Capitol Pawns

Once Colby and I are safely inside the Justice Building, each of us is directed to a room where we have to wait to say our goodbyes.

An hour, that’s all they give us to say goodbye to everyone who is important to us. One measly hour. They give us the luxury of living anywhere from 12-18 years with our families, our loved ones, our friends, and they tear us away after one short hour.

The room they have me in is quite beautiful. It has dark brown wood floors and big, soft couches made of some material I’ve never seen before. As inviting as they seem, though, I can’t help but pace in circles until the door finally opens and mama and dad rush in with Bug.

They engulf me in a tight hug, one where I can tell they are hesitant to let end. Bug somehow manages to climb my body until she sits on my hip before burying her head in my neck.

“Don’t go, Scout,” She whispers, her voice muffled by a combination of my neck and the fact that she has her thumb in her mouth. She only resorts to thumb-sucking in the most stressful of situations, and even that’s become a thing of the past.

Tears well in my eyes as the realization that this will be the last time I ever get to see my family, and this is the last time they will ever see me alive. Suddenly everything comes full circle and I clutch Bug like I will never let her go.

Her body convulses violently and I know she’s crying because I am. She really doesn’t understand what all this means, but knows something bad is about to happen to me.

Mama and dad wrap their arms around me again and we stay like that for a few minutes, encompassed in complete silence. I know mama and dad both know I will be dead in a few weeks and they need to plan ahead for my funeral, but they don’t let me know anything about that.

Finally, they pull away.

“Scout,” My dad says sternly. “Look, you may be little, but you’re quick, smart, and know how to navigate the woods. You know how to survive in the wilderness; you’ve been doing it since you could walk. You know your way around a slingshot and can hunt pretty well.”

“It’s not the same,” I can’t even look at him. “It’s hard enough to kill a squirrel; I couldn’t even imagine killing another human being.”

He shakes his head. “You didn’t think you could kill a squirrel, but when it came to a meal, you did it.”

“I’m not gonna eat a person-”

“No, but if it comes down to killing or being killed, you’re gonna fight. I know you,” He lowers his voice. “You could come home.”

For the first time in my entire life, I see my dad’s eyes pool with tears until they are falling freely.

I hug my arms around him and start crying again. “I’ll try my best, daddy. I promise.”

Mama steps in. She holds my shoulders firmly and looks me up and down. “You, Scout, you are strong. Everything your father said is true. All you have to do is believe in yourself and train hard. Make allies, play up the audience. It’s all a show. Show them the real you and they’re gonna eat it up.”

I nod.

“Mama,” I say suddenly. “Don’t let it affect you like it did with Aunt Bea. I don’t want to be remembered because of the Games. I want you to remember everything else, all the good times, okay?”

“Okay, baby.”

“I love you, mama – and you too, daddy.” I say.

The door opens and Peacekeepers come in.

“Times up,” One says.

Bug attaches herself to my body once again and won’t let go. Mama and dad give me one last hug and dad peels Bug off of me. She flails her arms and legs wildly and screams and cries.

“Come home, Scout!” She yells. “I love you!”

“I love you, too,” I say as I let go of her little hand.

The doors close and I collapse onto one of the couches, overcome with sadness, grief, and a combination of complete shock and utter fear.

After a few minutes, Callum and Cadence storm through the doors and fling themselves at me.

Both are in tears, and for once, Callum doesn’t seem like my brave big brother. It was only a few hours ago that he promised me we would be home tonight, watching the reapings like every other year. But now, now that we won’t watch the reapings together, he’s a complete wreck.

“Come home, Scout,” Cadence whimpers. “I don’t know how we’ll – how we’ll go on without you. You have to come back.”

I nod and hug her, digging my fingers into her back lightly, trying not to let my little sister go.

Callum stands up and wipes his tear-streaked cheeks. “You know what to do. You’re a people person. Wow the Capitol with your personality, Scout. You’ll go far just on that. And make friends with all the big guys, get in with powerful people and get them on your side.”

“Okay,” I whisper, pulling Callum into a hug.

He squeezes me tight before letting go and wiping a stray tear off my face.

“Time’s up,” A peacekeeper announces, opening the door.

“I love you,” I say to both of them as they wrap me in a huge group hug.

