Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to Suzanne Collins and others who have purchased rights to THG
Felix King, District One
Hard to believe only a year ago I was one of those boys, quivering with anticipation, the rope of the reaping pens brushing my leg as my shoulders jostled with my neighbours. Ready to race for a chance at glory, to enter a fight to the death, ending in that wondrous moment of victory. The poor stupid fools.
How can they be so eager after they watched me suffer? Do they not think that the three days of misery I spent, spewing waste from every orifice of my body after I was bitten by a mutt could happen to them? Did they not see the mangled mess my foot became, the two toes that had to be permanently removed when they became infected? Did they not watch as my allies turned on me, pinned me to a tree with a sword through my belly, and forgot about me while they duelled one another to the death?
The moment the hands are raised, they all rush towards our stage, just like usual. The smart ones hang back a step, let themselves be barely beaten so that they can brag of how close they were to competing while they go on with their normal lives.
The pair that make the stage look quite typical at first glance. The girl is small, though leanly muscled and made good use of her elbows during her charge to volunteer. The boy, my first tribute, wears the wide, cocky grin I know all too well from our years of training together. The thrill, the rush of victory, even this minor one, that every child in our district is encouraged to pursue flushes Brocade's face pink as he laughs and waves.
I exchange a glance with Glory, the man who got me through my training, my Games, and my recovery as we stand to shake hands with our newest tributes. He rolls his eyes and gives the slightest shrug of his shoulders, signifying his silent agreement to my unspoken comment.
Odds are we're not going to have another victor this year, but that won't stop me doing my damned best to try.