TWYLA RAYON
DISTRICT 8
F | she/her | 17 | Reaped
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Twyla’s life was simply ordinary. She enjoyed spending her time immersed in whatever nature she could find in her district and reading whatever she could get her hands on. She was a normal girl, just trying to make the best out of her circumstances. This ordinary life, however, took a tragic turn. Twyla’s father, who worked and earned the money that kept the Rayon family on its feet, was killed in a freak accident at one of District Eight’s textile factories, forcing Twyla to take his place in the workforce, and to take out tesserae as well. Both fearing and preparing for the worst, Twyla began to use scrap metal from old or broken sewing machines, fashioning them into blades and knives. She practiced throwing these at makeshift targets made of leftover fabrics she collected while working in the factories. Nothing can ever prepare you for the games, but the tragedies that Twyla has had to endure have given her both mental and physical strength that will come to good use in the arena.
THE REAPING
As I make my way to the group of seventeen year olds on the other side of the square, I can’t help but wonder whose name will be drawn from the bowl. There’s no telling who it could be, but I just have to hope it’s not mine. I take a deep breath, position myself in the crowd, and wait for the ridiculous Capitol woman to make her way onto the stage, her attitude always much more enthusiastic than the wave of people she practically shouts death sentences at once a year. Without having to raise my head, I know she’s arrived, her shoes clicking against the stage, seemingly the only noise I can hear over the loud thumps of my heart, which have been increasing over the past few minutes.
“Welcome!” the Capitol woman booms. “Happy Hunger Games! As always, ladies first!” My nerves begin to consume me, and I have little time to react before the woman’s hand is deep into the bowl. She selects a slip and I take one more deep breath as her mouth opens, ready to read the name. “The female tribute from District 8,” she chimes. The name she calls out is a name I’ve heard before. My name. “Twyla Rayon!” No, I think to myself. There must be some sort of mistake. Sure, my name was in there, and quite a few times at that. But there had to be thousands of slips in that bowl, meaning the odds of my name being chosen were slim to none. My legs begin to buckle as I wait for someone to volunteer in my place, to put a stop to this. But nobody steps forward, and I’m forced to begin moving towards the stage, accepting my fate. I’ve been chosen to be killed. To die. Not for some horrific crime, but simply for the entertainment of other people who find their joy in the shedding of innocent blood. As I emerge from the crowd, I’m swiftly escorted by Peacekeepers up to the platform where the Capitol woman stands with an obnoxious grin on her face.
“Come on up dear”, she says with an outstretched hand which I refuse to accept. I know putting up a fight will do me no good, no matter how much I want to. I can sense tears beginning to well up in my eyes, and while I simply just want to cry, I know crying is the last thing I need to be doing right now. Don’t let them think you’re weak, I say to myself. Don’t let them see even a hint of fear in your face. So instead of staring into the silent, motionless crowd in front of me, I look up and stare into one of the cameras that surround me, my eyes filled with nothing but pure and utter rage.
Twyla's Reaping Outfit
THE TRIBUTE PARADE
These past twenty-four hours have been hectic to say the least. It seems like just seconds ago I was leaving my home for the reaping, completely unaware of the dramatic turn of events that were heading my way. Now I’ve been transported to the Capitol, hundreds of miles away from the only home I ever knew, where I’ll be dressed up to die over the next few days and sent into an arena with twenty-three others who all have the same goal as me. To survive. So many thoughts have been swirling through my head that I almost miss the booming voice of the announcer, signaling for the tributes to board their chariots. The words “tributes now duct” echo through the space, leaving me with no other option but to step onto the chariot alongside my district partner, Tulle. Chin up, I tell myself as the chariot begins to move closer to the avenue, where eager sponsors wait for their first up-close look of this year’s sacrifices.
