A/N: Welcome to my latest fanfic, 75 Games: Rise of the Mockingjay! This story can be considered a continuation of the themes used in my related 75 Games stories, most notably 75 Games, 75 Victors, 75 Oneshots.
The fic will be a series of twenty-four oneshots spanning the 74th Hunger Games, each chapter told from the perspective of a different tribute. I'm sure several stories like this have already been published on this site, but here's my take, which will tie in with the background I've built up from my other Hunger Games fanfics.
As inspiration for each chapter, I'll be using a song, found by pressing shuffle on my iPod and seeing whatever comes up first. Much like my older fics, I'll be quoting some of the lyrics I've used as inspiration and including the song in the chapter's title.
My previous fics of this type had chapters only held in the arena, but to alleviate the repetition of eleven Cornucopia bloodbath deaths, I'm going to start at the reaping for this fic and move forwards from there.
There isn't really anything else to say, so let the 74th Annual Hunger Games begin!
"The more I stray the less I fear, and the more I reach the more I fade away
The darkness right in front of me, oh it's calling out and I won't walk away."
- Dan Reynolds, 2017.
Chapter One
Nikola Vane (16), District 5 Male
9.00 am, Sunday 12th July, year of the 74th Hunger Games
Imagine Dragons - Rise Up (2017)
"Nik! Get up, Nik!"
Please just let me go back to sleep...
"Nik! It's nine o'clock already! Your father will be furious if you've not eaten before he's home!"
Any day but today...
"Nikola Vane, you get up right now or I'll come in there and drag you to breakfast myself!"
"Fine, mum, I'm coming!"
I don't really have a say in the matter anymore, throwing the thin covers off the bed and springing to my feet. I'm never a morning person, but today is certainly one day I would rather spend in bed. It's the second Sunday in July. Reaping day.
I walk into our small bathroom, turn on the taps and splash water all over my face, desperate to cool myself as it runs off my face and splashes into our cracked sink. In the summer months, there's rarely a cloud in the sky; that's probably why we're the district that has to provide solar power to the rest of Panem. However, that does mean that it can be nightmarishly hot in the summer, a muggy heat that leaves you in a sweaty tangle with your sheets every night. At least, it does in the houses that can't afford air conditioning.
Walking downstairs, I find the rest of my family already halfway through their breakfast, my mother glaring daggers at me. I try my best not to look guilty as I sit down to a cold bowl of porridge. On the left is my older brother, James. He stares at the table as he eats, not communicating with the world around him. I can only imagine what is going through his head...
My younger sister, Rosa, has much more spring her step, barraging my mother with a slew of questions I can tell she doesn't want to have to deal with. However, Rosa is only eight; she still doesn't fully understand what's happening today. But that doesn't mean that James and I want to sit here listening to my mother explain what might happen to us down to the last detail.
I'm almost ready to leave the table when there's a knocking at the door and a weathered man in his late forties walks into our small dining room, his clothes covered in dust. Rosa runs over to him and hugs him around his waist. My mother straightens herself up, tucking her hair behind her ears.
"Any news?" she asks my father.
"I haven't had time to hear much - long shift at the plant. Didn't find much out on the way home though."
"Do you know who the mentors will be this year?" James asks. It is the first thing I have heard him say all morning.
"I don't think they've been announced yet," my father says slowly, ruffling Rosa's sandy-brown hair. "If I had to guess, I'd say the same as last year. Luke and Yvonne. I can't see old Dax mentoring if he can help it."
Years ago, when my parents' names were still in the reaping bowl, there would be four reaping bowls on the stage each year; two for the tributes, and two to pick their mentors from the available pool of victors. This all came to an end when I was young, when one of the mentors for District 4 had a mental breakdown just before the Games, and was in no shape to help his tribute. Ironically, his tribute, Finnick Odair, went on to win the Games, helped by his district partner's mentor, who took all the responsibility for both tributes. It didn't surprise me when the Gamemakers announced that the victors could decide between themselves who would mentor each year shortly after Finnick's Games; they wouldn't want something like that happening again.
"Well, then," James says slowly, still uncharacteristically quiet. "We'd better go and get ready."
It's a sweltering day once I step outside in my neatly-pressed and barely-worn shirt. I haven't worn it since last year's reaping. Much of District 5's terrain is dry and arid, with little vegetation. From our houses high up in the valley, we can see the dark stripes of rows and rows of solar panels disappearing down the valley into the distance. The sun beats down above us with little wind for protection, our boots kicking up dust as we descend to our district's centre. None of us speak as we walk. As usual on reaping day, my family never seem to know what they want to say to each other.
The square at the centre of District 5 is usually a quiet place, but on reaping day it's always packed. As usual, a temporary stage has been erected in front of District 5's sandstone Justice Building. Around the tired buildings at the square's edge, Capitol cameramen stand silent, their cameras trained on the stage, preparing to catch the day's action and broadcast it to the rest of Panem.
We're among the first to arrive, as James and I bid farewell to the rest of our family, queueing up for registration. A Peacekeeper takes our names and gestures wordlessly for us to head to the correct enclosures. We all know what we're expected to do anyway.
