District 1 - Indy Valentine (KingOfLimbs)
This is what I was made for.
I strut onstage as my name is called, glad that I managed to convince my stylists to let me wear a suit as the cameras and the spotlights follow my every move. It’s even better than my usual one, with crisp black fabric tailored perfectly to my body; though my family are rich, we can’t match up to the wealth of the capitol. The suit isn’t even garish in the typical capitol fashion, for which I am eternally grateful. Being rich doesn’t stop them throwing sequins and clashing colours around like it’s going out of fashion (which it certainly should do).
Case study for today: Sparkle Milena. He’s lounging in his plush leather chair as I come to meet him, grinning with surgically straight teeth that almost blind me, and his clothes and hair only add to the effect. Fiery oranges, flaming hot reds, dazzling yellows and jet black all clash in a jumble of disorganised madness, a crime to fashion only made worse by the plethora of diamonds plastering his body. The only upside that I can see is that he might drown in diamonds by the end of the night, or at least cut himself in half.
Looking round, I think it likely that the stage was designed by the same team; a hot pink loveseat, the backrest in the shape of a heart, sits in centre stage, surrounded by a sickening mix of hearts and roses and fluffy-wuffy teddy bears that serve only to make me want to tear my eyes out. Sparkle rises to greet me, shaking my hand and muttering a few hellos under his breath before gesturing to the empty seat, which is now bathed in a warm orange glow. He wants me to sit. On that.
I put in an effort to show my disdain, and only when I have made it clear with scrunched up faces and repeated gagging do I acquiesce. Some of the crowd have taken to me already, the retching reflecting their own opinions on the set, but others, particularly the ones with unnaturally bright hair of pink and blue and green, seem less amused. Let them hate me; this is no popularity contest. Besides, my rapturous reception doesn’t subside for a long time, indicating that, were this popularity contest, I would still be in the running. It could be how I look; it could be my training score; it could simply be that I’m first up to be interviewed. Whatever the cause, the cheers are deafening.
“Wow!” Sparkle shouts, his voice projecting through the arena over the crowd and prompting them to calm down. “Wow! What a reception! Tell me, Indy, how do you feel about all of this? About being here, in the Capitol, being watched by millions?” He gestures out to the audience, sweeping his arm from side to side, as if I’d thought we were alone out here.
“Impatient.” That shuts them up.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that all of this, this pomp and ceremony, is a waste of time. I want to get out there, win my games, and go home rich. I do not want to talk to you, drowning in roses, while playing to the people. I don’t care about the people. I care about me.”
Sparkle raises his eyebrows, prompting some hushed laughter, before glancing at his papers and continuing. “I guess this isn’t the best time to ask you your favourite part of living in the Capitol, then?”
I laugh at this one. He might be wasting my time, but he has undeniable wit. “You guess correctly.”
“Right, we’ll move onto the games then. You might actually answer my questions there.” The crowd laugh again, but I can see that Sparkle isn’t happy. This is his first interview, and his first interviewee isn’t cooperating. He may just as well speak to himself. “This might seem stupid, far too obvious, but it has to be asked. How far do you hope to get?”
“I’m going to win. There’s no hope involved.”
“Confident. I like it. So what’s your master plan, then?”
“Find a hammer,” I say, grinning, “And smash some skulls. Simple stuff for simple opponents.”
“But what if you don’t make it? Do you have any loved ones watching back home?”
“I’m going to make it.”
“Hypothetically, though,” he says, winking at the crowd, “What if you didn’t? Who back home would miss you?”
“Hypothetically, my mum and dad, and no one else. If you can’t tell, I don’t exactly inspire love, and nor do I aim to. I intend to win for myself alone.”
Sparkle looks down at his notes once more, and then at his watch, frowning. “I’ve asked you everything on the list, but we’ve still got time. Anything you want to add?”
I’m out of the chair already, however, and so I call back just as I’m leaving the stage. “No, I’m good.”
Sparkle and the crowd are forced to twiddle their thumbs in the next few empty minutes, but backstage there is chaos. My mentor runs up to me as quickly as her high heels will allow, and looks like she wants to hit me.
“What were you doing out there?” she cries.
I give her a wide smile. “An interview. Weren’t you watching?”
