Hello readers. This is my first story on FanFiction, and I am looking forward to writing on this site.
Please no criticism, unless it is to help me. Thank you.
Since this Hunger Games is the 100th, obviously the rebellion never happened.
Yes, this story is inspired by My-Stars-Shine-Darkly-Above-Me. I understand that this twist for the Quarter Quell is not an original idea by her, but I still would like to give her credit. Also, Scout (one of my main characters) is slightly like the character Aurora in her story.
I do not own the any rights to the Hunger Games series, but the characters in this story are all mine.
Scout Woods (15) District 6
A lot of people say that I'm insane.
I can't exactly argue. The only thing that could lead to a quarrel would be that I am only slightly insane. Although, it's getting worse. I don't know exactly what to call it, because it's not exactly a thing. I suppose you could say it was a mental illness, but I don't look at it in that light. I don't really see it in any light, though. I just know I have it, that it's there, but I never bother to do anything about. I don't waste my time thinking about something that I can't change.
All of these things go through my head during the most dreadful 6 hours of my day; a.k.a. school. I'm sitting through one of my least favorite classes, and listening to my least favorite teacher.
I know kids feel aversion toward their teachers, but my dislike for this particular teacher is different. This teacher, Ms. Ford, loathes me. It's not the ordinary kids hate teacher for no reason, because I actually do have a reason. That reason being: she hates me back.
I don't know when it started, or why, but there has always been this feud between us. Whenever I do anything, even the littlest thing, she gives me detention. It's like she is trying to make my life at school even worse than it already is.
I'm not necessarily rude to her, but I suppose you could say I irritate her from time to time. It's not that often, but every once in a while, I enjoy doing something to set her off. It's usually not all that terrible—or rude, for the matter—but I still feel a conclusion of joy when I see her snap.
I have been half-listening to the conversation she is having with the class. I don't exactly know what about life they are talking about, but I've heard the word 'life' enough times to know that's what the discussion had turned to.
Someone behind me kicks my chair, and I turn to see who it is. I glance at the person, a girl with brown hair and freckles, but I do not recognize her. I raise my eyebrow, marveling what she kicked my chair for. She stares at me, then at something behind me, and then back to me.
Taking this as a sign, I turn around to see Ms. Ford. Her arms are folded, and she is looking at me with an angry expression. Then again, that might just be her normal look.
"I'm sorry, did you ask me something?" I ask.
"Scout, why don't you explain life for us?" She asks, an amused look taking over her angry one.
I do not see why she is so amused by messing with a 15 year old. It baffles me, how much joy comes out of it for her. Then again, I'm not so different.
I sigh, knowing that I'll have to answer the question or I'll get detention again. It's not like I have anything to do later, but I would rather do nothing than spend my time with her in detention.
"I don't see any reason to complicate life. All you must do is breathe, eat, drink, and sleep. From when your born to the age of 18 years, most of what you do is decided by your parents. Of course, you still make thousands of decisions every day, but they don't matter, they don't affect anything. Eventually, you die. Everyone is going to end up dead one day; we can't live forever. There is no such thing as immortality." I answer, not putting much effort in it.
In response she tells me, "Unless you do something very momentous. Then, people will remember your name forever."
"Do you not know what the definition of immortality is? It's to live forever; not to live on forever. There's a disparity, you know."
"I don't see any difference, Scout."
"That's why you ended up as a teacher." This last thing I mutter to myself, and can only pray that she doesn't hear. I cringe as she storms away, and I wonder if she'll announce my detention to the entire class.
Instead of doing this, she continues on the discussion and I breathe out. I am more grateful then I should be, but I don't mind. I am just so relieved that I don't have detention before the 'Reaping'.
You see, it's not technically a Reaping, because the tributes aren't being 'reaped'. They are chosen by the Capitol this year. I don't know if this gives me a better chance or not, and I ponder the possibilities of how they selected the tributes. They must have read through bios of all of them, to see what they are like. Surely the Career districts will have violent, dangerous Careers. The other districts might have weak tributes, or strong, I don't know how they would choose.
The 'Reaping' is also peculiar because it's in the afternoon, where it is usually in the mid-morning. The only bit of happiness I see about this 'Reaping' is that it will be shorter, due to the lack of escort rambling, since there will be no escorts. I also heard that there wouldn't be a Dark Days video this year. If that's true, this will be the best 'Reaping' I've attended.
When the bell rings, I leave the class, walking briskly to my locker and putting everything away. There was no homework today, since two people were going to go into the Games. The teachers usually went easy on the kids for the entire Hunger Games, especially when our tributes die. It's horribly sad to see them go, but the most depressing part of it all is that I never knew those kids. I never said a word to them in my life. Yet, I miss them terribly when they die and feel sympathy for their families.