I begin to hear the sounds of the roaring crowd as the first tributes begin to head down the avenue. I take one last deep breath and just as I exhale, I’m caught off guard by the blinding lights overhead and by how loud and excited the crowd has become. I figure I need to do something to draw attention to myself, to catch the eyes of the sponsors in the crowd. I look straight up into one of the large screens scattered around the avenue, put on the biggest smile I can muster, and begin to wave. The crowd roars with such a level of enthusiasm and delight, you wouldn’t know I was to be forced to fight to the death in a matter of days.
As I continue to wave and smile, masking the never-ending anger and disgust I have for the people of the Capitol, I catch a glimpse of myself in one of the cameras. I’ve been dressed from head to toe in silk, yarn, and velvet, and as much as I wish I could say I hate it, I really do look stunning. The chariot pulls to a stop, as we reach the end of the pavement and wait for President Snow to give the same speech he gives every year, about the courage and bravery we all possess for taking part in the games. As if it was my choice, I think to myself as the crowd hollers and applauds behind me. My chariot begins to move towards the exit, signaling the end of the parade, meaning I am one step closer to entering the arena.
I’m thankful to finally be out of the spotlight, my eyes readjusting and my smile quickly fading away as I swiftly head back to my quarters. I notice my necklace, which I brought with me as a token, sitting on a table next to my bed. I walk over and retrieve it, holding it in the palm of my hand, and I am quickly reminded of home. Everything and everyone I left behind. I can’t help but think about how worried everyone must be about me, and I realize I must do everything in my power to return back to them.
Twyla's Parade Outfit
TRAINING
Twyla Rayon received a training score of 7.
Training days
Throughout her three days of training, Twyla decided to keep her skills with weapons hidden, focusing on other stations such as knot tying, fire-making, and plant identification. She decided it would be best to not show her abilities with knives, hoping this would keep a target off of her back for a little while longer. During lunch breaks, Twyla spoke with her district partner, Tulle, and became friendly with other tributes from a few other districts, hoping to build alliances early to better prepare herself for the arena. Over the course of the three days, not once did Twyla lay her hand on a knife, sword, or any weaponry for that matter, making it seem as if she had no experience with weapons in the slightest. However, her secret would soon be revealed to the gamemakers, who would give her a score that could very well determine her fate.
Private session
“Twyla Rayon, District Eight,” calls a voice, which is eerily calm in the already chilling atmosphere. I slowly rise out of my seat and walk towards the entrance to the training center, where I am about to be evaluated. The automatic doors slide open as I come closer, and I catch my first view of the gamemakers, who are surprisingly silent as they wait for me to begin my session. Finally, I reach the area where the weapons are and call out my name, signaling that I am ready to begin. The Head Gamemaker gives me a slight nod, and I pick up a set of throwing knives on a table to my left. I wonder if the gamemakers, who must have been watching me for at least some portion of the past three days, are surprised I’ve decided to grab a knife instead of a piece of rope or some plants. I can feel their eyes on me as I prepare to throw the first knife at a target. I take a deep breath as it releases from my hand, and I soon realize that my calculations were off. The knife clambers on the floor, the noise echoing throughout the large and open room. I turn to the gamemakers, my face red with embarrassment, who have seemed to completely lost interest in me, chattering among themselves. I can’t believe my eyes as I register what I’m seeing. I grip the knives in my hand tighter, fighting the urge to change my target. I clear my throat, which brings their attention back to me.
“Twyla Rayon, District Eight,” I call out to them. “I don’t believe my time has run out just yet.” I glare at them for a short moment before returning to the targets. Missing the target again would certainly ensure me a low score, which is the last thing I need to receive. I raise my arm and close one eye, carefully positioning myself for the throw. When I feel I’m ready, I hurl my arm forward and this time, I don’t hear any clattering. Rather, I notice my knife has found its way to the target, landing almost perfectly in the center. I turn to the gamemakers for a brief moment, forcing a smile, before returning my focus back to the knives. I choose a moving dummy as my next targets, hoping to prove my true capabilities before any interest is lost from those evaluating me again. The dummies move fast, forcing me to move quickly as well. I throw one knife after the next, hitting the dummies in the heart with almost perfect precision each time. For one last throw, I decide to head to the table to grab a piece of cloth, which I use to blindfold myself. This is certainly a risk, and I know that, but it’s a risk worth taking. I stand in front of a target, turn around to the gamemakers as I place the cloth over my eyes, and hope my arm and head can take control with the absence of my vision. I let go of the knife and slowly reach to untie my blindfold. The cloth falls to the floor as I realize the knife, which has not only landed on the target, but in the middle ring. I can hardly contain my excitement as I walk over to the gamemakers.
