Disclaimer: Hunger Games does not in any way belong to me, it's the property of Suzanne Collins, etc.
This is the story of Lyme's (the commander of the District Two rebels) Hunger Games. However, this story will be told from multiple points of view, though the focus will be on three tributes in particular: Lyme herself and the male tributes from One and Eight.
Happy Reaping Day!
Lyme Rook, District Two
The day of the District reapings is a holiday, in Panem. Well, it would probably be more accurate to say that Reaping Day is a holiday in the Capitol – most Districts dread the arrival of the day, when, odds are, two of their children will be chosen to die in a brutal 'game' of the Capitol's devising.
Coincidentally, I happen to live in one of the maybe three Districts that actually looks forward to Reaping Day – District Two. We, more than any other District in Panem, have the highest number of 'victors' of the Hunger Games, so the odds seem to 'be ever in our favour', to quote a much-loathed adage.
Why are we so lucky? Because even though training is forbidden, there is a government-run Training Center in our District. It's for training Peacekeepers – no, really, that's what it's for. The fact that all except the first few of District Two's victors trained there? Completely a coincidence. It doesn't make sense for Peacekeeper cadets to train with swords and bows and other archaic weaponry? You never know what you're going to get into, out in the other Districts. You have to be prepared. And really, ninety-five percent of the cadets do graduate and become Peacekeepers. (Because they're not good enough to qualify for the Hunger Games.)
So that's our story, and we're sticking to it.
I happen to be one of those 'Peacekeeper' cadets that was good enough to qualify for the Hunger Games. And now it's Reaping Day. I stand at the front of the seventeen year old group, staring with feigned interest at our District's escort – Shaney Bloom. She's going on about what a special year this is, isn't it exciting, she's excited, let's start the reaping. Insert exclamation marks where appropriate (i.e. at the end of every sentence).
"Myra Banks!" Shaney reads excitedly, smiling expectantly at the assembled crowd of children aged twelve to eighteen.
A fourteen year old girl ascends to the stage. Every year, without fail, the reaped District Two tribute is replaced by a volunteer – unless they're over sixteen and a cadet, but that's not the case here. Still, Myra looks nervous – probably thinking something along the lines of but what if this year no one volunteers?
"Anvel Steel!" Shaney sings out, after Myra reaches her position. A twelve year old boy goes to stand beside Myra. He looks terrified – first reaping jitters, I assume, but come on. The last time a reaped tribute actually participated was... I don't even know when.
"So, everybody, are there any volunteers for Miss Banks?" Shaney asks brightly, her gaze lingering on the seventeen and eighteen year old sections. District Two volunteers almost always come from there, though sometimes the odd sixteen year old qualifies.
"I volunteer," I say, loud enough to be heard, but not shouting. The walk to the stage is short, and Myra gives me a small smile as we pass on the steps, me walking to join the Hunger Games, her hurrying to return to her anonymity, another nameless face in the crowd.
"Excellent! And your name..?" Shaney asks, smiling.
"Lyme Rook," I reply, with a small smile of my own. And then I add, because it's practically tradition, "the next victor of the Hunger Games."
Shaney looks pleased – well, more pleased, anyway. "Ooh, such enthusiasm! I can't wait for the Games!"
I nod but don't say anything – public-speaking has never been my strong suit, but it's like it's an important skill for winning the Hunger Games, so I've never tried to improve it. When I go to stand beside Anvel, I give him a little pat on the shoulder – he looks like he's going to pass out, and I can't help but feel a little sorry for him.
"Any volunteers for cute little Anvel?" Shaney asks.
"I'm not... cute," Anvel mutters, sounding outraged, as an eighteen year old boy shouts, "Me! I volunteer!"
I chuckle, amused at Anvel's comment as well as my new partner's apparent enthusiasm as he shoves to the front of his age group, then runs to the stage.
"I'm Cliff Brunt – and I'm going to be the next victor of the Hunger Games!" he announces, glaring pointedly at me. I smile politely back, like, as if that'll happen.
"Good luck," Anvel mutters, and I glance down at him, startled. He's staring at me, so he must have meant for the words to be for me. Not Cliff, who replaced him.
"Uh... Thanks," I say, caught off guard. He smiles slightly, then trots off stage, his fear apparently forgotten. What a kid.
The mayor takes the mic now, and starts to read the Treaty of Treason. It might be interesting if it was the first time I'd heard it (it was probably closer to the tenth) and if the mayor had had an expressive voice (it was a slow monotone) but instead I have to struggle to not doze off. At least Shaney's voice is high-pitched enough to be grating, thus ensuring that sleep is impossible.
"Shake hands," the mayor finishes, finally.
Cliff sticks out his hand immediately, a challenging look in his eyes. I just raise an eyebrow, taking his hand in a light grip. Surprisingly, he doesn't try to crush my hand.
Amidst applause from the crowd, we're escorted to the Justice Building for our farewell.
No one comes to visit me, but I'm not surprised. I'm an orphan, so I don't have a family, and I'm also something of a loner. My best (and only) friend, Angioa, has training to attend, if she's going to recover the strength she lost while her broken leg healed, and we already said our goodbyes this morning, before the reaping.
That's a funny story (well, the amount of humour you find in it will probably correspond to how sadistic you are, so maybe you won't find it funny) actually. To qualify as tributes for the Hunger Games, the cadets have to participate in a tournament that consists of one-on-one matches, culminating in a free-for-all with the five finalists to simulate the Career Alliance's breakdown. Obviously, I won that, otherwise I wouldn't have volunteered.
But actually, we (Angi and me) ended up teaming up in the final against our three opponents, and I sort of lost it after two of them ganged up on her while the third kept me distracted. Let's just say, of the living, Angi's wounds were the most severe – broken leg, a few cracked ribs and something other superficial injuries – the other three girls were dead, and I didn't have a scratch on me. I'm not the best cadet at sword fighting for nothing... And I hate it when my friends – well, friend – get hurt.
I used to be jealous of people with families, but Angi is all the family I need, really. And after seeing how hard she works for her family, taking parts of her meals home to the slums for them, especially little Enobaria, her sister... Well, I've never been a martyr like that. It's hard enough caring for Angi, I can't imagine having to take care of a family. Helping Angi by passing her whatever food I can get my hands on is enough work by itself, but it's worth it. She's the one who gave me my token, after all: a friendship bracelet that she tells me Enobaria made for her.
I twist the multicolored bracelet around, studying the alternating pattern of red-black-gray, until the hour is up. Finally, a pair of Peacekeepers comes and escorts me to the train that will take me to the Capitol – to the Hunger Games.
A/N: So this is dedicated to As You Die, who wanted me to write something about Lyme. Here it is ~
Comments/suggestions/corrections/criticism? All gratefully accepted. ;)
