A/N: I freaking love the Hunger Games. And, I am still working on my other fanfictions, yes. I am going quite slow on the Outsiders and the Shizaya ones because they're longer chapters, and it takes me quite a while to transfer the chapter into something else. Anyways.
All of the tributes mentioned in this story belong to me. I made all of them up with hard work and a lot of my time. Please, don't steal them from me. You can pm me if you want to borrow them for a story of some sort, but make sure to actually credit me if you do so.
I must also warn you that I am slow at updating; it takes me a while to transfer chapters to different chapters, and whenever I do so, I reread it a lot before updating. I once didn't do that in one of my stories, and, boy oh boy, I had a lot of misspelled words and had incorrect grammar. So, please try to be patient with me. Also, don't think I died if I haven't updated within a year or two! It can take me that long if I'm really dedicated to the fanfiction.
Adding on, in case you're wondering, the Katniss and Peeta thing never existed in this fanfiction. The two weren't even thought of, although it is set as the 74th Annual Hunger Games. So, technically, in the same place as Katniss and Peeta, except they don't exist.
Not only this will be happening, but the rules of the Hunger Games has changed a little in this fanfiction because, hell, I love a good drama. The age is lowered down to 9 years old, and risen to 19 years old. Considering this, there is a wider variety of people that can be chosen, and the round bowl thingie that they choose the names from will be larger.
Some parts of this story will relate some to the movie: for example, Rue's death. There will be a little girl who is close to the main tribute, will have similar traits as Rue, but some differences. I will try to not make them too similar.
Thank you for sticking with me in this long Author's note! It is greatly appreciated.
Chapter 1.
Now, to start things off, watching the Hunger Games is pretty tough and gross to look at. And horrifying, scary, all that good stuff. Like a rated R movie.
But, well, when you're in the Games.. Huh. It's completely different. Much.. real, if you must. You're actually experimenting with these deaths, watching them with your own eyes, sometimes causing them if the Capitol pulled you in that far. Killing little kids, just to be back home, just to see all those people again. Just to be safe from all the cameras, even when it's only a day or two.
Even mentioning this, we weren't even safe to begin with. The cameras weren't our only fears; many children were dropping dead from flies from starvation. The adults seemed to be adding on to the pile. Might as well be the Games, right?
No. Never mind, I take that back. The Games is much worse. Like said before, you are seeing the deaths with your very eyes; watching the kids drop. And, oh, you didn't mean to kill them. You didn't mean to stand there and just watch them die because you were too much of a self-centered coward. You didn't mean to kill innocent children just to be back home, where it wasn't even safe in the beginning.
In the Games, well, you're forced to pick up a knife, a sword, hell, any weapon you could get your hands on, to kill the other tributes. You are forced to call them your enemy, to sleep with one eye open every night because if you don't, you could be killed in your sleep. Just to have the prize of being wealthy and back home, to be safe.
Huh. Well, that's something I'd surely like to taste. The word safety just widens my eyes. But, to actually feel it, to touch it, to smell it .. To hold it. It's too good to be true.
The victors in our District try to say that the pain goes away. Yeah, not on it's own. Most victors, even from different Districts, drown their sorrow and nightmares with drugs, make-up, and beer. In District 12, we only have a minimum of 3 winners. 2 died. One is alive, still breathing. Just barely, though. Like said before, he was one who got tugged down in the beer section.
Adding on, let's get started where this all began. Then, maybe what I'm saying will actually make sense.
It was a semi-warm, semi-cold morning in the Seam. I had woken up, desperate to stretch out my stiff limbs. Check if we have any food in the spider-webbed crowded cabinets, maybe try to find something other than burnt bread.
But, oh god, that's all we ever eat these days. Burnt bread found in the Baker's garbage if we're that desperate. Usually, though, it's found on the dirty ground, where it's washed off in our worn-out sink. I tried several times to go outside, outside the gate of District 12, where a forest spreads out like you wouldn't believe. My mom urged me to go, but I chickened out last minute.
I don't want to die like my father. Besides that, Jazz can help out with that, I think.
You see, a long while ago, he died. He was hunting outside the gates, with his very own, hand-made bow and arrows. He was caught with his usual load; two small turkeys in his hunting bag. He was stupid; he.. he shouldn't have done that! He must've known he would be caught; Peacekeepers were everywhere.
And that's where he was. In the Square, beaten bloody with a whip. Bloody, whimpering face cradled as my mother holds his bleeding body in her lap, staining her clothes, but I don't think she cared. She ran her skinny fingers throughout his short hair, made him look at her with his unusual, dark green eyes one more time. Smiles. Sniffles loudly, the only evidence that there was tears streaming down her cheeks. Then, whispers three words.
"I love you."
And he smiled, a small thing. His lips moved, but I couldn't tell what he said. I think he said, "I love you too.", because she started to cry louder. He made a feeble attempt to reach up and tuck my mother's hair behind her ear, but never made it. His arm dropped with a slight tremble, and then with a single breath, almost like a sigh of relief, he died.
