Author's Note:
This is an imagining of what happened at the 76th and final hunger games that were mentioned near the end of Mockingjay. If you haven't read that, you probably shouldn't read this. Also, since this is about the capitol tributes there will be little to do with the actual characters in the book though many such as Johanna, Enobaria, Peeta and even (eventually) Katniss will make appearances. I'm focusing on a relative of Snow's because of someone in the victor's vote mentioning that they thought Snow had a granddaughter. In my imagining, he had two. I'm starting with a chapter to introduce her and give her a place in the universe of Panem and some background before flashing forward to the capitol reaping. Just to make clear, this is a sort of epilogue story and will have metric tons of OCs. It's just when they vote for the final hunger games, that wrecked me. I couldn't believe Katniss did that and I guess because of that my imagination wouldn't let go of it. How did they do the reaping? Would they really leave it up to chance or make sure that Snow's granddaughter was included? How did they decide how many tributes there would be? And so on and so forth. So, this is my version. I hope someone out there likes it.
Disclaimer: I don't have any rights to any non-original characters. I hope the fact that I'm just doing this for fun and not profiting from it in any other way than artistically still actually counts for something in our society and no one will try to sue me for sharing my writing with others.
I hadn't always hated the games. I, like everyone I knew, had been raised to think of them as exciting; the best holiday of the year. I vaguely remember the normal week off of school being extended because of a particularly long hunger games when I was in second forum. The games were just part of life and even though somewhere you knew these were real kids, it just didn't sink in somehow. It was a TV show.
When I was 12, the girls in my forum thought it would be fun to have our own reaping. We randomly pulled a number to see which district we would be, District 7. Of course, everyone had wanted it to be one of the first four districts but Bliss had convinced us it would be more fun if we left it all to chance.
On reaping day we all showed up in District 7 costumes and put our names in a big salad bowl Flourish brought from home. We said no volunteering because it had to feel like a real outlying district. A funny thing happened, though. In the Capitol you were taught that being selected to be a tribute was an honor. They put a lot of emphasis on the people in the inner districts falling all over each other to volunteer. The tributes themselves would talk about how honored they were to represent their districts and how much they were looking forward to the games. And when Dahlia read my name I felt this flush of elation, I knew it wasn't real but I thought, "I'm the tribute!"
Everyone seemed to be congratulating me at once but then Dahlia started yelling. "No! No! The Peacekeepers have to take her now you idiots!" And the boys from form 8, who someone had convinced to be our Peacekeepers pushed through and one of them grabbed my arm. I think it was then it started to hit, the reality I had always been so protected against. They surrounded me and escorted me up to the front steps of the school. I stopped smiling and my stomach fluttered a bit. Suddenly, this wasn't as fun.
Dahlia asked me a few questions before presenting me as tribute to a round of applause and then we pretended to go through the doors which were, of course, locked because school was out for the real reaping which was going to happen in just a few hours.
Everyone seemed to think it was great fun except Scarlet and some of her crew. I heard her saying very loudly to Dahlia as my best friend Poise and I left, "Yeah, and I'm sure the fact she's President Snow's granddaughter had nothing to do with her name getting pulled."
I started to turn but Poise tugged at my arm and hissed, "Don't give her the satisfaction, Ocean Grace. Just ignore her. Everyone knows it was a real reaping."
Of course, our reaping was way off. We only knew the reality presented to us on the big screens, where the outlying districts were neglected for the flashier inner districts. We didn't know anything about the tesserae, for example. And while cameras were always trained on the proud cheering parents of districts one and two, no one showed us the screaming, crying and sometimes fainting parents of the outlying districts.
So, I shook off the claustrophobic feeling I'd had during our little reaping and Scarlet's remarks and was giggling with excitement again when Poise and I got back to my place. My palace, I should say. Our home was ridiculously large and surrounded; by gates, by guards and by the garden. My grandfather was known for his stinking (and I mean that literally) roses and his obsession extended to our front yard.
My mother smiled at our costumes and asked how the reaping had gone. A strange shadow passed over her face when I announced proudly that I had been selected as tribute.
"Well," she said quietly, "enough games. Change out of those costumes, please."
"But, Mom." I wailed. "We wanted to wear them during the reaping. Besides, Poise didn't bring anything to change into."
"Poise has left so many of her clothes here over the years I'm sure she has an entire wardrobe." My mother sighed. "Even so, you're the same size and she can borrow something of yours."
"Mo-om," I tried again but she interrupted.
"Ocean Grace Brin!" She said sternly, her voice uncharacteristically loud. "Take those costumes off immediately. Do you hear me?"