“I hope you enjoyed what I’ve shown to you today," I say to them. “And remember, someone isn’t always what they appear to be." I continue as I raise my arm and shake my hand slightly pops. “Have a wonderful day.” And with that, I make my way towards the exit, knowing I’ve done everything I could to prove to both myself and the gamemakers that I have a shot against whatever the arena may put me up against.
THE INTERVIEW
Hello, you look dazzling tonight! Tell us about your outfit.
Thank you! For my outfit, my stylists and I worked together to highlight my interest in nature, which has always been fascinating to me considering there isn’t much to see in Eight. I’m wearing a floral dress with different shades of blue throughout, a sapphire and diamond ring which is constructed to look like a branch and leaves, and I also have blue and white shoes to match. My stylists also wanted to incorporate elements from my district, which is reflected in the sewing themed bracelet and yarn ball necklace, which is my token I brought with me here. I’m also wearing paisley earrings, which is one of many patterns that are sewn in my district.
How do you like being in the Capitol so far? What has been your favorite part?
Being in the Capitol has been better than I expected to be honest with you, Caesar. The way of life here is just so different from back home in Eight, it’s like there’s something new to see everywhere I go. I’d have to say my favorite part has been the fashion and seeing all of the different outfits. Capitol fashion is so interesting and the fabrics used to make the clothing come from my district, which if anything, gives me a small reminder of home.
Any thoughts about the other tributes? Have you made any friends, or enemies?
The tributes this year are a really interesting and diverse group, which is definitely going to add to the entertainment factor of these games if you will. I’ve made some friends, but I’ll let everyone figure out who they are once the games begin. As for enemies, I don’t necessarily have anyone in mind but it is the Hunger Games, so it’s really everyone for themselves when it comes down to the end.
Do you think you have what it takes to become a victor? Who or what are you fighting for?
I’d like to think I have what it takes to become a victor. I have some skills that some wouldn’t expect me to have, coming from District Eight, and I’m ready to fight once I enter the arena. I’m fighting for myself, of course, but I’m also fighting for my family and friends who I was forced to leave so abruptly. I never really got to say a proper goodbye and I know I need to do whatever it takes to return back to them. I’m not fighting for the glory or the riches, but rather just to have everyone I love and care about with me again.
Do you have any expectations for the arena? Perhaps a preferred terrain?
I don’t know what to expect for the arena, nor do I really have any preferences. I suppose I can fare well in any setting, but the arena is always throwing curveballs at you which make the games as unpredictable as they are. There isn’t much nature to explore back in Eight, but I think I’ve seen and learned enough about it to know what I’m doing in any arena. With all that being said, I guess I’ll just have to wait until tomorrow to see what the Gamemakers have in store for us.
What do you miss most from your home district? Any shoutouts for anyone back home?
Life in Eight isn’t all that exciting, so I’d have to say I miss my family and friends the most without a doubt. No lavish materials and food can compare or replace their presence in my life and this is really the first time I’ve been without them. After my father died, we all became so much closer and more appreciative of each other, as it was only then that we understood everything and everyone we loved could be taken away from us at any given moment. So to my friends and family, I just want to say thank you for always being there for me and we’ll all find each other again, no matter where or when that is.
Any last thoughts before we let you go?
I may be an underdog, but that’s not going to slow me down in the arena. In fact, being an underdog isn’t a bad thing at all. When I enter the arena, keep an eye out for me. What you see from me may surprise you. That’s all I feel I need to say, so goodnight everyone and happy Hunger Games!
Twyla's Interview Outfit