13 halls tournament
25 years ago, the resistance lost. Thousands died in battle, and thousands more in punishment afterward. 506 kids have died the same way they did 75 years before. Nothing has changed, nothing can change, and nothing will ever change, except for the worse.
Now, after 99 years of watching children kill each other for their entertainment, Capitol citizens are getting bored, and the cards agree. Its time for the 4th Quarter Quell, and no one will expect this: A new game is being introduced, the districts' everlasting punishment for the Mockingjay Rebellion. This year marks the beginning of a new game, 13 Halls, and with new rules, there are new dangers, new strategies and new winners. Good luck, and may the odds be ever in your favor.
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We crowd into our little room, all watching, excited, at the small black box. It turns on. It glows blue, then shows the Capitol seal and plays the anthem we listen to every day at school. Then there's a moment of static, and we see the stage in the center of the reconstructed Capitol. Everything shines in bright pastel colors, blinding us, as the television is the only light we have this late at night.
My brother Damian turns up the volume. We don't want to miss this. We watch President Snow wheel himself onto the stage in his silver wheelchair. From this camera angle, he looks like he always has, but when the screen switches to a close up its obvious how old he's become, and how much he hates it. Thin pale skin is stretched over an angular skull, and his white haired wig is tilted slightly so we can see a large liver spot. The crowd claps as ever, and then a boy in all white brings out a single small box holding many small folders. The crowd grows silent, and in our house we all lean forward.
The President's thin, spidery hand goes to the box and fingers through the folders, walking up them until he reaches the one labeled 100. He pulls out the card, reads it over to himself, then hands it to a purple-ish pink man standing next to him.
"When did he get there?" I whisper to Damian. He shushes me.
Flickerman coughs twice, and begins to read the card. "After 100 years of... prosperity," he begins, pausing where the card must have read 'peace and', "the Hunger Games are surely growing tiresome. This year, and for many years to follow, we will celebrate in a new way in addition to the old. This year marks the beginning of the 13 Halls Tournament!"
What? I look to Damian, who has looked to Obsil, my other brother, who is staring at the screen. We follow his example. The crowds in the Capitol are just as confused, and it takes Flickerman a minute to quiet them.
"The card reads that the rules shall be a surprise. What excitement! This year will truly be one like no other!"
For the next hour, Flickerman and a variety of Capitol big-wigs chatter about the possibilities. Where will it take place? How will they introduce it? How will people bet? Who will be entered? Will there be any new stars? Who will mentor? And of course, may the odds be ever in your favor! Then the anthem plays, and the television turns off.
We stare at the screen, wondering silently, until there's a knock at the door.
"I'll get it!" I say, and jump up. Before I leave I see the smirks pass between Damian and Obsil, and roll my eyes at them.
There's another knock. "Oh be patient!" I shout before opening the door, and as expected, there's Mica. He has dark blond hair that barely falls over his hazel eyes. Mica is a few inches taller than me but is just as skinny, though I'm sure that will change after a few more years in the mines. He gives me a hug, and I hug him, and we walk back in with his arm around my shoulders.
"What do you think it means?" we all know what he's talking about.
"Just a new game for their fun is what it seems like," says Obsil.
I don't think so. "Maybe its because of the Mockingjay Rebellion."
"But the cards were all pre-written," is Damian's rebuttal.
"You really believe that? It seems to me that they just write the cards however it suits them best that day, and stick it in the folder.. I mean, maybe not the first 2 times, but the 3rd, and this, both seem really pointed." I say.
"Nik could be right," agrees Mica, always my reliable boy, "It wouldn't be hard. They never really gave the birds a show after the second rebellion." 'The birds' is what he calls capitol citizens, since they're so colorful and 'bird-brained.'
Obsil shrugs. "If that's what it is, then that's that. Nothin' we can do about it." And we all know he's right. One "game", one punishment, per rebellion, as if actually blowing up 13 and 12 wasn't enough. No doubt they would've annihilated other districts, too, if they weren't all so important. At the time our district, district 2, was a weapons manufacturer, but because we had given some of them to the rebels we're just stone miners again. Damian and Obsil both work in the mines, since they're 17 and 18. Women don't work in the mines, their job is to cut the stone brought from the mountain. Work starts at age 12.