"Yes, ma'am." I said quietly. My mother never shouted.
A few hours later Poise and I were curled up on the sofa, my mother's strange reaction driven from our minds. We had consoled ourselves by dressing in my very fanciest clothes and since I had to occasionally attend state functions with my mother; my fancy clothes were the absolute height of fashion.
Amber Dawn, my six year old sister, had gotten in on the fun and seemed to beside herself at being included in our little fashion show. Then my mother came in with the refreshments and nearly threw another fit.
"No, absolutely not." She said immediately. "Amber Dawn, you know you're too young for the games. Go back up to your floor."
"Noooo!" Amber Dawn wailed. "I wanna see."
"Mom, seriously. Everyone in her class gets to watch the games with their families. You did the same thing to me when I was little and it made me a freak. All anyone does the first few days back in school is talk about the games and there I was, not even properly knowing the tributes names. Kids in my class had their parents actually take them to the parade of tributes and had seen the tributes with their own eyes and there I was, the President's Granddaughter, and I hadn't even seen the games at all."
This was a bit of a sore spot for me. I'd been teased for years because of my mother's crazy refusal to let me watch the games. She had originally said I couldn't watch until I was 18. 18! But when I was ten I had been taken to one of those state events and had complained, loudly, to my Grandfather. I immediately regretted it.
Grandfather Snow was Grandfather Snow. He wasn't Granddad or Grandpa or, heaven forbid, Pawpaw…or any of the other pet names my friends called their Grandfathers. He only hugged us or showed any affection or notice to us in public or when a camera was nearby. Honestly, there were about a thousand reasons for me to find him creepy but the number one reason was the one I had been banking on that night, my mother was afraid of him.
The look he gave her when I announced to the room how unfair it was for her to not let me watch the games chilled my ten year old bones and had me wishing for a time machine.
"My dear, what's this?" He said in his soft, sing-song way.
"Um," My mother dropped her eyes and blushed. "I-It's just so, so violent and..and Ocean Grace is such a sensitive child. I don't want her having nightmares. That's all." By the time she finished the sentence I could barely hear her voice and you could have heard a pin drop in that ballroom at that moment. All eyes were on the President and his daughter.
"But I do want her to have nightmares, my dear." Grandfather said, his voice growing louder and his focus shifting to the rest of the room. "After all, is not that the purpose of the games? To remind us all of the nightmare of revolution and war? The lives lost in the arena are not lost in vain and merely for sport. They are there to remind our children," and he put his arm around my shoulder and squeezed me painfully tightly, "who did not witness the misery heaped upon us by the treachery of the districts, of the reality of that death. We can never forget. The districts can never forget. Our children must be taught not in books but in blood…"
My Grandfather let go my shoulders and walked the half dozen steps to my mother who had her eyes turned down. He slid his fingers under her chin and forced her to meet his eyes.
"…blood and nightmares, my dear. For the blood of a few district tributes and the nightmares of a few children buys us peace. Is not the peace and prosperity of a million worth that much?"
My mother's eyes were wet but she smiled and nodded. "Of course, Father. I'm sorry. I shouldn't be so overprotective."
Grandfather smiled, but I could still see darkness in his eyes.
"Well," he said, turning back to the room. "You come by it honestly, my dear. I am also very protective. I am protective of this great country I love so much. Sometimes we have to make sacrifices to protect what we love."
Mother raised her hand to her face and seemed to giggle, nodding, and I wondered if I was the only person who saw the tear that hand to her face was covering.
We left shortly after. The incident had soured my stomach and mother had gratefully jumped on the excuse to get away. My Grandfather also seemed pleased and to play up how delicate I was and how understandable that my mother would be so ridiculous as to prevent me from watching the games.
The ride home started out unusually quiet. My mother and I had argued before, of course, but this was different. My mother was frightened, truly frightened, and that terrified me. Worse, I knew that I was the cause. My mother was sad and afraid and it was my fault.
"I'm..I'm sorry, Mama." I said at last. "I didn't..I don't know what happened. I just.."
"Shhh, Sweetheart." She said and instantly wrapped me up in her arms. "It wasn't your fault. It's nothing to do with you. Don't worry. Don't worry. Nothing's wrong. Everything is alright. We're fine. We're fine."
Even at age ten I could tell that she wasn't necessarily just talking to me.
All of this flashed through my mind as I met my mother's eyes and a shiver ran down my spine.
"Um," I said lamely. "Sorry, Mama. You're right. Mom's right, Amber Dawn. I'll fill you in later, okay."