“Love you, too, Scout,” Cadence says. “I’ll always be proud of you, big sister.”

“Yeah,” Callum adds. “I’ll always be proud of you, too, Scout. No one will ever forget you’re my little sister, I promise.”

The water works start again as the door closes behind my siblings. As supportive and encouraging as everyone was, my entire family hinted at the possibility of no reunion. And why should they not? I’m twelve, the youngest a tribute can possibly be, and there are sure to be multiple older, bigger, and stronger competitors. Besides, a 1/24 odds isn’t exactly a good starting point.

Willow flings open the door and marches right up to me before throwing her arms around my shoulders and wailing.

“Scout, you’re my best friend,” She says. “You gave me a family when I didn’t have one and I’ll never be able to give you something as amazing as that, but I just wanted you to know how important you are to me.”

I hold her close and cherish these last moments I will be allowed to spend with her. “Willow, you’re my sister. I don’t care about genetics. You are my sister. I couldn’t imagine a better best friend. Please don’t be afraid to go to my house in the future, even if I don’t come home-”

“Scout, don’t say that. Don’t even put that idea in your head. You’re gonna come home-”

“No, I’m not, Willow,” I raise my voice, surprising everyone in the room, even the Peacekeepers. “Everyone needs to stop feeding me these lies. I’m not coming home, okay? I’m getting sent to my death. It’s coming. I can’t lie to myself about that. When I die, I want you to know that my family still loves you, okay? You’ll always be a part of it.”

Her bottom lip quivers as her face scrunches in sadness and understanding. “Okay.”

We hug each other in silence for the next few minutes until a Peacekeeper comes in and tears her away from me. After Willow exits, Peacekeepers come and collect me. They escort me out of the building, where masses of District 7 residents take one last look at their tributes before sending them off.

It isn’t a very long ride from the Justice Building to the train station, where the rest of District 7 awaits our train’s departure before they’ll all board their own and ride back to the serene woods they call home.

Mercury is talking non-stop about the next couple of days, but Colby and I aren’t paying any attention, rather staring out the windows of the car at all of District 7, waving farewell to their tributes who are soon enough to be dead, written off in their minds, glad it wasn’t them or someone they cared about.

Peacekeepers herd us onto the train and Colby and I are filmed momentarily for a spot on the District 7 Tributes, and before I know it, the doors behind us close and I find myself in a train car that looks eerily similar to the room I just said my goodbyes in. Not literally, but the quality of everything is the same excellent, Capitol standard; the handcrafted table, the crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling, the armchairs made out of the same soft material the couches were.

“Make yourselves at home,” Mercury says with a huge grin. “While you are here, you will be treated like royalty.”

I run my hand across a polished wooden chair at the table before inspecting my fingers for any splinters, but there aren’t any because the wood is in perfect condition and the thick, sleek polish would hide any imperfections anyways.

“Let me show you to your compartments,” Mercury says, leading the way into the next car and opening the door for Colby. “Home sweet home,” He says, a strange smile spreads across his lips and his fingers toy awkwardly with each other.

“And Cassidy,” He says.

“Scout,” I correct.

He stops, turns to face me with a confused and slightly offended look on his face. “Pardon?”

“I go by Scout,” I say. “I’ve never gone by Cassidy.”

Suddenly his lips pull into a tight smile and he turns around dramatically. “Scout,” He pauses for a moment. “Spunky. Sassy, I like it.”

I shrug my shoulders and follow him into another car where he welcomes me to my home for the next day.

The compartment is large; way bigger than the room I share with all three of my siblings back home. It gives me a hollow feeling in my chest, having all this space to myself, it just doesn’t feel right.

“There’s a bathroom over there,” He says, pointing with the same carrot colored finger that brought me this fate. “And a changing room, too. And then obviously your bedroom.”

I nod. “Thank you,” I whisper, wandering further into the great expanse of my new room.

“You’re very welcome, Scout,” He smiles. Not his manufactured-for-the-reaping smile, but a real, genuine smile. “Dinner’s in an hour. Make yourself at home; take a shower, whatever you’d like.”

He exits the compartment and leaves me with my thoughts. I sit down on the large bed that could easily sleep my entire family comfortably and stroke the soft, luxurious comforter. None of this seems right. I’m supposed to be back at home, watching the reapings and placing bets with Callum on who will be the victor this year.

