Chapter Text
July 5th
Wellie Raynsford, District 6F-A, age 12
There's nothing like a little perspective in making you forget all your problems.
Wellie had a lot of problems to forget. For one thing, she had recently been shipped off to her death. She wouldn’t ever see her mom or her sister or Boots again, or her friends, or her music teacher, or anyone else. She spent all week before the reaping working on an essay for her English project only for it to be for nothing since she’d be dead before it was due. She forgot to close the window in her room before she left, and now bugs were likely to get in. None of her district partners were older than fourteen. The escort called her pitiful. Her mentor seemed indifferent at best to their survival.
On top of it all, her chariot crashed in the middle of the parade, and she was thrown who knows how far onto the road, scraping her knees, elbow, right hand, and inflicting what she knew would be many bruises.
Wellie felt like her nerves were screaming. It was just like third grade again, when Boaz spun the merry-go-round too quickly while she had been perched on the top of it, and she flipped over and was promptly flung off the side, skidding until she hit the jungle gym behind her. She hadn’t been the only one to lose her grip, so she had been mostly ignored as she shakily tried to brush herself off, limping back until she noticed the sheer amount of blood seeping through the shins of her tights, and it finally caught up to her how much pain she was in.
She had started sobbing, back then, and it was taking every fibre of her being to avoid doing the same now. If she did, maybe the escort would call her a baby, too. The lady seemed childish enough to do that.
Stifling her whimpering, she pushed herself up with trembling arms, careful not to press her bleeding palm into the pavement. She honestly expected more blood on her clothes than she actually saw, mostly confined to just her costume's torn knees, and a somewhat more concerning amount streaking her left arm where her elbow caught the brunt of the blow.
Tears were trickling down her face, but at least she was able to keep her breathing somewhat steady. That was a good start.
A shadow passed over her, and she flinched, ducking into her arms. It took a few seconds to realize that it was not, in fact, another chariot here to crush her, but in fact medics passing.
Wellie hesitantly looked up again. Around her, the scene was chaotic. It wasn’t just her, or even her and the other tributes. The chariot must have crashed into the barrier, as joining the list of casualties were several trampled looking ladies and gentlemen from the capitol, scattered around on the road and in the stands, crying and groaning in pain. The medics rushed quickly to the capitolite’s aid; but they ignored her.
She scanned the bodies until her sights fell on a familiar figure clad in familiar coveralls. Wellie attempted to get up, but stumbled, more crawling to Velo than anything else.
“Velo!” She whispered, though she wasn’t quite sure why she was whispering, as if the capitolites and medics were birds of prey ready to snatch them up and finish them off if they made their nearby presence too known. Either way, she didn’t receive a response, so she repeated herself, giving Velo a shake on the shoulder.
Velo finally dragged herself up from her face down position, giving her an uneasy look. That’s when Wellie noticed the blood streaming down Velo’s face, and her heart dropped.
“Velo, you’re bleeding!”
It was the first thing that came to mind, but if anything, Wellie was understating it, especially considering that she herself had been injured as well.
“Is-Is everyone okay?” Velo stammered out weakly, as she pushed herself to her knees, perhaps a bit too quickly. She swayed, and Wellie had to practically ram into her to keep her upright.
That was a good question. Wellie looked around frantically before she spotted Atread curled up tightly just within reach. Wellie nudged him with her foot, and he grimaced, recoiling in on himself even more as he grumbled something imperceptible to her.
Velo gained enough mind to set herself against the remaining barrier as Wellie finally spotted Miles several feet away. Unlike the others, he was already sitting upright, already alert, staring toward the main part of the road.
“Miles!” She called to no avail. Seeing as Velo seemed stable, Wellie was free to limp over. She called twice more, and he ignored her.
She lost her balance, or her leg gave out, and she fell, having to crawl the remaining two feet until she reached his side.
“Miles, are you okay?”
Still, he barely gave her mind, staring out toward the scene before him, and Wellie followed his gaze.
In front of them, 12’s chariot lay in ruin. Two of the tributes were struggling to pry themselves from the wreckage, fighting under the weight of the construction. Of the other two, one was just barely beginning to stir, and the other, closest to Wellie-
Her eyes met nothing but a vacant, lifeless stare.
One of the girls from District 12. One of the girls who looked to be about the same age as Wellie herself. Their eyes met briefly, just a few scattered times before the parade, and now…
And now she lay dead in front of her.
At that moment, all pain left. She could ignore the throbbing in her knees, the blood soaking her left sleeve, the burning in her hand, the prickling near her ear. It was nothing, because it was nothing compared to the blood pooling around that girl’s head, to the lack of light or life in her eyes.
And there's nothing like a little perspective in making you forget all your problems.
