards.

When the years had finally progressed and the running and the crying had seemed to be just a phase, it all came back again. They chased him home, used any excuse possible to justify the constant taunts they threw at him and would never relent.

Most people who lived near him didn’t think much of it. They viewed it as a game between them all. Whenever they had witnessed any acts of the bullying, the boys would just joke around and state that it was just “a bit of fun”. They waved the actions away thinking that it was just a game. They waited to see the day where Kibum would be in charge. He never had his turn.

Their pranks were unyielding. When he had become sixteen years old he was resigned to his situation. They continued pulling their tricks and he learned to move on with his life. He was victimised and estranged but he prided himself for the fact that he would not submerge under the pressure.

So the boys became slightly more creative. And then, news of the very special Hunger Games was unearthed.

Kibum stepped onto the upraised platform. His group of personal torturers laughed maliciously as they saw the skinny boy they had despised on stage as tribute. There was nothing they had wanted more than to see him crack.

He had a slant in his posture and a grim expression on his face. He had become prey to them once again. He shook slightly. He had always believed that he would escape one day – to a place that did not tolerate abuse, to a destination that would welcome him with open arms as a belonging individual. However, he was more than wrong.

The only destination he would arrive at would be the arena. People were cruel sometimes.

District Nine

The sun beat down upon her back with contempt. Three o’clock was the cruellest time of day. The rough texture of the overgrown grains would maliciously graze the back of her calves tainting her legs with an irritating red. Despite Fei having grown up with the disturbing feeling, she still found it a challenge to endure.

The wide stretch of crops that towered above her stood still before toppling towards the ground like dominoes; the motion seemed far too easy. Her mind leapt away from the dry field towards a glittering paradise. Coconut trees on a golden beach with a mixture of vibrant plants populating the furthest corners. The pungent smell of salt water entered her sub-conscious as she imagined the sand squelching beneath her toes. As a child, the persistent notion of hypnotic beaches had clouded her mind. The dry plagued hell that was her district since birth had never been enough to quench her thirst for change. Or her thirst for a handful of colourful blossoms.

The thoughts evaporated with a sharp slash. The bulky boy next to her had chopped off a large handful of grain and was settling it down into the shared cart nearby. To think that her dreams could be obliterated with a single action by a single stranger disturbed Fei more than being stuck in the fields for four hours. She sighed.

“Be more careful with those,” she said to the boy.

His angular eyebrows arched with disbelief, followed by a gruff “whatever”. She shrugged her shoulders and carried on with the harvesting. She had adapted to one worded replies a long time ago. It was an adversity for all the young harvesters to even allow a single syllable to exit their mouths in such a harsh time.

Raising her sickle she grabbed a clump of grain and continued with the fluid sawing motion that had been embedded into her system. She tossed the remnants into the cart and began to let her mind drift away once more to a somewhat unavoidable topic. The Games.

Another groan escaped her. The mere idea of another deathly killing game caused her insides to convulse. The unnecessary bloodshed and the potential of twenty four people, all wasted because of a situation that occurred in the past. She laughed with mockery towards the centre of Panem. For a world where they were continually attempting to make progress they were ironically trying to do so by dwelling on the past. The contradiction made her want to howl with amusement. She hadn’t realised just how messed up her world was.

She hacked away at the next bunch of grains that had clouded her view of the multiple other row of grains that followed. That was her world – there would be no end to the repetitive cycle of her existence.

A ludicrous thought bounced into her mind. Peering around her she scoured her surroundings to see if anyone was watching. The only other person around was the boy who had disappeared within the foreign land of grains with only a foot visible. Her timing should be fine.

Holding her sickle with a clenched fist she carefully traced the wrinkled line in her hand that she had been told was called her “life-line.” Tiny specks of blood grew into droplets as she completed the procedure without major difficulty. She pressed her bloodied palm to the nearest grains and closed her eyes in a meagre attempt to replicate something she had learnt when she was five.

An alien language began to escape her lips as she murmured pleas and requests. Oddly enough, she did not ask for her own life to be saved but rather the life of Panem in its entirety. She continued her aberrant chant, becoming even more dubious as a stinging sensation arose within her palm. The scene was bizarre to watch. But what was even more bizarre was the boy who watched within the cover of the elevated grains with a look of pure entrancement pasted on his face.

The tips of his fingers curled around the nearest grains and clenched tightly. Seunghyun didn’t act. He simply watched. Lurking within the depths of the hovering grains, he observed the strange specimen before him.

She was frozen within a place where time and location had no definition. The movements of her lips were harsh at times when she had produced the sounds of a snake, yet at other times soothing and careful as if she was applying an ailment to a wound with the mere cluck of her tongue. He found her speech intriguing. As intriguing as things could be in a district where the most compelling thing was food on the table.

But her use of words was not the only thing that kept him chained to the spot.

The vividly real blood that flowed off of her palm caught Seunghyun’s gaze and held it captive. He had never seen blood in person before. Of course there were the minor injuries that occurred with the job of being a sower - miniscule cuts perhaps, but to truly see the red ooze from her skin freely was a wonder for him. And especially to see her inflict pain upon herself was an entirely different concept to him.

It did not take long for her palm to be drenched in the bright colour. The grains that she pressed her hand against follow in suit. Seunghyun felt disturbed on varying levels but he did not contort his face in pain or feel the need to halt her.

The grains around him shielded his large body well enough so that he was no longer a boy stuck in a field but just another grain that was a part of the land. He sighed arbitrarily with thoughts of the impending games. They were never an enjoyable time for his family. Whenever another unfortunate family would mourn a loss, so would his. They lived in an environment where compassion was never uttered but demonstrated. He hadn’t exactly warmed to the idea of becoming sympathetic with every person within his community but within such a district where you literally work with your neighbour, he had learnt to adapt.

The wind picked up, blowing coolly on the field. And as if by magic, the grains had parted right before him, separating the barrier that divided boy from girl. His eyes stared with an inquisition while he did not move an inch. Her eyes dilated as she focused on him.

“Hi,” he said. It was a measly start.

Slowly, she released the grains that she had held with a tightened fist and breathed. “Why were you watching me?”

Seunghyun swallowed. “I don’t know. You weren’t working and you were doing something strange so I just thought I might see what was going on,” he defended.

A brief silence passed over the two as her mind pried apart the words that had exited his mouth. “I don’t think that justifies anything.”

Seunghyun was unable to reply. Instead, he plucked a handkerchief from his pocket and motioned towards the girl to come closer. She stayed rooted to the spot with an untrusting glare.

Ignoring her tough exterior he walked towards her and grabbed her bloody palm. Carefully, he began to scrape away at the moist coating, avoiding the area that glistened with an angry sheen. The process took time, far too long, but he was able to leave her hand tinted light pink instead of dark red. Holding two ends, he tied the material around the cut and positioned her hand in a more comfortable position.

“See you at the Reaping,” he managed with a small strained smile. His figure became one with the grains as he submerged back within the process of cutting. She could not hide the bitter feeling within her mind that restated a fundamental fact. Compassion did not exist. Especially from someone who had a strong probability of being her enemy.

A/N: Hi there. Sorry for not updating. I meant to but I just didn't get the time to do it. Honestly, this chapter was only so-so but hopefully the last three districts might be pretty interesting. I don't know why but I really want the games to start.