The Pluto Family: The Day Mercury Left

I haven't seen my parents in nearly ten years, when they gave birth to my sister. Their faces remain blurry in my mind, but every time I see them on stage, it's like my mind is refreshed of their faces. Yet, they still have the audacity to force us into things we don't want to do. If only they were here, then I would listen to them or at least take them seriously. In this word, the land we call Panem, there's no such thing as people being there for us, and that's the cold, hard truth. We can't fix our mistakes and change our decisions. All the people that I've hurt, all the people I led to an affliction―I no longer can change it. Some people can cover it up by helping the hurt out, but i no longer can. I no longer have anything to hold onto. For I'm going off to the Hunger Games. In my district, District 0, it's basically a death trap. Unless the constellations in the skies or the ability to predict the weather was an asset in the arena, I won't survive. But nobody does. Our mistakes. . . they define who we are and they change us. Those who think we can change them are idiots, for there's no magically redo button in reality. For all the regrets I have now, I have no way to even it out, unless I outlive and view the murders of thirty-one other tributes. There's no way for me to survive that, so I can only apologize to one person who I so desperately need to: I'm sorry, Lyra.

Chapter 1: Mercury
I brush my hair, staring at the loose strands of brown hair that dwindle to the floor. My complexion looks unattractive―I have way too much mascara on and my eyes, which are usually blue, look like an ugly grey. Lines appear under my eyes and my lips are chapped. And all because Steffie, our guardian, isn't here. We didn't know about her even being married until I answered the phone, listening to the recording signifying that he was dead. Surely, when I refer to "we" or "our", I'm referring to Lyra, my little sister, and I. We have nearly four years in between us, but since our parents are always around the districts in their crazy, crimson hair, singing their hard rock to the representatives and other official leaders, we're all that we have. There's some days, where I wish I could just see their faces, not when they're covered by makeup, but their actual face. But that won't happen. Because to them, we're just accidents. When they were married, they didn't want to have children. But when one thing led to another, they became pregnant with me. I was supposed to be aborted, but some urge drove them away from the thought and they gave birth to me. Four years later, the same process happened and, instead of leaving us with our elderly grandparents, they left us with the elderly Steffie. But now, she's gone too. Away at her husband's funeral. "Mercury?" I hear the little voice of my sister and look away from the mirror, staring into her brown eyes. "We have to go." "Fine." I escort her out of the room and, after some hesitation, grab onto the gold necklace my birth mother left me. There's only one reason why I still wear it. Hope. Something that you can't just take away from someone, nobody can do that. The Capitol might try to control that, but they can't. Because hope isn't something anyone can lose. Hope is the reason we get out of bed every morning to harsh labor. Hope is the reason why we don't argue with the Careers from Districts 1, 2, 4 and 14―we hope that it will lead to their destruction. But hope also comes with disappointment. I've begun to lost my patience since the last I've seen my parents in the flesh. I've been waiting for the door to knock and my parents hug me and lift me up in the air. For us to share funny stories when they were away and to compose our own little band. But they haven't knocked yet.

I find myself chewing my thumb's nail to the soft flesh. Lyra stares at me with wide eyes and I lower my hand and place it in hers. She grips onto my hand tightly and continues walking with me. When we reach the line where they prick my finger, Lyra backs away and I massage the back of her head with my thumb and index finger, moving them in slow circles. When I reach the front, I put my hand out and feel the little prick before pushing it into a piece of paper. Lyra extends her hand, but I direct her away, since she's still too young to be in the Hunger Games. She's only nine, so she'll be stuck with the adults. I look around the large crowd of adults, but there's no sign of Steffie. Eventually, I lose hope as the reapings are about to start and tell Lyra to stay near the edge of the adults so she doesn't get lose. She nods and walks away. I find myself standing next to one of my best friends, Stacy. We've been friends since we were young, but we haven't seen each other in a while after the loss of her mother. I've told her that I was always going to be there for her, but she refused my help and mourned her own way. Stacy's fingers slide into mine and she holds my hand firmly, giving me some reassurance, although I'm not worried. I don't have any tesserae in the bowl, unlike her, so the odds of me being chosen are two to the entire rest of the slips. And District 0 is a pretty large district, odds of me being chosen are very slim. "Welcome! Welcome!" The escort suddenly screams into the microphone. Her entire body is dyed white with blue polka dots on her short dress and hair. The Capitol's style is always so weird, but it's always amusing to see the different trends. "I'm Aeileas Kalisha, former Gamemaker, but your new escort. "Every year, since the Dark Days, we've had the Hunger Games, where two courageous tributes from each of the districts fight to the death until one survives. That surviving tribute becomes a famous victor and will be rewarded with luxury. Those who die, you have your ancestors to blame on, for this all started because of the rebellion. "After the Second Rebellion, the districts seemed to be victorious, but the Capitol rose up from the ashes and reformed the Hunger Games. Within the time of the new Hunger Games era, three more districts are competitors―Districts 13, 14 and 0. This brings the total amount of participating tribute to an outstanding thirty.  "Each year, we'll keep choosing two more tributes until mankind falls and the world ends. As tradition, we'll start with ladies first, as they seem to be the main reason for the rebellions." Stacy's grasp tightens until my fingers are bright red. The sound of the escorts heels pounding against the floor sends a shiver up my spine. Her hand scoops down into the large, glass ball until she grabs the first one she feels. She picks it up, carrying it high up in her hand as if it's fragile and carefully opens it up.   "The female tribute of District 0 is," she pauses, making all of us girls stand on our tiptoes, not from anxiety, but of the fear of being chosen, "Mercury Pluto."   Something inside of me dies. Stacy releases my hand and, instead, brings me in for a hug. I don't move. I can't. My legs feel numb and weak, I can't even think clearly. I can't die. I'm all that Lyra has left, this can't be over now.   Or can it?  Is this what fate I had planned for me all along? To lose my parents, my guardian and then, myself? And what about Lyra? What is she to do if I die? Or will I win? Could I?  My legs feel useless when I start to walk towards the stage and I hear Lyra crying from the crowd. Peacekeepers come to my sides to escort me, but I push passed them and run towards Lyra. One yanks me back and I fall to my butt. "No!" I wail and try to get away, but more surround me. Lyra looks up and I stare right into my eyes. Without thought, I tell my sister a lie I won't be able to make up: "It's okay! I'm going to win." As I make it up stage, I keep my eyes shut and just try to register what happened. I was reaped. I'm off to the Hunger Games. I'm inexperienced in weaponry. I'll have to learn when I train for three days until the Gamemakers, those who are in charge of the Hunger Games, evaluate me. I'll have to make allies. Allies that I have to kill if I win. I get a few minutes to finally pull myself together when the escorts opens up another slip and recites the name, slowly pronouncing the name: Mars Warren. A heavy, eighteen year old male pushes his way through the other children and briskly walks onto stage. His blue eyes shine with full potential, but not from teas, from desire. He wants to be in these sick, twisted games. His cocky smile proves that. But why? He shakes my hand firmly, grasping it so tight that it turns a bright red. But this doesn't effect me. He's just trying to prove that he's strong, which I honestly think will lead to failure during the Hunger Games. "And these are the tributes of the 192nd Hunger Games!"

Chapter 2: Lyra
''Coming Soon. . . ''