I wonder what Callum will do this year. Will he watch the Games with his friends or will he watch them by himself, reacting the way he had today, wishing with every fiber of his being for some miracle where I can win?

And what will the rest of the District 7 think? That Colby and I are weak, nothing compared to Johanna Mason or Blight and that we’re as good as dead? Or will my classmates rally around my unfortunate reaping and realize that it could have been any one of them? Until me, no one from my school has been reaped. It’s always been some kid from the other side of the district, separated by 100 miles and detached from our minds as our own kind.

A pang in my chest brings me back to reality. Now that I’m here, on this train bound for the Capitol, the only way to return home to my family is to become a coldblooded killer. The Capitol wants me to become a wild animal and use me as a pawn to remind the Districts of their power.

I curl into a ball in the middle of the bed and wrap my arms around my legs that are tucked under my chin. I try to clear my mind of everything and forget about my looming death, just go back to my trees, but I can’t. No matter how much I try to imagine the wind rustling the leaves, the rough bark, the feel of wet earth seeping in between my toes, I can’t. It feels like years ago I was in my quiet place, but it was only earlier that day.

Time seems to pass by as fast as the landscapes outside the windows does and I’m soon summoned for dinner by Mercury Twinklevoss who has touched up any imperfections in his glitter eye make-up and applied a heavy coating of burgundy lip gloss. Earlier, I thought I saw a hint of a real human being beneath all the Capitol fashion, but it seems he’s only returned to his normal ways.

When we enter the dining car, Johanna and Blight are already seated and waiting patiently to formally meet their new mentees.

Mercury clears his throat as he introduces us. “Scout, your mentor, Johanna Mason,” His voice is filled with an air of royalty and importance. Johanna eyes me up and down skeptically; I know she thinks nothing of me. I’m a scrawny 12-year-old girl who’s small even for my age. “Colby, your mentor, Blight.”

I sit next to Colby and pick at my food, suddenly not hungry. Even the amazing aroma of the food isn’t enough to convince me to eat, although I think Colby eats enough for the both of us.

“So, Scout,” Johanna speaks heavily, throwing her napkin onto her empty plate and crossing her fingers under her chin, her elbows resting on the edge of the table. “How are you going to win this thing?”

I clear my throat and look to Colby for help, but he only shrugs his shoulders slightly. “I don’t, uh, I don’t know exactly,” I whisper. “I haven’t had much time to think about it. I was hoping you could give me some ideas about that.”

A nasty sneer paints her flawless face as she sits back in her seat and shakes her head. “You’re dead if that’s the approach you’re taking in this game,” She says. “Scout, poor little Scout from District 7. The little girl who had no game plan, dead in the bloodbath. If you’re gonna win this thing, you have to think about it. What’re you good at?”

“Climbing trees and using a slingshot,” I announce, still unsure of myself.

She shakes her head. “That’s a start but it’s not going to get you far. Are you fast? You know your way around an ax?”

“I mean, of course I do. I grew up in 7 after all, but it’s not my strongest skill,” I explain. “I can run pretty good and hunt, but only squirrels and other small animals.”

“Listen up,” She says, cocking her head to the side. “What do you think you are to the other tributes – the older Career tributes who’ve been training their whole lives for this? You’re that squirrel. You’re all those other small animals.”

Colby’s mouth hangs open in shock. Johanna is ripping me apart, limb by limb, reading me before she even gets to know me.

“You don’t know anything about me,” I say, standing up from the table and excusing myself. “Don’t tell me I don’t have a chance. I want this as bad as any of the other tributes. I’m not gonna give up, so if you’re gonna be my mentor, help me find what I’m good at.”

Johanna’s face lights up and a genuine smile creeps across her lips.

A sick feeling fills my empty stomach as I race back to my compartment where I find myself leaning over the toilet bowl, throwing up the remnants of my breakfast.

Johanna Mason thinks of me as a bug on the bottom of her shoe, disposable and replaceable. I’m nothing in her mind, but she knows how to make it through the Games and no matter how mad I get at her, I’m relying on her to help me get through this all.

I wipe my mouth and stand up, staring at my reflection in the mirror. My braid is frayed and pieces of hair have fallen in my face. My cheeks look even shallower than they had this morning and my skin is so sickly pale that I almost can’t recognize myself.