—---
The apartment was silent when they finally returned, so terribly late at night. The four of them had spent at least two or three hours at the security office, being patched up by cold and grumbling peacekeepers who had snapped at her when she started crying again.
All things considered, they got off lucky, or at least that’s what the nurse there said. Wellie didn’t have to ask what the worst case scenario was.
Even then, Wellie got off the easiest. The worst of it was her left arm, which needed quite a bit of bandage since the outer side had been scraped from the elbow to the ball of her wrist. While the scrapes on her knees proved annoying, they were just barely able to patch them up with the largest adhesive bandages they had, thankfully avoiding having to wrap them up. Her right palm fared mostly the same, patched up without an issue. In fact, she was surprised when they then patched up a scratch she had missed on the side of her face, along the back of her cheekbone. It had stung a bit, but she didn’t realize until now that it had been sluggishly bleeding as well.
Miles also got off lucky, all things considered. His right side had been bruised and gashed when he had been thrown against the railing of the chariot, and the back of his right arm had been cut on a buckle, but he had otherwise escaped with just bruises.
Velo’s injuries were more frightening, but thankfully the nurse insisted it looked worse than it was. Still, there was only so much that comment could do when it took several minutes to stem the blood pouring from her head, and how long it took for them to find a way to patch up the wound on her scalp without messing with her hair too much.
However, they did not say anything good about Atread’s condition. Well, they didn’t say it was inherently life threatening, so that was good, probably. However, the nurse hummed and hawed in a concerned way as she examined his left leg, and called for someone to bring out supplies for a cast. She never responded to any of his attempts to ask if it was broken, so everyone was left to assume the worst, especially when he wasn’t able to put any weight on it, having to lean on Aaron for support when he finally arrived to pick them up.
Once they reached the apartment, the disheveled mentor was content to dump Atread on the couch, before turning to the other three.
“You should get to bed now, I heard it will be a long day tomorrow. They want you down at the gym for training.”
“Training? In a gym?” Velo asked, “But we’re hurt! Don’t we need time to rest or whatever?”
“Well, need it or not, they’re not giving it to you.” Aaron huffed. “They’re not delaying the games, everything is going on as scheduled.”
“That’s bullshit!” Atread slammed his fist down on the arm of the couch. “That’s not fair!”
“Language, kid.” Aaron chided, though no actual anger bled through his tired voice. “Now, I’m going to have a busy day tomorrow too, trying to get sponsors for you… somehow. Goodnight.”
Aaron shuffled off to his room, not acknowledging Wellie’s weak response to wish him a good night in turn.
The group waited until their mentor was well and truly in his room before they could bring themselves to move, looking at each other with uneasy expressions.
The first to speak was Miles, who tugged at his sleeves with a sigh. “I think I would like to get out of this costume now.”
“That’s probably a good idea.” Velo glanced around. “There should be pyjamas in the… bedrooms, I guess?” She wandered aimlessly towards the rooms, eventually settling on one and waving for the others to follow. Wellie ignored Atread’s questions of how he was supposed to get changed with the cast and instead followed Velo into the bedroom.
When they returned, Miles and Atread were already out there, both of them having managed to change without incident. Atread lifted his injured leg onto the couch, gingerly touching the cast as he grimaced.
“How does it feel?” She dared to ask.
“It’s been aching the whole time. I don’t know if it’s broken or just fractured, but… I guess it doesn’t make much of a difference, huh?” He shrugged. “It’s not going to be better by the time the games start either way.”
He sounded like he was trying to brush it off as an inconvenience, but his shaking voice betrayed him. Wellie sighed, sitting down beside him.
“We’ll find a way to make it work,” she insisted, “Maybe you can take in crutches, or something.”
Miles smirked, smiling for probably the first time this evening. “Yeah, then you can smack anyone who tries to attack us.”
“Yeah, sure, my signature weapon can be a crutch, people will love that for sure.” Atread muttered, sarcasm dripping from the words.
Velo shrugged. “It’s original, at least.”
With that, the remaining two joined them on the couch, settling in comfortably.
“I can’t believe they aren’t delaying the games.” Atread muttered, clearly not over the topic. “That’s ridiculous, a bunch of people got hurt and they’re not even stopping to let anyone breathe for a moment.”
“And I think…” Miles started, before hesitating. “I think one of the tributes died. One of the kids from 12.”
His voice had quieted down to almost nothing by the time he finished his sentence, but Wellie knew all too well what he was saying.
“Wait, someone died?” Atread yelped. “And they’re just going on ahead with things?!”
“I mean, we’re all going to die anyway.” Velo muttered.
“Yeah, but they aren’t going to pick a replacement or something?” Atread asked, “You know how much they care about everything being perfect and shit.”