I look at the little analog clock across the room. Its 7:45. Mica sees it too. "I should probably get back home," he says, and gives me a quick kiss before standing to leave. "I'll see you tomorrow!" he calls as he lets himself out. Curfew in all of the districts is 8:00. Mica lives only a few houses down from ours, but his mother starts mom starts worrying by 7:50. Being out after curfew means a warning. At each warning you get 5 lashes, and after 3 you are sent to mine coal in what was District 12. At the end of each Hunger Games your warnings were removed, and you begin again for the year. Warnings are pretty uncommon in our district, but it's said that in District 11 warnings were so commonplace they had to increase the lashes to 10, and lawbreaking still happens. They'll be the last to be accepted by the Capitol, if ever.
The TV is still glowing blue until Damian turns it off. "Best get to bed, girly. Long day of chopping rocks tomorrow." he says. I sigh and nod and follow him to the back of the house. The single bedroom has 2 beds, so I get one, Damian the other, and Obsil sleeps on the floor, since he's the oldest. "This way, if I ever get into the Hunger Games, a leafy forest floor will feel like luxury to me!" he declared when we made the arrangement. That night, though, he'd added "But once I'm 19, I want a bed."
I crawl into my bed and curl up under the thick blanket made by a women in town who owns mountain sheep. All 3 of us have one, and two more hang on the walls, the ones that were our parents'. They both died in a Capitol-caused avalanche while the Capitol was still wreaking havoc on the Districts. The "accidents" would happen every few years, just another show of power by the Capitol, and there's nothing we could do about it. I was 2 when it happened. I fall asleep to hazy images of my mother and father, that change to my brothers, both black haired and 5'11'', Damian with dark brown eyes and Obsil with ice blue eyes like mine. One year they'll make our district proud in the Hunger Games, or maybe this new game, 13 Halls.
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Grant had watched the reading of the card with very little interest, while his sister Conga had been practically glued to the little television. It was all she could talk about the last few hours of the day.
"Where do you think 13 Halls will be?" she'd ask. "It won't be in the woods like The Hunger Games are. That's too similar. And what did they mean 'Growing tiresome'? How is watching kids battle to the death boring? I mean, I guess after 100 years it might get repetitive. What do you think 13 Halls will be like?" and she would go on, and on, and on. Grant began to enjoy his schoolwork, since it gave him an excuse to ignore her. Blah blah blah Mockingjay blah blah Dark Days blah blah blah Shining Capitol... He turned the page. Who writes these books, anyway? he wondered. It's obviously very pro-Capitol, but the Capitol people hate work. Hmm. He turned the page again.
"I think I'm going to volunteer!" came Conga's voice.
"What?" Grant spun around, staring wide eyed at his sister, who was looking so proud you might think she'd just won the games herself. "You don't even know what the games will be like! What if... what if–"
"What could happen?" Conga said, waving her hand, "I'm ready for a battle to the death now! There's not much out there that's worse. Quit worrying. You should be ready to volunteer soon, too, little wimp."
Grant glared at her and turned around, flipping a few more pages of his history book. They invaded the Capitol in groups but were no match for our superior technology. Pods throughout the city took them out one by one, and if not pods then our brave force of Peacekeepers did their jobs. Everdeen and her followers stood no chance, and the leaders of the Rebels were executed in the City Plaza on x/x/xx. After the execution, any remaining force of rebels crumbled on themselves and returned to their own districts, not unpunished. The Hunger Games continued as they always did and will forever more. In the 4th Quarter Quell the Districts will undoubtably get their final punishment.
Grant leaned on his hand, I wonder if they'll write new history books this year. Maybe then we'll know who writes them...
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A/N: Hehehe. This is my first fanfic, and I've had this in mind for a few weeks now. Secretly, I already have the ending planned. This may be my most planned story yet, actually. Since this is my first fanfic, I didn't really know about that whole syot thing, so sorry, these are all my characters. I figure it's a bit easier this way, for me, and hopefully it will read better for you. Plus its easier for me to keep track of if I'm only writing from 2 people's PoV instead of, well, 24. I can't wait until I reach the Game, but I'll try to make the few months between the reading of the card and the Game actually read like a few months, or a few weeks at least! And I'll do my best not to be boring, ever. Heheh.