“Scout,” I hear a knock at my door.

“Go away,” I instruct, running the cool tap water and rinsing my mouth out a few times.

“We’re watching the reapings,” It’s Colby and his voice is soothing, almost worried. “I know you’re mad and all, but I think it’s pretty important to size up the competition.”

He’s right.

I breathe in heavily and tear myself from the vanity.

“I’ll be out in a minute,” I say, stripping my mother’s blue dress off my body, folding it carefully and placed it on the bed.

I rummage through the drawers that are filled to the brim with new clothes and find a pair of black leggings and a navy blue long-sleeved shirt that are both so soft to the touch. Once I’m dressed, I open the door and find my way to the compartment that’s home to a large television and a big, comfy looking couch.

“Just in time!” Mercury announces happily, clapping his hands and adjusting himself on the couch. “Come, come, Scout.”

I nestle myself into the corner of the couch and pull my legs into my chest, resting my chin on my knees and locking my eyes on the screen.

I can feel Johanna’s eyes burning into my skin, but I keep myself from glancing over. Soon enough, the Capitol seal is on the screen and the anthem is playing before Caesar Flickerman is sitting at a desk on screen, ready to add his commentary to the reapings.

District 1 is a Career District, along with District 2 and District 4, who train their youth from a young age to compete in the Hunger Games for pride and glory. Normally the Career Districts have volunteers sprinting to the stage, willingly throwing themselves into the Games for a chance at fame and fortune, but this year District 1 is eerily quiet. No one races to the stage when the names are called and no one volunteers when asked.

Both the boy and the girl are beautiful; healthy and fit with brown hair and blue eyes, but they both convey a sense of fear and dread with their fate. The boy holds the girl in his arms and stares off into space with an emptiness in his eyes while the girl cries uncontrollably. I feel bad for them, because I know the feeling.

“How strange,” Mercury quips. “No volunteers from District 1 this year? They must have had a weak batch in training.”

Everyone stares at Mercury Twinklevoss like he’s from another planet, and I guess he is. He will never know the horror of standing through a reaping, or having his name called at a reaping, and being sent off to your death. It’s like he can’t understand why no one would want to volunteer for something like that because the citizens of the Capitol never have to face the wrath and aftermath the Games create.

Caesar comes back onto the screen, shaking his head lightly. “The District 1 Tributes, Amity and Gannon. And now for District 2.”

The screen lights up with a huge square surrounded by rows and rows of brawny looking children. None are scrawny, underfed, or terrified. The camera pans through the rows, focusing on the intense stares from the children who look ready to pounce at any moment.

“Reba Eisling!” The District 2 escort calls out.

Numerous girls sprint towards the stage, shoving each other and doing their best to make it there first.

“Dear, dear,” The escort laughs as a particularly sadistic looking girl stands proudly on stage. “So many volunteers! Maybe next year!” She turns to the girl. “And what is your name, my dear?”

“Saskia,” She answers, sneering evilly at the camera.

Whoops and hollers sound through the crowd as she thrusts her fist high into the air. She’ll be one to look out for.

Much like the girls, the boy tribute sprints from the crowd and fights his way to the stage, introducing himself as Rogue and the two shake hands.

“That’s more like it!” Caesar cheers happily. “District 2 knows how a reaping should be. District 3 coming right up.”

Surprisingly, District 3’s girl tribute rushes into the aisle as the escort pulls a slip out of the giant glass ball.

“I volunteer as tribute!” She yells, making her way to the stage with purpose.

The escort looks incredibly confused, yet thrilled at the same time.

“And what is your name?” The strange creature with silver skin and a curly blue afro asks with a smile plastered to his face.

“Victory Gamble, and don’t you count me out,” She says, boldly.

Compared to her, the boy, a young little thing with blonde hair and blue eyes looks pathetic. He weeps as he stands on stage next to the girl who looks more than willing to kill him the first moment she has the chance.

District 4 has two volunteers as well, like every other year before. The girl, Hera, has a look in her empty dark brown eyes that tells me she was bred to kill while the boy, Chaos, seems a bit more reluctant to throw himself into the mix. However, he has for some unfathomable reason, and he stands on stage, hand-in-hand with his district partner who raises their hands together in the air in a sign of power.

