There were simmerings of the revolution my whole life, simmerings of rebellion against my home, the Capitol. By the time I realized the truth, my life would never be the same again. My name is Lavinia Tagaria, and though I may not have I tongue, I am going to tell my story.
I grew up in the Capitol, in a large apartment complex nestled on the corner of Fortuno Avenue and Copia Street. My family owned the whole floor, three bedrooms, two bathrooms and six other living spaces. I had everything a young spoiled girl could possibly need. From the minute I woke up to the second I went to bed I was cared for. I had all the food I could eat, all the money I could spend, and all the places in the Capitol to experience.
And of course, the Hunger Games. My life revolved around the Games. One of my earliest memories was watching Enobaria rip out throats in her pursuit of victory. I was transfixed on the tournament: watching extensively, catching up with the victors, monitoring betting odds online. Every year, when that glorious time came around, I became obsessed. I couldn't take the excitement. Not that this was out of the ordinary; it's pretty common in the Capitol.
Right by my side as I waited anxiously until Day 1 of the Games was my brother, Jonathan. One of my earliest memories was him chasing me around with a plastic sword while a Career slashed at other tributes on the TV beside us. We grew up together; nothing could separate us. We even went to the same school, and for fours hours a day we struggled to learn reading and writing and math. But when we finally got home, we spent the rest of the day cruising through the TV, going to parties or taking a train downtown. My life was as perfect as it could be.
But then there was my father.
I didn't understand my father. As a child, he was what every dad was in the Capitol. He made us birthday parties and drove us to and from school. He found us great meals and took us to carnivals. Before our mother died, she made a ton of money as a stylist, so he had no need for a job. He spent all of his time with us, which drove Jonathan and I crazy at times, but we secretly loved it.
And of course, we watched the Hunger Games together.
It was one of our favorite pastimes. We would all make bets. Not for money of course, just for fun. We would always pick a favorite and then root for them the whole way through. Usually, one of us picked the winner. Of course, we tended to only pick those in Districts 1, 2, or 4, which gave us good odds. But whatever the case, we still enjoyed doing it.
We eventually convince my father to work part time as a scout. Scouting is a simple and easy job: to find and possibly help create the arenas for the Hunger Games. We thought he could give us the inside scoop on the arenas for future years. And we were right. For about a year after he accepted the job, he told us confidential information on arena terrain - whether it was rocky or swampy or forest or whatever. We discussed the implications of the arena extensively to one another. When he witnessed us gossiping about his job, I always saw him walk away with a grin.
But then...he changed. An unforeseen and unexplainable change.
The first time I noticed him acting strange was right after he returned from a scouting mission. I was ten years old. When he walked through the door I instantly ran to give him a hug.
"Daddy! Where'd you go? Any good arenas?" I yelled.
He groaned as I wrapped my arms around him. "Not now, sweetheart." he murmured, walking to his room. His still brown aside, he looked and moved like an older man, like he aged a decade in a year.
I backed up, confused. "What's going on?"
Without turning to look at me, he said, "Nothing. Just a long few days, that's all."
Even though I was ten, I knew my father better than that. Something was wrong. But before I could find out more, he walked into his room and closed the door.
"What happened?" asked Jonathan, taking away his attention from the TV.
"I don't know," I said. "Where did he go on his latest trip?"
Jonathan, who had already turned his head back to the screen, said, "I don't know for sure. I think he stopped in District 7 and then took a hovercraft to some caves nearby." I could tell he wasn't really invested. I didn't know why I was.
But what Jonathan's eyes missed, I picked up on. My dad was moody all week, spending most of his time in his bedroom or his study. It was a pity too, because we usually spent the week before the Games discussing our favorites and odds. And that year I had one person I wanted to win more than anyone: Finnick, my favorite tribute of all time.
The first day of the Games started. I had already seen all the interviews, all of the parades. Finnick was a fan favorite. I wanted him to win so badly. My heart beat with anticipation.
My brother and I were seated on the couch, ready to watch the ceremony. "Dad! Get in here! It's about to start!" I yelled at him.
After a few minutes with no response, I was about to go look for him...but then the tributes rose up on the screen and I was too transfixed to turn away. My mouth was agape as I saw Finnick, beautiful as ever, dressed in a sexy arena outfit.
Jonathan laughed at my expression, "You know, there's a name for what you are." he said. I didn't really listen to what was coming out of his mouth, instead focusing on Finnick. "You're a fangirl." He teased.
Just then my father came into the room. I took a second to look away from the screen. "What are you watching?" he asked.
"Finnick!" I screamed, acting like the ten-year-old I was.
"Turn it off." He said. I turned to him in shock. Instead of a joking laugh, he had a scowl plastered on his face. "Now."
"Why?!" Jon and i said together.
"Because," he said, fumbling for words. "Because, it's horrible."
"What are you talking about? The bloodbath is about to start! Finnick's going to kill-"
"Listen to me." He said, and he seemed on the verge of crying. "Turn it off now. You don't get to watch any more of the Hunger Games or the Victory tours or anything. It's all gone! No more!" As he talked, his gestures got more and more robust and exaggerated. His face turned red as he got emotional. "No more! None of it! Not in my-"
"Ugh, you're being so unfair!" I shouted. Just then, the gong sounded and the tributes rushed off to get supplies.
Just as Finnick found a knife and turned to a girl from District 12, the TV shut off.
"What?! No!" I said, my mouth open in complete shock.
Dad stood behind us, holding the remote. Fury ran through me. He was a stubborn man and I knew I wouldn't be able to persuade him otherwise. I ran to my room and watched it online. After the initial bloodbath (thankfully Finnick survived triumphant), Jonathan and I left the house, going over to my friend Julia's to watch the remaining days. As I left, I turned to get one last look of the scene. The TV was on again, but muted. My father's eyes were transfixed on the screen, watching Finnick spear another tribute through the throat. I secretly jumped for joy, knowing my favorite was one step closer to victory.
But my father could only stare in horror.
For the next few weeks, I avoided my father at all costs. He spent most of his time alone, so we left the house and attended parties or hung out with friends. After a day or two after his outburst, he lifted the ban on the Games, although we were careful not to watch them in front of him. Whenever I talked to my friend about how awesome Finnick's kills were, or gossiped about who we thought would win, he had this scowl on his face and would become moody and sullen.
I tried putting two and two together. Everything started when he went on a trip to the districts, which he typically doesn't do. His job usually entails looking in remote corners of Panem, where no one lives. But, for the first time I surmised, he went to the districts.
I told Jonathan about my suspicions, but he thought I was being crazy. Even though he denied my claims, I still somehow cannot drop my suspicions.
Months passed. The Sixty-Sixth Hunger Games started ramping up. My father had seemed to calm down about everything. We would never watch the Hunger Games together again. Whenever the Games came on, he would retreat to his room, unable to watch. There was an icy stillness about us. Watching the Games had always brought us together. But after his change, we became distant and unattached.
His behaviour mystified us, but we eventually became used to it. He was our father after all; we knew him better than anyone.
It was five years later when I discovered how wrong I was...
Next Chapter: Lavinia discovers more about her father, but is horrified by what she uncovers.
Thanks for reading! Please drop me a review! I am currently working on three fanfics right now, so whichever one gets the most reviews will be the one I update the fastest! That's my incentive for you to comment. I hope to improve with later chapters, so feel free to give me some feedback. Anyway, hope you liked it!