Perhaps, someone from District 6 will win this year. That would presumably be the biggest upset for the Capitol citizens. I know they abhor it when tributes who aren't Careers win. That is, unless that particular tribute has something about them the Capitol likes. That is a very small list that probably includes the following attributes: bloodthirsty, mad, lovely, humorous, or just plain likable.
Though, it is arduous for any tributes besides Careers to be fancied when the only tributes they show on TV during the Hunger Games are Careers.
I tread back home, walking through the streets, and avoiding other people. The air is cordial, though it's the middle of fall. The leaves have already changed their colors, and lay in piles on the side of the street. I watch a few little kids playing in them, tossing them in the air or jumping into the piles. I observe their smiles, and the happy glint in their bright eyes, and wonder if I ever looked like that as a kid.
As I reach my house—a shed, more like it—I open the door and head to my room. I smell something burning, and guess that my father is trying to cook something special for the 'Reaping'. I keep listening until he begins to swear, and then my mother starts to shout at him. I try to block the noise out of my mind and nimbly get dressed.
I change into a blood-red skirt, an ivory tank top, and white flats. I grasp a comb and brush out my white, wavy hair. I brush it out all the way to my mid-back, which is where it ends. I don't bother doing anything else to make me look dainty. It's only a Reaping.
Well, a 'Reaping', but same difference.
I then tie a red bandana around my left wrist, which contains scars from when I wanted to end it. It has been a few months since the last time, and the scars are white, but my parents coerce me to hide them. They are ashamed of them—or me; I haven't quite figured it out yet.
(A/N: The paragraph above is inspired by My-Stars-Shine-Darkly-Above-Me, and Scout's suicidal action and/or personality is inspired by one of My-Stars-Shine-Darkly-Above-Me's characters named Aurora. This action/personality will become a bigger part of the story as it progresses. I understand that this doesn't show up much in this chapter, but if you read carefully, you may find some places where it is talked about or referring to without actually saying the word.)
I walk out of my room and sit at our dining table. My parents stop quarreling when I enter the room, and I am pleased. They usually wouldn't stop fighting, but I guess they have decided to since there's a 'Reaping.
I have never understood why people make such a big deal of the Reapings. The tributes are just chosen, they aren't deceased yet. I understand that they leave, and I know that it's sad, but that's no reason to make a big deal about it, before it's even happened.
My father hands me a burnt cookie, and, although it's doesn't look appetizing, I eat it. I must. He would be mad if I didn't, and hurt. I can't make either of my parents feel like that, they're lives are already awful.
"Scout, dear, I'm so sorry, but neither of us will be able to attend the Reaping." My mother tells me, giving me a woeful smile.
This does not astonish me, and after assuring them it's fine, they leave the frigid house. I gaze at the clock, and see that it's about time for me to leave as well, but I don't leave, not yet. I sit there, enjoying my loneliness. I don't know how long I sit for, it could have been a few minutes or a few hours, but I decide to leave. I only leave because the loneliness has turned from being nice, to threatening and depressing.
I stride to the door and leave, my green-grey eyes scanning the area that which I live. I always do this before a Reaping. I want to have a good vision of the space I grew up in just in case I end up being reaped, because that meant certain death.
I walk to the center of the district, get my finger pricked, and then wait in the 15 year old section. The sun is still aloft, but it is slowly setting. The temperature has become fervent, and I envy the other kids standing around me. My pale skin burns ever so easily, and I do not wish to have a sunburn tomorrow.
Not that I care much about my appearance, but I perfectly hate having pale skin and hair. For one, I don't know any teenager who has white hair like me, it's just impractical. And two, its even worse with pale skin, because then it's white on white. It looks scary, like I'm a ghost of something worse. I stand out in the darkness, which should be most embarrassing, though, I don't feel it.
Our mayor stands on the stage and starts rambling. I don't pay much attention to him until a silver envelope is given to him. Curious, I watch as he opens it and clears his throat. I now understand that whatever was in the envelope must say the tributes names for this year.
"The female tribute for this year—chosen for her cleverness and interesting personality—is Scout Woods." The mayor says, clearly not happy about announcing the poor tributes' names.
I realize that he just called my name, but I do not move. It's not because I am scared, or embarrassed, or concerned. Honestly, I don't feel any of those emotions right now, not even anything like it. The only thing I am feeling is surprise. I have never been so surprised in my life. And, I do not understand why they picked me, though cleverness is obviously not the real reason.
