Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games. They belong to Suzanne Collins.

Note: Here we are, another chapter and ever closer to the end of the third decade of Hunger Games victors. I found this one interesting to write for; I'm well accustomed to first person POV's, but writing such a POV for a deaf character is quite interesting. How may they respond to the world if they cannot hear a single part of it? Well... read on and find out, eh?


"I feel like she probably got lucky. I know most Victors do, but to be death... anybody could've snuck up on her. It's a wonder they didn't," Katniss said, crossing her arms.

"Maybe they did and Teff managed to get away before it became fatal?" Peeta said, scratching his chin for a moment. "You know, apparently she was the first of two legacy victors."

"Really? Like, related to a past Victor?" Katniss asked, curious.

"Exactly. I've heard Teff here was the niece of Mizar Aldjoy," Peeta replied, nodding.

"Being related to the first ever victor of this sick game must have made her 'popular'," Katniss said, her words coming out in a dismal, sour drawl.


28th Annual Hunger Games

Name: Teff Withers

Gender: Female

District: 9

Age: 14

Kills: 3


I've never know what a scream sounds like.

I imagine that they'd be loud, probably, but I don't know what loudness is either. How could I when I can't hear a thing? Never have, never will. I'm alright with that, because I don't think I'd want to know what a scream truly sounds like. A scream of terror like what mom and Uncle Mizar apparently let out when I was reaped. A scream of sadism like what the Capitol citizens probably made at the parade. The screams of agony when tributes are torn apart by mutts.

The only scream I think I would ever want to hear would be screams of happiness or excitement, like what I imagine the crowd lets out any time I score a goal during a hover ball match. Not to brag, but I've got a particular knack for that game and lots of people come to watch any time I'm playing.

When I was younger I believed that people came because they thought I was the greatest hover ball player in Panem. I figured they loved seeing how strong and awesome my kick was, perhaps that a talent scout was among them who'd get me on a professional team or something.

A few came for that reason, but mostly they just wanted to see the first ever victor of the Hunger Games and his niece. Uncle Mizar never had any children and doesn't want to, but then mom had me and apparently the Capitol wanted to meet me for a while. I never really knew quite what that could mean until just a few days ago.

I know now. It's not me these people want to see, it's my blood. They want to see me dead in the dirt, 'sacrificed for the future of the nation'. I don't need to be able to hear to work out that they expect me to be helpless, having only scored a five and presumably unable to avoid being snuck upon by a bloodthirsty Career.

It's strange. Nine was so peaceful and quiet, mostly. The Capitol is full of roaring crowds and all kinds of fast, flashy lights and events... but it's all the same in the end. Silent. Even as the people around me react so very strongly, whether miserable or aggressive, everything is the same way it's always been.

Silent.

I know I should be sleeping before the Games begin tomorrow, but I just can't. The clock says it's one in the morning... I probably won't be sleeping for at least two hours yet. How can I when I may be dead tomorrow? So, I've been sitting here at the window for quite a while and just... staring down below at the dreadful city.

Outside I can see the Capitol citizens in their silly, childish outfits parading around in the streets and, I assume, chanting and yelling as they count down until their favourite time of the year kicks off. I'd feel the same if it was hover ball, but taking part in a death game? By all means, delay the start of the event. Please and thank you.

Sound means nothing to me, but I can't say the same for colours. I wonder what colours I'll be seeing in the day, or days, ahead of me. Will the arena be anything like the blue skies and golden wheat fields back home in District Nine? Will it be a yellow, sandy desert? An imposing white tundra of ice and sleet? A vibrant green jungle?

Will a nasty shade of red leak out from my probably pink intestines?

Outside the colours are overwhelming. All kinds of bright pinks, pea greens, electric cyans, strong crimsons and even some sunset oranges... it's a wild sight that could drive anybody mad. More than the fear of imminent death could anyway.

Caesar was nice enough to at least have had an interpreter on stage during the interview; it's only thanks to his foresight that I made anybody cheer. Not like the reaping where I didn't hear them call my name; I only knew when a Peacekeeper grabbed me and almost broke my arm, his mouth flapping silently and spittle coating my face.

He was an asshole, and I don't care if mom doesn't like swearing. He was an asshole and more besides!