“Maybe they will?” Miles shrugged. “It might not take that long to fly over to the district and just grab someone.”
“Yeah, but that… throws the balance off, or something.” Atread leaned against the couch, looking at the ceiling. “No one will know that kid.”
Velo gave him a look. “I mean, it’s 12. It doesn’t really matter either way.”
They continued this back and forth while a certain sense of unease built in Wellie’s core. It had been there from the start, and had lingered, slowly simmering throughout their visit to the nurse until now. She couldn’t get it out of her head, and it plagued her despite all of her attempts to argue with it.
“Guys…” She finally whimpered, unable to keep it to herself any longer. “Is it… is it technically our fault? That she died?”
The other three fell into silence, glancing away as they considered it.
“I mean, our fault… no, I don’t think so.” Velo attempted to rationalize. “It’s not like we were able to do anything to avoid it.”
“But still, I feel awful.” Wellie lamented, draping herself over the arm of the couch. “Because of our chariot, she's dead, and…”
Velo opened her mouth to argue further, but gave up, instead tucking herself into the corner of the couch. The silence lingered a little too long, and eventually, once it bordered on too much to bear, Atread spoke up again.
“This stupid pageant has just been one shitshow after another. They can’t even get a parade right without something terrible going wrong. One girl is dead, and the rest of us are injured! What am I even supposed to do? I can’t run away from the cornucopia if my leg's broken. I'm screwed, how–”
“Atread, stop it.”
Atread glared at Velo.
“You’re not the only one who’s at a disadvantage, here. There are several other tributes who are doing just as badly as you are.”
“Yeah,” Miles added, “like, you know, me.”
And, although she hadn’t had the courage to bring it up yet, Wellie herself was beginning to really doubt her chances even if she managed to avoid anyone hunting her down. She spent her whole life always missing some sort of vitamin or nutrient and the sparse amounts of food were never near enough to keep her healthy. She had gotten seriously sick many times when she was little, to the point where doctors had warned her moms to start planning her funeral on five separate occasions before she even started school. But time and time again, she pulled through.
Their little fighter.
Regardless of will, she doubted this was a war that could be won.
“Point is,” Velo continued, “Just because you’re hurt doesn’t mean you don’t have a chance. We just gotta try our best, and who knows? Weaker people have won before.”
“I mean, I guess, but they didn’t have broken legs.”
While the argument continued a bit further, in part due to Atread’s sheer stubbornness and refusal to drop the subject, the four of them eventually had no choice but to settle into an exhausted silence. After all, they had just gone through what had to have been the most harrowing day of their lives, at least so far. Such a thing left little energy remaining for late night bickering.
Even though there was a busy street below them, the building was so soundproof that Wellie couldn’t hear much of anything. It was nothing like her apartment at home, with car horns and sirens regularly waking her up in the middle of the night. Everything here was too muffled, and she almost missed the noise, annoying as it was.
Besides that, it was almost peaceful. The dimmed lights reminded her of the evenings when her mom would read to her before bed, what had to have been ages and ages ago.
The memory was comforting, until it made her homesick. She shifted in place, leaning into Velo’s shoulder.
For what it was worth, Velo didn’t seem to mind. Instead, she gazed up at the clock. “It’s getting late. We should go to bed.”
“I don’t want to get up.” Atread murmured. “It’ll take too long, and I’m in enough pain already.”
“Well, we’re not leaving you out here alone!” Wellie argued.
“I guess we could stay out here.” Miles suggested.
“Yeah,” Velo agreed, “We’ll spend the night out in this room, I don’t think anyone would mind.”
And so, out there they remained, accompanied only by the dim lights, distant elevator chimes, and muffled celebration outside.
And yet, as tired as she was, Wellie struggled to sleep. Instead, she kept eyeing the clock, watching as the time slowly slipped past midnight. What if she didn’t get to sleep at all? The worry kept her awake even more, which was no help at all.
She glanced over to the others. The boys had dozed off, or at least looked like they did, but Velo was still awake, gazing wearily at the cityscape outside. Wellie reached out, gently brushing Velo's bandaged hand. She took Wellie’s hand in turn, squeezing it softly before she returned her attention to the window.
In just a few days time, the four of them would be sent into the arena, ready or not.
Despite it all, Wellie could not find any ounce of acceptance within her. Instead of strategy or resignation, she just kept lingering on every excuse, like she’d wake up back home, or they’d find a way to cancel it, or they’d all somehow get out. Because it couldn’t be happening, not now, even if she had watched every year before where none of that happened to anyone else.
The feeling burned deep within, lingering more resolutely than any other.
It wasn’t fair.
But as her teacher once said, life wasn’t fair, it shouldn’t be expected to.
Oh, if only life could be fair.