Welcome, Readers, to the 18th Annual Hunger Games. This is my first Submit Your Own Tribute Fic. I do not own the Hunger Games, it belongs to Suzanne Collins. Details for SYT at the end of the chapter.

To Die But Once: The 18th Annual Hunger Games

Prologue

"The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,
But in ourselves, that we are underlings."

Brutus Laertes Head Gamemaker

An eruption of time and light spanning across billions of years. In his mind, he was watching the birth of a star, the dawning of another possibility with so much potential. Brutus Laertes lay in his bed, not wanting the dream to end, wishing he could envision these sorts of things every night. Of late his dreams had been mostly work deadlines. The people watching the spectacle couldn't even dream of the administrative side of the Hunger Games. It was his responsibility to ensure that his creative team was all on board with his vision; this was, after all, his first year as Head Gamemaker, so he wanted to get it right. So his employees may have called him a micro-manager and a control freak. Just like when he had managed actors in the past, it would be worth it once the whole production exceeded expectations.

Brutus opened his eyes to discover it was still dark out. Wondering what had awoken him, he looked to the window, expecting to see the usual sight, the skyline with which he had grown up with his entire life, the buildings which sheltered him, enclosed them from the districts, made them special, even made them superior according to most. Long ago, when he had first stepped on the stage, he had seen something unique in these buildings. He had sung their praises, written them sonnets, and bowed low to thunderous applause from their multitudes for his performances, encores and encores, so many that he eventually stopped hearing the applause, until it was no longer enough. That's when he retired from the performance life, a legend in his own right, but nothing special in his own eyes. With enough money to live luxuriously for the rest of his life, in the secret of his heart he had longed for nothing more than to become a hermit in someplace where he could see beauty, to seek out whatever remote corner of the undiscovered world that might be.

Before his eyes, this night in the dark city, he was shocked to see that he no longer saw the buildings, the light, the un-sleeping escape that was the Capitol. In the skies above, a light exploded. It was not the light of fireworks to which he was so accustomed in the prelude to the games, but the light from beyond the atmosphere. It was dim, and perhaps it was only because of his surgically enhanced vision that he could see it, but there seemed to be a light streaming across the sky. It was faint, yes, but it seemed to be streaming from the sky down to the horizon and then disappeared. He counted one after another, twenty four.

Twenty-four, exactly how many lives he would make special and extraordinary in just a few days. At least that is what he told himself; it was crucial for him to believe that, whether it was true or not.

He'd been telling himself he was once again a part of something great ever since the day the Capitol representative had knocked on his door and made him an offer it was clear he was not at liberty to refuse: the chance to be a participant in the creation of the 10th annual Hunger Games. From there, he had caught someone's eye and continually ascended. In his heart of hearts he would have preferred to be a stylist, to lend his artistic eye to the tributes before all of the blood and gore. As a thespian he had always been strange, preferring the building first half of a play, particularly a tragedy, to the gory second half where everything got complicated. He loved the romance of stepping onto the stage, strutting your costume, saying your first lines, but then the limelight gets sticky towards the end and you never know who is safe and who is dead until the very last bow.

But this year that was different; this year everything was under his control.

District 12: Aphrodite Aurelius Capitol Mentor

She couldn't sleep. Everything was spiraling out of control already and Aphrodite couldn't tell if that was only in her head or if it was true. The reaping was tomorrow. Tomorrow she would meet her two of twenty-four, the two that she had never wanted. In frustration she heaved the unhelpful heavy tome of military strategy that she'd been reading across her temporary residence. She heard a very satisfying thump as it no doubt smashed a hole in the fragile walls. A second later she heard a lamp shatter. She'd have someone take care of it in the morning. For now she cared about nothing except the futile hope of one last night of sleep before the nightmare.

She'd wanted to stay in the uninhabited Victor's Village in District Twelve just to prove that she was one of the people. It was a lie. She was here at her father's insistence. "You can push one of the outer districts. You have the power to make this interesting and by God I will have you there." It was his punishment for her existence. He wouldn't acknowledge her publicly, but would punish her privately, the curse of being the daughter of the legend.

She couldn't breathe in here, she needed to escape. She glanced at the clock again. 3 am. How could five hours have passed without a single moment of relaxation? It wasn't as though she herself were going into the Games. Perhaps that would have been better, she thought for a fleeting moment. Anything to free her from this trap.

Well, she'd had enough of it. If she couldn't escape into the dreams of sleep, she would at least escape the eyes of the Capitol for a few hours. It wouldn't have surprised her if they'd had a camera hidden in her quarters, especially given her unusual request to stay in the Victor's Village the night before the Reaping instead of going on the train the next morning. Brutus Leartes had expressly voiced his opposition, of course, saying the district might find some way to harm her, but Aphrodite didn't care. At this point anything out of the ordinary, anything to make her feel would be welcome. Anything of course except watching 24 tributes die. . .

23 she reminded herself. And it would be one of hers that came out. One and done. With that resolution, she stood, as if preparing herself for the reaping already. She opened the window and flung herself onto the balcony . . . too normal. She grabbed a vine and managed to scale herself to the roof. As she looked up her eyes were met with a stunning site: the stars. She'd never seen them before with the Capitol light pollution had long ago created a shield to seeing them. They weren't as bright as she'd imagined them, but the light pollution had probably affected this sky too.

Something else caught her eye: something streaming across the sky. It was a light purple sort of firework, but streaming downward towards the Earth. Another followed and another. She counted 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23 . . . that was all, surely it was an omen. Being raised in the theatre, of course Aphrodite was superstitious. So this was an omen for the Games? Then one last one, a twenty-fourth, followed the others. Aphrodite pondered what that could possibly mean.

Brutus:

Brutus closed his eyes again, contentedly. In a couple of hours, the drama would begin. He could almost see it as he closed his eyes, a glorious new era of potential and beginnings. New tributes to learn, new stories to write all leading to one victor whose name would be written in the stars. For now it was time for him to rest and see what tomorrow brought.

After all, Rome was not built in a day.

Your turn: Submit Your Own Tribute:

Tribute form is up on my profile page. I will be entertaining open submissions until the 15th of September, so you have two weeks. Each author may submit up to 3 Tributes. PM me if you have any special requests or any questions. I look forward to any and all tributes. Thank you in advance for your submissions. Be clever and may the odds be ever in your favor. *Morniegalad