Disclaimer: I am not Suzanne Collins, nor will I every be. The Hunger Games is her property and I am only attempting to create a story revolving around the wonderful world that she's created, with no intent of monetary gain or plagiarism. That being said, I hope that all potential reader's of this story enjoy it!
Excerpts from The Treaty of Treason:
"In the beginning, there was a place known as North America, housing our ancestors, primitive people who managed to develop nations across the land."
"First came war, battle after battle, fought over resources, land, or ideology."
"The ocean's rose and overtook the continent, forming new landmasses and destroying the old."
"Famine's, drought's, plague's swept the land. Millions died, and the survivors were forever tasked with rebuilding a broken nation."
"Then came the Capitol, built up within a sanctuary of mountain's, housing the greatest minds of the nation, who prospered easily, creating a dazzling city that forever strived for peace and innovation."
"Then came the districts, each assigned a specific role, in order to keep the body that was Panem intact. If a single one choose to leave, just as with an organ, the entire system would collapse."
"The Capitol did everything for the districts, and yet they rebelled, lead by the foolish District 13."
"After a hard fought war, plagued by horrors inflicted by rebellious forces, came victory. As punishment, District 13 was destroyed, a victim of its own blindness. As for the rest of the districts, who so blatantly disrespected and threw out the Capitol's kindness, they must be given their own form of punishment."
"In penance for their uprising, each district shall offer up a male and a female between the ages of 12 and 18 at a public "reaping". These tributes shall be delivered to the custody of the Capitol. And then transferred into a public arena, where they will fight to the death until a lone victor remains. Henceforth and forevermore this pageant shall be known as "The Hunger Games."
As I rise into the arena, I can't help but feel caged.
The sun is blinding, blazing in it's full summer glory, causing the sweat already forming in my nervous state to be exacerbated.
Stone walls completely encircle the area that me and twenty three other children share, some of us crippled with fear and others standing rigid, unsure of what exactly will occur in the next few minutes.
Sand covers the ground, coarse, and yet smooth, perfect for the bloodstains that will soon be soaked into the virgin soil. Weapons are scattered everywhere; axes, swords, rapiers, silver objects that even I cannot name.
Weapons meant for museums - ancient artifacts in comparison to the advanced weaponry we now possessed, but watching quick deaths from bullet wounds wouldn't be gory or fun enough.
And here I stand in the famed arena, the stadium that had been in construction for months, even before the official announcement of the Games. It's quite small, maybe a few yards across in total. Me, and the rest of the tributes, stand in a ring of pedestals, covered by a stone slab that provides some shade. Unfortunately, the weapons aren't close enough to the pedestals for you to quickly grab one and kill the tribute right next to you.
Citizens of the Capitol can be seen right above us, sitting in stands securely protected by force fields, the electric barrier shimmering in the light. Preened like peacocks, they look grotesque.
The sun shines onto their faces, revealing the rough texture of the white makeup they have caked on. Their clothes are more so ridiculous art pieces than actual wearable fabric. Garish designs, oversized couture, and candy colored wigs dominate, making them more like cartoons than bloodthirsty and excited witnesses to murder.
Jewelry is abundant, reflecting beams of sunlight, glistening like the unattainable object they are. Crystal goblets and glasses are raised up in a toast, waiting to be drunk as soon as the timer hits 0.
The timer … I had almost forgotten about it. It slowly ticks, heading towards the point where a bloodbath will occur, and child after child will be killed.
Will I be one of them?
No, no, I'm ready for this. I am prepared for this, I will win. I above all understood what would happen. Most of the children here are the children of rebel's, the children of only the most famous rebel's.
Looking around, I recognize most of them: Sisters, separated by the war and yet still managing to end up here, from 9 and 10. The ingenious Horatio Phylum, District 3 rebel that helped invent the bombs that ravaged the streets of the Capitol. The girl from District 6, whose face was plastered across wanted posters for months after she orchestrated a train collision that killed several prominent Capitol officials. All criminals, created by a barbaric war.
As for me, and my district partner, we are innocent. So are those from 1 and 5, we stayed with the Capitol for the most part during the war, knowing that betraying them would do us no good, and even with our support, the other districts had to outnumber us and force us to partake in these games. Condemning the innocent to this horrendous fate.
My father had a feeling as soon as the games were announced, we had been staunch Capitol supporters, he knew that they would want a victor from his kind. The war had already trained me, but my father still pushed me to keep working, and luckily, he had been right.
While I knew the workings of a gun, wielding a weapon as archaic as a sword didn't come easily. Memories of my training are dim, obscured by the whirlwind of the past few days.
Recalling the reaping is easy. A man swathed in rolls of chiffon and with a ridiculous voice clawing through the reaping bowl, his staring at the slips a little too intent. His metallic loafers had clicked on the stage before suddenly being followed by him reading a name, my name.
Walking up onto that stage took years, my labored steps quietly taking me to my fate. I simply stood on the stage, rigid and unforgiving as everyone slowly stared at me, sizing up their first ever tribute. The whole ceremony had been rushed, putting all of these people together was only straining finite resources and everything was inevitably finished with a few minutes.