Do they know? Do they know that I am slowly going insane? Does it amuse them? To see a poor, innocent, crazy girl go into the arena? Will they enjoy my death? Will it be the highlight of the Games? Will anyone miss me? Will people care? Will they know who I am?
This all goes through my head as I walk up and onto the stage. No emotion whatsoever is showing on my face—or, at least, I hope there isn't any emotion there. I shake the mayor's hand and stand in front of my District. It is obvious that none of them know who I am; the confusion is carven onto their features. However, all of them look upset. They know, just as well as I, that I am never coming back. They understand that I'm going to die, and that saddens them, just like it did for me all those years. And in this split second, reality escapes me, and I truly believe that none of us are that different. No one, not a single person in this entire world. We are all the same underneath, we are all just skeletons. We are all just humans set out into this world, trying to fit in. All of us. Because what can be 'in' if no one is?
So nothing is ever right or wrong. Nothing is ever good or bad. No, in this world we live in, there is just horrible and okay. There is nothing in between; there is nothing worse, or nothing better. We're all just on a journey in our life which only half of us find worth living. Because how can you want to live, if you're going to die anyway? What is the point? What is the point of this all? Nothing.
And this is when I realize that I have not only accepted the fact that I am going to die in these Games, but I welcome it. Because, I just can't find a reason to live anymore.
The boy who will be my district partner is already on the stage, his hand outstretched for me to shake. I take it and shake, squeezing his hand, for he looks even younger than I. I didn't catch his name, but I will learn it. He looks so sad, and it makes me sad just looking at him, but I don't dare show it.
We are escorted by Peacekeepers into the Justice Building, where we are separated and put into different rooms. I sit and wait for what seems like forever, but no one comes. This is probably the saddest thing that has happened to me in my life. My parents haven't even come to wish me luck and say goodbye. It's not at have any friends, but I would expect my own family to come.
I guess I'm not as important to them as I thought.
At this point, I realize I have no token. It makes me sad, and I scramble around the room, looking for something—anything—that could resemble something. I just want a token, just to have one. I need something to connect me with my district while I'm in the arena. I understand that my time in the arena will not be long, but I still want to have a reminder of my life.
I sit down and place my arms in my lap, thinking. I don't stop looking around the room until a thought occurs to me. The bandana, I think, and look down at my arm. The bandana is red and I know it will stand out, but I also know it's the only thing I have. People will surly ask about it, and I will either have to ignore them or answer them. Only time will tell.
I am then taken to a train, alongside my district partner. I enter the train and am shown do my room by an Avox. I thank her and sit on my bed, gazing out the window, watching as District 6 slowly fades away. Say something about how it's different from her home because if her home is that small there's surely some difference.
The sun is already sinking and I watch it. I watch as it bends, and in the moment before it brakes, it lights up in different colors. It splashes oranges, reds, and yellows, across the vast emptiness that which consumes the area between the ground and space. I watch as the colors darken, and soon turn to black as the sun falls behind the snow-covered mountains that lay far in the West. It isn't long before white lights pierce the darkness; shining through and accompanying the moon.
This is the last thing I see before I go to sleep, and it's so beautiful. So beautiful and sad at the same time, and I think that's why it seems so beautiful. It shows how sad and amazing something can be. And it is, truly and perfectly marvelous.
Sleep overcomes me before I have the chance to think about anything else.
Huckleberry (Huck) Johnson (17) District 3
Well, the Reaping is today. Another chance to be in the Hunger Games—not like I want to. No, if anything, the Hunger Games are the one thing I absolutely hate.
The fact that the Capitol has the audacity to send children to fight until death is disgusting. The fact that the Capitol records this so millions of people can watch it is even more abominable. I do not know if it's the Hunger Games I hate, or the fact that there is such thing as the Hunger Games. Of course I watch them. I must, because—even though I hate them—I must see who dies and who ends up winning. Every death is like being stabbed in the chest, although I don't know who any of the tributes are besides the ones from my district. It doesn't matter that I didn't know them, because I know that they didn't deserve to die. Even if they were the most horrible human being alive, they don't deserve to die. Not like this, anyway. In Game that is televised to everyone in all of Panem. No one deserves to die like that.
Last year, my best friend was in the Games. I don't think I have ever witnessed something worse in my life. It's not so much as how he died, but just the fact that he did, indeed, die.
I hate saying it like that, 'die', it sounds so... normal and I don't want it to. That word should mean more than it does nowadays. People are dying all the time, not just because of the Games, but because of diseases and other reasons. In my district, the word has become something everyone says on a daily basis.
