Behind Those Violet Eyes ▸ Hunger Games

Chapter One: Cyra Merison

Chapter One:

Cyra's POV

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I woke that morning, very slowly, dragging myself out of bed as slowly as possible, repeating the process I had done ever since I was twelve. It was the day of the Reaping, the darkest day of the year. The day of the year all the District children dread. The day two girls and two boys from each of the twelve Districts of Panem are chosen, or dragged if they have to be, into a tournament when the odds 'are almost never in your favor,' no matter what anyone says.

Did I forget to mention it's also my birthday? 

I was finally going to be fifteen this year. Only a few more years, and all those creamy white pieces of paper with the name 'Cyra Merison' would be taken from that stupid clear bowl and thrown in the trash. 

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I stood up from my bed, breathing in the ocean air drifting through the window, facing the ocean in my room. My mother had opened all the windows, by my request the night before. The ocean was the only thing that could ever calm me down. I sighed, blinking my eyes rapidly and walking to the one small mirror in my room. I pulled at my straggly black waves, starting curl at the ends from the constant days and weeks in the ocean. I looked at my tall frame, and all the way up, my eyes finally meeting the ones in the mirror. My violet eyes sparkled, though it didn't reflect my mood in the slightest. 

The reaction people had to my eyes was always the same, "Look, Mommy, her eyes are purple!!" or "That child must have had a druggie mother if her eyes are that color..." 

I remember in kindergarten, we had to draw pictures of our eyes and color them in to hang on the wall. Clearly, the most popular eye color here in District Four was sea green or sea blue. At least thirty pictures of children with that eye color decorated the walls. Then there were a few scattered kids with warm brown eyes... And there was my picture. The one girl with the bright and vibrant violet eyes.

I shook my head, the memory bringing back negative feelings I had been bottling inside for years. I didn't understand why I couldn't look as good as my older sister. Long straight blonde hair,  dark rolling sea green eyes. She was the perfect image of a model District Four citizen... or... she was.

In my family, there was my father, my mother, my older brother Jyra, my older sister Lyra, and me, Cyra. Yes, all of our names rhyme, it was something my family wanted to do. Lyra was always the angel of the family, never wanting to harm anything... One day, she began complaining of rapid headaches, and she grew to have random shaking fits in the middle of the night. The next morning, we took her to the home of a retired Capitol doctor. He diagnosed her with stage four brain cancer; the tumor in her head was roughly the size of her fist... I was devastated. She was my whole world. Weeks later, after the treatments that we could afford began, her hair began to fall out and her once bright green eyes faded. She is still alive, but has been told she has little time left.

I finally slipped into some casual clothes and rushed out my door into the small living room. Living on a fishermen's salary didn't get you very much, but it was enough to get by on. People say that if we had more money, Lyra would live longer, because we could afford the Capitol medicines. We don't always have the freshest fish on the table, or the most amazing and updated fishing poles, but we have one each other. No matter how dark times have been, never have my parents asked me to volunteer myself for the Hunger Games. I would have done it if they asked me. I have skills no one else here in Four does. I'm great with knives. Yes, you must be thinking, "Shouldn't you be better with a spear?" No. I'm not. It's a very unexpected trait, one that I hope will be used to my advantage, if I am ever put in the games.