Union of the Stars: The 220th Hunger Games
Only one tribute this chapter! That's why it's so short.
I never received a tribute for District 1, so I guess I'll skip that District for this story, or maybe I'll go back and make up one myself later.
District 9
Homeny Pincile
Age: 13
8:00 AM
When the wheat in the fields turns from vivid green in the spring to a rich golden color at harvest time in the summer, Homeny enjoys her walks to and from school the most. Even the harshest words from her classmates who feel the need to call her names, steal her stuff, and pretend to be her friends melt away during the time it takes for her get home. She walks as slow as possible on nice days just to enjoy the moment.
Getting up on the morning of a reaping, however, makes the nervousness in the pit of her stomach grow. She isn't afraid of her classmates. But they take her quietness as a sign to pull pranks on her until she does - something.
"If you just talk a little more, I think they'll like you better and stop," one of her few good friends since kindergarten told her recently. When Homeny shrugged, expressing her uncertainty, her friend sighed. "They think you think you're better than them and that's why you won't talk to them. And that's just stupid. But they don't know that."
"I'll try," Homeny told her.
Even so, saying it and doing it are two different things. Not much has changed. All she ended up doing was talking more around her friends and family.
Waking up this morning, she rolls out of bed with a quiet sigh and goes to dig her shoes out of the closet where she hid them yesterday after school.
They are all muddy, absolutely ruined. Her family isn't rich; in fact, they sometimes struggle to put food on the table, especially in wintertime. They don't have the money to buy her new shoes until she completely outgrows these.
She hates it. Hates how they single her out. They think it's fun, but how is torturing someone fun?
That girl who was tribute last year in the Games was the same.
Homeny didn't even know her well, but she had joined the group of boys who push her into puddles when they can and knock over her food at lunch. The girl was a Mu. Couldn't she read Homeny's thoughts, then? Couldn't she tell how much Homeny hated it, how sometimes she even wanted to break down crying?
Homeny stands up, gripping her shoes, and sneaks outside. The water pump is at the far end of their narrow yard, which her mom uses to grow vegetables and herbs to help add to their meals. It's in view of the kitchen, but she knows that her parents will be on the front porch sipping tea and enjoying their rare day off.
She grips the cold metal handle and winces as it screeches a few times before water flows out. Hurriedly, she sticks her shoes under the rush of water and rubs at them with her bare hands, trying to get the worse of the dirt off.
As she scrubs, working the stains out with steady, firm pressure, she spots the blotchy scar standing out on the brown skin. It's located around her elbow and forearm and she swears that she can feel it tingle even though it healed months ago.
She doesn't even have words for how much it hurt.
It was one of the few times that no one in class was trying to say she deserved it or making fun of her for crying out in pain. They stood around, wide-eyed and horrified, until a teacher came over and helped Homeny to the nurse's office.
She goes back to her work.
When she is finished, she sneaks back inside.
"Homeny!" she hears her mom call out, and just in time, as she has just finished shoving her shoes in the closet again. "Breakfast!"
Homeny gives her parents a genuine smile when she walks out. They usually eat simple meals with what they can get their hands on at the time. But reaping days are a little special.
"It's tradition," her mom told her when she asked why one day. "We did it when I was a little girl, and when your grandma in heaven was a little girl, too."
It still doesn't make sense to her since it's not like any of them are Mu, but her mom tends to just smile and say she'll appreciate it when she gets older.
So, this morning, her parents have splurged with thick, fatty slices of bacon grilling loudly in a pan. The warm fragrance of meat hits her nose as soon as she walks into the kitchen, followed by fluffy golden biscuits that her mom pulls out of the oven.
"Eat up," her dad says, serving up the bacon one by one. Bowls of warm grits already sit on the table along with an herbal tea she knows is sweetened a bit with sugar. It's a taste of home, and her namesake. "And Happy Hunger Games."
Homeny nods and smiles, the dark anger at having to clean her shoes off mostly gone. "Happy Hunger Games."
9:52 AM
Endless fields of crops, from wheat to soybeans to corn, fill the lands of District 9. It took forever to pass through them and get to town, which is even further away from her family's home than the schoolhouse.
At the reaping, Homeny puts a real effort into trying to locate one of her friends. No one will dare pull anything at the reaping with the Peacekeepers watching everyone carefully for signs of anyone who would disturb the event, but she still finds some comfort in being around someone familiar.
She has to push her way through the crowd and murmur apologies repeatedly as she accidentally elbows people in the sides. And like all kids her age, she wants to go hang out with her friends later. It'll be easier to find them now than in the mad rush to leave the area after the reaping is over.
"Trisha!" she calls out, spotting her friend's curly brown hair in the crowd. She lifts an arm and waves as she squeezes in between two twelve-year-olds to greet her.
"Homeny!" her friend beams, her bright smile widening as they come to stand next to each other. "Happy Hunger Games!"
"Happy Hunger Games," Homeny replies.
A second later, a sharp pain in her foot makes her jump aside to reveal a twelve-year-old boy standing in front of them with his fists clenched at his sides.
Around them, other twelve-year-olds are quick to scramble away from him.
"Don't act so happy!" the kid spits. "You never know when you might be next!"
Then he darts off, but that's all he needs to say for Homeny to know what he means.
"That was last year's tribute…Quinn, younger brother, right?" Trisha says curiously.
Homeny nods. "I think so."
She hasn't really thought about it, actually. But now that she does, she can't even imagine going to the reaping one day and finding out that her brother or sister is a Mu. She shudders even thinking about it.
Mu are beyond scary. She can barely watch when they kill each other in the Games, after feeling the blast of one of their attacks herself.
The scar still tingles a bit, though it's probably her imagination.
"Come on, let's go," Trisha says, tugging her to the thirteen-year-old section.
Homeny doesn't pay much attention to the reaping, letting the speeches go in one ear and out the other. Last year, she listened carefully, but it's just the same thing as last time.
She doesn't pay attention until she hears her name.
"Homeny Pincile! Will Homeny Pincile please report to the stage! Wow, can you believe it? Only one tribute this year, everyone! Congratulations!"
No, no, no!
She whirls around, panic clawing at her throat as she sees all the girls around her back away, some screaming, as they point their fingers at her shakily. As if they expect her to blast them off.
She wants to run. Run far away, back home across the fields of wheat.
But her legs and feet won't move. They're pinned to the ground, heavy like sacks of flour.
Fear and pain crush her chest as she remembers how Quinn died last year. Shot right out of a tree and left to die a slow, agonizing death on the forest floor. The Gamemakers eventually put her out of her misery by sending a mutt to finish the job.
That will be her.
She trembles.
Her name is very similar to the word hominy, a specially processed corn used to make grits, a classic Southern food that is often eaten for breakfast in the Midwestern US where District 9 is located on the official map.
I know I didn't mention her Mu powers at all, but she's a case of having just awakened to them and has no clue she really even has them.
Homeny Pincile belongs to BabyRue11.