Now, moving on from that, Jazz has been my friend since Elementary. We knew each other very well, hesitant to grasp onto the friendship, but then reluctantly doing so. And, boy, am I glad I did that.
Shuddering, becoming focused within the real world, I shake my head to get the image out of my mind. Then, look around. Check my surroundings. Home. In my worn out, broken-springed bed. Today is the Reeping.
The air is knocked out of my chest as the single thought shot through my head like a bullet. The Reeping. Today is another day. Except, different. Lazily, I drag my dark green eyes around my room, across it, to see my little sister curled up in a small ball beside my mother. Not cuddling. Just curled up beside her, backs brushing lightly.
Sitting up, I force out a yawn. I needed to see if we had a meal for tonight. If my little sister was here for it. Same as I.
She hit the age of 9, eligible to be chosen for the Games. Too young. Way too young. I'm still 16, yet still a baby. People as old as 19 have the chance of entering the Games. The thought makes a shudder wrack through my body uncomfortably.
Standing up, I feel slightly comforted at the familiar wood beneath my bare feet. As I walk around the house, I drag my hands on the walls, careful of the splinters. Stepping into the kitchen, I open cabinets, checking for food. None. Like usual. Eyebrows furrowing lightly, I sigh. No breakfast for us. I hope Jazz comes by soon.
Shutting all the cabinets I opened, I check the fridge. Just a pitcher of water, and even that, there's barely anything. I clutch my fingers at my sides, shutting the fridge door silently. Sighing, I sit down at a kitchen chair, foot tapping against the floor in a gentle rhythm of tap, tappity, tap, tap.
My mind seems to like pushing me through these flashbacks, because suddenly I'm standing beside Jazz with fear. It was The Reeping, and we both turned 9 shortly before it. My mom is standing within the crowd, her and my father separated, considering they both had different age ranges. I was clutching his pinkie, trembling slightly.
"It's okay," his small voice murmurs in my ear. Looking over at him with my big, dark green eyes, he was always shorter than me. Having to stand up on his tippie toes to actually whisper in my ear. This made me smile a little, head tilting as I whisper back.
"How do you know?"
He seemed to hesitate before he gave my pinkie a light squeeze. "I just do. Your slip is only in there once out of, what, over 100?" This caused me to smile wider, becoming confident. He pressed his forehead against my shoulder, making me giggle.
Shortly after they finished playing a video they play every year of the Games, they announce, "Ladies first!" Swiftly, the announcer digs their fingers within the slips, pulling out one, single one. And it was a complete shock.
Loudly, they read out, "Alyssa Thomas!"
My name. How? Jazz has become a brick wall at my side; stiff, and afraid.
"Alyssa Thomas?" they repeated, curiosity lacing within their words. Several kids look over at me. I'm frozen; afraid. Why was I called?
"I volunteer as tribute."
My head whips over to a 19 year old, tall, beautiful. She looks threatening, dangerous. Her stormy, grey eyes are rested on the announcer for a moment, until she clears her throat.
She saved my life.
Shortly after this flashback ends, another pops up. Jazz and I sitting down in my living room, doing nothing but tracing useless patterns into the ground. We're thirteen at this time; when I started developing feelings for him. His father had died a week ago; he was still quite upset about it.
His grey eyes wouldn't meet mine, and his blonde hair was getting out of control, in need of a hair cut.
Uselessly, I bring my hair up to ruffle his said hair. "You really need a hair-cut, huh."
No answer.
Tugging on a long, blonde strand, I continue. "My mom's really good at cutting hair, you know."
No answer.
"Trust me, she won't cut your ears off." It's useless. "I wouldn't trust her at first, bu-"
"Stop. Talking." His voice is threatening. "And let go of my goddamned hair." I do so, out of panic. Averting my eyes, I try not to start anything else.
"Sorry," he murmurs, voice cracking slightly. I think he knows, because he winces lightly. "It's just .. It's just so hard without him, ya know?"
I make a small noise of agreement, hand running through his blonde locks. "I know, I know.."
He makes small sniffles. Throughout the day, we just sit there, his head rested on my shoulder as he cries out.
And, I let him.
Flinching once I hear a door slam open, I'm knocked out of the flashbacks. Looking up, I see Jazz standing there with a wide, childish grin on his well-formed 16 year old face.
"Hey, Alyssa," he says to me, tilting his head with a small smirk dancing on his lips shortly after the grin got chased away, "Aren't you a little jumpy this morning?"
In my grumpy mood as usual, I scrunch up my nose lightly. "Well, have you checked the dates on your calendar lately?"
"Oh, yeah, I have," he replies, shrugging. "Not a big deal. At least, to me."
I scoff lightly, shuffling in my chair. "So, assuming by your mood, you're not affected by this?"
"Not as much," is his response as he shuts the door much quieter than he opened it, walking towards me easily. Tucking a loose strand of my dark brown hair behind my ear, he adds, "Honestly, I think I'm afraid of losing you. But, I know you're tough."
Not wanting to ruin this moment with my attitude, I simply mumble, "You don't even care about your own life?"