I will not say my friend's name that is now deceased, because I don't think I will be able to without breaking down. My parents sometimes tell me to "get over it" and it makes me hate them even more than I already do. Just because it has been a year since his death doesn't make it any less painful when I hear his name or see his face in my mind. Every time, it's like a new wound opening up and bleeding out until there is nothing left but the faint feeling of pain.
He lasted the first three days, and then was killed brutally by a Career. Later, that Career ended up winning. I don't know that Career's name, but I know he was from District 2. Maybe I will forgive him one day, just because wishing he died goes against everything I believe in. However, I will never forget what he did, or the pain he put me through.
Well, now, I sound like a girl, talking about my emotions and all this. Please forgive me, I swear that I don't do this a lot. I swear that will be the last sob story for a while. Or, at least, I hope it will be just as much as you do. I don't really know how to control the things that go through my mind. Whenever I don't want to think about something, I find myself dwelling on it. It's rather annoying.
Like now, I'm thinking about sob stories, but I won't tell them to you. I wish I could tell you that I have reasons for being the way I am. Like, that I have abusive parents, or that I have no friends, or that I am an addict, but all of those would be lies. My parents don't abuse me, although they don't necessarily enjoy me too much. I have plenty of friends, more than plenty. I am not an addict; I don't do any kinds of drugs or drink alcohol or any of that. My story is quite boring actually, and I will save you the pain of having to listen to it.
Our school was cancelled today, so I have lots of time to think about things. I have decided, rather than telling you anything else, to go out and hang out with someone—anyone. I am outside in the woods that are up 1/4 of our district. No one ever seems to come in these woods—besides me, of course. I don't come here to be alone or any of that sappy stuff, I just come to... come. I can't think of any better way to explain it other than that.
I finger my token, a gold-colored coin attached to a chain that hangs around my neck. I glance down at my clothing, old wrinkled jeans with holes in them rolled up to show my bare, dirty feet. My shirt is grey, covered with stains, and torn in some places. I don't bother changing, and not only because I have no nicer clothes.
My hair is short, so I don't comb it out. I don't know any guy that combs out their hair. The thought is strange; I don't even own a comb, thank goodness. Although, I don't own that many things. I don't bother clearing the dirt from my fair skin either. It makes it look a few shades darker, and I find this amusing.
I hop down from the branch I had been laying on, and begin my walk back through the woods. It isn't that hard to find my way, speaking of the fact that I only must follow the trail.
Once I have reached the road that will lead me to the center of the district, I see my father and mother standing there, eyeing me. It's not so much embarrassment that I don't like walking with them as much as it is that they anger me. They do not treat me like I am their son, more like a peasant. I do not live with them, though I sleep on the coach in their house. I make sure they don't see me when I sleep, I go late at night, and leave early in the morning.
I don't need them. No, they need me much more than I need them. When I lived with them, they would make me do things all the time; often against my things. Not just normal chores like cleaning the dishes or taking the trash out. They said I could never have friends, and that I couldn't go to school (not like I minded that part). They made me stay home all day and do work around the house, and when I didn't do it, or when I didn't finish, they would yell at me and call me a failure. That's why I 'ran away'; so I can make my own decisions; so I can live my own life.
I walk fast, trying to avoid them, but they catch up to me. My mother says she has to leave, and she does after trying to give me a hug, which I step away from. I am then left to walk with my father.
He doesn't talk the entire way, and I don't know if this is worse or better than him and mother screeching at me. It's a lot less quiet, but maybe I am used to their noise. All I know is that this is one of the most awkward positions I have ever been in.
People around us are all talking and laughing, having a good time despite what they are headed to. My father clearly doesn't enjoy their joy, because in the next second, he is yelling at them to shut up. The people look shocked at his behavior, some confused, others angry. Some of them start to argue with my father, but he ignores them.
I give them a smile, trying to apologize for me father's rude ways. I am not the nicest person in the world myself, but I'm not rude to strangers.
The people leave, looking at me like I'm some kind of freak, and then it's just me and my father again. Anger boils inside of me at him. Not because he is rude, but because of how he treats me, and how he makes me look in front of people. Every time I look in the mirror I have to be reminded that I am related to him, because I look exactly like he did when he was my age. The same dark hair and eyes, nearly black, and same fair skin. Every time I look in the mirror, I see him their instead of me. I want to scream at him, to yell at the reflection in the mirror that is so deceiving. Every time I must remind myself that it is just a reflection.
As we enter the center of the district, he leaves me to find my own way to the 17 year old section. I do so, after giving a young Peacekeeper a drop of my blood. There is no Dark Days video this year, and no escorts, probably the only good things about these Games.