I stretch out, wondering what I am going to do. Nine often does poorly in the arena, aside my Uncle Mizar and honorary Auntie Gwenith. They did their best for myself and the boy who came with me – he wrote down the name 'Acorn' for me – but is that going to matter when the Careers are so strong this year? They're huge!

I never got their names. Never heard a single name, not even my own if one were to be technical. But I saw them alright, saw the way they flexed and swung their weapons at the dummies like monsters. Made all kinds of awful faces at the rest of us like we were helpless rabbits. They even recruited the pair from Four this time around.

Biggie and Leggy from One. Swordy and Speary from Two. Knifey and Punchy from Four. Probably not their actual names, but I think they just about sum up what the pack are like.

I hope it's not Punchy that gets me. She's nuts.

Eventually Uncle Mizar comes in to make sure I'm tucked in and getting some rest. He never ever sleeps the night before the Games begin according to Gwenith... or at least, the notes she wrote for me. I guess having his niece in the arena is making it all the worse for him; it's not often that a relative of a past Victor has entered the arena, but they've never made it out before. Mags' niece was killed last year and Shunt's youngest sister died in the bloodbath years ago. I sure hope third time will be the charm...

As Uncle Mizar leaves my room all too soon he looks back, giving me a simple signing.

'I love you.'

Naturally, I'm quick to sign back.

'I love you too, Uncle."

I'm no sure how long it is before the silent world leaves me and silent sleep claims me, but it seems like no time at all has passed until I'm being shaken awake by my snake faced escort. I'd feel lucky about not having to listen to their babbling if I wasn't about to go into an arena.

I'm not sure what sound I just made, but I think people usually call it a terrified whimper.


Salt.

Salt is the first thing I smell when I'm risen into the arena alongside the other twenty three tributes. The scent hits my nostrils like a sucker punch, filling me right up. I've always had a good sense of smell and it doesn't take long for me to pick apart the sea salt from the normal kind.

As the light fades away I can see exactly what's going on here. I stand at the very edge of the semi-circle of pedestals. To my left is a rough looking ocean, a nasty dark blue colour spanning out for miles as it thrashes around madly, like some angry water god lurks within. Above me the sky is a gloomy grey, certainly not something nice to be under. Behind and ahead of me is a large beach of faint, dull yellow sand with a distance cove at the horizon of my vision. To my right, it's some kind of massive rock hill that leads out of sight.

I glimpse an entrance hidden away behind some boulders, just barely. Hidden entrance... the thick smell of salt... a salt mine, obviously. Let them try and track me in the darkness of a mine; I may not be able to hear them, but they cannot hear me either.

It's not just salt in the air, but tension too. I wrap my arms around myself, shivering as I spot Punchy and Biggie standing nearest to my right side. Biggie gives me a smirk, but otherwise pays me no mind. I don't linger my gaze to see what Punchie might be doing.

The holographic clock shown above the Cornucopia ticks down, one number at a time. That clock is the one thing I am thankful for the Capitol about. I might have already died without it; when lost in my thoughts, how would I know if it was too early to step off?

A massive shower of dust and sand covers my vision, a silent boom seeming to scatter around the beach. I feel a force, one that has my skin feeling uncomfortable toasty for a moment, and then it's all settled again. The other tributes all flap their mouths and a few have tears trickling from their red, raw eyes... the pile of scorched gore by one of the pedestals is a good enough clue for what happened.

I'm not unhappy that I don't know what explosions sound like. I adopt a running stance, just like I do just before kick-off in a game of hover ball. Uncle Mizar told me to never lose focus and to run away.

I'm not gonna lose focus, but he can scold me for being naughty and ignoring the other part of the advice. I need something to survive here. I know I can reach that bulging purple pack leaning against the outer shell of the Cornucopia. I just know it; I've outpaced bigger boys and girls in hover ball, why not on an open sprint here?

I leap off the pedestal just a nanosecond before it shows a zero and by the time I hit the ground the landmines are no longer the problem.

A hard shower of rain begins, the sky becoming the purest of whites for a moment. It's easy to ignore things when you're unable to hear them, hence why I'm among the first to make it to the Cornucopia. My shirt is already waterlogged, but the pack is in my grasp.

I turn to see the most awful display and soundless carnage. I can't stop myself from stumbling, slowing as I briefly take it all in.

