Note: Hello all! The following is a collaborative, ongoing fan-fiction for The Hunger Games written by myself and ff author, someelee. It offers an omniscient view of our take on the 69th Games, with all original tributes and a Games-participating District 13. Of course, the presence of 13 means that this story is not canon to the original books, though 13 is the only difference, and it was added for specific reasons that will present themselves as the story progresses. Our first chapter begins at the end, so to speak, and we really hope you enjoy it.

Of course, setting and selective characters belong to Suzanne Collins. Thank you for reading!

-Hailey

1 – Prologue

"War does not determine who is right – only who is left."

-Bertrand Russell

69th Annual Hunger Games – Victory Tour

There is but a sole person in the whole of District 1, and she is beautiful. The others act as if they don't see her, but they do. It would be impossible to ignore a mother of twins, because such a woman sheds twice as many tears as any other. But at this moment, after this war, her beauty does not parallel her soul.

Bryant knows that she was never truly his; his peers have constantly reminded him of the concrete relationship she and Cram once possessed. "It doesn't matter," he retaliates, "Eventually it cracked, like all concrete does in the end." He tells them this, but he never believes it. Sweeping the mourning crowd with his eyes of steel, he promises himself that he will never again allow his heart to be smashed into rubble.

A man named Ted stands in the back of a crowd in the city of lights. He is confused by the emotional faces surrounding him – the sadness, the bewilderment, the fear. He himself has been overcome by these same sentiments for most of his life, but what he feels now is a foreign sensation to him. Ted has never had a reason to admit to such a thing, but now, because of her, he can. She has made him proud.

Salty despair does not pour from the people of District 4, for no one knew him. All these years, Tapa Bay kept his boy from the world, trying to protect him from the fates. Never was his son building castles out of sand... no, all he ever did was sit obediently next to his father and rhythmically intertwine rope after rope. Somehow, though, Tapa still failed to protect his son from the utmost terrible fate, and so he is the only one who can shed his sadness. He is the only one who has been wrapped in this net of despair.

District 5 is Panem's guide through the darkness. She is Lottie's guide through the darkness. Astonishingly blue eyes widen and look up in confusion, for everyone is crying. Should Lottie be crying? Where is her sister? Frantically, Lottie looks around for the one who shares her same eyes, who holds her like no one else can. When Lottie is told that Pippa has fled to the land of light, sapphire orbs cast shadows upon Lottie's falling tears.

Wren doesn't know why there are so many birds. She doesn't know where her name came from, nor her brother Jay's, nor her sister Sparrow's. Maybe their parents intended to create a tiny flock of children, bound by incredible wingspan and mutual instinct. Maybe the Lark family hoped to pay some sort of homage to the transportation district. Or maybe, as Wren is thinking now, she and her siblings were just born to fly away.

Fathers are meant to be strong, like wood. Daughters are meant to be woven, like vines. It all fits, because in District 7, men haul lumber while women weave baskets. Sawyer is one of those men, just as he is one of those fathers. For whatever reason, though, he still doesn't know how to be rid of his own splinters, and it is too late to weave through his daughter's thorns.

How did we begin? Thread ponders bitterly. What was it that bound us together? He shakes his head with a low sigh; it matters not how they became one, since they were torn apart by the cruel seamstresses up above. How sadistic of them to tailor two beings to fit together, bind them and embroider them with affection, and then simply snip the connecting strings with a pair of blunt and rusty scissors bearing the name of death. Head cocked backward, he silently curses the witches who stitched this tragic textile.

District 9 is nothing special. Tori Moon is nothing special either. She's small and pretty, but she is not unique. Perhaps the rest of her makes up for her normalcy – her loud mouth, her brutal honesty, and her fierceness. She is what her friends call popcorn, a firecracker. They all admire her personality, but they shouldn't. Tori is nothing special, because every unique part of her, she stole from her sister.

No one takes a pig seriously. To the Capitol, a pig is a source of food. To District 10, a pig is a source of income. But Craig knows better. In fact, he is confident that he can hold his own in a debate concerning the intelligence of a swine to a Capitol citizen. Pigs are arguably the smartest of all the livestock, and they also have excellent memories. As Craig grievingly looks upon his late brother's favorite pig, he knows that it will remember its owner until the end.

Much like the fields that regrow after the fires, it is the natural cycle of life for a child to one day lose their parent. But Panem has never followed the rules. In this country, youth are taken from their homes every year, and mothers such as the one now standing on burning grass must let go of their seeds. For the next few months, the ones leading up to this very day, those mothers must wait in agony for the tiny coffins to be made.

All eyes are on her, because they know that she knows. Jasmine knows their tale, set amidst the coal dust. She has been there since the opening act. She has seen it play out, build up, and reach a climax. As she holds back her tears, she wishes that the tale didn't have to end this way.

District 13 no longer exists, but the people in it do. Right now, those people are moving, the fighters swarming up to the Justice Building and attacking the Capitol's Peacekeepers, the fleers digging downward. Nothing will ever be the same here, but Henri could have said that at the reaping. He could have bet his life on it as soon as the names of the two tributes were read – one for the bomb and one for the explosion. He knew then that everything would change. Still, he never guessed that the rebellion would drive the entire district underground. He wouldn't have bet that the tributes would be freed, or that he would be the one getting buried. Mostly, though, he didn't expect to be buried with the victor.

Note: Thanks for reading! The prologue was meant to be short and sweet, but upcoming chapters will be much longer. Anyway, what did you think so far? Any questions as to what happened to 13, or who the victor might be? By all means, tell/ask us in a review; all feedback is appreciated. The next chapter will describe the thirteen reapings in detail, but please let us know if you'd like us to continue the story.

-Hailey + Somee