Chapter 8
868 Words
Alayza Mont POV
I sat on a bench in the village center watching people go by.
"Hey grandma, you dress yourself in the dark?" I called after a particularly poorly-dressed woman walked by.
"Alayza! She's blind," my friend Jenna gasped.
"What? How could I know?" I snapped.
"Maybe the dark glasses or the cane," she said.
I scowled at her.
"Well, she probably looked at the sun or something, so she deserves it," I said.
Jenna rolled her eyes.
"Bet I can jump over this bench," I said.
"Can not," Jenna said.
"Get off," I shooed her away and ran at the bench.
I made it more than halfway before I crashed into the wood and tumbled into the dirt.
"Sun was in my eyes," I grumbled as I picked myself up.
"Come on, we'd better get to the Reaping center," Jenna said.
I ran ahead of her and smacked into the older girl in the line ahead of me.
"Watch it," she growled. I stuck my tongue out at her.
Remus Colander paraded onstage with a huge grin and a grand sweep of his arms.
Peacock, I thought.
"Ladies first!" he crowed.
"Alayzea Mont!" he announced.
Aw, shoot, I thought. I stormed out of the line- making sure to elbow the girl ahead of me as I went- and stood with my arms folded in front of the bowl.
Remus reached into the other bowl.
"Caldwell Brax!" he called.
Kooky Caldwell? This is rich, I thought. Caldwell took his place beside me and flinched when Remus took his hand. He took my hand at the same time and raised them triumphantly.
He made one mistake, though. He left the other hand free. And just as he was mooning for applause, I flashed a very recognizable salute that definitely did not originate in my district.
Caldwell Brax POV
I looked at the people in the crowd. Two thousand, three hundred and twenty-nine people. One thousand, one hundred and eighty-five were boys. One thousand, one hundred and forty-four were girls.
I shrank back as the boy to my left brushed against me. I stuffed my hands tightly in my pockets and stared at my feet.
Hate this. Hate the bloodbath. Hate all the people.
I wanted to be back in my room taking inventory for the factory. I loved going over the sheets and counting all the different materials and threads we went through. Sometimes my dad asked me a question about profit margins or ideal quantities of products, and I always knew the answers. Numbers were my friends. They made much more sense than people.
My room was just right. I could close the door and be away from all the people, and when I needed just a little interaction I could crack it open and Dad and Mom could come in once in a while. They liked it when I came out sometimes and did things with them, so I tried to do that once a night.
"Alayzea Mont!" our escort called. I watched her walk to the stage.
I didn't like Alayzea. She was loud and she liked to follow me around poking me. She called me Kooky Caldwell. That was not my name.
I watched coldly as she stood by the bowl. She didn't seem any more upset than I was. The escort picked out another name.
"Caldwell Brax!"
That meant I had to go onto the stage. I tucked my arms to my sides and hunched as I walked. I felt all the people watching me and I hated it. Why couldn't they leave me alone?
I walked around Alayzea and stood on the other side of the escort. He grabbed my hand and I winced.
Ugh. Nasty gross hand. Why'd you do that?
He hoisted it up so hard I almost left the ground and then shouted in my ear.
"Let's have a big round of applause for Alayzea Mont and Caldwell Brax!"
I darted backstage and enjoyed the quiet stillness of the waiting room.
My parents came in. My mother sat beside me and my father remained standing.
"You can do this, son," my father said. "You're smart and you're quiet. Don't let them find you. Just stay away from the others. You're good at that."
I nodded. My mother wrapped her arms around me. Usually I didn't like that, but she was usually good about it and I knew she really wanted to hug me, so I let her. I even hugged her back a little. I did love her. I just didn't love hugs.
My mother rose and stood close to my father. They took each other's hands and their voices sounded rough.
"Do good, Caldwell. We love you," my father said.
"I love you, baby," my mother said.
"Love you," I said reflexively.
Then they left.
First of all, sorry this one's short. The tributes both had sparse bios. Second, you probably guessed, but Caldwell is indeed mildly autistic. That's what he sounded like in his description, so I rolled with it. He's pretty high-functioning, so it won't affect his ability to survive.
One more thing: let's have a big round of applause for thepencilunleashed, who provided Remus' name!
- Writer
