Together [The Hunger Games Fanfiction]

District Two || Sunrises and Grandfather Clocks

The sun was just peeking over the horizon, yet Cajun Reed was already out, trying to beat the sun by getting back to his home before the sun could touch the doorsteps. The morning was cool with a warm breeze, yet to Cajun it felt as if it were the middle of summer, his breathing short and paced, his running shoes hitting the pavement like music to his ears. Exhilarating- every morning it was breathtaking to be able to run and train with the sun on equal levels, as if the two had a truce.

He reached the corner which he had been accustomed to seeing for the last five years, rounding the bend and stopping at the first house, his breathing ragged as he sat down on the porch steps, taking a swig of the water bottle that he left before his run. His father was still asleep, though in a couple hours Cajun was sure he’d be up and off- getting the older folk that lived in the only community housing building of the District ready for the mandatory watching of the Reaping. Standing up, Cajun walked into the house, careful to close the door silently.

The houses in Victor’s Village in Two are quite large, and having the most amount of Victors, the majority are full, and all of them have been full with past Victors, traces still found if one would look hard enough. Cajun’s house is no different, the towering mansion so empty with only two people sharing it. Cajun suggested to his father countless times to perhaps bring in some of his clients and elderly, though his father always declined, stating that he likes to get into the thick of it all by going to where they need help.

Cajun still retains his youthful appearance, a handsome man who only became more fit as time went on after his own Games five years prior. And while Cajun does enjoy the spotlight that he is given every year as the newest mentor; at the end of the day, he likes to come home to his house and just relax. He stops walking as he reaches the calendar that hangs just before the entrance to the kitchen. Today is circled in red marker- the Quarter Quell, the day where strong and weak came together to fight. It was also the day they would be focusing more on the Victors- the Capitol citizens no doubt eager to get a recap of all of their favourites for this year, and Cajun is no exception to the thirst of the Capitol.

Over the years, Cajun had been accustomed to being offered from wealthy socialites anything he wanted, though he always declined. It was what made him so ‘alluring’, as one reporter pointed out- never succumbing to what the Capitol expected of a man his age and beauty. He never seemed to want what others would die for- riches, fame, people. He could easily get a wife, and he was aware of that- however he never desired one, having opted out of relationships within the last year. And so he lived, training each morning and becoming a Trainer himself in the evening, falling into a steady rhythm that little could compete with.

He walked into the spacious kitchen, the clock on the stove reading 7:03 in the morning. Putting on a pot of coffee for his father, Cajun stood over the stove, frying two eggs and grabbing an orange from the fridge, a glass of water to accompany it. As he sat down with his plate, he stared out the kitchen window, overlooking the front yard, where he could see the shadows of other Victors beginning to rise.

As time ticked on his plate was left finished on the table, his drink almost empty as he propped open the newest magazine that he received from the Training Centre on fitness. It was one of the posh magazines from the Capitol that had buff men on the cover and advocated new fitness routines that would get you the best muscles ever, all the while showing how you could become the next him, and who wouldn’t want to be him? Cajun grinned as he read through the magazine, skimming and reading only the articles about the upcoming games and reviews of the latest and most popular weaponry. If, by chance, he were to be reaped today, Cajun knew he’d fare better than most others, though he realized with an almost fearful contempt that he very well could be the first to die.