A/N: This idea has probably been done before, and most likely is much better written then what I have here… but I haven't written in so long. It's nice (: I don't know if I'll be able to finish this, or if anyone will read it, but, I suppose I'll have to wait and see. Note that, though I may focus on some characters while leaving out others entirely, I have not picked a main character or even a winner yet. I'm just seeing where the characters take me. And if I put detail into every character, every single chapter, then the chapters would be long enough to make your eyes bleed. And my fingers. And we don't want that, do we? Hahaha.
Disclaimer: I own some of the characters and a portion of the plot, but the rest is all the work of the wonderful Suzanne Collins.
Have fun reading, and leave a review if you wish. (:
~Alexa;xoxo
Chapter One: Not Every Anniversary Merits a Celebration
An announcer's voice rang clear throughout twelve town squares and several thousand Capitol televisions.
"In this Hunger Games, a twist will be added to further enforce the Capitol's power, as will be done every quarter of a century. For this first Quarter Quell, on the 25th anniversary of the Hunger Games, each district shall vote on their two tributes in order to remind the districts that they were the ones who caused the rebellion, and consequently the Hunger Games themselves…"
District 7: Ash
Everyone loved my little sister.
Just as everyone hated me.
We were twins, alike in every physical aspect possible when accounting for our separate genders. Yet she, though only a few minutes younger, inherited my mother's sunny charisma, while I was stuck with my father's brooding and sarcastic disposition. The same characteristics that got him beaten to death in the local bar when I was five. After that, even my mother hated him.
It's a wonder they ever fell in love in the first place.
And somehow, the same messed up opposites-attract logic seemed to work in the relationship between my sister and I, as we were the closest siblings in the whole district. The whole world, maybe.
Maybe it's a twin thing.
It was no surprise to me that, when the Quarter Quell theme was broadcasted to the world, many eyes went to me. At least some people were courteous enough to keep from staring.
Everyone knew I would be the male tribute going into the arena this year. Everyone except my sister.
Cordelia. Little Corny. I always thought of her as the baby of the family; someone who needed to rely on others to survive. The same age as I, yet a thousand times more vulnerable. And so, so naïve.
Though we all knew that I would be the male tribute, a vote was still required. Capitol mandate. And besides, the female tribute was still undecided.
I wish I had warned her. Told her that no one liked me; that it was certain I would be entered into the arena. It is my one regret in life. If I had warned her, that night would have gone differently. At least, that's what I've told myself ever since.
As they called my name, thankfully omitting the number of votes that had my name on them, I pointedly refused to look at my sister, even though she was only a few yards away. I knew she would start crying. I hate crying. I started walking to the stage, already resigned. At least I wouldn't have to work in the power factory hellhole that was the main source of jobs in our district.
And then there were arms, grabbing me from behind. Not the strong, uniformed arms of a Peacekeeper, but the thin, frail arms of a 15 year old girl who had never worked a day in her life.
And there was a loud shrieking noise, which I deciphered as my name.
"Ashhhhhhhhhhhh! No! No! They can't take you! They can't! Take me instead! Please! They can't take my big brother!" Corny cried loudly.
I knew it was just her style of whining—suggesting any possible alternative in order to get her way—but the Peacekeepers didn't.
"Oh lookie here, I think we have a volunteer!" sneered a nearby Peacekeeper, grabbing her roughly by the arm. One of the higher-ups, presumably.
"But, sir, there aren't any volunteers allowed this year—"
"Who cares? The Capitol will get their show no matter what," the first Peacekeeper cut off the second in a low mutter. "Two siblings, twins even—who could ask for better?"
I could do nothing but watch wordlessly. It had never been my style to protest the fates that were handed to me. In my experience, arguing got me nothing but frustration.
My expression was mirrored in the faces of the citizens. None of them wanted to see Cordelia Patrick, the resident golden child of District 5, forced into the arena. But no one would ever get in the way of a Peacekeeper.
My sister and I were dragged up onto the stage and held out for the world to see, and an experience that I had predicted to be mildly distressing had turned to a catastrophe right before my eyes.
District 2: Valentine
I was a prodigy, everyone said so. I reached the top of the charts in training school, with the fastest rate of achievement to boot. And so, when they pooled the votes, I was ready to be the youngest Career tribute ever to set foot in the arena.
Technically, no volunteers were to be allowed this year, but the Career districts always end up working the same way. The top boy and girl trainees in the correct age range are always selected. And normally, the tributes in both genders are 18, sometimes 17, if they're really good. But I was sixteen when they called my name after the votes had been counted, along with Achilles, the top male trainee. I was a prodigy, better than anyone had ever been before. And I was ready.