It's like a somebody put on a war documentary and muted it. Punchy uses spiked gloves to strike the small girl from Ten over and over. The sand around them is turning a particularly morose sort of crimson. Biggie keeps guard with a sword as Leggy quickly grabs the equipment off the gutted boy from Twelve. Several of my fellow Outliers are in fights, trading knife blows and punches with bright red blood splashing through the air. I might have screamed, not that I can hear myself.

Distantly I can see Acorn is in Speary's grasp, struggling and presumably wailing. She's got a spear, of course, and it doesn't take three guesses to know what her intent with it is. Sand is sent up as clouds around me as I charge towards them, overcome by a sudden need to protect by fellow citizen of Nine and not merely myself.

I can't forget how Acorn wrote me that message about how I'm the greatest hover ball player he has ever seen. What kind of a sports player let's their biggest fans die?

I scoop up a knife during my mad rush, ready to bring it down into Speary's neck. I'm not far from her but I can't do a thing before the spear is forced into Acorn's chest. No sooner has he crumpled to the ground a massive wall of force sends me flying to the sand. I hold my knife steady, keeping it pointed away from me.

When I look up from my spot on the sand my eyes meet those of Knifey. The aggression swiftly vanishes, agony and weakness filling them up. I kick and punch at him, trying to get his heavy body off of me. He slumps over, having thrown himself right onto the point of my knife. The scent of fresh blood hits my nose, almost too strong for me to take.

I cast one final, grieving look to Acorn's body and flee from the beach. The sky glows purest white from the lightning, the rain falling ever harder. I glance back, unable to stop a salty tear escaping my eye. All that senseless, silent carnage and for what reason?

Murder is not a sport! Though the five Careers who remain all raise their arms and, I assume, cheer over what they have done. The Hunger Games are to them what hover ball is to me.

Only when I run into the caves does it hit me that I'm now on the leader board of this sport. It's because of me that Knifey is dead. I didn't even know his real name and he's still dead.

I try to remind myself it was him or myself, running deeper into the salt mines. He attacked me and got given a red card, nothing more. A blood red card, one that sent him away from life.


I have no idea how long I've been hiding in these caves. I've not gone outside to see the anthem in case the Careers are near the entrance – assuming they're still alive – and I can't rely on cannons to tell me when somebody is dead. It could be the final two or final sixteen and I'd not know any differently.

I just know it's been a while since I saw anybody. The girl from Eight ran by a while ago, though I have no idea if she's still alive or even inside the caves. Maybe she's dead. Who can say?

I curl up in my little alcove, hunger and thirst being the main things I feel. They're so strong that it overpowers my fear. My pack was emptied of food and water some time ago; the only things left from it are a thin magenta blanket and a second knife to go with the one stained with Knifey's blood.

All I have for water is the droplets that sometimes trickle down the cave wall. It's outright noxious to lick it off the stone. Food comes in the form of bats and the occasional clam I find in my travels through the near darkness. It's nothing to live on.

I should've never came into these tunnels. There's hardly any food or water and I have no idea of anything. Not who is left, not who is dead, not what time it is, not if anybody is outside... and I know all too well that the Gamemakers don't like it when tributes don't do anything.

Thoughts of the horrible men and women in charge of the Games sending mutts after me has me on the move, a knife in each hand, through the tunnels. The silence is enough to have my heart beating painfully fast. I can hardly see a thing; aside the scent of salt that lingers in the air it's like I've been deprived of all of my senses.

The salt mines end up being fairly deep, much more than I had expected. Some tunnels are submerged in water – I know better than to try swimming in those depths – and others have caved it, but it still leaves plenty of paths to choose from. I wander aimlessly, lost without any of my senses to help me.

I try to rasp out the words to tell my dad, mom and Uncle Mizar that I love them but I'm not sure I said it right. Maybe I just slurred.

My legs feel like they're close to falling off, the pain of non-stop walking for hours and hours forcing to take a break. I hardly think about what I'm doing as I clamber into one of the crates set beside some motionless mine carts.

Everything is dark and silent. It remains the same whether my eyes are open or closed. I draw my hands around my knees, trying to focus on anything other than the terrifying silence that surrounds me, practically feeling suffocating.

There's nothing else to focus on aside from the dull smell of salt, one that I can hardly smell anymore.

