Unforgiving Punishment: Take 62

My first fanfiction on the 62nd Hunger Games. *The majority of characters, all of them in this chapter, are fictitonal.* Hope you enjoy it!

Chapter 1: Unlucky for two

I see them. The rebels, charging through Panem, with no attempts to hide their fury, fighting off peacekeepers and taking over major locations in each district. Workers from our own lumber industry stop their work and use the very weapons given to them by the Capital to destroy its lapdogs. As I watch, I find myself yelling their names, cheering them on, believing our district could get allies from the other districts and that an actual overthrow would be in order. I continue to chant for the rebels, until footsteps are heard coming through my family home. I hush, but the footsteps persist, right up until they're right beside me...

"Shanea. Wake up, it's the day of the...well, you know."

My eyes flutter around the room to find there is no TV on with the rebels shown on screen. Nor are there sounds of my people fighting peacekeepers. Slowly I realize my position. And what day it is. I have been dragged helplessly into a day we people of district 7, no all districts, have been dreading and always will. But I won't be alone, for here he is, up early as always, but the easy-going expression has been wiped off, as it's always done on this day, for today is the reaping of the 12 districts. Two of my people, one boy and one girl, cruelly aged between 12 and 18 will be chosen. Not to win a raffle, or to enter an art competition. No nothing as merciful as that. But to fight to the death in an unknown arena on live television to please the people or should I say maggots in the Capital. They call it 'punishment' for supposed crimes committed over 6 decades ago. But that's a load of nonsense to the rest of us, the real victims. Still, I try not to dwell on it too much, and accept my brother's outstretched hand with a small smile.

As he helps me climb out of bed, I brace myself, not wanting to worry my aunt too much. I can't let her know how sick with worry I feel, not like last year's reaping which was a complete disaster. I made my whole family cry with my tears, and it spread through my district like quenched wildfire. I clench my fists together until my brother leaves, before allowing a brief moment of emotions to cross my face. I quickly get dressed in my rags, rags I know the Capitol would never dream of wearing, but I have no choice. I know I can't stay here for long. My aunt calls me from downstairs, probably expecting wails and floods of tears. I can't let her see me like that. It's bad enough I lost my mother, her sister straight after I was born. That must have devastated my aunt. The last thing I want to do is add to her grief. So I quickly make my way downstairs with a stony expression on my face.

The three faces awaiting my arrival are fresh with sorrow and clearly attempting to hide their true emotions. They look at me in concern, but I pretend not to notice as I knock down my breakfast of bread made from tesserae grain and a cup of water. Again, an example of a lifestyle the Capitol wouldn't even think about being part of. I take a few minutes to sit by the fire, warming my body, but not my soul. The first face, my aunt, puts her arm around me, and sits next to me in complete silence. The other face, my brother Guy, is hugging my weeping sister, Lissa , who has broken under the realization that this is possibly the last time me or Guy will be in this house with our family. The Capitol has stolen our children's lives. Just what kind of punishment is this? What have our children got to do with 62 year old rebels? There's no time to think about that now, because the reaping will take place in ten minutes. I'm glad my sister will be out of the reaping for 5 years. But it must hurt for a 7 year old to lose a sibling to the Hunger Games. We each take hands, whisper "Good luck." and make our way to the square, where the reaping will be held.

As usual, the machine guns refuse to keep their aim off us as we stand in our positions. The Capitol must be enjoying seeing who will be entered, not bothered about the fact most of us are children. They will never understand the solemn expressions on our faces as we discover which of us will walk to our deaths. I'm forced to separate from my family at this point; I'm standing in the area for 15 year olds, while my brother is standing in the section 2 years older. I spy my aunt standing with a ghostly expression on her face, for she knows we are both signed up for tesserae. The odds are clearly not in our favour, but for my family's sake I resign to the stone-cold expression on my face, also blocking the cameras from catching yet another quivering girl in the crowd. The crowd falls silent.

The mayor of our district reads out the usual procedure: the history of Panem, of the Dark Days, and how the Capitol decided on the Hunger Games as an annual punishment for the district's rebellion. There's no sign of the mentors. Probably they are lying flat out drunk somewhere. Before long, he is finished, and my eyes widen in alarm, knowing every second could be my last in my home, my brother, too. I know when the reaping will start, because our escort, a woman from the Capitol- it's quite clear to us, what with their strange beauty habits- will come forward and pick a slip of paper at random from each reaping ball, one for the boys and one for the girls. As I recall what's going to happen, I see her now.

A young woman with over-the-top features skips to the balls which hold the names of the possible tributes. Her hands shake with excitement not unlike my sister when my aunt brings home the occasional apple. Her pierced mouth opens and bursts out her usual sentence in her usual manner, "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favour!" She then begins to rummage around in the girl's reaping ball, and I have to squeeze my eyes shut to prevent tears sliding down them. The hush of the crowd is so tense; I feel their held breaths, their arms around family members. The woman reads the name clearly for all to hear.

"Shanea Blighton!"

Shanea Blighton! That name thrashes around my mind, erasing everything else, hoping beyond all hope that name was not mentioned by that woman...until I notice everyone looking at me. A girl my age gives me a gentle nudge to confirm it is me, and that I now have to tread the steps to my near-certain death. Only then do I remember the cameras are fixed on me. I force myself forward until I reach the stage, next to that dreadful woman who cast my life out of my bedroom window. When she asks for volunteers, a sickly amount of snot and tears threatens to go further up my throat. No-one ever volunteers in the districts, unless you count that awful career group of districts who think participating is an honour. When I finally look up, I am not surprised to discover not one person has stepped forward. My death sentence has begun.

My worry shifts onto the male tribute from our district, forcing a choked sound to emerge from me. Thankfully, all attention is on our escort as she has a good rummage through the boy's reaping ball. She swiftly grabs a piece of paper, and reads out the name before I can react.

"Guy Blighton! What a matching pair!"

My heart feels as if it's just about to tear apart and destroy the rest of my organs with it when I hear a gasp as Guy walks on stage. Only Guy is not walking on stage. He's staring in bewilderment at another boy, with paling skin and dark brown eyes, apparently determined by something. The pieces slowly come together in my mind, but it takes my escort to put them together.

"At last we have a volunteer! Give a round of applause for our newest tribute!"

Dead silence. But this allows me to gather my thoughts. Newest tribute..? Then that means this boy...he volunteered to save my brother! I watch in admiration and relief as he takes to the stage and announces his name, which is new to me since we've never met before. Come to think of it, nor did Guy.

"Kenny White."

Kenny White. We shake hands as the anthem plays out. He gives me a small, comforting smile. And all I can think of is how he saved my brother's life, and that I'd like to repay him- whatever it takes.

*Thanks for reading, I'll update this soon with a new chapter. Reviews are much appreciated!*