He shrugs, pulling away from me. I finally notice the hunting bag he has thrown over his shoulder carelessly.
"You did not walk around with that, did you?" I say instantly, worry flanking my features.
"Maybe, maybe not," he replies easily, sitting down across from me. His careless appearance bothers me.
"You can't walk around with that," I say after a few moments of silence, shaking my head. "You gotta be more careful about this stuff, Jazz. Do you know what they will do to you if they catch you with that thrown over your shoulder?"
He shrugs loosely, smirking a little. "Who says they'll catch me? I got long legs. I can run."
"They can, too." I continue to shake my head, annoyed. "They can and will kill you, Jazz."
For a moment, as if he's thinking, he bats his eyelashes innocently. "My, my, Miss Thomas. Keep talking like that, and I might get the assumption that you care about lil' old me."
This makes me laugh a little, kicking his shin lightly. "Stupid. Wouldn't want anyone thinking that, now would we?"
He winces, looking at me with a playful look dancing within his light, precious grey eyes. "Silly. So, what do you want out of this?" He sets the hunting bag in his lap, looking through it with careful hands. "I have some beavers and a squirrel. Gave fish to the Hob." He hands a couple of coins to me, placing them in my palm. "I also got a loaf of bread, if you want it."
I smile lightly, clutching onto the coins before setting them aside myself, on the table.
"So, Miss Thomas," he says, eyes twinkling, "Take your pick."
I choose a medium-sized beaver reluctantly, asking quietly, "Maybe we can split the loaf?" He shakes his head, tossing the large loaf on the table. I fluster, asking him to at least split it, but he grins wildly, shaking his head.
"Okay. So, we each got meals for tonight. Great." I smile lazily. He looks at me with a quiet grin, chuckling softly.
"Jazz!" comes my little sister's voice, and then the gentle noises of her small feet dashing over to him.
"Well, hello there, Little Monkey." Jazz chuckles at her excitement, despite the day she's going to be put through.
"Why're you here so early?" she questions, calming down and crawling up into my lap. So small..
"It's 11:00am. And, today is the Reeping, silly goose." His words are chilling. At least, the way he set them in the sentence. Glaring towards him, he shrugs loosely. "No need to lie, is there?"
My little sister seems to freeze in my arms, realization dawning on her.
"Geo, it's okay," I insist gently, giving her a smile. "Your name is only in there once, out of, what, 100 slips?" I repeat what Jazz told me so long ago; he stiffens lightly, most likely remembering that day.
"Ye-Yeah, okay," she agrees, reluctantly. "Okay. Should I go get Mom up?" She glances over at the clock.
Slowly, I nod. "Probably for the best. We have to go in three hours." She gets up, scampering to the bedroom to wake up my mom.
Eyeing him carefully, I say, "How're you supposed to get home with that hunting bag? You shouldn't have stayed so late."
Shrugging lightly, he throws a grin my way. "Didn't I tell you that I can run? Simple."
Frowning, I really don't like this idea. "Jazz, it isn't smart. The Peacekeepers have weapons."
"And? Again, I can run. They won't catch me." He bats his eyelashes innocently, linking his ankle with mine. "Are you afraid that I won't make it back home, Miss Thomas?"
"A little," I admit, warily. "You know what they'll do. You - .. We've seen it too many times."
He makes a soft noise of agreement, shaking his head. His nose twitches cutely, as if he's about to sneeze. Like a rabbit he's seen so many times. I've only seen a dead one, so I wouldn't know what the little ones would look like, hopping around with their nose twitching.
He's told me about the rabbits in The Meadow once. Most of them are small little things, with soft, silky fur. Small, pink noses that twitch like crazy. They hop around a lot; they're fast little critters, he says, which makes it even more difficult to catch them.
"Alright, Alyssa," he says gently, tugging on one of my dark, brown hair strands, watching it bounce back into place when he lets go of it. He stands up. "Gimme a hug before I leave your ass." His voice is teasing.
"Shh," I hiss to him, looking around, "Geo is only 9. She doesn't need such foul language." Despite this, it's said half-heartedly.
He shakes his head, chuckling softly as he pulls me into his arms. His chest is warm. Really warm. When did he get so tall, so muscular? I'm usually not the one for hugs, or any real physical contact, but when it's with Jazz or Geo, you know I'd run to them in a heartbeat.
"I'll see you later," he promises me, giving my shoulders a small squeeze. I rest my cheek upon his warm chest, sighing softly.
"Kay," I agree, reluctantly letting go once his grip loosens. He hesitates before smirking lightly, tucking that one, loose strand of hair behind my ear once more.
"Don't worry," he murmurs, as if he's reading my thoughts, "You'll be okay, Alyssa."
I nod, despite not believing it. He must've read my mind, because his next words are so carefully put.
"I promise."
A/N: That chapter is done, done, done, done! Woo-hoo! Took a week, but it's done~!
By the way, school just ended for me, so I will have time to take requests and update chapters much quicker than before!
Don't forget to review.