District 10: Hermia
Brenden and I were always the outcasts. My mother was a prostitute, his father was a drunk, and when they died, we were stuck with all of their karma.
It was only natural that we became best friends. We were both lonely, shunned by everyone… we only have each other.
It was only natural that the very year we became eligible to compete in the Games, the citizens were forced to elect their tributes.
It was only natural that he and I, best friends forever and ever (and ever), were being sent to fight to the death.
After all, that's what happens to outcasts, isn't it?
They die, miserable and alone.
District 9: Donovan
There were a whole lot of orphans being chosen as tributes this year. "Let's send the orphans, they have nothing to lose!" That's what everyone must be thinking.
But I'm only thirteen. I haven't even become a real man yet. Just because I'm an orphan doesn't mean I don't have a life.
I have so much more living to do… but I'll never get a chance. Because just 'cause I don't have a family, I'm going to die.
At least if I'm going to die, I'll have Violet with me. She's the prettiest girl in the whole wide world, and she doesn't talk to me because we're in different grades. Now, we're going to die together.
Life is so unfair.
District 3: Aspen
Electricity is something I've always admired. The electricity that makes a dull hunk of metal come to life, that fills a whole room with the crackling of something happening, the electricity that flows between two lovers when they meet after a long while apart—it's like magic.
It is the electricity that dooms me, in the end. Everyone must have decided that I am the girl most able to keep myself alive, with all of my knowledge.
They gave up Demetri, too, my apprentice of sorts. Maybe they figure that we can work together.
But the electricity in my brain tells me what I know to be true.
We don't have a chance…
District 11: Eugene
They were supposed to vote.
That's how it was supposed to work this year.
I was counting on being home free—I'm eighteen, the last year eligible for the Games, and I knew as soon as they announced the Quarter Quell that I was free from the terror at last.
I'm an average guy, likeable enough, and not nearly well known enough for the people to have voted on me.
Besides, Fern is the other tribute elected, and she's still a baby, practically. And we value the smaller kids for harvesting anyhow.
What the hell?
They must have done a drawing somehow, right under the Peacekeepers noses.
That's what must have happened.
It must have.
Or…
Maybe…
Maybe my district turned its back on me.
Damn it.
District 5: Margaret
All my life, I've been average. Average looks, family, grades, strength, etcetera. I guess it turns out that the world doesn't like average, because I've been elected as the female tribute for my district.
Apparently the world doesn't like gay people either. Poor Julius.
It's too bad I might have to kill him later.
They thought I was completely and utterly average. But I'll show them. And after I win these Games, I'll be anything but average.
Because I have an utterly un-average ability to kill.
District 12: Ember
Everyone knows District 12 as a listless, resigned district. And we are. I am, at least. I eat, work in the mines, eat again, sleep, and repeat. Unless we're having a food shortage, which is half the time—then I skip eating.
I'm willing to bet that the votes were close, though. If we are one thing as a district, it is loyal. I'll never know exactly who sentenced me to the stage in the town square, along with Clementine, a girl who used to be in my year before I quit school.
I don't care, though. I can't do anything to change the past. Only the future.
But right now, the future seems just as set in stone as the past is.
District 8: Reed
I'm so scared. My teeth are chattering. I'm shaking uncontrollably, all alone on the stage, while they call the girl that will end up my partner.
It's cold. I wish it was warmer. I'm hungry.
They call a girl named Susanna to join me. I don't know her. Our district is too large for me to recognize everyone.
It's too bad. She looks like she has quite a few siblings to care for.
It's all the Capitol's fault.
I hate the Capitol.
I'm so scared.
District 6: Naomi
I watch as they call out the names of the districts in number order. Career tributes first: Lucian and Diana from 1, Achilles and Valentine from 2. That second girl looked vicious. I pity the ones who will end up in the arena with her. District 3, then Sebastian and Josie from 4… The Career districts are always the same.
Before I know it, the spotlight is on our District. We are the midway point. The sixth district to be called, and six more to go.
I idly wonder what voting strategy our district employed, if any. I wouldn't know. Everyone of eligible age was excluded from voting.
I shift my feet. Oops, I stepped on a flower. I move to uncover it. It's misshapen now.
I'm not too worried about my odds of being chosen. Honestly, I'm tired of standing here already, even as they call the male tribute. Cliff Duncan. Huh. I didn't expect that; he's good natured and reasonably well-liked. And attractive. Mostly just attractive.
I sigh slightly. I want to go home and get dinner started. Or work on my sewing sampler. Anything but stand here and watch the names get called, the names of people who I'll be forced to watch die on live television.
I'm leaning down to smooth out the flower that I stepped on when they call my name.