"What?" Amber Dawn wailed, furious at my betrayal. "Ocean!"
"You'll know enough that no one will tease you, I promise." I turned and met my mother's eyes. "But Mom's right. You're too young for this."
Amber Dawn had protested and whined and howled a bit longer but finally gone up to the third floor which was entirely devoted as a play area for us. My mother had renovated it into a child's wonderland shortly after my father died. At the same time, my Grandfather had insisted on building the large gated wall around our house and permanently assigning capitol guards to patrol the perimeter.
It was odd, the way my mother would stand at the window and watch that wall going up. Almost like she was being caged in, rather than protected.
The pre-reaping show started with all the endless interviews and fashion talk. Who was this or that important person wearing at the ultra-exclusive viewing party at the palace? Blah, blah, blah.
Finally, the reaping started. District 12 went first, as usual. That district was so boring. In 70 years, they'd only had one victor. One. And he was a fluke. Everybody knew that drunken embarrassment for a victor had been a fluke.
I didn't pay much attention to any of the outlying districts until they got to district 7. When the chaperone pulled the girls' name I was on the edge of my seat.
"Courtney Aberdeen!" The chaperone called loudly and the camera panned through the almost uniformed mass of the girl's crowd, finally stopping on a pale but determined looking face. She was young. She looked like she might be our age. She had red hair, freckles, green eyes. Actually, it was kinda creepy. She looked a lot like me.
"Doesn't look like much." Poise said, apparently…well, hopefully… not seeing the resemblance that I did. "At least she's not crying."
The tribute was being hugged hard by some crying girls standing around her. As she passed through the crowd toward the peacekeepers almost everyone reached out to touch her, probably envious. I wondered if Courtney had her own version of Scarlet standing somewhere in the crowd complaining that it was somehow unfair. Then I remembered it was an outlying district.
"Why do the outlying districts always look so…I don't know. They just don't look very excited." I complained.
"Well, the outlying districts almost never win." Poise said. "They probably know they're gonna die."
"But everyone has the same chances." I insisted. "She's just as likely to win as any of the others. Maybe if they spent more time training and less time sulking and crying like they do, they'd win more often. Maybe if their older, stronger eligibles volunteered like in the higher districts, they'd have more victors. If they had more victors they'd have more festivals and they wouldn't be so poor. But, no. They're too busy feeling sorry for themselves to put in the time and effort to win for their districts." I huffed.
"Where did you hear that?" My mother said in a strange tone of voice.
"What?" I was defensive. "It's what everyone says. Everyone knows the odds are even going in. The reason the higher districts win all the time is because they try harder."
"Really." Mother's voice was very low. "I hadn't heard that."
"Well, you never leave the house unless it's to one of Grandfather's events." I complained. "Maybe if you bothered to go out and talk to people, you'd know these things."
There was a tense silence as the program switched over to the reaping in district 6. Then suddenly my mother did the most unexpected thing. She laughed.
"Yes," She said finally. "Yes, maybe I should go out, eh? What do you say to that? Maybe getting out of the house more is exactly what I need. Ever think of that?"
She was looking at a vase in the corner, almost like she was talking to it and not to me.
"As it stands, I guess I don't really get the full flavor of the games like you do, my dear."
My blood chilled a bit when she called me that. She sounded so much like Grandfather.
"I'll leave you two bloodthirsty children to your sport." She said as she got up from her chair. She walked over to the liquor cabinet, poured a conspicuously large glass and gulped it down then immediately refilled it.
"Happy Hunger Games!" She called with her glass held high over her head as she left the room.
Poise and I sat quietly for a while after her dramatic exit.
"No offense, Ocean." She said finally. "But your Mom is kinda reminding me of old Haymitch. She's, well, she's kinda weird."
"Yeah," I said softly. "She's been that way for…well, ever since my Dad died."
"Ocean?" Poise seemed to hesitate.
"What?"
"Is it true what they say about your Dad?"
I tensed.
"I mean, do you think he was poisoned?"
"I don't know." I said at last. "I don't like talking about it."
And Poise let it drop. We tried for levity and excitement after that but it was clearly forced on both our parts. Finally, we decided to artificially induce it by stealing from the liquor cabinet mother had left open and unlocked. It worked for Poise.
I remember that night so clearly. Not just because it was the first time I felt any kind of connection to the games via the fake reaping and my doppelganger in the seventh district. But also because of my Mom talking to that vase and Poise's question. It was like Poise knew what I only half guessed at the time, that the walls around our house might not be keeping people out but keeping my mother in.