I try to think back to my favourite hover ball matches I played growing up. My first ever goal... my first trophy win... the time I scored a goal just ten seconds into the match and set the District record.

When I fall asleep, the bitter scent of my tears has joined the few things I can sense.


Vibrations make me wake up, the world around me starting to rick and rumble. The crate, it's moving! One side of the crate buckles and another side has gained a crack; what could be going on outside of my crappy shelter?

I curl up into a ball, shivering so hard I almost bite my tongue. Is this dark, silent crate going to be my grave?

Not if my knives are able to have a say in this. I grip them tight, a horrible worm of anxiety practically squirming its way throughout me. Please, no more. No more fear. No more pain. I can't... I can't...

I narrow my eyes just as the lid of the crate starts to get taken off. I can!

I lunge from the pure darkness into the dimly visible cave beyond the crate, digging my knives into the person who tried to kill me.

They sway and fall over, lifeless as the dolls my mom used to collect as a little girl. I recoil as their head tilts over into the dismal light. It's the little boy from Eleven, the one who had a sweet smile and wrote me that poem back in training. No, no! Not him! Not this boy!

I back away, stumbling into a reverse leap as the boy's blood leaks close enough to reach my shoe. A surge of animalistic panic fills me up and the next thing I know I'm sprinting through the tunnels faster than any pro hover ball player has ever ran.

Only I'm not running after a ball. I'm running away from the shame and guilt of it all. Too bad it keeps nipping at my heels, like some kind of metaphysical monster.


I have no idea what time it is. Does time even mean anything anymore? Maybe it's been a week since I killed that little boy, or was it just a day? I just know that it's been a while since I ate something; my stomach hurts, my belly feels so thin and I can feel my ribs now. I'm starving, just like everybody in Nine who wasn't lucky enough to be from a rich family or be related to a Victor.

I'm so hungry that I'd even risk attending a Feast of all things, even with my speed advantage negated! The bread, oh the bread... it'd be worth losing a few fingers.

But, I'd never know if they announced a Feast. I'd not even know if the trumpets of victory rang out. I don't know anything!

I alternate between walking through the dark salt mines and sitting with my knees drawn up, rocking myself back and forth. How many of the others are still alive? Where are they?

I never knew how not knowing anything was so scary!

The only comfort is that, when the monsters in the dark come for me, I'll be armed. I still have my knives. Knives mean safety; that's just about all I know at this point.

I think I just laughed. Not sure why, none of this is funny. The sickly feelings make me laugh more, I think. At least my tears might be good to drink if I catch enough of them.

My eyes throb when I enter a flooded cove. The salty sea water comes up to my knees and a bright colouration has me in awe. Over at the far side of the cave are a cluster of large clams, all of them emitting some kind of glow that chases away the sea fog. So pink and so very cyan... pretty...

I step back, gulping. Three figures rise up from behind the clams, slumping over them to stare towards me. They look like mermaids from mom's story books, only... they don't seem very friendly. I think the one on the left just snarled, maybe! They must be mutts.

They all leer at me, opening their mouths... and, uh, what are they doing? It's like they're just making 'o' shapes with their mouths and swaying around. I scratch my head, confusion briefly passing my fear.

They seem confused, as if bewildered by something. I'm not sure what's up with them, giving a lame shrug as I take a step back.

Spotting the corpse of the girl from Eight splattered against the wall of the cove has me ceasing stepping and begin sprinting. I don't dare look back at those mermaid things, I just focus on running through the darkness.

I run until I hit into a wall and everything goes blurry. Things go dark after that...


I wake up to my nose throbbing, my stomach almost feeling like it's trying to eat itself and everything feeling so very cold.

I sit, rocking back and forth without a care for anything but wanting to go home. I just want to go home, please. Home, home, home, home, home, homehomehomehomehome!

I should've never come into these terrible salt mines. No sponsors can get down to where I am! Or maybe nobody wants to sponsor me. I don't know, I don't know, I don't know...

Maybe a day goes by until I tackle and stab away at the first sight of movement, as if driven on auto-pilot. My breathing is deep, my skinny chest puffing up and shrinking over and over as I try to calm down. Please, let me go home!

It's barely light enough to see the dead, horrified eyes of the boy from Seven. I don't pay them much mind – I have hardly any mind left as it is – because I can smell it. That smell, I know that one. Sweet... succulent... wheat...

