Chapter Text
Dream POV
The funny thing about routine, is that humans aren't the only ones to recognize it, or put it into place.
The flora and fauna, Mother Nature herself, all seem to understand the routine set in stone so long ago. What is known as a great tradition, to any place that isn't so directly involved.
On days such as today, nature remembers our routine.
The birds sing in lower tones. The sun is bleak and greyed, if it comes out at all. Plants shiver with strikingly chilled breeze.
If our atmosphere is tense, I'd hate to imagine how bad it might become in the districts less fortunate than my own.
In my home district, the citizens generally have it well.
Some may disagree, may say that what we have is in no comparison to the top million or billionaires in the capital of Panem.
And yes, while they're correct in a sense, it's not somewhere that most would personally like to be.
Because when a member of any of the twelve districts of Panem is sent to the capital, in all likelihood, it's for one reason and one reason only.
The Hunger Games.
In my home land, the second district and main manufacturer of weaponry, reaping days are of only slight concern to most. We have access to training grounds, and of course choice swords, axes, knives, you name it. District two also manages and trains officers of peace, peacekeepers as they're known, and sends them to keep control in all other districts.
Especially on reaping days.
Now, this isn't to say that a peacekeeper keeps peace in a method which is... peaceful. Harsh punishment comes to those who disobey the rules set in place by the capital. If you were to avoid the reaping, you might as well be dead anyways.
Things are okay in district two, overall. People lack concern over the reaping because more often than not, one of the older teens who have been training since they were young will volunteer to go. They're known as career tributes, and they win almost every year.
And this year, someone new might do just that.
Maybe.
I have done well for myself, I will admit. I and several classmates had decided on training together from early in our teen years, and I'd say we've become pretty lethal in the years we had dedicated. And not to brag, but I'm seen as one of the best.
My sword fighting skills are nearly unmatched. I've been asked by friends and families if I would consider volunteering in this year or the next coming, but I haven't been sure. I’d love to step into a competition for fighting, but it’s hard to blame me for being hesitant on the “to the death” part.
I've trained myself for protection, mostly, but I’ve also gotten very offensive and competitive. Maybe I could win in those games, but the thought of killing people, those my age no less, isn't a thought I’m usually a big fan of.
However, there’s a little teeny part of me that’s excited about the possibility.
It's the morning of reaping day in district two. I certainly feel the tension. Does everyone else?
I pick myself up out of bed reluctantly, deciding it's better to do it on my own rather than having my mom come in and rip away my covers. A shower might be a smart idea.
I look behind me to a bed on the opposite side of the room as mine, where my little sister sleeps. I have three siblings, one younger brother, a younger sister, and an older sister who is above the age to qualify for the games now.
The thought crosses my mind briefly, of the youngest being sent to the arena. It makes my nerves flare, but I reassure myself that it's unlikely.
That's the main cause for concern on reaping days. What if a young child is chosen, with no volunteer for protection?
If my youngest sister were to be chosen, I wouldn't be able to step in for her. That's another thought that comes with unease.
The aforementioned lays still in her bed, the only movement being the rise and fall of her chest with each breath. At least in this moment, she is safe and well. Her name has only been entered once, anyways.
I force my limbs to wake up fully and take me to the bathroom before I decide I want to flop back onto my mattress.
I step into the shower and relax into the feeling of warm water surrounding me. I can admit that I'm nervous. I know I'm a good fighter, but those games are terribly unpredictable. The terrain, the competition, the amalgamations created by the game makers. There's no way to know what could happen.
I try to put it out of my mind, and focus on the feeling of warmth on my skin. I think about going to see my friend again today, before needing to get ready for the reaping.
This helps relieve a bit of tension I'm holding. He's an optimist, I'm sure seeing him will knock some sense into me.
I step out and shake my hair like a puppy, splattering the walls and mirror at my height level. I draw a smile in the fogged mirror and smile myself to match it. Things will be okay today.
I throw on black pants and the same green hoodie I wear everyday. It's worn down, a few small rips from fighting with my group of friends, but it's the one I like best. I then pull my sword with it's scabbard out from under my bed, and study it in my hands.
The blade is worn down, even the scabbard from stupid spur of the moment fights where I hadn't bothered to take it off of the sword. The two match the hoodie I sport with their damages. I like keeping what I'm comfortable with.
The strap on the scabbard is swung over my shoulder, and I waltz down our short hall to the kitchen. My mom is stood behind our wooden counter, and already has her line of sight on me.
"You're out of there a bit later," she remarks, returning her view to various cut vegetables at her waist level on the counter. I lean my shoulder against the wall at the entrance.
"I had a shower. Thought it might be nice of me to be presentable today." I give a smile, and she returns it without looking up from the cutting board. It feels like things should be kept as light as they can be with my mom, on today of all days.
It's an especially hard year. My young sister is entered into the mix of names for the very first time, and we've all been painfully aware. There was a span of weeks not long ago where money was tight, and the option to have your name entered again in exchange for food was considered.
It was a toss up, as my name has had more entries being older already. But this is her first year. It was clear that my mom didn't want her chances of misfortune to raise.
After that, it was between my younger brother and I. It felt unfair to have him need to be entered more than necessary, too. So, I did what any older brother would do, and got the extra food without telling my mom beforehand. Nobody else needed to make the decision.
I think she felt guilty. I still see it in her features when I visit in the kitchen every morning.
"Take these," she says, transferring the vegetables into a container already holding crackers and cheese, "I'm guessing you'll visit Bad before it's time to get ready?"
I nod. Bad is one of my best friends in the district, and a bit of a bright light on dark occasions. He's not so much of a fighter, but he's always welcomed by the group that I train with. He's had to deal with some nasty scars we've given each other over the years.
"Yeah. Think it'll lift my spirits a bit," I chuckle and slide the container across the counter and towards myself.
"Mmhm," she turns to place the cutting board and knife into the sink, "tell him hello and be safe, from me."
"I will, mom."
She steps around the counter and opens her arms for a hug. "And you be safe too, you hear me? I know you're good, and you know you're good, but don't go volunteering just because that's expected." She squeezes then pulls back, holding my shoulders. "I'm serious, Clay."
"Yeah, yeah mom, I know, I won't!" I kiss her cheek and take the container again. "Only if it's completely necessary!"
"And what does that mean?" She turns to me with a stern, but amused look as I'm just about to walk out the door.
"I guess we'll find out," I laugh and switch backwards out, so only my face is still visible to her, and say a quick "love you mom!" before closing it off and skipping down our steps. I can practically feel her eye roll on the other side.
I'm sure she thinks I'm joking. And I will be careful when the situation really calls for it.
But by no means will I let someone that I care about go into those games without putting up a fight.
However, what she doesn’t know, is how big the smile was on my face as I closed the door behind myself.
How I had entered my name more times this year with the very same smile on my face.
What can I say? A little competition sounds like it could be fun.