A/N: This is the revised version of Survival For Love because I realized that if that story was supposed to be the 72nd Hunger Games that modeled after the actual book, it had to be first person, with all the emotions. Just like Katniss. I'm obsessed with my OCs, so this focuses on my two new, always on hand OCs. I'll also be making up names of mentors and such for whatever the book trilogy neglects to mention. So, here it is and I hope you like it. Thank you for reading, I'm Spiral-of-Fools.
Disclaimer: I've seen the movie twice, I own the books that I bought from the Scholastic book-order before they became popular, I've seen the waiting list at the library, but I own nothing from the original plot of The Hunger Games. That's all Suzanne Collins. The only plot I own is the one from this nonprofit fanfiction tale of the previous Hunger Games that weren't mentioned.
Summary: North America is in ruins and a new nation called Panem has risen. The Hunger Games became an annual ritual after the Dark Days. Seventy-two years after the Hunger Games began, I only had my name in five times for the reaping, but that wasn't enough to spare me. I was chosen. I was sure to never come back home to the people I love. But I was driven by two things only: love and revolution.
Survival For Love – Revised Version – Chapter 1
I remember waking up in the morning to the bright light of the morning sun that was just rising. There was a feeling of dread washing over me and contaminating the small wooden house I had lived in my whole life. Throwing off the thin blankets to get ready for the reaping, I walked over to the wardrobe where all of the best clothes my family owned were kept. My normal everyday clothes were stored in my room next to the bed I shared with my little brother. He must have already gotten up from the nightmares and hadn't woken me.
Jason was seven years younger than me. I was just lucky he didn't have to be a part of the reaping yet. The experience had scared me out of my mind and was sure to terrify him. We had kept him from seeing anything horrible in District 9 which was more than my mother and father could say they did for me as a nine-year-old growing up in the land of grain.
What did it matter, though? I saw it, I heard it, I'm just lucky I haven't gotten the whippings yet. Now, why would a poor kid like me listen to the rules of Panem and therefore die of starvation following them? Most sixteen-year-olds kind of want a life.
After dressing in my black pants and blue shirt, I walked into the kitchen where Mom was making a good, hearty breakfast. She was holding a gloomy expression when looking over to me, but she still made filling breakfasts usually only saved for birthdays or long days of work during the harvest.
I understood why she was upset, though. It was reaping day, the day when two children—a boy and girl—from each district were picked to participate in the Hunger Games. The District 9 tributes would fight to the death along with twenty-two other kids between twelve and eighteen where they would be killed almost immediately. It was my fifth reaping and I only had my name in five times out of thousands. I had done the math earlier this month and figured out that if I wasn't chosen, we still didn't need the tesserae yet.
Stupid District 13—they just had to go and get themselves blown up, didn't they? Now all these ridiculous muttations and hybrids were still roaming the woods and interfered with my hunting, not to mention the new ones the Capitol got to make for fun every year. Why did no one expect them to nuke us to show us up for rebelling. Damn their power.
"Good morning, Damen. Eggs?" Mom asked, not waiting for an answer before serving out a large amount of eggs. Eggs were pretty rare in our part of the district. They're expensive, even if you have the money, which we hardly ever do. Working in the fields every day doesn't really give the money many people hope for. Most times we had eggs, which were about five times throughout sixteen years, I had had to climb up trees and steal the eggs from some very protective birds or trade something for them. And let me tell you: If you've never been swarmed by a group of angry mother birds or bees for trying to steal eggs or honey, consider yourself lucky. Their violence makes Peacekeepers look nice.
Then again, our Peacekeepers—oh, the irony of that name—weren't over-the-top strict. But Peacekeepers can be really nasty at times.
Looking down at the plate, I mumbled, "Sure, if I have a choice." After a look from my mother, I ate wordlessly for the upcoming day. All I could think about was how much this had cost us and if I should have taken the tesserae despite the extra risk. We needed food and the Peacekeepers were always hovering nowadays, trying to catch anyone in the act of entering the largest forest all of District 9 has. If the few brave ones were caught, we'd be executed publicly. I knew I shouldn't worry, though. There were always a few spouts of watchfulness from them and then things would go back to normal sooner or later.
Thirty minutes later, I gave Mom and Jason a hug for reassurance, and set out early for the reaping. They would follow after when they pulled themselves together enough. I need to teach Jason a poker face.