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District 2 - Shatter Quintrell (ClockeryClock)
Didn't hand in.
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District 4 - Caspian Livius (_justcloseyoureyes_)
With that face and that body, you have no need for personality!”
Caspian has heard different fragments of that phrase many times over the last few days. His escort has transformed into little more than a physical embodiment of that ridiculous sentence. Now they ring in his head with the persistence of an early morning alarm. But his mind refuses to wake. Apparently the only thing he has to offer is his appearance. He fails to understand how that will fill the minutes of his interview.
The fury becomes a burden too heavy to bear. Caspian finds release in kicking the chair to his left. It earns him the gaze of the girl from Eight. She offers a silent suggestion to desist making a fool of himself. Caspian doesn’t recall her name. But he does remember it to be an obscure love song to vowels and the forgotten, under-used letters of the alphabet.
“Sorry.” The oppressive silence almost causes him to flinch at the exaggerated volume of his own voice.
“There is no need to apologise.” Her abrupt words are a refreshing change from the drivel of the Capitol.
“Sor…” He catches himself before uttering the word in full. But the intent is still clear. “Alright. I meant alright.”
She merely smiles. He wishes there was a way to invade the privacy of her inner thoughts to ascertain what lies behind it. Cruel words of mockery? Pitying murmurs of sympathy? Merry foundations of friendship? It is all a mystery to Caspian.
He doesn’t understand girls. And it’s not just the ones he fancies. Any girls. Not that there is anything unfanciable about the girl from Eight. The confidence she lacks in her movements has been misplaced in her words. The simple fact is that the other half of the population remains to be a mystery.
“CASPIAN LIVIUS.”
The cheer from the audience can be felt shuddering across the floor. There is no avoidance. The Capitol will have to come to terms with the fact that the heartthrob from Four does not possess a flirtatious bone in his body. No matter how many buttons his stylist leaves open on his shirt.
The audience erupts into a violent rattle of noise when he steps into the spotlight. Their cheers are a clutter of sounds he cannot fathom into meaning. Spark leaps to his feet and grasps Caspian’s hand in a shake. Unable to mask the frown of disconcertion, Caspian notes that Spark’s skin sparkles. He cannot compete with that.
Caspian remembers the suggestion of his escort to wink during the entrance. He creases his left eye in consideration of the action, before deciding he isn’t the winking sort of person.
“I’m sorry, the lighting really is unnecessarily bright,” Spark says in a hush of words meant only for Caspian’s ears. It looked like he was squinting. The thought causes Caspian’s stomach to drop. Although squinting at the light is far less of an embarrassment than a failed attempt at winking. Caspian allows Spark’s assumption to pass without correction.
“Welcome Caspian!” Spark says as they both settle down onto the chairs. “So… how do you feel about being here?”
Worried. Nervous. Terrified. The Capitol is awful. I want to go home. But those aren’t really words that make women swoon at the knees.
“It’s an interesting place and certainly an… err… interesting situation. I just don’t think I suit the Capitol very well.” He would have been better off telling the truth. His words drop into the air with the clumsy burden of a dead weight.
“That’s clear. You have a physique suited to sunbathing on the beach. Am I right ladies?” The audience answers Spark with whistles and whoops. Caspian mumbles thanks softly to his interviewer.
“What’s the best thing that you’ve encountered in the Capitol so far?” Spark quickly cuts over the clamouring of the audience. Caspian is relieved. It is disconcerting enough to feel the gaze of the woman on the front row burning into his skin. He doesn’t particularly want to hear the lecherous words that accompany it.
“It sounds horrifically uncultured but I am going to have to say the food. Everything is so delicious. I’m afraid next time I go for a swim I might sink instead.”
“Tell me about it!” Spark laughs with unhindered abandon. He places a hand on his stomach to exhibit the non-existent weight. Amongst the laughter of the audience Caspian’s ears pick up on a distasteful collection of words.
“He’s delicious…” The sentence that follows is clearly picked up over the microphone. Even by the lowered standards of the Capitol it is unacceptable. The causation of the stunned silence is the same owner of the persistent stare. She reminds Caspian of the fish laid upon a bed of ice at the market. It must be the glassy and emotionless quality of the stare. A few gasps ripple through the audience. Spark decides to swiftly move on.
