A/N: So, I know I've never written a Hunger Games fanfiction, but I'm re-reading the series, I'm on Catching Fire right now, and this idea came to me when I was reading. i have a full-fledged story planned and drafts written, so be sure to follow, favorite, and review your thoughts. XD
Chapter 1: The Announcement
"Isn't it thrilling?
"Don't you feel so lucky?"
"In your very first year of being a victor, you get to be a mentor in the Quarter Quell!"
I don't respond. As if it wasn't bad enough that we had to watch as two people from every district fight to the death, the Capitol makes a big to-do every quarter century and adds an extra twist to raise the odds of a painful death. It wasn't my prep team's fault, but it annoyed me that they were so chipper about the deaths of future tributes. They didn't notice that I hadn't answered, diving straight back into their conversation. We're winding down the Victory Tour today, and tonight, they will announce the theme of this year's Quarter Quell.
I'm nervous about being a mentor. How can I offer advice to someone who's as good as dead? The District Twelve tributes are almost never capable of survival. Peeta can keep his cool and offer advice as easily as he can speak in front of people. But I'm afraid that when I coach survival skills, that all the painful memories will come rushing back. Glimmer's swollen body. Rue's screams for her life. Peeta's pained expression when he had blood poisoning. Cato's mangled face at the end of the Games.
I open my eyes and try to focus on not letting my mind drift away. I'd almost forgotten the details of arena, but on the day of the Victory Tour, Peeta showed me his descriptive paintings. They were beautiful masterpieces if you focused on the craftsmanship. But if you noticed the common themes depicted in most of the paintings, you would believe Peeta had a twisted, evil mind. It wasn't Peeta, though, it was President Snow. For allowing the Games to happen every year. For supporting and celebrating the unjust murder of children.
When my prep team is finally finished with my hair and makeup routine, Cinna arrives in the stylist's car of the train. I am swept away from my soak in the tub to dry off and put on a simple black dress. It zipped in the back and came up most of my chest in the front, barely touching my knees. To be honest, it was the most comfortable dress attire I've worn since the Games began. Cinna must sense my confusion in his color choice because he answers with a twirl of his hand before I could turn my attention from the mirror.
I spin in a couple of circles on my tiptoes and realize that the dress has the same effect as the one I'd worn for the interviews. But this time, I look like a burning piece of coal in the embers. How fitting that we arrived in District 12 this morning. Peeta and I gave our Capitol-written speeches and respectfully listened as the mayor acknowledged how this was the first time in history that two tributes had simultaneously been brought home to District 12. Tonight, there would be a welcome home party in the town square with music and food. That was all the festivities we needed to be happy. Getting our stomachs full and having a memorable time was all that it took in our district.
Later in the evening, everyone will gather around their television to watch the mandatory broadcast after every Victory Tour preceding the Quarter Quell. President Snow would be on a live broadcast with the Head Gamemaker to present this Quell's new twist. It made my stomach turn in knots just thinking about watching the Games this year. It was hard enough to watch from home, but this year, I will personally know the District Twelve tributes. Talked with them. Mentored them.
I shudder and gear my thoughts toward this evening's welcome home celebration. If all goes well, I won't have to stick around after Mayor Undersee's toast to coming home to District 12. My plan was to slip away silently and mingle as little as possible, but because Peeta wanted to personally thank everyone for their contributions and there were cameras around every corner to exaggerate our romance, I ended up staying until it was time for the announcement of the Quarter Quell.
When we finally arrive back in the Victor's Village, our families gather in Haymitch's house and wait for the symbol of Panem to fade from the screen. After a relatively silent five minutes, the image flickers and the cameras cut to live feed. The audience roars with excitement as the President approaches the microphone to introduce the Head Gamemaker, Plutarch Heavensbee. They shake hands as if to congratulate one another on the success of another Hunger Games. Heavensbee opens the slit on the black envelope with the nation's crest, building suspense with every second.
"In honor of the Seventy-Fifth Annual Hunger Games," he reads carefully. "To remind the districts that even the rich among us are at the mercy of the Capitol's iron grip, the tributes shall be reaped from a pool of candidates of whom have never taken tesserae." The Capitol audience explodes with exhilaration as the live show cuts to propaganda commercials that are on the air every day.
I feel Peeta tense up beside of me. That must strike a nerve for him, coming from a comparatively wealthy family of District 12. I imagine what I would be feeling if I were an average kid in our district. The answer comes almost immediately. Relief. Who wouldn't be? The majority of District Twelve was poor and underfed, so that meant the tributes would most likely be merchant children. Then I think of Prim and my heart drops. I've never let her take out any tesserae. Her name would be one of the few to go into the reaping balls. This year, it will go in twice.
I turn to find her, but she's already fled the house and I see Peeta slipping out the door as well. There is no one left to save her if her name is called again. I'm not allowed to volunteer and go back into the arena. The odds are most certainly not in our favor.
