01 - Prologue

Laika Kameko (47) - District Ten. Victor of the 114th Hunger Games.

It has been barely over three decades since Laika's Games, but that doesn't make it any easier.

Her lamps stay lit all night, driving away the darkness that threatens to take her sanity. The fireplace in her living room is never used, never touched. She'd always wanted one, dreaming as a little girl of sitting in front of them in frosty winters and chilly mornings, but now she can barely even look at it. She thinks that the Capitol builders installed it to make a point: remember what you did.

Even the Capitol was surprised at her brutality towards the three youngest tributes in that cabin in the woods, tiny twelve year olds who shouldn't have survived the bloodbath. She remembers approaching the cabin after spotting the smoke billowing from the chimney, she remembers hearing the childrens' excited voices, she remembers little Silas from her district opening the door when she knocked and welcoming her in.

She doesn't remember when it turned hostile.

But within two minutes of being in the cabin, it did. Or rather she did.

The tape was played during her interview, but she didn't—couldn't—watch.

She remembers the aftermath though; the blood, the bodies, her dagger in Silas's neck. She remembers his glassy eyes, his open mouth, and the feeling that coursed through her when she retrieved her dagger. It wasn't disgust. She was elated. Closer to coming home.

Now she wishes that she never did.

The fire in the cabin was still burning after her massacre, and after dragging the bodies outside she remembers sitting down in front of it. Holding out her blood-stained hands, kicking off her boots to warm up her toes. As the heat started to seep into her body, so did the guilt, so did the horror.

She was still in the cabin when the careers found her. Laika fought tooth and nail against them. She doesn't know how she managed to take down two of them and survive unscathed.

Five kills in one day. The interviewer said that it was a record.

It was beaten three years later by a particularly bloodthirsty career, racking up a total of seven kills in a matter of hours. He, himself, was killed the next day. By falling out of a tree of all things. Laika didn't watch his Games, she hasn't watched any since she won beside her daughter's, although little Bandit didn't make it past the first day, but she'd heard the gossip around the district in the handful of times she'd left her house during those Games.

With the 145th Games approaching, Laika has started her stocking up of food and things that she might need over the course of them. Blankets to cover her windows (the curtains still let in light and as a result, shadows), medicine in case she gets sick, buckets of beans and grains, and a sizeable amount of liquor.

Games season is the only time that she lets herself drink. Despite her haunting memories and constant guilt, she's proud of the fact that she's never succumbed to drugs or alcohol like some of the other Victors. She doesn't want to give the Capitol what they want; the satisfaction of seeing her break down considering that she didn't do it in her Games, didn't do it in the ten years that she was a mentor for, didn't do it when they reaped her sweet Bandit who'd turned twelve only three weeks before the Reaping.

But during the Games she lets herself forget. Forget Silas's glassy eyes and focus on his laughter on the train ride. Forget Bandit's terror when her name was called and remember her plucking the flowers from the bushes in the back garden.

When the Victory Tour is over she goes back to living. She has to or the Capitol will have won.

She goes back down to the market, down to the river, and ignores the looks she gets from people who remember her and her Games. She avoids the farm where Silas's elderly parents still live with their other son and their grandkids, but she sends them flowers every year on what would be his birthday, on Reaping Day and again when the Games have ended. All with the same notecard: I'm sorry.

Laika doesn't want anyone to look at her the way Silas's parents and older brother had during her Victory Tour. Their eyes were filled with pure hatred and she doesn't blame them. For a while, she was terrified of them turning up at her house with daggers similar to the one that she used to take the life of their son. She might have done something similar if she lived in the same district as Bandit's killer. She'd never been good with a spear, but she'd be willing to learn it in order to avenge her baby girl.

So during Games season, she drinks. She drinks to forget. She drinks to remember.

And she prays.

One prayer for Silas. One prayer for his family. Two for Ilana and Samuel, the two other twelve year olds in that cabin. One for Bandit. One for herself.

One for the two Victors who have to mentor the two children of Ten. Children who more than likely won't come back.

One for them, too.

I hope you enjoyed that introduction to Laika, a scarred Victor from Ten. Whilst she won't be mentoring, I'm still very fond of her. Maybe I'll write a fic exploring her Games one day. What do you think of her?

Anyway. This is an SYOT and there are some rules:

1) No submissions by review. Submissions will be done through Google Forms (with the link on my profile), allowing those of you without an account to submit a tribute. If any tribute is submitted in the reviews then they will not be accepted.
2) I expect the forms to be detailed. I want to see effort put into those tributes submitted, and I reserve the right to decline forms if accepting that tribute would mean that I would have to essentially create the character myself.
3) This should go without saying, but no Mary Sues or Gary Stus. These will not be accepted. Your tributes should be realistic.
4) There is a maximum of three tributes per person and if you do submit three, then one must be a bloodbath.
5) The tributes from 1, 2 and 4 will be in the career pack. Whilst the career pack might recruit other districts, a career will not desert it in order to ally with an outlying district.

Thank you for reading, and I can't wait to see your guys' submissions.