The war is over, and the Hunger Games are beginning. Twenty-four tributes will fight in the very first Games, entering the Arena and embarking on a journey into the unknown. There they will fight in what will lead to seventy-three more years of bloodshed. Who will collapse under the strain of this Games, and who will find themselves Panem's first Victor?
Calcie POV
I reach up to touch the emptiness where my heart once rested. I can feel it beating, pumping with that distant memory of love. It's long gone now, erased by the pain and loss I have faced. We are District One, the powerful and the mighty. Or we were, anyway. Before.
The war changed everything. As my district rallied, surging forward to lead the charge on the Capitol, my family had been swept along. My father fought, giving his life in our greatest victory. I had adored and admired him, always looking up to him. And then, on that day of such joy, he was gone.
My mother joined up, then, determined to avenge my father's death. She was killed, little more than a week later, by muttations. She was asleep, in her camp, when they came. Soldiers, days later, brought home her body.
My brother outlasted them both, before he was torn to shreds in a bombing. My sister and I received his watch, and his left arm. It was all that remained of my closest friend. That was the day that my world ended, and my heart left for good.
And then my sister killed herself, after her fiance was taken prisoner, tortured, and publicly killed. She left me alone, in this ruined, broken world.
The dull sound of static suddenly quiets, and my attention turns back to the grainy television screen. It was all I could salvage, after my home was destroyed. I look up at the thin metal sheets above my head, at the crumbling brick walls that are the sides of my shelter. Shivering, I pull my ragged blankets tighter around me.
"An announcement from the President of Panem himself," sing-songs Elivia Halliday, scarlet eyes glittering with gold specks as the camera zooms in. My whole being contorts with hatred for this woman, the face of the Capitol, entirely unchanged by this horrible war.
Then the screen changes, focusing instead on President Copperfield. "This mandatory viewing carries an important announcement," the President states, his powerful voice echoing through my shelter. Then, he continues, and the faint noises that surround me seem to cease as he speaks. "War, terrible war. Widows, orphans, a motherless child," President Copperfield begins. Me, I think bitterly, before he goes on.
"This was the uprising that rocked our land. Thirteen districts rebelled against the country that fed them, loved them, protected them. Brother turned on brother until nothing remained. And then came the peace, hard fought, sorely won. A people rose up from the ashes and a new era was born. But freedom has a cost. When the traitors were defeated, we swore as a nation we would never know this treason again."
I stare at the screen, even as the silence presses on. Yes, a few weeks have passed. But time for a new era to be born? I think not.
I hear a single birdcall, a mockingjay. They're a rather new species, one of the rare things to bring humor to my district. And then, as though what he has already said isn't enough, the President continues.
"And so it was decreed, that each year, the various districts of Panem would offer up in tribute, one young man and woman, to fight to the death in a pageant of honor, courage and sacrifice. The lone victor, bathed in riches, would serve as a reminder of our generosity and our forgiveness. This is how we remember our past. This is how we safeguard our future."
Once he finishes, this time, no bird dares to make a sound. I simply gaze at the fuzzy image before me, unable to comprehend the words I am hearing. To fight to the death. The words replay themselves in my mind. This is a joke, it has to be. It's the Capitol's evil, twisted idea of humor.
But the President goes on. "Tomorrow morning, there will be a Reaping. District One at eight, Two at eight-thirty, Three at nine, Four at nine-thirty, and so on. At the end of this broadcast, a full list will be shown."
My eyes are wide, my mouth agape. This is... this is mad. It's insane. Could this possibly be our punishment for the war?
Mela POV
I gaze into the mirror, staring at my hollow cheeks and prominent cheekbones. My eyes appear sunken, and my nose seems to stick out too far. I'm one of many who looks this way, not even the worst off in District Ten. I'm not burned, mangled, or missing limbs. I don't even have a single scar. Many aren't that lucky.
Dozens of battles took place here, during the war. The Capitol placed muttations in the pens of animals, effectively killing both our food source and unaware workers as they came to check on their livestock. Sometimes, mutts such as the fire-breathing pigs and the flying chickens that dropped exploding eggs would escape. Clay, my crush, had died that way.
"Mom says come on," Sorrel says from the doorway. I look over in alarm, because he didn't knock before barging in.
"Give me a second," I mutter, pulling the shade back over the mirror. Mother put it in, back when we all started losing weight. She didn't want us to look at how emancipated we had become. "If you don't mind, I have to pee."
"Well, hurry up," Sorrel says, shrugging. I get one look at his skinny body and seemingly overlarge head before the door closes. "The broadcast's starting."
When I join my family in the living room, President Copperfield is speaking. "Tomorrow morning, there will be a Reaping. District One at eight, Two at eight-thirty, Three at nine, Four at nine-thirty, and so on. At the end of this broadcast, a full list will be shown."
"What's he talking about?" I ask once he has finished, breaking the silence. "What's a Reaping?"
Mother turns to look at me, and in her eyes is an expression that I've seen far too much: fear. This time, though, it's more like intense terror. She opens and closes her mouth, but no words come out.
"The Capitol's going to kill us," Sorrel says in a small voice. He looks up at me, light brown eyes almost as frightened as Mother's. "Mela, we're going to die."
"Stop that, Sorrel," Mother says, but she breaks off as the screen returns to Elivia Halliday. Her eyes, the color of spilled blood, glint gold under the studio lights.
"Allow me to explain," Elivia says, smiling her too-white, too-perfect smile. "It may be a hard concept to grasp, at first, but I think you'll be able to get the message."
"I don't want to hear it," Mother breathes, so low that I'm not even sure she's really speaking.
"Two tributes, a boy and a girl, will be selected from each district at tomorrow's Reaping," Elivia explains, somehow talking clearly through that flawless grin. "A name will be picked at random from a bowl, by an escort directly from the Capitol."
"Any name?" Sorrel whispers, glancing at me. I just shake my head, because I don't know.
"Every child in the District, between twelve and eighteen," Elivia explains, "must be present. That is the age range. Everyone else must be there as well, of course, but only the twelve-through-eighteens are eligible to participate."
"Eligible to participate," I repeat, unable to believe what I'm hearing. Elivia is making it sound almost positive.
"There will be an opportunity for other eligible children to volunteer, and then a period for goodbyes. After all that, the tributes will be taken by train to the Capitol. The rest will be unveiled as we go."
"This can't be real," Mother whispers, shaking her head. "It can't be."
"One last thing," Elivia adds, as the camera begins to zoom out. "Every bit of this, our first annual Hunger Games, is mandatory viewing. We wish the best of luck to everyone with the opportunity to participate. Our victor will bring not only honor to their village and their family, but will be showered in riches and bring rewards. Happy Hunger Games." Then the screen darkens to black.
"No," Sorrel says, and I hear his voice quivering. He looks straight at me. "It could be us, Mela, it could be us," he manages, and although he isn't crying, I can see how scared he is. "We're both in the age range. I'm twelve, you're thirteen. It could happen."
"It won't be us," I say, but I hear a tremor in my own voice. What if I were to be picked, singled out for this mysterious killing game? The thought terrifies me, but there are hundreds of girls in the District. The odds of my being Reaped are so small, they're almost nothing. That thought reassures me, at least for now, as I attempt to prepare myself to face whatever is to come.
A/N: I haven't written a Hunger Games fanfiction in a while, and decided to start up again. I'm determined to keep going with this, and reviews certainly wouldn't hurt. In fact, I love them. Please review!