Do You Remember Me, Panem?

by ThatFoolOfATook

Approximately 19 of us every year. The tributes who aren't unique, who are ugly, or don't have something big in our favor. We don't even die well. But we were people, with individual lives, families, and interests. 19 times 75 equals 1,425. That's a lot of people dead, Snow. And that's a lot of families grieving, Gamemakers. My name is Hanni Lockheart. And this is my story, Panem.

1. Prologue

Hi everyone! This is my first attempt at Hunger Games fan-fiction. Please tell me what you think! I'm very open to advice,

Anyway, the idea for this story came from when I was reading The Hunger Games, and kept coming across parts where a tribute's name was forgotten. How wrong that is. And it made me want to cry to realize the number of kids who died, and would be forgotten, because they were overshadowed by the winning tribute. Also, surely, there were tributes who went into the arena and couldn't kill. Sure, Peeta and Katniss didn't want to. But they did.

Well, what about the kids who didn't? What about the ugly or shy kids who didn't get any sponsors? I was overwhelmed by thinking about the sheer number of grieving families, left in the Districts.

Anyhow, please review this! I really want to know what you think. This will have multiple chapters, and this is the prologue.

~ThatFoolOfATook

Prologue:

Do you remember me? You probably don't. Almost no one does, and almost no one would. That's because I am one of the 1,425. 'The 1,425?', you ask, wondering what on earth I'm talking about. Well, let me tell you.

Of the 24 tributes sent into the arena for The Hunger Games every year, only approximately 5 of them, every year, are memorable in any way. They are the Johannas, the Mags', the Finnicks, the Chaffs, the Rues, the Haymitchs, the Brutus', the Cloves, the Enobarias, the Cashmeres, the Catos, the Peetas, and the Girls on Fire. Some of them make names for themselves by winning the Games. Others fight spectacularly, and die an interesting death. Or, maybe, they just looked well on the interviews, and had a great stylist.

Either way, that leaves 19 of us every year: Those tributes who died at the Cornucopia. Those tributes who died in 'natural' disasters, without another tribute nearby. Those tributes who didn't put up a fight, because they had no hope. Those tributes who, on the outside, had nothing unique. But on the inside, every one of us was a real person. We were individuals, with individual lives, families, and interests. And approximately 19 of us died every year. Multiply that times 74, adding 19 more for that second Quarter Quell, and you get 1,425 of us. That's a lot of people dead, President Snow. That's a lot of families grieving for a child who was torn from them forever, People of the Districts. And that's a lot of innocent people turned into monsters, Gamemakers.

My name is Hanni Lockheart.

And this is my story, Panem.