Chapter Text
Vixen Mattock
The death sentence was declared a month ago: Everyone with the last name that is called by the Capitol Escorts must choose a male and a female to send into the arena. Age doesn’t matter. For example, if your last name is Mattock, like mine is, then you must band together with the other Mattocks to decide who to send into the arena. The Capitol doesn’t care if you’re related or not. There could be a hundred different families with the last name Mattock and the Capitol would make us choose.
It’s really not fair.
This rule is in place because this year is a Quarter Quell. The fourth to be exact. In order to celebrate all previous Quarter Quells, the Capitol took the rules of the previous Quarter Quells and mushed them together like some sort of abomination. Voting comes from the first Quarter Quell, two tributes for each family that’s called comes from the second, and the lack of an age restriction comes from the third.
Of course my family was selected. I’ve been walking on eggshells since then. In District 12 love comes from how much you bring to the table. I’m only thirteen, so I can’t provide much other than knowledge from school. I do have a job, but it isn’t pretty. I’m supposed to execute those who betray the Capitol. If I fail, I get executed too. I’ve executed ten people so far, three of which are former classmates.
I wake up this morning to screaming coming from the other side of my bedroom. I share it with my half sister, Phoebe, and my half brother, Walter. It’s Phoebe that’s screaming. I get up to see what’s wrong, and I see her right beside Walter. He’s on his cot, fast asleep.
“Phoebe? What’s wrong?”
“Walter won’t wake up.”
I ignore her. Phoebe is ten and is still super impressionable. Walter, meanwhile, is seven. While Walter does spend a lot of time in bed, it’s because he’s recovering from an illness that we had treated a day ago. I gently shove Walter just enough to try and wake him up, but he doesn’t budge. Huh.
“Walter, wake up.” I demand.
Walter doesn’t move. It’s then that I notice a small stain reaching out from under his back. I pick Walter up, then notice that the stain is actually large enough to practically be the size of his back.
Phoebe doesn’t hesitate to run out of the room and cry for Mom and Dad.
“Walter?” I call out. “Wake up!”
Nothing. I don’t understand. Where did we go wrong? We removed the tumor and we bandaged him up! Where are the bandages? I check the room, then find them under my cot.
What? Who put those there?
“Vixen, what’s going on?” Mom calls out. Then she sees Walter and the bandages. It doesn’t take her long to form a conclusion. “Vixen, what did you do?”
“I swear it wasn’t me!” I cry out. “Someone put them there!”
“You mean your sister? She’s ten!”
Mom’s right. If it wasn’t me, someone in this family had to do it. Phoebe wouldn’t do it because she loves Walter too much. Mom and Dad do too. At least I think so. But I didn’t do it, so there’s a hole in my argument somewhere.
Disgusted, Mom walks over to me and grabs Walter’s body. She glares at me, then demands that I get a shovel. We’re burying Walter right now.
The next two hours are the longest hours of my life. We buried Walter out back next to the bathroom, and we had to file paperwork to declare him dead. Mom demands I stay in my room the entire day, and I don’t bother resisting. I didn’t do it, but I can’t prove it. Phoebe and Dad aren’t talking to me either. Mom has them convinced I did it.
Mom must have everyone convinced by now.
There’s no hope for me, is there? Tomorrow I’m sure to be voted to go into the games, where I’ll inevitably die. No one from District 12 won since the 81st Hunger Games, and the winner starved to death before he even left the arena. And even if I do win, I’ll have to choose to either live in the Capitol or mentor other tributes. That is if I get a choice. The 74th year victors, Katniss and Peeta, were forcibly cryogenically frozen due to treason. They’re only released from that state when they have to mentor other tributes. Now that I think about it, that old drunkard Haymitch was cryogenically frozen too.
I definitely won’t get a say in this, will I?
What happens if I kill myself now? Who replaces me? Mom? Dad? Phoebe? Someone else? While I would love for the culprit to go into the arena, I have a sneaking suspicion that everyone will choose the weakest Mattock there is who’s old enough to hold a weapon, and that’d be Phoebe.
I take a deep breath and lay down on my cot. If I don’t go into the arena, Phoebe will have to pay for my actions. Fine. I’ll go into the arena. For her.
Sage Beau
It was a lot of work, but I finally managed to convince everyone with the last name Beau to vote for me. I had to make a will, but who cares? My family’s perfume company is staying in the family, and everyone with the last name Beau who isn’t related to us gets a share of the company’s profits now. At least that’s what they think. I didn’t actually draft the will yet, and I never will. They should know better than to not get everything down in writing. I also wouldn’t be surprised if some people lied to me. Oh well. It’s their loss either way.
Today is voting day, and for breakfast, my Avox is making pancakes decorated to look like my grandfather, who won the 76th Hunger Games and is one of the Capitol’s favorite victors. No doubt if I go in they’ll expect a lot from me. So, I’ll give them a show they’ll never forget.
“Avox!” I shout as I snap my fingers. The Avox who is making my breakfast looks at me. “Fetch my perfume! The one in the diamond bottle!”
The Avox nods and runs upstairs. My wife walks down, then sees the pancakes.
“Darling, what if the pancakes burn?”
“Oh don’t worry, Dear. The pancakes won’t burn. I have this particular Avox trained to be quick.”
The Avox immediately comes back and hands me my perfume, then runs over to the pancakes. She continues as if everything was normal. I spray myself, then kiss my wife on the lips.
“How’s the baby?”
“Still kicking.”
“Good, good. Who knows? We may be raising a fine victor someday.”
My wife nods her head. “Sage, the Reaping starts in two hours. We should get ready.”
“Of course. Avox, hurry up and make those pancakes! I have a Reaping to attend!”
The Reaping is nothing short of fantastical. Everyone with the last name Beau is sitting closest to the front, and everyone else is in the back according to their age. Our Escort, Axius, comes out and reads the rules of the Fourth Quarter Quell to us, perhaps to intimidate us into backing out. We don’t. Axius then takes out a book and explains to us that this is a recorded list of everyone who was voted to go into the Arena. My cousin got 7 votes, my sister got 14 votes, some random person with the last name Beau got 18 votes, and I got 35 votes.
The process isn’t finished yet. The other family who had to vote, the Glitz family, had to vote as well. The people with the most votes in their family were Aria and Marius Glitz. Now, there are four possible tributes: Myself, my sister, Aria, and Marius.
“Now, let’s decide which gender tribute the Beau family will be sending in.” Axius announces. There are two slips of paper in the glass bowl. If I’m right, one says male and the other says female. Axius puts his hand into the bowl, then reads it out loud.
The male tribute, me, is getting sent in.
“Yes!” I shout. “Thank you! Thank you all! I’m looking forward to having the pleasure of representing you all in the arena!”
My sister glares at me, but she doesn’t say anything. Aria and I go up to the stage, and after Axius introduces us to the Capitol Audience, we’re taken to the back so that our families can visit us. I get a few visitors, but the most notable one is my wife.
“Stay safe in the arena, okay honey?” My wife requests.
“I will.” I promise. “If I die, name the baby after my grandfather, not me. I won’t be deserving of passing my name down then.”
“I will.” My wife agrees. Just like that, my time is up, and I’m taken to a train to go to the Capitol.
May the odds be ever in my favour.