Okay, so, I started working on the new chapter of Magic of Friendship and then I got sidetracked... I finished The Hunger Games for the third time today(I'm one of the fans that read the book years ago!), and wanted to write the Kingdom Hearts version of it. And the other crossovers don't really seem like it's a "Kingdom Hearts characters are in the Hunger Games, and original characters never really existed". So, I guess I'll tackle that :) So, it's set in the early years of the games, as you will discover. Also, I will state this now, I wanted to use more female Kingdom Hearts characters... But there aren't a lot... So... deal with it? ... You know I love you. Enjoy, and if you're a Kingdom Hearts fan but not a Hunger Games one, no worries, and vice versa.
My mother doesn't like talking about the war much. She had been relatively young back then, when the first whispers of the revolt had been shared around the boat yard. My father was a few years older, but that's pretty much the sum of what I know of him. Mother doesn't like to talk about him either. She doesn't like talking about anything anymore, really. Anything about the past is painful.
All that I know about the Dark Days, that only ended fifteen years ago, is what they tell us in school. The districts rebelled against the Capitol, and the districts lost, leaving nothing but heartache and a smouldering District Thirteen in the wake. We are weak. We have to be punished. All that comes out is spew from the Capitol and how they do nothing wrong and we deserve all the perishing that becomes upon us. In a way I don't want to know.
On the other hand, I have every right to know why my father died.
The new found fear for the Capitol's power didn't stop at them blowing up Thirteen. Something terrible and completely out of line was born out of the ashes. A thing they named The Hunger Games. Taking children from their homes, making them kill each other until one is left, one victor out of twenty four people. Setting the districts on the other, competing, stirring up hatred between fellow rebel survivors. I guess that's the point, besides the Capitol just flaunting their power over us and a painful reminder that defying them has horrifying consequences.
No one I know personally has had their name plucked out of a large glass ball by Dillie Egbert. Just kids I've seen slumping around school. In all the past fifteen Games, we've had two victors. A man and a woman. I guess it's lucky, it shows we don't go down without a fight, but we're a lot more privileged than other districts. There's a term that gets thrown around called 'Career tributes'-and it goes for one, two, and four, which is where I live-which makes it seem like we train our youth to fight, like it's some honor. Well, yeah it's an honor to win, but who would want to take the risk? At least, we don't do that yet. I have seen some fathers practicing some stuff that might be considered "training" with some younger kids, but c'mon, there's no need to label us as "Careers". I know plenty of kids who are scared senseless about getting reaped. Me included.
Which is why I was wringing my hands numb in front of the little mirror in our bathroom. It was reaping day. My name was in that stupid glass bowl ten times. But there were thousands of slips. Some kids my age had their name in there eighteen times. I was lucky. Or so I wanted to make it seem to myself. I was almost beside myself when my mom opened the door shyly.
I wanted to say something to her. At least a greeting. But nothing came out. Not even a meager "Hi."
She sensed my distress of course, almost everyone was in some sort of distress on the reaping day. I knew that she had worry in her heart too. Her only child, the only thing left that somewhat tied her to my father. Had she have known what would come to Panem, our ruined country after the uprisings, she would've never risked having me. I was an accident anyway, but still. If she knew that there was a chance that her offspring would be put into a death match, I wouldn't be here today. I was born soon after the end of the war. Born a few months after my father had been killed in a Capitol raid that ended unsuccessfully. Born into a whole new world where I'd have to pay for my parent's and the other district's fatal mistake.
And here I am today, in my mother's embracing arms, at the start of the Sixteenth Annual Hunger Games.
She pulls me back a bit to look into my eyes, identical to her own, and smiles very softly, as to say "Don't worry. It'll be alright." I relax a little.
"We better get going. It's almost eleven." She says with her soft voice. I agree and we're out the door, and even though I've calmed a bit, I can't stop plucking at the buttons on my shirt.
Once we enter the town square I'm herded into a roped off section with all the other fifteen year olds. I don't really have any friends because I've always had this fear of anyone I love being taken away to the Capitol while I have to watch as they get killed. Stupid, sure. But I've gotten this far without friendship and I'm fine.
The clock on the Justice Building chimes eleven. Let the reaping begin, I think.
The mayor stands up from one of the four chairs that sit on the temporary stage set up in front of us. Dillie is waiting patiently on her spot for her turn to pick the two names from the large Reaping Balls. The remaining seats are housing our past victors, a sullen young man named Cloud and a falsely cheery girl named Yuffie. I know that she's only eighteen because she won the Fourteenth Games, and that was only two years ago. We've been told all about her at school. Cloud won the Eighth year, and he doesn't talk much and spends most of his time in the Victor's Village, alone in his house that, despite being the best residence here, has a cold demeanor. I feel sorry for that past tributes who had to deal with him.
The mayor's going on about how Panem was created and a whole lot of bull about the Dark Days and the Treaty of Treason. He does this every year, and I tune him out. The same Capitol written script every year. He finishes quickly enough and lists our past victors. Yuffie waves at the crowd and I know the cameras are zoomed in on her youthful face, still looking innocent, even after surviving a nightmare which she had a big part of shedding tribute blood. I can't help but think she's just hiding behind a mask. Cloud, of course, has his own constant mask on, looking gruff as ever with a nasty scowl on his face, which would be handsome if it wasn't marred by his anger.
Dillie is introduced and you can tell she's ready to get the ball running.
"Well hello, District Four! Happy Hunger Games!" She says in a squeaky little voice with that stupid Capitol accent. She has her hair done up in something called a "beehive" and it's an unwavering shade of iridescent purple. She has a pointed looking pantsuit the color of buttercups and her nails are styled into sharp little points with what looks like polka dots painted on. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why can't they wear normal clothing?
She gives a little speech about how it's an honor to be here, representing the great district that is number Four and I'm thinking to myself that she's full of crap when BAM! She's crossing over the stage to the Reaping Bowl, saying, "Ladies first!" and the crowd goes absolutely silent, and even I'm holding my breath, though I know my name's not coming out of there, and the reaping has begun.
She swirls her hand in the slips and plucks out a carefully folded one and walks back to the center. It's obvious she's adoring how all eyes are on her, all cameras are set to her face as her lips start moving and she's saying in a Capitol affected voice:
"Kairi Alamak."
There's a stir in the crowd and I hear a woman screaming "No, not my baby!". Automatically, I think it's a twelve year old, how unfortunate, but then there's a girl my age with a grim expression pushing past me and making her way to the stage. And the funny thing is, I don't recognize her at all. Not even a little. I guess that's good. I won't miss her.
Dillie claps her hand and takes the girl by her shoulder, her nails slightly digging in. Kairi doesn't wince, even though it must hurt. Tough for the cameras.
"Our female tribute!" She smiles and waits for the audience to clap. Nothing. She recovers with a cough and then strides over to the boy's bowl.
Now my heart starts pounding.
Her perfectly manicured hand slips past the lip slowly, achingly slow, and she seems to take her time picking which slip she likes best. Or maybe it was just my mind playing in slow motion. I could scream at her.
Then before I know it she's standing in front of the mic. She's unfolding the slip. She's clearing her throat. She pauses for dramatic effect and then reads it.
"Sora Nevermore."