Bread!

I gnaw and devour the bread in a minute, more animal than girl as my teeth tear away at it over and over. It's soon all gone, the darkness falling around me once again and nothing upon nothing filling my world.

I might have just belched.


I finish my daily routine of sobbing and move on to rocking myself back and forth to fill up what may or may not be the evening. How long has it been now? Months? A year? Maybe the Twenty Ninth Hunger Games have already started in another arena and whoever is left here is forced to keep going until, at long merciful last, somebody else dies.

Maybe I'm the only one left and they just forget about me down in these dark, nasty caves.

Maybe I cry for a while. Maybe I sob for ages. Who even knows anymore? Nothing feels real, just like some weird floaty vision amongst a nightmare. Ok, ok..., hover ball, yes, that's good. The long pitch, the goals, the crowd... that's it, hover ball isn't scary or dark. It's fun, so nice and fun...

The ball, the kicks, the fans, Speary, the team, Biggie, the shiny trophy, Punchie...

I'm running in fear, instinct taking over as the careers start to chase me. My eyes burn from the tears as I flee through the deep, dark shadows. Did I lose them? Are they seconds from killing me? I don't dare stop and look back; I don't want to die like a rat in the dark!

My legs burn, but my stomach is worse. I could eat rocks right now, I'm so hungry...

Before I know it I've ran back to where those nasty mermaids were hanging out a few months ago. As I skid to a halt halfway across the cove they rise up, as if I just made them wake up. As before, they open their mouths and act all weird. I don't know what it is they are trying to do, but it's sure confusing me.

Who cares about mermaids? I want food! I'd eat a worm at this point. A worm.

Turning back brings me face to face with the Careers. Their weapons are all soaked with blood and so are they and ohGodIamgonnadie!

I cower, closing my eyes as I kneel over and sob. Nothing happens for several moments. I dare to peek up at them, only to see nothing in my vision.

After a moment I look back, seeing the Careers approaching the mermaid things in a trance. I don't care to see what happens next. I run for my life and plunge into the darkness once again.


Am I even in Panem anymore? Whether it was five minutes since I ran from the cove or five years doesn't make a difference, I feel just as bad as I did back then either way. I sit in a corner of the deepest part of the caves, sobbing into my soaked pants. They're stricken with salt water and my tears. I cry for dad, for mom, for my Uncle, for the team, for food. I just cry.

My head feels aflame as everything turns bright. I stumble over, hitting into a crate I'd not seen until now, my eyes spinning in their sockets. Again, I cower. I cower on the ground like a cornered baby rat. Is this where I finally die?

In front of me appear some sparkles of light. I watch, wary, as they begin to form together into the shape of some sort of... object?

Bread!

The light bread hovers in front of me, starting to move away down one of the tunnels. I scramble up and start to run after it. Mine! Mine! That bread is all for me! Mine, mine mine! I'm so hungry, please let me eat, so very hungry... hunger, hunger, hunger...!

I chase the bread through the tunnels, often tripping over. But still, the bread always patiently waits for me each and every time.

Eventually the bread comes to a stop outside the caves. I can see it there on the beach, a fine wheat filled treat all for me. I make a lunge for it, ready to eat like a princess.

I moan, having face-planted into the sand. Just another fake, empty promise...

I rise up, about ready to bawl... that's when I stand in awe, the heavens above opening up to me. My hair billows around me as I gaze up at my salvation.

The hovercraft has landed on the sand, the ramp inside is lowered for me to climb and people inside beckon me forwards.

I walk. I run. I sprint.

I sprint right past the people on here and charge to the on-board kitchen, starting to stuff every edible item into my mouth. I might vomit once or twice from overload, only to keep on feasting.

A prick in my neck is the last thing that I feel, a peaceful sleep starting to overcome me.


[Below is a memo found amongst other personal papers in a box buried in Mizar Aldjoy's back garden. It wasn't until twenty years after the Mockingjay Rebellion – two years after the formation of District Fourteen – that the box was dug up. All documents were declassified and made available as historic resources.]