The sun shone brightly, only being covered by a few drifting clouds. There was a slight chill to the air and a wind bringing the scent of fresh baked bread towards me. It had been a long time since I traded anything for a loaf of fresh baked bread. My mouth watered just thinking about all the types. The only times I had fresh baked bread, I had the flat bread our tesserae grain bakes into, white bread, and wheat bread with cinnamon, nuts, and a few types of fruit. All the bread had cost me a fair amount but it had lasted for a good few weeks, unlike the stale bread we usually ate.
Others were ahead of me, heading towards the same destination for the same reason. I scanned the surprisingly thick crowd of District 9 teens and caught sight of Lily, Amelia, Calluna, and Eric walking together until they had to split up.
I was staring at Lily the whole dusty walk to the Justice Hall, watching her smile slightly at jokes her sisters told her, the way her eyes lit up or darkened, the sun on her blonde hair and porcelain skin, and everything in between.
I'd had a few classes with her in the past eleven years but we'd never really spoken much. Lily and I were from different crowds, if we had any at all. We both kept mostly to ourselves, save for a few kids. It's better not to get too attached in Panem. There's a chance of us dying every year, you know.
Finally reaching the large building, I walked off to the boys' side in the sixteen-year-old section after checking in with a sharp prick to my finger, becoming squeezed in with all the other boys who had the same downcast expression. Everyone did every year on this day. The day two of our own would be sent to death.
It didn't matter who the kids were. They could be the dumbest kids or the smartest in the district, the weakest or the strongest, but we'd always hope one would come home. The family of the chosen would watch in the privacy of their home as the games continued, their homes closed to all attempts of comfort, already in mourning. It had been so long since we had a victor or someone to cheer on until the end. The last time that happened, we pooled together our money to sponsor him. He won. He's one of our only mentors that haven't turned into a drunk or morphling.
I could spot Lily only slightly above all of the heads surrounding my six-foot figure. Before Lily parted with her sister, Amelia, I made out bits of their conversation.
"Don't worry a bit, Amelia. It's one name out of thousands of other girls. You won't get picked, I promise, Amelia."
"But, Lily. Your name is in there. Twenty four times! What about you and Calluna, huh? Forty-eight all together and me only once. What if one of you gets chosen as tribute? If one of you dies, you both die. Even Deidra has her name in more times than me." Amelia retorted.
"Amelia, you don't get it. Maybe when you're older, you'll understand. But for now, get in your place, please. Please, Amelia. Now!" Lily gave a slight push to her younger sister to move her forward. The younger girl glared before trudging off to join the twelve-year-olds.
Lily was sighing, looking after the girl in her purple dress, before walking over to her black-haired twin.
The crowd quietly chattered amongst themselves, but was unusually quiet that day. A dark-haired, dark-eyed, light-skinned boy approached me quietly, his presence unannounced.
"Quiet day, eh, Damen? It's almost like someone important died."
"Not yet, Castle. In two weeks or so, twenty-three are going to be dead. And one Career gets off scot-free with murdering about half of those people. It's not cool, Castle." I responded darkly to Castle.
Castle had been my friend since we were kids in school. We paired up for sports and projects we had to do. Most of them involved the history of Panem. That was really all we ever learned about in school. And grain harvesting. Anything related to grain. Panem's way of showing us they cared about our future.
"Whoa-kay, Damen. Your best friend Castle's just trying to lighten up the mood especially since Lily and Calluna have their names in twenty-four times each." Castle held up his hands in surrender. "Hey look! There's Georgia Derst and Bass Helton. 'Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds," he paused dramatically, holding up a hand to the sky, "be ever in you favor!' What bullshit. If I killed Bass, would the dumbass be happy still?"
"Yeah, probably. The idiot was excited when he was chosen as a tribute twenty years ago. That is, until he actually got into the Games. Brutal," I muttered. I craned his neck and spotted the mayor adjusting the microphone.
Mayor Biscoe stood and explained the reason for the Hunger Games as he did each year. The Dark Days and the failed rebellion, the reason everyone, as citizens, should work together and support the Capitol, and everything they learned in school about the Games. He went into full detail and many minutes passed, creeping along slowly. We were all anxious to get this over with or, for others, to stop it from ever happening.