I find myself surrounded by a group of boys my age that I recognise from school, but don't know very well. We all stand silently, waiting anxiously for the clock on the Justice Building to strike eleven, for our portion of the reaping to begin. The reapings are staggered throughout the day, so that viewers in the Capitol can watch them all live, back to back.
As I stand silently watching while the square fills up around me, my thoughts constantly linger on James. As my family's only income is my father's meagre salary working at the power plants, James has been signed up for tesserae every year since he turned twelve. Despite my father taking on extra shifts at night (as he did yesterday), it's never been quite enough for us. So James has taken tesserae for each of us in our family every year; five additional entries for each Hunger Games. Now, aged eighteen, his name is in the reaping bowl forty-two times.
What really sucks is that only the weak and the desperate need to take tesserae; with those kids having increased odds of being reaped, it's no surprise the Careers win the Games nearly every year.
Next year, when James is too old for the Games, I will have to sign up for tesserae in his place. But for now, only five slips of paper in the reaping bowl already positioned at the centre of the stage will read Nikola Vane.
Eventually the time on the large clock ahead of me reaches eleven, and five people walk out of the Justice Building, to polite applause. One is our mayor, an old man named Shaw who's been mayor for my entire life. Another is our district's escort, a lively young woman called Cynthia with bubblegum-pink hair and a vivid yellow dress that is as radiant as the sun. Behind them come District 5's three living victors. Four of them take their seats at the back of the stage as Shaw steps forwards to the microphone at the centre of the stage.
Through his usual, repetitive speech, justifying the yearly Hunger Games and placing value in the lessons it is supposed to teach, I can barely hear him due to the pulsing of my heartbeat in my ears. I have never been good with nerves...
Eventually his speech is over, and Shaw finishes by reciting District 5's short list of victors, which hasn't been added to since before I was born. Just four of the seventy-three victors have come from our district.
Jared Parker, who won one of the very first Hunger Games, and died when I was young.
Dax Kennedy, a frail man in his sixties who looks at least a decade older. He's been in poor health for years.
Luke Ford, a man aged around forty whose wife died while he was away mentoring in the 71st Games. He's barely been sober since.
Yvonne Grady, a resourceful woman who won the Hunger Games the year before I was born.
After more polite applause for our victors that I find myself numbly joining in with, Cynthia steps forward, grinning as she launches into a speech about how excited she is to be in District 5, and how optimistic she is that this year's Hunger Games will be District 5's best ever.
After making the expected announcement that Luke and Yvonne are to be District 5's mentors for this year's Hunger Games, Cynthia moves over to the reaping bowl on her right. I sense a collective intake of breath as she rummages around, pulls out a thin slip of paper and carefully unfolds it.
"Ashleen Finch!"
I have a feeling I recognise the name, but it's not until I see her walking up the steps onto the stage that I put two and two together. She's a short, slender, red-headed girl in the year above me at school who has pointed features that make it look like she's always thinking hard about something. To her credit, she stands firmly beside Cynthia, who holds her hand high in the air, pausing for the customary few seconds to wait for volunteers. It's been almost a decade since we last had one, and it doesn't surprise me that nobody volunteers for Ashleen, either.
I don't know what to think about Ashleen being reaped. She was nobody I really knew, but she was a recognisable face around school, somebody I've run into at various points in my life. True, I don't really know her, and I'm definitely glad it wasn't one of my cousins, but-
"Nikola Vane."
Oh, no.
Time seems to stand still for a moment, and suddenly there are thousands of faces looking at me, staring at me. I had been so worried for James, I hadn't really thought about...
Shaking my head to clear my thoughts, I take a deep breath and step slowly away from the boys around me, past the stoic Peacekeepers and up the metal steps onto the stage. My heartbeat is way too fast, the panic I feel surely visible even though I need to find a way to control it. In the past, promising tributes have lost hope of getting sponsors from breaking down on the stage. There's light applause as Cynthia raises my hand, but I listen past it, desperate for there to be a volunteer somewhere, anywhere, willing to take my place and get me out of this.
But the moment passes, and the mayor soon steps forward again, mandated by law to recite the Treaty of Treason after the tributes have been reaped. It seems to get longer and longer each year somehow, but this year it really takes an age. I look out forlornly at the crowd of young faces looking back at me, all secretly glad that I was picked, and not them. It doesn't take me long to find James near the front row.
Looking across at Ashleen, I watch her as her eyes scan the crowd. I wonder who she is looking for, what family she has in her life, wishing for her to make it back home.
I find myself in a strange cross between feeling sorry for her and anxious to prove I'm better than her. We're from the same district, but once the gong rings and the Games begin for real, we're enemies.
I realise I've been staring for too long when the mayor steps backwards, gesturing for me to shake Ashleen's hand. Despite how confident she looks, her hand trembles as much as mine. She tries to look me in the eyes, but her eyes are filled with a mysterious intensity I can't place, and leaves me feeling slightly unnerved.
I hear the Capitol anthem playing around the square and I relax my grip on Ashleen's hand, letting mine swing idly by my side. Then there are Peacekeepers around us, and I'm escorted from the stage with Cynthia and our new mentors, Luke and Yvonne.
The Hunger Games are about to begin.
A/N: If you enjoyed this chapter, please review! I'm still a little uncertain on this story as an idea, so any feedback would be greatly appreciated :)
I hope to have a second chapter posted either tomorrow or the day after :)