The 70th Annual Hunger games weren't that remarkable or memorable for many people. But they were for me. That year I actually felt like I got to know one of the tributes.
Courtney Aberdeen was 12 years old. She was born two months and 6 days before I was. Like me, she had lost her father. Like me she had a younger sister but also two older brothers. It was through my obsession of finding everything out about Courtney I could I learned about the tesserae. I had always believed the reaping was absolutely fair, an even chance for all involved but the tesserae belied that. If you were poor, you were more likely to be chosen. That wasn't fair.
Once I realized how unfair the reaping could be, I began to look closer and harder at everything about the games. I realized how much influence the sponsors had on the games and I made a decision. I was going to sponsor Courtney Aberdeen.
Of course, I didn't have anywhere near enough money, even though I had saved up quite a lot. I still needed help.
I gathered together my friends from school and presented my idea to them. Since we had chosen the 7th district we needed to sponsor the girl from the 7th district. It would be a fun project.
Most of the girls agreed that it would be exciting to somehow be involved in the games and we got to work fundraising. No one in the capitol is exactly poor but there are definite differences between neighborhoods, ours was the most prestigious and the wealthiest. Our fundraising consisted of us going home and asking our parents for money. Fortunately, almost all the parents thought our plan to influence the games was adorable and gave generously.
Soon, we had enough to send an early in the game parachute with low level supplies; A small meal or weapon, matches, water, maybe even a thermal sleeping bag. Traditionally, you were supposed to give your money to the district mentor who would add it to the pool and decide who got what and when and most of the girls wanted to do that but I hesitated.
What if the mentor decided the boy from district 7 was the better bet and used all our money on him. No, it was better to give a private gift.
I paid close attention in Courtney's interview. I found myself referring to her as Courtney instead of the tribute from district 7 or district 7. Poise and I took careful notes on everything we could learn about her strengths and weaknesses.
The big day came. I had never been so anxious at the beginning of the games. I sat with a strange fluttery feeling in the back of my throat as the tributes emerged from the ground onto their platforms. The arena wasn't a mountain or a forest or any of the more standard, traditional set ups. I'd never seen anything like it. It was like a, almost like some of the footage of district 13, actually. It was a ruined city full of half destroyed buildings. The Cornucopia was in the middle of what looked like had been a large city square.
There was the overview shot in the middle and the two peripheral shots were flashing through the tributes from each district, the boy on one side and the girl on the other as a disembodied voice counted down.
Courtney was only on screen for a few seconds but she looked determined, strong. She was also looking rather fixedly at the Cornucopia, which was bad. Everyone knew the first day of the games was the bloodbath, when most of the tributes ran for the supplies and were cut down by the bigger, faster tributes.
"Don't do it, Courtney." I found myself mumbling. "Don't do it."
The countdown ended and as I'd feared Courtney ran straight toward the gaudy golden horn. But then she stopped just long enough to grab one of the bags along the periphery. She glanced around again and then ran toward one of the roads leading out of the square, her route cleverly taking her past another smaller backpack near the edge that a more eager tribute has passed up in favor of something better.
The focus of the coverage was on the hand to hand combat taking place but though the overview shot had moved to the smaller, right hand section of the screen I saw Courtney make her escape into the deserted and destroyed city. I would have to wait until later to find out where she had gone and how she was doing but for now, she was safe.
We learned that Courtney was very good at climbing, which made sense for a lumber district girl. She wasn't very good at making fires though and it was apparently very cold in the city at night. So, the first parachute we sent contained matches. Near the end of the second day the gamemakers sent a cyclone through the city and though Courtney survived by seeking shelter in an inner and windowless room she didn't manage it unscathed. We sent a second parachute containing a medical kit that would take care of her wounds. And that was it. All our substantial money raised was gone in two small gifts.
I had to do more.
I started a campaign. While most of my friends had lost interest in supporting district 7 out of loyalty to our random drawing, some were now almost as genuinely invested in her survival as I was.
We went door to door asking for donations. Poise had the idea of offering to let people take pictures with me, the granddaughter of everyone's beloved president if they donated to our cause.
It worked. It also got some attention.
The female mentor from the seventh district contacted me. She first asked why we only sent private gifts and I explained. She said she respected my reasons but asked me to consult with her to make sure our gifts had the greatest effect. I was glad that I listened.
When the gamemakers shut off all the water in the city, I called her. She suggested in addition to sending a full canteen we could also, if we could afford it, send a precipitation sheet. Something designed to concentrate and catch morning dew and something, she assured me, Courtney would recognize and know how to use.