Saying goodbye to my family was easier. My father was as cold as always, a firm handshake sent me away. My mother was sobbing, mumbling prayers under breath as she grasped at me, pulling me in by my jacket collar. Thomas wasn't there, carving out the inside of some mountain had been deemed important enough to warrant him not partaking in the reaping.
The Capitol is harder. The train ride was uneventful, the Capitoline soldier assigned to help guide us barely paying attention, focusing on the decadent food more than me or my district partner.
Our escort was much the same, though he put in more effort. Remembering his grating voice speaking about the most pointless of frivolities still affects me, like nails on a chalkboard.
Being holed up beneath the arena for several days hadn't been the most lavish experience, but we were feed, clothed, and prepared to meet our ends. Little interaction with the others occurred, except for meal times, given that creating bonds right now would make breaking them in the arena much more painful.
My district partner is a sweet girl, from a huge family that had been more passive than anything, and we had become friends during those long hours underneath the arena. Glancing around, I see her right across from me, and I silently hope for someone to get her before I have to.
And just like that, a gong sounds, and the crowd cheers. However, no one moves.
Some start sobbing, knowing that their corpse will soon be the only thing left of them, others seemingly hold themselves back, unsure of what exactly to do.
As for me, I hold my ground, watching the others, making my targets and examining their movements.
The crowds cheering stops, and it soon transforms into jeering and shrieking, calls for blood ricocheting across the arena, their boredom only growing with every minute.
Finally, the boy from 4 snaps. He rushes across the expanse, screaming before scooping up a spear and turning around. With that shouts of ecstasy ring out from the stands.
Others soon come to life and begin the rush towards the weapons. I am one of them.
Scooping up a sword, I can't help but smile, and as a look up, the first ever death from these games occurs.
I witness the boy from 7 bury his axe into the chest of the girl from 3, and watch as all hell breaks loose.
Tributes begin to attack each other, metal meets metal, and blood sprays everywhere. I am among the first to kill someone, the boy from 12 meeting his end to the tip of my sword.
Minute after minute ticks by, and death after death occurs. I am a demon, chopping and slicing victim after victim, their deaths leaving no lasting effect on me, the vision of home guiding me instead.
The girl from 1 has her head brutally beaten in with the use of a short mace, her killer, the boy from 6, is soon dispensed by her district partner.
Winston, from 5, loses his head and begins charging at the 9 girl, who promptly impales him with her scythe.
Horatio probably the dies in the most gruesome manner, his ribcage crushed with the blunt edge of an awl, blood flying everywhere as he collapses to the group and utters a pitiful screech.
The sister's from 9 and 10 reunite on the battlefield, only to face off against their male counterparts. The battle is slow, and wrung out. Both sides receive their fair share of injuries before the girls fall, and the boys turn on each other right after.
My district partner, Pollia, quietly stays on her pedestal, and eventually vomits before being having her heart pierced with a rapier. Her killer soon falls, a javelin I had thrown very carefully ripping through his flesh.
The girl from 4 basically runs into my sword, and she's soon meet by the boy from 7 and the girl from 8.
The boy from 8 eventually gives up, curling up into a ball and rocking back and forth. How pathetic. Cutting is throat is like running a hot knife through butter.
Soon, only a few of us remain. The girl from 6, and the boys from 1, 4, and 11.
The girl falls first, a spear sticking out of her stomach and her gurgles are met with applause from the audience. I end up in combat with the 4 boy, and only grunts can be heard as our weapons meet, over and over again.
He's sloppy, untrained and barely capable. Invetiably, he exposes too much of his abdomen, and I plunge my sword into his stomach. I finish him off with a quick slice on the jugular, and as he bleeds out, I watch the battle between the boys from 1 and 11.
They both fall multiple times, almost attacking each other lazily. Eventually, a quick swipe of a sickle brings the 1 boy tumbling down, and I stare into the cold eyes of my final opponent.
The Capitol is on the edge of its seat – the crowd is borderline delirious. A final showdown, the ultimate conclusion. We both creep over to the other and within a millisecond, steel meets steel as we both maneuver against that other.
While he may be less skilled, but he has brute strength on his side, his muscles straining with every move of his weapon. A minute passes, and another, and another, with little done, the crowd begins to grow restless.
Surprisingly, I fall to the floor, and I can only look up at the boy with a look of piqued interest. The crowd begins yelling out cries of "Finish him" and he smiles, nearly laughing as he feels victory at his fingertips. As the rich silver of his sickle covers a portion of the sun, I smile.
The short dagger I have hidden in my waistband is pulled out, and I rise up, my sword piercing his ribcage and sending him tumbling back. He convulses, and my smile only grows. The crowd is screaming and I bask in the attention, bloodied, but barely bruised.
Trumpet's sound, and as I hear the announcement of my victory, only then does my smile finally falter.
Every since I originally read The Hunger Games trilogy, I've always been fascinated by the victors and the games themselves over everything else that the series offered. So much possibility can be found in that sphere of Collin's world, and so I've attempted to tackle a project many before me have taken on, creating a fanfiction with one chapter per victor. This chapter is quite short, but for the First Game's I wanted to keep it simple. Hopefully, many more of these chapter's will come, and I can't wait to keep writing. This may be my first ever fanfic, but I'm hoping it isn't one that completely falls into oblivion after one chapter!
-Tahrim