“I couldn’t even imagine why anybody would volunteer,” Colby says, turning to face us all.

“They’re bred to kill,” Johanna says simply. “It’s something that’s expected of them, just another adolescent hurdle.”

“And District 5’s tributes, Rose and Grady!” Caesar announces. Everyone turns their attention back to the screen to see two feeble, worried children standing center stage.

District 6’s tributes are an extremely well built boy with blonde hair and vibrant blue eyes who stands emotionless and still on stage, while the girl, built like a true competitor, who shares his golden hair and blue eyes can’t hide the fear. She shakes slightly and almost falls over more than once. Despite their apparent athleticism, they don’t seem strong in the mental sense but for some reason beyond me, I feel a connection with them.

“And District 6’s tributes, Caspar and Equinox!” Caesar comments. “Onto our wonderful lumber providers in District 7.”

I sit up, all my attention fixed on the screen. Goosebumps cover my body as my name is called and Cadence’s scream emanates throughout the entire square. I watch myself walk slowly to the stage, stopping to meet Callum’s gaze before continuing up to meet Mercury.

“Oh, look, there we are!” He claps his hands together happily and points. “Look at us; so famous.”

Normally I would have scoffed and rolled my eyes, but I can’t tear my eyes from the screen. No matter how small any of the other tributes are, I look microscopic in comparison. And I look like an easy target – small, scared, and alone. My eyes scan the audience for my family until I find them, and they don’t move, even when Mercury shakes my hand for me.

He laughs from the other end of the couch.

And then Colby’s name is pulled and he makes his way up. I hadn’t noticed his hesitation before. I mean, I had to an extent, but he looks even worse than I did. The blood rushes from his face immediately and he is as pale as a ghost.

And then it cuts back to Caesar, who announces our names, somehow already knowing my nickname. “The District 7 Tributes, Colby and Scout!”

District 8’s tributes, Waverly and Nash look like an odd pair. Waverly’s dark eyes and pursed lips make her come across as cruel and harsh while Nash’s blue eyes and childish face emits innocence and fear.

District 9’s reaping makes my heart break. Both tributes, Freya and Oakley, are small and come from the 12-year-old areas much like myself. The girl is tiny like me, with dark brown skin and a fairy-like presence, like she can bring joy to any situation. The boy, equally as small, looks like a lost puppy, wandering aimlessly to the stage looking every which way for confirmation.

District 10’s tributes are a sister/brother pair named Violet and Reed. They share a lot of the same features; brown hair, brown eyes, their olive colored skin, but Violet screams maturity while Reed reads innocence. Violet holds her brother in her arms as even the escort looks mortified by the turn of events.

“If Callum and I had been reaped together, I couldn’t even imagine. Losing one child is bad enough, but losing two is even worse,” I say without thinking. “How do the parents choose which child they’d want to come home?”

Even Mercury doesn’t have an answer for that. Mercury, the man who can’t imagine the horror, is now speechless, stomaching the thought of siblings fighting to the death against each other.

When District 11 is announced, I still have a bad feeling in my stomach from 10’s reaping. Even when a nervous girl and a muscular dark skinned boy walk to the stage and are announced as Nettie and Quake, my mind wanders back to Violet and Reed and suddenly, I don’t feel so bad.

If Callum and I, or Cadence or Bug and I for that matter, had to fight against one another, I’d like to think I’d let the other win. But even then, I can’t imagine it and I’m suddenly glad that Callum is in the safety of our home, probably cuddled on the couch with mama and dad and Cadence and Bug watching the reapings and sizing up my competition.

And suddenly, District 12’s coal covered town square highlights the screen and a woman with a large pink wig and lined lips steps forward to draw the tribute’s names. First, the girl, Caraway, with long gold waves and stunning blue eyes steps forward from the masses. She stumbles along, dumbfounded and the Peacekeepers ultimately have to help her to the stage. Finally, the last tribute’s name is pulled, and a boy named Booker wanders his way up to the stage. He has dark brown hair and grey eyes that dart through the crowd, and although shocked initially, he seems cool and collected.

And with that, Caesar Flickerman comes back onto the screen and signs off with the typical, “Happy Hunger Games and may the odds be ever in your favor!” and a wink.