From my spot, I could see a few greasy men taking bets on who would be chosen, who would cry. I would love to kick them in the balls, but that would get me killed. Fighting disgusting men who deserve it: illegal. Taking illegal bets on the Hunger Games: perfectly legal. I love the world of Panem.
Finally, his turn passed and our lovely representative stood, walking stiffly and tall to the microphone before beginning with her peculiar Capitol accent. Every last one of them is freaky. Every year, it just gets worse and worse with their looks and voices. Bright pinks and blues matched with pale oranges and greens, tattoos in gold and silver in the strangest places, makeup in shades of red, yellow, and purple plastered on their faces. It's sickening.
Can't they try not to freak us all out as much? We're on edge as it is and they are more horrifying than the men who were taking bets in the back.
"District 9! Welcome to the reaping of the 72nd annual Hunger Games! Happy Hunger Games District 9! And may the odds," Georgia Derst paused, "be ever in your favor."
Castle started mumbling incoherently under his breath to himself and every boy within ten feet knew better than to question his choice of barely understandable words towards Panem. I had heard this all before. He always had hated the Capitol from the start and watching his friends die each year made him despise it even more. I honestly can't blame him.
"Now! Let's start with the boys, shall we?" Georgia spoke with her strange Capitol accent. Swirling her hand around the clear glass bowl full of boys' names, she reached in and pulled a single one out. Opening up the folded slip of paper, she read aloud, smiling to the crowd, and twirling the paper between her thumb and index finger.
"Damen Dylan!" her voice read out to the crowd. Every head on the sidelines and within the square whipped around.
What were they looking at? I was fine. All my limbs were intact; my brain wasn't splattered around on the dirt, so why were they looking at me like that? And then it dawned on me that it was my name that had been called. Me. My limbs might not be perfectly intact after this. I wish my brains were splattered on the ground because of a stray bullet. It would be better than this.
The breath I had been holding in was let out and I was immediately seized with fear. I couldn't do this. Jason. Mom. Dad. Where would the house be without the third professional income from the fields. Who would take care of Jason? Mom and Dad worked all night and barely slept to give us the life we have now, which is much better than those of others.
Somehow, I managed to move forward on stiff legs and I could feel every stare directed at me as all of District 9 watched me make my way numbly to the stage. I'm not sure if it was respect or a genuine liking to me, but I thank the world that no one clapped. I had traded with most of them or done them a favor or two. They probably liked bright and happy Jason. The kid's a social butterfly, I swear.
While we're forced to treat this as a sporting event, the lower districts, like mine, aren't as entertained by the Games as the upper districts are, even if we all have that group of sick people who place bets.
"Congratulations, sir." Georgia shook my hand firmly and passed him along to the mayor and mentor. I pulled my attention away from the crowd of sympathetic stares and focused on anything. Georgia's white-orange hair, her dark skin, bright orange clothes, Mayor Biscoe's pudgy form, his pasty skin, balding head of graying hair, my mentor's expensively simple suit, his light brown hair, sad brown eyes.
I stared out at the crowd when I thought I couldn't focus on them anymore, unmoving, not feeling anything, and watched my mother look down solemnly, holding onto my baby brother who was weeping into her skirt. I was going to miss that kid. Dad was nowhere to be seen as usual even though it was a "vacation day".
"And now, finally, on to the girls! Who will join young Damen in the Games?" Doing the same motions as last time, Georgia reached in and pulled out a single white card.
"And the female tribute is . . . Adamma Greenleaf!"
No voice shrieked out to volunteer. No one had for a long time. I saw Adamma, tears pouring down her face, march right up to the stage, head held high. She had confidence, that was for sure, even in times like these. For a thirteen-year-old that barely reached my chest, Adamma may be one of the strongest kids I know. She always volunteered to take the older, more worn-out adults' place during harvesting. Ada, which is her nickname, definitely holds a lot of respect in this district. That should help her get a few sponsors here.
Adamma's family was sobbing openly on the sidelines, not even caring about who saw. They were mourning the loss of another member of the family. I hated to see Ada go in. She would be the third child of the family to die in the games. Apparently, Panem had no limits to make the world a better place. Uh huh, how about our government gets in the arena and we see what happens.
Georgia continued on with her conclusion, ignorant of the two grieving families. The odds were not in any of our favor today.
"Well, it appears we have our two tributes from District 9, ladies and gentlemen. Congratulations, Adamma and Damen. And may the odds be ever in your favor, children."
I was really sick of that saying.