“How far do you hope to make it?”
Caspian is forced to wonder why he is being asked the question. There is only one logical answer. It must be dull to hear the same twenty-four answered repeated time after time.
“Hope is an important possession. Anyone with sense will hope to win. The other question is: how far can I make it. That is the dangerous question. Arrogance is an ugly thing.” He feels proud of himself. The answer is developed and gives true insight into his thoughts. But no one seems to be listening to what he is saying. He can barely be heard over the wolf whistling. A shudder runs down his spine as Caspian realises that he is the cutlet of fish on the market stall; being sold off to the highest bidder.
“I believe this is the question most of us are waiting for… do you have any loved ones waiting at home. And don’t fob us of with talk of family and friends. We want to know if there is a special someone…” The previous thanks Caspian felt he owed Spark dissolves in an instant. A series of curses run through his mind. If anyone stopped to listen to him speak they would be able to ascertain very quickly that there is no chance of him attracting a ‘special someone.’ But he thinks of the woman with the stare and the vulgar sentences thrown at him and the feeling of being ogled at every moment. The lie slips out before he can stop it.
“I’m engaged to a girl back home.” A wall of noise hits the stage. It is impossible to pick out any particular thread of the noise. He can barely hear the clatter of the bell signalling the time is up. Caspian cannot move quick enough as he scrabbles off the stage. He wipes away the cool sweat trickling down his neck while biting down on his neck. There is only one thought that thuds across his mind.
‘How could I be so stupid?’
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District 7 - Fate Crimson Chide (ReadWriteLoveRepeat)
"Good luck buddy!" Omen whispers as I walk on stage to a smiling host.
I notice one thing about him, his eyes. they send shivers down my spine. My brothers eyes were topaz. I sit down on the uncomfortable looking chair provided and mentally roll my eyes at his attire. What he is wearing looks like something a girl would wear. I look him over once or twice, he is rather good looking if I do say so myself, but very pale. His lanky limbs are folded neatly in his lap. He looks a little shorter than me, but not by much. Maybe an inch or two. He knocks me out of my gazing by asking a question.
"So, can you tell us what you are wearing, and why?" he says politely with a small smile. I stand up like the people before me did and begin.
" my outfit is rather simple because I am not one to be very fancy. I am wearing black skinny jeans, a tight white shirt and a jean vest. I am also wearing some black combat boots." I say before quickly plopping back down into the chair.
"How do you feel about being here?" he asks
"honestly I don't care. I'm almost numb." I say. curiosity is prickling at his eyes but he resists and moves on
"And what's the best thing you have encountered at the Capitol so far?" he asks
"Uh I met a little boy, my only friend right now. His name is Omen. He is like my brother, and honestly, I love him. I will protect him and will happily let him kill me if it comes down to just us." I say from my heart. I hear the whole crowd awe and a few women put their hand over their hearts.
"That's adorable!" he squeals
"Oh sorry, moving on. Okay how far do you hope to make it?" he asks attentively
"Ummm I don't really care. I just want Omen to live." I say and yet again I hear awes
"Now I have to ask, what is the tattoo of?" he says pointing to my left arm.
"Its of my old room mates name. She died in the hunger games a couple years back..." I said sniffling
"I know I might be prodding a bit but was she your girlfriend or wife?"
"No, im into guys" I reply
"Oh." he says quickly avoiding my eyes.
"So do you have any family back home waiting for your return?" he asks
"No, they kicked me out of the house because I was gay." I say
"And what age was that I may ask?" he counters
"age 13" I whisper, tears threatening to fall. "I will not cry and show weakness" I whisper
Sparkle looks at me with pity.
"what a horrid bunch they were, you seem rather kind." he says staring into my wet eyes.
"Thank you..." I whisper
"Well that is all the time we have with this wonderful tribute!" he says shaking my hand. I get up and walk back behind the curtain. "Your like my brother I never had." Omen says before giving me a hug. Maybe I won't win. But I will not die knowing Omen is unsafe.
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District 8 - Tyler Woof (TheDarkHorse)
Training went well I think. I got a five out of six for my training score, which was higher than most. A lot of people got zeros for their scores. I wonder what they did to get a zero out of six. It doesn't really matter though. I have to beat every single boy in this competition to even stand a chance at winning. The girls wouldn't kill me, right? Most people don't want to kill anyone. If they had one less kill I am sure they would be happy.