We only just managed both gifts before going completely broke. I was amazed how much more expensive everything got the longer the game dragged on.
There were only six tributes left, all from different districts and all alliances had ended. The higher district alliance had ended a bit earlier than usual when Axle, the boy from 2, had turned on his allies. He had found a sleeping drug in one of the packs they'd discovered, kept it to himself and slipped it into his companions meals the evening the water was cut off. Then, when they were all unconscious and completely helpless, he'd gone around the campfire and methodically slit each of their throats. He caught their blood in the empty canteens.
It was gruesome and everyone complained but not for the reasons you'd think. What a waste, they'd said. To use up all the really good fighters with such unexciting deaths.
That was one of the first times I really started to hate the games. I wasn't thinking of Courtney as a tribute anymore, you see. I was thinking of her as a person. And if she was a person, so were all these other kids. The more I thought about it, the more horrified I was.
I thought maybe I could go out fundraising again. Poise and I were planning another visit to the celebrations in the square, another round of picture taking, when my Grandfather appeared.
Grandfather never, ever came to visit us. We didn't do picnics or Sunday brunch. The only time I saw him was at official parties and functions. His personal guards entered and secured the house, which included securing my family in the great room.
When he finally appeared in that room he walked purposefully to my mother and struck her hard and full across the face. Amber Dawn screamed and cowered against me, immediately bursting into tears.
"What is this?" He shouted. I had never heard him raise his voice. "How much do you have to lose before you learn, my dear? What do you hope to achieve by encouraging this behavior? It is all over the capitol! President Snow's granddaughter taking pictures with strangers in the street, for what? For what? To raise money for a tribute!" He grabbed my mother by her right arm and raised his hand as though he meant to hit her again.
I forgot myself.
"Leave her alone!" I screamed. I rushed forward and pushed him away, placing myself between him and my mother.
"You." He growled and suddenly he was holding me by the throat so tight I couldn't breathe.
"Father!" I heard my mother screaming. "Please, she's just a child. Please let her go. I'll control her. Please!"
"She's just like him." Grandfather spit. "She'll never learn."
"She will. Please! Let her go!"
My face was hot and the blood was pounding so loudly. Black spots were filling my eyes and my fingers slipped away from his hands, no longer willing to help me live.
"Father, she'll stop. I'll keep her here. If she's not going to school she'll be here. Please, don't take her too. Please!"
The spots got bigger and bigger as my mother's voice faded away and then I was falling but I don't remember landing.
I woke up in my bed. Someone had put a cold collar around my neck and I could feel some sort of bandage on my head. I reached up to touch it but pulled away wincing at the stabbing pain my gentle probing caused.
"You hit your head." My mother's voice was coming from the left of my bed. I turned slowly toward the sound but still winced from the dizziness and pain. "When he let you go, you just collapsed and hit your head on that horrid foot table."
I tried to say I was sorry but all that came out was a croak.
"Don't try talking yet. Your larynx is damaged." She paused. "I made a deal with him. From now on, you and Amber Dawn will be privately tutored here in the house. Your friends are no longer allowed to visit and you are not to visit them."
Tears filled my eyes but she wouldn't look at me.
"In fact," She continued her voice breaking. "you and Amber Dawn are not to leave the grounds unless your Grandfather specifically authorizes or request it."
She finally looked at me. "Do you understand?"
I nodded as best I could. I understood. I understood a lot more than I wanted to. Poise was right. My father had been killed. I was right. My mother had been a prisoner.
Now I had not only condemned myself to her fate but my sister as well.
"I should let you get back to sleep. You need it." She stood slowly and I noticed the limp she tried to cover. So, Grandfather hadn't been satisfied with hurting me.
She paused at the door. "I should probably wait to tell you this but I think it might be better to get it over with. The tribute you were sponsoring, the girl from district 7, she died last night."
I knew it would hurt but I had to ask. I concentrated hard on making the word understandable.
"How?" I asked.
My mother met my eyes. "She was struck by lightning." She said and then left.
My eyes filled and dripped down the sides of my face. Because shifting my head hurt so much I couldn't seem to stop them from dripping into my ears.
Lightning.
It was my fault. I might as well have slit her throat myself. I hadn't known. How could I have known that paying special attention to a tribute would anger my Grandfather so much? I had thought the games were fair. I had believed his lies. But I had focused too closely and because I was the President's granddaughter my focus threatened to draw others' focus. I had to be silenced and so did Courtney.
"I'm sorry, Courtney." I whispered. "I'm so, so sorry."
Author's P.S.: So, what do you think? Keep going?