10/10/28ADD

It's been about two months since Teff won the Hunger Games. I remember how relieved I felt when my precious niece won. I remember how Maizie sobbed even more than I did, glad her daughter was coming home. Gwenith organised a massive party to welcome her to her home where she belonged. In that time... life goes on, I guess. But never in the way I'd really want it to. It never will until the Capitol finally falls. A few Victors are joining up now, a bit of a rebellious circle starting to take shape. It's early stuff, but maybe in time it will be something more.

But back to Teff, the reason I am writing. She's... hanging in there. She went back to the hover ball pitch today to see her team. I sat in the stands – she wanted me to come with her, just in case – and watched... that girl is going to go far, mark my words. So much talent, such life in her... even the arena couldn't take it away from her. Seeing her score goals and hearing her team cheering made me so proud.

It's not always great though. Teff suffers from terrible nightmares. She can't handle darkness of any sort anymore. If her night light isn't on she freaks out. She always snacks between meals, afraid of starving to death. I fear that these problems will only keep hurting my poor niece for the rest of her life.

Those caves kept her safe as the Career Pack prowled around the beach and the upper cliffs, but they didn't spare her mental state. It was like two Games were being played at once. One between the Careers and the Outliers. The other between Teff and the darkness. The Games lasted a total of two weeks; Teff's lack of being able to hear anything combined with the darkness and the trauma of killing Wave in the bloodbath drove her mad, the hunger only worsening it. No sponsors were able to reach her when she was so far down.

If not for her deafness the sirens would've killed her with their hypnotic song. A Gamemaker oversight that I hear got a few people hanged. Is it wrong to be glad my niece has a hearing disability? It feels so cruel to say it that way, but it saved her.

I got a secret message from Bear of all people. He's been filling his time looking into psychology to try and help people. He's a truly changed man from the boy who got reaped years ago. He wants to help Teff on her path to... well, recovery or whatever thing is closest to it. Looks like Teff has something to look forward to on her Tour and during the next summer when the Games return.

I guess my weekly journal entry is getting kind of long here. I'll just summarise it all by saying I'd do anything for my niece. Even getting her onto an official hover ball team. It'll be her gift for Capitolmas in December.

Hoping for a better Panem than the one we have now.

- Mizar Aldjoy


"I guess anybody can win the Games," Katniss let out a breath. "A boy with dwarfism, a deaf girl and you've heard about Snag. Just about anybody could win, really."

"Anybody besides those younger than fourteen," Peeta said, his tone soft. "At least Mizar didn't lose his niece. It must have been a relief for him."

"That much is obvious," Katniss agreed.

The pair moved on down the street and pretty soon they came to the next face on the side walk. A particularly attractive young woman looked back at the, her smart and coy eyes covered with half moon glasses while her hair looking long and glossy, flowing down past her shoulders. She looked serious and alert.

"Crimson Flanders," Peeta read, pausing to think for a moment. "I think I once heard she had an IQ somewhere above two hundred."

"You sure pay more attention to victor trivia than I ever did," Katniss replied, quirking up one of her eyebrows.


And there we have it, Teff makes it home safe and sound, and Mizar can breath a serious sigh of relief. As I said, the POV of a deaf tribute is quite interesting to work with, so I can only hope that you guys think Teff turned out as more of a hit than a miss. In any case, many more victors still to come so stay tuned for more! ^_^


Stats

District 1: Peridot Gaudy (8th Games), Crystal McCree (14th Games), Bronze Marley (19th Games), Crown Martins (24th Games)

District 2: Baron Overwhill (4th Games), Runa Peace (7th Games), Olga Machete (10th Games), Rook Valiant (17th Games), Boulder Atherston (20th Games), Vercingetorix Carnby (25th Games), Dragon Batofel (27th Games)

District 3: Honorius Perthshire (5th Games), Pi Orbit (22nd Games)

District 4: Museida Selkirk (3rd Games), Mags Flanagan (11th Games), Tide Luther (23rd Games)

District 5: Shunt Gaspar (12th Games), Isobel Sparks (18th Games)

District 6: N/A

District 7: Pliny Aransio (2nd Games), Fir Buzz (9th Games), Jack Tylos (21st Games)

District 8: Woof Casino (16th Games)

District 9: Mizar Aldjoy (1st Games), Gwenith Rosebud (13th Games), Teff Withers (28th Games)

District 10: Stallion March (26th Games)

District 11: Bear Redfoot (15th Games)

District 12: Duke Saint-Rose (6th Games)