Apparently I was attractive as well. That's at least what my stylist said. She obviously played off of that, dressing me in a nearly skintight indigo t-shirt that clung to each and every one of my muscles. She said that indigo was the color of District 8. I honestly thought that I would be dressed fancier than this. If the shirt wasn't skintight, I could see myself wearing the t-shirt and jeans.
I stood backstage calmly. I was used to standing still and quiet when I needed to be. Of course, that didn't mean I was good talking when I needed to. That was one downside of my job. I worked all by myself so I was somewhat lacking in social skills.
I heard my name being called so I walked onto stage. I smiled, apparently I had a good smile too. This year they had a new interviewer. He seemed very friendly, although I couldn't remember his name. He had topaz eyes, crimson hair, and milky skin that glowed in the dark. He was about an inch taller than me but he was a lot skinnier.
"Hello Tyler Woof! Welcome to the Capitol! How do you like it so far?" He asked me.
"We-we-well it's wonderful. It's so co-colorful. The f-food is really g-good too." I say. I wish my stutter hadn't kicked in.
He laughed. "Yes the food is delightful! What's your favorite part about the Capitol?"
"Th-the food is my f-favorite. I love the cr-crunchy things with ch-cheese inside." I say. What are those things called?
"Oh the mozzarella sticks are simply divine! I must know, you seem very strong but how far do you want to make it?" He asks.
"I w-want to win. W-what did you e-expect? I h-hope to make it p-past the Bloodbath?" I exclaim angrily.
"Calm down!" He laughed jokingly. "What is your strategy then?"
"I don't really have one. I-I guess that I w-will kill all of the boys s-so that the girls have to win with me." I say. I shrug my shoulders, making it obvious that I really don't know what to do.
"Last question, who is waiting for you back at home?"
"I have my parents but n-nobody else w-would probably notice if I w-was gone." I say sadly.
"Well that's all the time we have for Tyler Woof!" He shouts to the audience immediately after the buzzer sounds. That went... poorly.
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District 10 - Crispin Riddocks (CrocodileRocker)
Crimson rags lay round me neck
Suave leather hide covers mine
Ornately embroidered curls
Dance around the stitches
A smile beckons
My name announced
Patters approval serenades my clambers
Outstretched hand lures me to sit
How may you ever be says he
His smile is plastic
Yet genuine
And how is my home he proceeds to inquire
I feel I am fine
And your abode, it’s sublime
Glad to be with you
Yet i’m worried inside
Worried, but why, his smile subsides
He messes his face in honest confusion
You couldn’t die
So worry why
I respond with sober reality
Phlegmatic voice
So hollow inside
We all must die
So that is why at night I cry
And that is why I worry
Loser killed are quick to wilt
The winner eaten up by guilt
His face droops
And mind spins
He must change the subject
Before revolting begins
He flashes the crowd a giddy grin
Lets move along, come in, come in
What would be your favorite thing here
Tell us now we would all like to hear
My favorite, I clarify
Then ponder for a while
I adore the extravagant
Whimsy style
Our persona of course, it is fantastic
Defines us as a whole
Now lets halt these silly antics
What are your plans of action when the film begins to roll
Why should I spill them
I retort
With out secrecy, tactics,
Are last resort
Curiosity bubbles within him
Questions spew, on a whim
How far are you wishing to live
Or how soon are you wishing to die
I don't know i abruptly reply
I’ve made no plans on how to die
I don't exactly wish to fall
But would I rather kill them all
If you do happen to fall out victorious
Who will be there to cheer you on
Or if you fall out straight to your grave
Who will be weeping when you are gone
The thought is morbid
Bringing them pain
Making them hurt
Making bloodshot eyes rain
My mom and pa
I say with a tear
The melancholy moment is broken with a buzz
Time is up, so it would appear
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District 11 - Omen Lee (sassmax)
Didn't hand in.
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District 12 - Cleat Lignite (LunaSierra)
Didn't hand in.
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District 13 - Emmet Rebel Wilson (Nazier_Navarro)
Didn't hand in.
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Capitol - Blye Clearwater (ClockeryClock)
Didn't hand in.