Chapter One.
Forever Neverland;
The Twenty-Eighth Hunger Games.
Prologue, Part One.
In the darkness of an alley, voices were muttering amidst shadow and smoke. Great veils of mold and sewage hung from the rafters of nearby buildings, creating tendrils of decay that shrouded the two muttering men who kept one eye over their shoulder, cast into the murky fog of District Ten.
An exchange took place amongst hurried hands. They were in a perpetual state of suspicion. Such was life in the Districts – in Panem itself. "You better deliver." A ratty, hunchbacked man of meagre disposition patted his pockets until he heard the last clatter of change in the back of his coat. He hurriedly scooped up the last few coins and shoved them into the other's shadowy man's hand. "I'm giving you all I've got. Wages for a month is 'ere in your hands. I want him gone."
The other man was leery. He had a smile like glass and eyebrows knitted together in a state of smug glee. He placed a hand on the man's shoulder before him. A power balance hung between the two of them amongst the squalor of their District. Even surrounded by the musk that clotted the air and the stench of a dying neighbourhood, he had the aura of a man who belonged in a palace of silk and finery.
"Believe me my friend, I will personally see to it that if I do not do as paid, I will return to you for whatever comeuppance you see fit."
The other man's eye twitched. He may as well as have said a word in a foreign language. He'd never been to school. Never laid eyes on a book. This man in clothes that hung from shoulders that had never bore the weight of a hard day's work; he was on a pedestal he couldn't hope to climb up and join him as equal.
All he cared about was revenge. Work, eat, sleep, repeat. And revenge. In Panem where they televised the brutal murder of children, a cold serving of revenge on the side would be swept under the proverbial carpet. He had nothing to fear when the screams of ravaged women and mutilated innocents were a choir's song to the Capitol's ears.
"How do you manage it then?" he asked curiously. "Them slips must have more guards than the President 'erself."
The other man tapped his nose. "A secret. One of many I have. Rest assured this young man you so vehemently despise will have his name in that bowl several times over the rest of the District's other occupants. You have paid me, and I will serve." He bowed, flourished a little, and slipped the change into his pocket.
His nostril flared at the scent around him as if by instinct. He could not help the curdle in his stomach at the man before him. Nor the way his skin seemed to shrivel at the touch of the cold water that seeped into his sock through the hole in his shoe he'd cut out this morning. All a part of the conniving disguise he had used many a time to slip into the common sight of disease and plague of this District.
"If that's all then." He started to walk away when his final customer before the reaping grabbed him by the elbow and forced him to turn around with a surprising glimmer of conviction.
The grubby man gave him a toothy smile and pulled out another coin from his pocket. "A slip for his sister. I've paid you well and your secret is safe with me. I want her name in there alongside his. Not as many. Just give 'er an extra one. Their dad took my son, so I'm taking his."
"Why the girl?"
He took a breath, inhaling the sharp bitter air and clenched his fists. "I 'ope sir you never feel what it's like to lose someone. Even in this District, even though we all know what it's like to see a dead body on the side of the road, it hurts when it comes to home. He took my boy, I'm paying you to make sure his name is in that bowl more times than anyone else. I can only afford one of his children – but if that girl has the chance to be chosen too…"
"…then you'll take it," he finished for the man whose lip began to quiver with the memory of his lost boy. "I see, sir." He nodded sharply and turned away. "Thank you for your business."
In District Ten weakness was usually paid with a stab to the gut, a fist to the chin, a whisper in the ear of someone who built their strength by crushing ants beneath their feet. Rarely a tear could be spilt in this neighbourhood – it was the core of Ten's poverty and depravity. Yet the man whose memories of his son were gushing forth into his mind, he could do nothing but shed a tear in the alleyway protected by the smoke of a dying District.
He quickly brushed the drop from underneath his eyelash, shoved his hands in his pockets, and disappeared into the smog.
A dirty deal, a boy who had done nothing wrong but been born to a man who had stolen another son from this world, and yet Panem had no remorse for the innocence of children. If revenge was a driving force to make adults commit unspeakable crimes, then so be it.
Add another log to the fire, and it would only grow into a more ravenous blaze.
So were the ways of Panem.
Um? Hello?
I gotta be honest I don't really know why I'm here doing this. I think it's been over three years since I wrote anything for this website. I don't even read any fanfiction on here either. But something has pulled me back and made me want to attempt to do another SYOT. I dunno if it'll work – I dunno if anyone is even out there anymore who reads these stories, or followed me back in the day. So we shall see.
If anyone is reading this who did used to read my stuff, a little update: I graduated University, I got my own house with my partner, and I'm now a primary school teacher. So things are hectic and busy and I really don't have much time in my life at all to dedicated to anything that isn't work. But I want to give this a go, so here I am trying!
This doesn't follow my canon series. I can't remember anything about how it worked, and I remember really cherishing it so I don't want to ruin what I've already set out in that set of stories. This is just by itself, non-canon, just to see what happens and where it goes.
I can't even remember the guidelines for SYOTs or how I used to put together the information on my profile, but stuff you need is over there including the tribute form. I might only get one tribute and this will fail right now, so if there isn't another prologue, thanks for reading for this one!
(yes the title is an album by MO, but well I like it, and I like the meaning behind it in context to the Hunger Games. These kids ain't gonna grow up cause they die lol)