Our mayor walks onto the stage and taps the microphone. I cannot tell if he is mocking the escorts, or being irritating. I believe it may be the second one, because our mayor has to be the most arrogant guy I have ever met.
He says some things about how honored he is to be part of these Hunger Games, and then he announces the girl's name. I watch a redheaded girl enter the stage from the 13 year old section. Her name, Autumn Mangione, is unfamiliar to me.
She gives a brave smile, but it falls after half a second and tears begin to fall from her eyes. I feel bad for her, she's so young and scared. Apparently, she was chosen for her kind personality, but I'm guessing the real reason was so she could be a bloodbath tribute. I hope this girl makes it further than that, who knows; maybe she can even win these Games.
"And now, the male tribute," the mayor says, grinning at his audience. "The male this year will be—chosen for his strength and ability to adapt—is Huckleberry Johnson." He announces.
This doesn't surprise me, not one bit. For a split second, I feel nothing, not fear or dread; nothing. I begin the walk to the stage, and emotions start to come, slapping me in the face. It's not the emotions I thought I would feel if I were Reaped, not even close. I feel angry, angrier than I've ever been in my life. And, I'm angry at my life. I'm angry that I didn't get more out of it, and that I didn't really ever do anything worth remembering.
I walk onto the stage and glare at the mayor, who, in return, smirks. He feels no sympathy toward me or the girl. He doesn't care that we are going to die in a matter of days, he doesn't care that people will miss us.
I shake the girl's hand quickly, and don't wait for the escorts as I enter the Justice Building. I walk into one of the rooms and sit down, my arms folded, and glaring at nothing in particular. My friends come in; they seem sad, and they tell me good luck and give me advice. I don't listen to them, just keep glaring.
Soon, they leave and my father enters. I don't glare at him, but I do not listen to what he has to say. Once he is done talking and is about to leave, I yell at him, "I hate you! All you've ever done is make my life hell! You and mom both."
He turns around, but there is no emotion in his eyes. He then turns and leaves and I am left wondering why he has never cared. I wonder a lot of things, actually. I wonder why I am so angry. I wonder why I am acting so strangely. I wonder what is in store for me at the Capitol. I wonder what it's like. I wonder what the interview will be like. I wonder what my bed will look like. I wonder who I will meet. I wonder who I will become friends or enemies with. I wonder about the arena, and what would happen if I win. I wonder if people will hate me, or if they will like me. I wonder if I will get any sponsors, if I'll even last through the bloodbath.
And I wonder.
And wonder.
And wonder.
Eventually, a Peacekeeper comes in and leads me to the train that holds the other tributes.
After district three, there is only two districts left. A Peacekeeper tells me that we will be arriving at the Capitol sometime tomorrow in the afternoon, and that we may go visit the other tributes at anytime while on the train.
I eat dinner with Autumn, which is awkward for both of us, since neither one of us speaks. The dinner is delicious, though, different kinds of soups, salads, bread, and meats. I eat so much that I have to excuse myself to go to the restroom retch, because I just can't hold it all down. I stay in my room after that, and don't bother to get anything else to eat, though half of it's gone.
I dress into pajamas that I find in a drawer, and tuck myself into bed. It doesn't feel right, though. The pillow is too cold and squishy. The sheets are too warm and soft.
And it's so nice.
A smile spreads its way across my lips as my breath slows, as well as my heartbeat. I feel so peaceful, but not safe. I do not feel any kind of security whatsoever, and I have never felt so alone in my entire life. I know there are other tributes not that far from me, and Avoxes milling all about, but the loneliness overtakes me. It's like a dark shadow coming out and blocking the light away from my view.
I open my eyes, but all I see is darkness. It's endless, and stretches on for miles in every direction. Suddenly, I don't understand why people are afraid of the dark. I wonder if it's because it's empty, or because they can't see. I feel drawn to the darkness. It reminds me of myself—empty and lonely. I lay in the unfamiliar bed for what seems like centuries, while I grow old and wrinkled. Ever so slowly, I begin to break. I realize that I will never again see the light. A single tear falls from the corner of my eye as the darkness which consumes me feels no longer comfortable, but threatening. The darkness has the stars and the moon to light it's way; I have nothing.
This last bit is Huckleberry (Huck) dreaming, in case you didn't know.
I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I promise (hope) this story will become more interesting.
I would like to thank JustBreathDeep for editing this chapter for me. She is going to have a story out shortly after this is published, so be sure to check it out. It's going to have the same Quarter Quell twist as this story.
Thank you for reading, and please review. (: