ENDURE
~Prologue: Announcement~
"Perhaps every society is a utopia when you fail to peel up all the layers and look at what's underneath." ― Kameron Hurley, The Stars Are Legion
My footsteps were nearly silent on the forest floor.
It wasn't that I was trying to hide from something, or trying to sneak up on someone – no, it was just that, after so many tranquil evenings spent in the copse of trees behind my house in District 7, I had learned to completely immerse myself in the environment. It was second nature at this point.
It had become ingrained in me to tread softly on the mixture of grass and fallen pine needles beneath my boots, to continuously observe my surroundings even though few animals came this close to the residential area of the district. I wasn't a hunter – there wasn't exactly much to hunt inside the inner District 7 fence. I just came out here to relax, to observe, and to clear my mind amidst all the tall, imposing trees.
I'd learned to appreciate the relative stillness as evening fell, the gentle whistle of the wind through the pine needles above me. I'd learned to sometimes take a moment to just stand there and enjoy the crisp, sharp, refreshing smell of the coniferous trees surrounding the area, often tinged with the underlying smell of wet, cool earth when it had rained recently. I'd relax, breathing in the odor of damp moss, with a faint floral tinge that told me there were wildflowers somewhere nearby.
This was the smell of home. On nights like this, I needed it more than ever. It was almost impossible to relax. In about an hour or so I'd be home, with my father and brother, circled around the small television screen in our living room.
Although we had electricity the majority of the time—albeit a few hours each day when it would inevitably be turned off and we'd have to eat or do chores by candlelight if the outage occurred after dark—we only used the television for mandatory Capitol viewings. Tonight was such a mandatory Capitol viewing.
I swallowed hard, nervousness creeping up in me as I approached my destination – a thick, sturdy tree about a hundred feet inside the edge of the forest. If I didn't climb so high that the branches of other trees nearby obscured my vision, I could still see some of the small patch of grass between the back of my house and the neighbors' houses.
I quickly hoisted myself up to a nearby branch and began climbing the tree like it was second nature (which, by this point, it basically was). I easily found myself another branch to use as a handhold and pulled myself up higher, finally settling in a wide and sturdy branch only about ten or fifteen feet off of the ground. I leaned my back against the tree, taking a deep breath. I sat in this particular spot so often that I was surprised there wasn't an indent by now where my rear end was settled. The rough bark scratched against my jacket a bit, but I didn't mind. I laid back, trying to let the sounds and scents of the forest distract me from the nervousness churning in my stomach.
Tonight was the live announcement about the 75th Hunger Games, or the third Quarter Quell. It was a few months until Reaping Day, and for Quarter Quells specifically, apparently the Capitol liked to announce the "twist" early enough that the Reaping process could be adjusted as necessary. I'd never been alive for either of the previous Quarter Quells, but the grim set of my father's mouth this morning when he kissed my forehead before leaving for work, along with my knowledge of the two previous Quells, meant that I was not looking forward to it.
It would be my last Reaping. I was eighteen years old…and unfortunately, to my great bemusement, Reaping Day always fell three days before my next birthday. That meant I was a mere three days from safety. If I were Reaped (hell, I hoped I wasn't jinxing myself just by thinking about it), I would turn nineteen while in the Capitol. Probably during one of the training days. One of my cousins liked to crack jokes about it. I didn't find it nearly as funny.
For the past several years, I (along with all the other children aged twelve to eighteen in District 7) had experienced the slow building terror as Reaping Day approached, the heart-stopping moment as the Capitol escort drew the tiny slip out of paper from the bowl. The slip of paper that would send someone to their near-certain death. The slip of paper that would force a child to essentially give up the rest of their entire life, live and in front of their family, often in a gruesome way, for the Capitol's entertainment. It was disgusting and horrific.
It was even worse that we weren't allowed to openly say that it was disgusting and horrific. Such talk would no doubt get you in trouble with the Peacekeepers – especially now. Since the 74th Hunger Games when two Victors from District 12 had emerged, the Capitol had increased the Peacekeeper presence in 7 significantly.
At first I hadn't known why. I figured the Capitol was not pleased, especially when the District 12 Victors had essentially made a suicide pact to ensure they would both win. In a way, they were defying the Capitol. I was sure President Snow was pissed. No doubt he was watching the two of them like a hawk, just waiting for them to do something that would incur the Capitol's wrath. The increased Peacekeeper presence had started pretty quickly after the games. Back then, I didn't understand why they'd do something like that. Those that had acted up were from District 12, so why punish us?
But then, sometime after the Victory Tour, the whispers started. Just a few at first-subtle, hushed, but of course after awhile they spread like wildfire. Whispers involving a word I didn't dare say out loud. Rebellion. According to these whispers, some of the districts were trying to act out against the Capitol. I hadn't initially noticed anything too outright in District 7, at least not compared to the rumors about some of the other districts. Not that I could verify if they were true, or not, but it would certainly explain the additional Peacekeepers stationed around.
Now that I was paying attention though and aware of the rumors, I had noticed some subtle differences. Differences that suggested that some—maybe a lot—of the people in my own district felt the same way. Not that I could blame them. I couldn't talk about it openly, but sometimes I would watch my father out of the corner of my eye. I'd wonder what he thought about it, if he agreed that a rebellion was brewing, if he'd stand behind any other rebels if it boiled over. We all hated the Capitol. I couldn't imagine any district that didn't, besides Districts 1 and 2, who were basically full of Capitol lapdogs. If there was a shot at taking the Capitol down? Well, I knew a lot of people would want to take it. A big part of me felt the same way.
The problem was that rebellion was dangerous. It would get people killed. It had gotten District 13 wiped off the map, years ago. I couldn't imagine any rebellion ever succeeding unless the districts unified somehow, and I didn't see how that was possible. Not that I really knew much of anything. I was just an eighteen-year-old girl. My life mostly consisted of going to school until the early afternoon, then working at the paper mill a couple of days after school and every Saturday.
My free time was spent either out in the woods, lurking in a tree and watching the world go by as I was now, or passing time at home with my father and younger brother. Occasionally, my brother and I would spend time with my cousins and a couple friends from school. That had been more common prior to the increased Peacekeeper presence. They now imposed a curfew that required everyone to be home by the time it was fully nightfall. That made it difficult for me to spend time in the woods on the days I worked for a few hours after school. Fortunately, I hadn't had to work today. They'd given us the evening off—to go watch the all-important Quarter Quell announcement, of course. Like the Capitol would allow time off for anything else.
I huffed and glared up at the sky, as if I would find answers to my frustrations up there. I didn't even want to imagine what horrors lie in store for this Quarter Quell. For the first one, the 25th Hunger Games, districts had voted on which tributes to send in. I really hoped they wouldn't pull something like that again. For the second, double the amount of tributes had been sent in. The Capitol had just loved that, with so many extra innocent children dying for their entertainment.
My stomach twisted, the nervousness boiling up again.
I can do this, only one more year, I thought to myself. While my family was horribly poor by Capitol standards (as were most the districts), we were of pretty average wealth for 7. I hadn't had to take out tesserae, which would have resulted in my name being put into the Reaping drawing several more times.
Back when my mother was still alive, we'd been better off, but now my father had to support two children alone. Fortunately, he held a pretty good position at one of the sawmills, so he made enough to get us by. We didn't really have money to spare, even with the extra brought in by my brother and me, but we had enough to put food on the table and clothes on our backs. That was more than a lot of people in my district could say. And it meant my name was only entered seven times for the Reaping. Those were pretty good odds, I'd say. My brother had even fewer entries – six, since he was seventeen. Even better odds.
Somehow, thinking about what our odds were didn't make me feel much better about tonight's impending event.
...
A short time later, as the darkness was beginning to gather and I knew the Peacekeepers would be on high alert for any stragglers, I quickly climbed down the tree, my boots hitting the pine-littered forest floor with a quiet thud.
I strode out of the cover of the trees—and into the small grassy area between the nearest homes and the strip of forest behind them. Just as I was nearing the backdoor to my house, I heard footsteps to my left, around the side of the house. I paused, turning, as my brother rounded the corner, and I felt my face immediately relax into a smile. His brow was furrowed, seemingly lost in thought, but the expression disappeared as his hazel eyes met mine.
"Rowan!" I greeted him, my smile growing slightly wider.
His mouth quirked up in a grin, that made his normally serious countenance lighten up considerably. "June," he responded calmly, approaching me.
"How was work?" I asked him, my grin fading slightly as I heard the slightly nervous edge in my own voice. I was standing at the back door to our small house, but hadn't pulled it open yet. I wanted to get his take on everything, see how he was feeling before we went inside.
My brother shrugged one shoulder, a placid expression settling on his face. "Fine."
He stood next to me now, a full head taller than me. While we had both inherited our father's dark brown hair and our mother's hazel eyes, he had also been fortunate enough to inherit our father's height.
I, unfortunately, had not.
I glanced up at him, and could see a hint of worry in his eyes, which was rare for my brother. He wasn't the type to really get upset. Of course, the upcoming Quarter Quell announcement was an understandable exception, as were our Reaping Days over the years. I was sure my expression mirrored his.
"Did you have work today?" he asked me.
"No. I've been in the forest, trying to…I don't know, distract myself I guess."
"Did it work?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.
I snorted in response. "Of course not. How can I not just sit there and think about the many potential horrors the Capit-"
I cut off my own sentence then. I didn't see any Peacekeepers around, but better not to chance it. I knew Rowan had mentally finished my sentence for me, though, as his brow had furrowed again.
"Yeah. There's no telling what the President has planned." He sighed heavily, looking resigned, though the nervousness in his voice was undetectable, unlike mine.
"I've been too nervous to even eat this evening," I responded, even more of said nervousness leaking into my voice.
Rowan placed a warm, reassuring hand on my shoulder. "It'll be okay," he said calmly. I could almost believe him, he sounded so sincere. Rowan was better than anyone at calming my nerves. His laid-back, placid personality as a perfect foil to my own.
Though it was obvious we were related to anyone who glanced at us, my brother and I were nearly perfect opposites when it came to personality.
Rowan was calm, relaxed, even-keeled. Almost nothing worried him, or set off his temper. He was introverted, and a man of few words. He could be hard to read to those who didn't know him. He had a wonderful sense of humor, but it took time to crack his shell. Open displays of strong emotion were rare.
I wasn't like Rowan. I had been told that my face was an open book, and every emotion I ever felt was easily read on it. I was also less reserved, and much more talkative than he was. It wasn't that I was entirely extroverted; I hated large crowds, and wasn't overly fond of having to speak in front of large groups during presentations at school. But compared to Rowan, I was a social butterfly. I didn't really have a problem meeting or talking to new people
Unfortunately, my sensitivity to—and open display of—my emotions was associated with a significantly different temperament than Rowan's well-mannered tranquility. I was much more hot-tempered than he was, and more prone to irritation or frustration. I had a difficult time holding my tongue when something got under my skin.
I also had a heavy tendency towards sarcasm. I couldn't help it; it was both my brand of humor, and my self-defense mechanism. Anybody who knew me well didn't take it personally. The frequency of biting, sarcastic remarks definitely increased whenever I was tired, stressed, or frustrated…or uncomfortable. I often tried to diffuse difficult situations with humor.
My brother, on the other hand, diffused situations with calming words, a rational approach, and an easy smile. His approach was certainly the more mature out of the two.
Overall, though, we balanced each other out. I liked to think that I helped him come out of his shell a bit and encouraged him through his shyness. In turn, he helped me be more even-tempered in his presence.
I heaved a heavy, somewhat-exaggerated sigh. "Well, we best get in there so we can at least be aware of our impending doom instead of being surprised by it on Reaping Day," I muttered under my breath.
Rowan rolled his eyes, and stepped past me to pull the back door to our house open. Thanking him as he held it open, I stepped inside.
Our house was small, but cozy, and clean. And warm. It was minimalistic in terms of furnishing, and nearly all of the pieces were made out of wood (shockingly, in the lumber district) and obtained locally, usually as castoffs not good enough for the Capitol or made specifically for people in the district. I shrugged my jacket off and hung it next to the door, peeling off my boots and putting them nearby after I stepped inside. Rowan did the same. We stepped down the small hallway, which opened to the living room. Three rickety chairs were already pulled up around the screen where the announcement would soon appear. The gold Capitol logo already hovered over the inky black screen, though nothing was happening yet.
My father was standing nearby the television, clearly having just turned it on, and he glanced over his shoulder to face us as we entered, a small smile appearing on his tanned face.
Douglas Ainsley was still a handsome man, despite being in his forties and dealing with an inordinate amount of grief in his lifetime. He had dark brown hair that my brother and I had inherited, but unlike ours, his eyes were a warm brown. He was tall (a fact which I was endlessly reminded of when I was around both him and Rowan), and broad shouldered, with very calloused hands from years as a lumberjack in his 20s and 30s, and then several years spent at one of the nearby sawmills. His face was adorned by a thick brown beard – one I knew Rowan would attempt to emulate one day, though Rowan's current scruffy attempt at facial hair couldn't hope to compete with my father's.
The only indicators of the hard life my father had experienced were the frown lines now perpetually etched on his forehead, and the way his gaze would often turn distant and haunted when he thought nobody was looking.
His gaze was alert now, and I could see my nervousness reflected in my father's features. "Good, just in time," he spoke in a gruff voice, jerking his head at the direction of the screen. "It should be starting in just a couple of minutes."
"Can't wait," I responded sardonically, which he ignored as I made my way over and settled on one of the chairs, on the far left. It was old, and despite my small size, it groaned in protest under my weight. "What's for dinner?"
I wasn't exactly hungry with the way my stomach was churning, but at this rate I knew if I didn't eat, I'd probably just feel worse. I hadn't eaten since lunch.
"Leftover stew. It should still be warm."
"I'll get it," Rowan offered, making his way into the small kitchen adjacent to the living room.
I shifted uncomfortably in my chair as my father settled onto the one on my right. My father was not a verbose man, and I didn't feel the need to force a conversation right now with my nerves chewing up my insides. I began biting at my fingernails nervously as my father sat with his eyes fixed on the screen. I glanced around the room, my eyes—as they almost always did—falling upon the few black and white photographs settled on the mantle above the fireplace to my left. I quickly looked away.
My brother returned shortly with two bowls of stew, one of which he deposited into my lap as I softly thanked him.
I aimlessly stirred the stew for a moment with my spoon, before I forced myself to take a single, reluctant bite. It left a warm trail down my throat that made me feel slightly better.
A second later, the screen came to life, obnoxious upbeat music accompanying it that thankfully faded away after a few seconds as the program started.
The image that appeared on screen was of the Capitol, of course, and the camera panned over a massive crowd gathered in front of the gold-encrusted podium where President Snow would make his announcement, situated at the top of a set of steps. There were rows of seats behind the podium – likely for gamemakers, cabinet members, and other important Capitol citizens. I briefly glanced at the people situated behind the podium – I thought one of them might be the new Head Gamemaker that I remembered seeing in some sort of Capitol advertisement awhile back, but I couldn't be sure. Most of the people behind the podium were adorned in ridiculous displays of wealth, with brightly-colored, expensive fabric and glittering jewelry reflecting the sunlight. I noticed there was still daylight in the video – which meant it must have been filmed a couple of hours earlier.
Behind the podium and rows of "very important people" was a towering, massive structure of imposing white marble. Red and gold banners hung down the marble, depicting the Capitol logo.
The camera panned back to the crowd, this time at a different angle, and my eyes widened as I realized there were even more than I thought. Rows upon rows on rows – many spectators were located in seating set up on the sides of the avenue leading away from the marble building and podium. There was an imposing empty space in front of the podium, where a giant Capitol logo was etched onto the ground, behind which the massive crowd was gathered. It reminded me of the way the spectators were set up for the Tribute Parade at the beginning of the Hunger Games. My stomach dropped even further at the grim reminder of why the people were gathered.
Like the people behind the podium, these people were dressed up in a manner suggestive of their massive wealth, except many of them were in even more garish attire than those behind the podium. They clapped and cheered, the camera occasionally changing focus to one group of citizens or another. I saw so many brightly colored hair and skin tones, coupled with a far-too-high amount of facial and body alterations, and jewelry in all manner of places, that I felt a headache coming on. Being in that crowd would be miserable. I could just imagine their tittering, shrill voices, excited about what types of horror President Snow was about to unleash upon the districts of Panem. The man hadn't even started speaking yet, but I could hear the waves of noise.
As if the cameraman knew what I was thinking, the screen flicked back to the podium, which the President had approached in the interim. I immediately scowled, unable to help my reaction as I felt hatred course through me.
This man was responsible for so much suffering, so much death. He didn't deserve to be standing there, yet here he was, smiling neutrally out at the crowd as he raised his arms in the air, presumably to silence them.
He was wearing all black—suitable, I thought—and his pure white hair and beard contrasted sharply with his attire. Unlike the Capitol citizen crowd, there were no garish colors, no noticeable alterations to his appearance. I was sure he'd had some work done, likely to minimize the outward effect of aging, but it was subtle. A tiny white rose was pinned to the front of his black coat. Snow's eyes were cold and hinted at underlying menace as he kept his arms in the air for a few seconds longer, until the crowd finally quieted.
He stepped further towards the microphone, and began to speak. I stiffened as he did so—his voice, as always, was neutral, but there was the same underlying menace as lingered in his eyes.
"Ladies and Gentlemen! This is the 75th year of the Hunger Games."
No shit. I thought, annoyed, as there was a smattering of applause from the Capitol crowd thanks to Snow stating the obvious.
"It was written in the charter of the Games, that every twenty-five years, there would be a Quarter Quell, to keep fresh-for each new generation-the memory of those who died, and the Uprising against the Capitol. Each Quarter Quell is distinguished by Games of a special significance." A slight sneer appeared on his face as he spoke the words "special significance." My scowl deepened further as Snow went on.
"And now, on this, the 75th anniversary of our defeat of the rebellion, we celebrate the third Quarter Quell."
There was another round of applause, this one louder. The camera focused more on Snow then, as he pulled out a card. The card that would dictate the sick twist for this Quarter Quell, that had the potential to wreak havoc on every district.
My heart sped up then, my stomach twisting itself in knots. I gripped the spoon tightly in my hand, my stew all but forgotten after one single bite.
"In honor of it being the third Quarter Quell, there will be three unique features of the 75th Hunger Games." Snow stated as he began to read the card. He paused, glancing up at the crowd as gasps of surprise, excitement and more applause began to break out. He waited a few more seconds for it to die down, and I could see the slight smirk etched on his face. The bastard was enjoying this.
"First. It is important to recognize the victories of the past. There is wisdom in what has come before. The second Quarter Quell was one of the greatest successes of all of the Games. As such, it is written that once again, in recognition of the importance of that Quell, four tributes will be reaped from each District for the 75th Hunger Games."
My father swore slightly, and I could have sworn my heart skipped a beat.
Seriously? They're doing the same thing, AGAIN? Was all I could think, with disbelief. I turned and glanced up at my brother, who was standing behind my father. He had a look of similar disbelief marring his features. I'd thought the Capitol was all about adding new twists to the games. Why would they repeat what had been contained in the card from the second Quarter Quell? It was pretty transparent that they just wanted to punish the districts by forcing us to send in more tributes to the games. I would think they'd at least be a tiny bit more subtle about it. I knew they had to be up to something, there had to be some underlying motive of such importance that they didn't care if they came across as copying the old twists from previous Quells.
I didn't have time to think about it, though. The Capitol crowd had gone crazy after the announcement—clearly Snow was right that the second Quarter Quell had been a "great success" by Capitol standards—and they were just now dying down again with Snow's gesture for them to quiet.
"Second," President Snow continued. His smirk widened, eyes glittering with the knowledge of what the card in his hand decreed, and right then I knew that it was about to get a whole lot worse somehow.
"While we must recognize the success of the past, it is important that we do not become complacent. As a citizen of Panem, you will always owe a duty and obligation to the Capitol, and the Capitol requires something in exchange for the safety and security it provides all citizens. As a reminder of this ongoing duty, while two of the four tributes will be Reaped per the regular Reaping rules, the other two tributes from each district—one male and one female- will be Reaped from a pool of all able-bodied citizens of the district between the ages of nineteen and sixty."
Silence, absolute silence, for a couple of heartbeats. Then the crowd exploded in a cacophony of noise, screaming and cheering with delight at this new development.
I was frozen, my heart pounding in my ears, hand still clutching the spoon in a death grip. Slowly, painfully, I turned my head to look at my father on my right side. He was unmoving, expression resolved into a stoic mask, eyes fixed on the screen as he refused to look at me.
My father could be Reaped. Anyone from our district could be reaped, other than the very old and very young. I had no doubt the age range was calculated specifically to get the highest potential for tributes who still had physical strength and their wits about them. My father, after all, was in his forties and still incredibly strong. But I couldn't imagine the horror he was feeling right now…to make it through the Reaping years of twelve to eighteen, only to now be told that your name would be in the drawing yet again…
"…Dad?" Rowan choked out from behind me, more emotion in his voice than I'd heard in a long time.
Silence. My father didn't move.
"Dad…you…" I tried, but lost my voice midway through and I cut myself off abruptly. I felt a burning pressure behind my eyes; I wanted to cry. I was worried enough about my brother and myself, but to know that anyone in my family could be Reaped? I tried to force my emotion down, knowing my father wouldn't want to see how openly upset we were at the prospect.
"How can they do that?" Rowan asked softly.
Silence, but I could see my father's jaw clenched so tightly it must have been painful.
"Dad, you're-" I began, but he cut me off.
"They're not done yet," he said in an emotionless voice, eyes still fixated on the screen. Snow had raised his arms again to quiet the crowd, and they were finally settling down once more.
"But-"
"We'll talk about it after." His tone was wooden, and left no room for discussion, and Snow started speaking again. I belatedly remembered there was still a third "special feature" of the 3rd Quarter Quell. I tried to force my hand to relax its death grip on the spoon, but I still felt sick, and my heartbeat had not slowed even slightly.
Not only Rowan and I could be Reaped, but my father too, after everything he had been through…
I took a deep, shaky breath and steeled myself. President Snow had raised the card slightly, as he prepared to read the third part of the horror story that we were all currently dealing with. To my surprise, his smirk had disappeared, and his face had assumed an entirely neutral expression. I briefly wondered if he saw something he didn't like.
"Third, in recognition that the Capitol understands and appreciates the cooperation of its districts in maintaining a safe and peaceful Panem, and in acknowledgment that each District provides significant value to the Capitol and all citizens are equal, during this year's Hunger Games the tributes will be sorted into pairs, with each Tribute paired with someone from a different district."
I blinked at the screen, completely caught off guard by that. That was the last thing I would have expected. But Snow wasn't done, and he continued speaking, quickly cutting off the rising noise that had started to emerge from the Capitol crowd yet again.
"As such, up to two Victors will be allowed to prevail at this year's Games, provided they are part of the same pair." He then lowered the card, gazing out at the crowd as he continued, "There will be a very special arena to commemorate this event, and there will also be additional rules for these tribute pairs that will be revealed during the week of the Games."
The smirk slowly crept back onto his face, and I felt yet another wave of dislike for the despicable man. The crowd was going ballistic yet again—how any of them could still have the energy to scream and yell, I wasn't sure—and I watched my father from the corner of my eye as I waited for the noise to subside again. He was frowning, looking perplexed at this latest development. Like me, it had taken him completely off guard.
Why would the Capitol encourage tributes to ally? What were they playing at? I narrowed my eyes, studying Snow even more closely, but other than the slight smirk he was completely inscrutable. I'd never seen that man display much emotion, if any.
"I hope this Quarter Quell can provide a memorable and enlightening experience for all as the tributes fight to bring honor to their districts this year. And as always, may the odds be ever in your favor."
There was another thunderous round of applause, the camera panning to show the smug gamemakers, the raving Capitol crowds, and Snow's borderline-condescending expression as he gave a nod to the crowd and left the podium.
He walked away with even strides, not glancing back at the camera as he approached the gamemakers behind him.
Then the screen went black.
...
Our father refused to talk about it.
He had gone into the kitchen, grabbed a glass of water, ordered us to bed, then retired to his room, shutting the door firmly behind him as our protests fell on deaf ears.
Within about thirty minutes, Rowan and I were in our shared bedroom, staring at each other from our respective beds in the room, moonlight reflecting off of his eyes as he watched me warily. I didn't usually go to bed for at least another hour or two, but both of us seemed to be completely drained.
As we'd gotten older, one of us would sleep on the couch more and more frequently. We alternated nights sleeping on the couch several days a week, taking whatever blankets with us when we went. It had just become an unspoken thing as we'd gotten older and each of us liked having more space. Our father's bedroom wasn't really big enough for either of us to share with him once we'd grown up.
But nights like tonight, that were devastating and emotionally compromising? It was nice having someone else around.
I sat on top of the covers of my bed, feet dangling over the edge. He was in a similar position across the room from me, arms crossed over his chest. Rowan's bed was the same size as mine, and I'm pretty sure his feet stuck off the end of it if he scooted down even slightly once he lay down.
"I just don't get it." I said after several minutes of silence, as we were left in our own thoughts.
"Which part?"
"I'm just trying to figure out the motivation behind it," I responded.
My father had once told me, years and years ago, that the Capitol had a reason behind everything they did. He told me that my mother had given him some advice, before I was ever born: that even if you couldn't openly act out against someone more powerful than you, studying someone-understanding their motivations-was often tantamount to survival, or at a minimum gave you an advantage.
I wasn't sure if my mother had been talking about the Capitol when she originally gave my father that advice. He'd always told me that my mother was the smartest person he ever met, and that he thought I took after her in some ways.
Even as a kid, I had asked too many questions. I was that annoying child that asked "why" anytime somebody told me something. The problem was, it was dangerous to publicly ask "why" when it came to the Capitol. My father told me it was safer to ask the questions in my own head, and that sometimes you could find some of the answers, part of the puzzle, if you thought about things the way my mother had.
He hadn't really elaborated on this statement much, but it had stuck with me. Throughout the years, anytime the Capitol made some sort of abrupt or unusual announcement, or did something out of the ordinary, I always ended up dwelling on it. I sat and analyzed it as best I could with the limited perspective I had, trying to figure out what their angle was. It had almost become a challenge of sorts. I guess I did this with people in District 7 too, but to a lesser extent. People often were much more forthright with their intent, at least the people I knew and had grown up with.
My brother would occasionally pitch in and we'd sit just like this across the room from each other, throwing our theories about the Capitol across the empty space. Sometimes our theories would get wilder and wilder—one time a few years ago Rowan claimed Snow had a secret lovechild somewhere-until we eventually subsided into sleep or fits of laughter.
Last year's Hunger Games, and the reasoning behind the Capitol allowing two victors, had certainly been a conversation topic between us. We had dwelled for a long time, wondering why President Snow had possibly allowed both of them, the Girl on Fire and the boy who was in love with her, to live.
This was even more convoluted than that.
"The 'forty-eight tributes' part of the Quell." Rowan stated, breaking into my thoughts. "I mean, it's basically just a punishment, right? And good for the Capitol ratings? You heard how crazy they got when he announced that part. They LOVED the whole 'extra tributes' thing."
"Not exactly original, is it?" I retorted.
"No, but it's gotta be effective at causing fear, and that's what they care about. And he probably didn't care about originality when he knew there'd be more twists involved."
"You think he knew everything beforehand, before he read the card," I stated. It wasn't phrased as question, because I agreed, but Rowan nodded.
"I can't imagine him just reading something off of a card that a bunch of now-dead people wrote ages ago, and accepting it at face value. He has to have some involvement," was his response.
"So it worked for the second Quarter Quell, it's good for ratings, it punishes us because twice the amount of children die," I said. "Also, it fits in nicely with the whole 'we're gonna allow two Victors' thing. Two out of twenty-four surviving is clearly too much for them. Two out of forty-eight is more reasonable."
Rowan scoffed at the word "reasonable" and added, "up to two people can survive."
"You think the Capitol will rig it in a way where it's pretty much impossible for both people in a tribute pair can survive?"
He shrugged. "Wouldn't put it past them. They hated having two Victors last year. Or maybe some of the pairs will kill each other off. They'll be from different districts, after all. Imagine getting paired with someone horrible."
I was silent for a moment, contemplating. I could see how that would turn out badly. I had a host of confused thoughts relating to the "two victors" and "victor pair" issues, but I couldn't help it—my brain, since the announcement, kept going back to the second item Snow had mentioned.
"I can't believe that half of the tributes will be Reaped from the general population that isn't even of Reaping age anymore."
My brother looked down at his hands, examining his calluses. "I can't imagine finally making it out of the pool of eligible tributes and then….this."
"What're we going to do about Dad?" I asked.
"What can we do? Other than pray that neither of us or him gets picked. I'm not sure if those tributes' names will be entered more times based on age like ours are."
I hadn't even thought about that. If that were the case, the older someone got, the more exorbitant the amount of entries would be, since their pool was choosing from the ages of nineteen all the way to sixty. I really hoped it was just one entry per district citizen. Glancing over at my brother again, I could tell he was thinking the same thing.
"It's just…if the rumors are true and some districts have been trying to rebel," I lowered my voice on that last word, "won't this just stir them up more? Creating such a radical rule that lets people that should be immune from the Reaping get picked?"
Rowan shrugged again. We'd had a few murmured conversations about the rumors of rebellion we'd heard in the past, so he wasn't caught off guard. "Maybe. Or maybe it'll make them too afraid to act out after they see that Snow is willing to disregard all of the rules like that. He's always liked to rule with fear anyway. If people aren't actually that committed to rebelling, if it's still early on, the fear may just snuff it out."
That was certainly true. I took a deep breath, imagining how my stomach had felt like it was dropping out of my body when I realized my father was going to be eligible for the Reaping. I knew that—especially if entries weren't age-based—the chances were quite small, with how many citizens fell in that age range. I couldn't help but feel sick about it, though. He had lost so much during his life. He didn't deserve to go in that arena.
Then again, nobody really deserved it. That was the point. Maybe the Careers from the districts that volunteered for the sick event, but even then…it would be better if nothing existed for them to volunteer for.
My brother's eyes were narrowed in contemplation as he spoke again. "What I really don't get is sorting the tributes into pairs, and allowing two Victors again. I truly don't understand the message there. Why encourage tributes to pair up with others outside of their district? Won't that basically be like saying, 'hey look, if you team up with people from other districts, you have a better shot!'"
I'd been thinking about this earlier, and I felt like I had at least part of the answer. "Well, I know the two Victors thing itself has to be damage control. The two from District 12 last year one-upped the Capitol with their little suicide pact at the end. I know they're in love or whatever, but honestly it still looked like they were disobeying the Capitol despite their feelings. Snow probably thinks he looks weak, since they both made it out alive and unscathed."
I rubbed the side of my forehead as I felt a headache beginning to come on, and continued, "He hates appearing weak, so…maybe he figures if he encourages two Victors this year, it'll make it look less like the winners from 12 one-upped him? And more like he was fine with the possibility and outcome all along. Like the number of Victors was intentional and encouraged, not defiance against him. This way he gets to control the multiple Victors narrative. And maybe he'll manage to get a pair more charming and easy to control than the last ones, to make people forget about the Girl on Fire and her Loverboy. No more last-minute crap like she pulled last Games."
Rowan was nodding before I even finished, eyebrows raised. "Smart. That's gotta be it." His face shifted into something more contemplative. "Still doesn't explain the tribute pairs though. I get maybe allowing two Victors at the end when you explain it like that. But why would he encourage an alliance? It basically is endorsing the districts working together."
Now it was my turn to shrug. "That's something I can't sort out, either. There's got to be something more to it, something we're missing. The sponsors loved that whole 'Tributes in love' angle, too. Maybe he thinks there's a chance more sponsor money if they get to root for pairs?"
"Yeah, I could see him seizing the opportunity to interest even more sponsors in the games, since they all really jumped on the chance to root for two tributes last year." Rowan responded. "Still, that doesn't seem enough on its own. Not when it could encourage something dangerous like the districts teaming up."
"He did say additional rules will be announced during the games about the tribute pairs. Maybe that'll shed some light on it. He'd never encourage the idea of intra-district alliances unless he had a plan that would ultimately make them look like a terrible idea." I was chewing on my fingernails again, a nervous habit, contemplating.
"You think he's trying to encourage some sort of false hope or sense of unity with those, and then will blow that up in everyone's faces?" Rowan responded.
"It has to be something like that. He'd never encourage us to work with other tributes from other districts—at least permanently throughout the games and not some sort of temporary alliance like the Careers make—without there being some sort of horrible downside. He'll want to send the message that the disadvantages of the alliance outweigh any advantages. Or something similarly awful."
"I'm sure we'll find out with those additional rules are announced that week."
"I'm sure we will," I responded dryly.
I crawled under the blanket on my bed then, feeling suddenly exhausted as I lay down and pulled it up to my chin, the thin fabric scratching lightly against my skin. My bed was slightly lumpy and very narrow, but I couldn't complain – at least I had my own.
I turned on my back, staying up at the wooden ceiling of my room. It was quiet for a couple long minutes as I heard Rowan shuffle to get in his own bed, before he finally said softly,
"We'll be okay."
I glanced over at him – he was staring at me, an unreadable expression in his hazel eyes. I wasn't sure if he was trying to convince me or himself.
I forced a small smile on my face. "Of course we will," I responded with as much conviction as I could muster.
The truth was, neither of us would know if we'd actually be okay until all four names had been drawn on Reaping Day, a mere few months away.
Just a few more months until you can't be Reaped anymore, I tried to mentally assure myself over and over as I closed my eyes.
It did nothing to reassure me after the night's events, and it took me far too long to settle into an uneasy sleep.
...
A/N: PLEASE READ! THIS WILL COVER A LOT OF STUFF SO I DON'T HAVE OTHER LONG AUTHOR'S NOTES LATER!
A LOT OF QUESTIONS WILL BE ANSWERED HERE!
This is my first ever fanfiction. I haven't written in years, and I figured writing something like this could help me ease back into it. I wanted to address a few things off the bat, that way I can have shorter author's notes in the future.
First – I read the Hunger Games multiple times when I was younger, and I have also seen the films multiple times as well, recently. However, my knowledge is rusty in some aspects.
Clearly this entire story is an AU retelling of the 75th Hunger Games. For the most part, everything from the 74th Hunger Games happened as it did in canon (Katniss and Peeta were dual victors) with one major exception – Cato was not involved in the 74th Hunger Games, it was a different tribute from District 2. Of course, this story then diverges from the canon story significantly, beginning with the announcement of the 3rd Quarter Quell and the fact that previous victors are not going back in.
Aside from the obvious AU changes, I tried to be as canon-compliant as possible and even did quite a bit of research to try to make this story fit into the universe created by Suzanne Collins. Hell, I even went so far as to research the lumber industry, paper mills, and the types of forests that grow in the general geographic area of District 7 (I rely on the official map found on the Hunger Games fandom wiki). For purposes of this story, District 7 is located in Northern Montana/South Dakota, along with southern Canada in Alberta and Saskatchewan. This seemed to be fairly accurate based on the maps of District 7 and my review of North America maps. In case anyone is curious, I used Prince Albert National Park (the forested areas) as a general frame of reference and visual reference when describing the wooded areas of District 7.
One thing to note on that though: I think canonically, District 7 has about 25-30k citizens. For the purposes of my story, it has closer to 20k, with about 15k being eligible for the second half of the Reaping. I wanted it to be one of the smaller districts, population-wise, and it also made more sense for the logistics of the Quarter Quell reaping.
If you ever see anything that stands out as so inaccurate that it is jarring, please let me know. Like I said I have made a few tweaks, but those should be intentional and obvious and still feel like they could be canon (as much as an AU story can be).
***ALL CHARACTERS THAT WERE IN THE HUNGER GAMES FILMS PRETTY MUCH LOOK LIKE THE ACTOR FROM SAID FILM, UNLESS OTHERWISE NOTED, PERHAPS WITH A FEW MINOR TWEAKS FOR PURPOSES OF THE STORY.****
Second- this was initially rated T, but I'm changing it to M, just to be on the safe side because there will obviously be violence / some language and I want to err on the side of an abundance of caution.
Third—Any romance will be VERY slow burning. I know that by its nature, a fanfiction depicting two characters falling for each other in the Arena can't take place over a long period of time. With the tweaks I've made to the Arena in this story, it might be slightly more drawn out than the Arena from other fanfictions. Overall, though, I really can't handle reading a story where two characters are entirely opposite and hate each other, and are in a situation where they may be forced to kill each other, yet almost instantly soften up and fall for each other (especially when a Career might be involved…). It isn't remotely realistic to me with most of the characters involved in these types of stories. I want to be as realistic as possible here, particularly with the characterization of Suzanne Collins' characters. Therefore, I hope you all are patient...patience can often be rewarding! ;)
Finally- I was heavily inspired by some other stories when writing this, and I want to give them shoutouts. Obviously when you're writing a fanfiction within a certain framework, it is nearly impossible to be completely original. Fanfiction isn't really meant to be, since you're borrowing another universe. That being said, I wanted to take a framework that may have been similar to other stories, and put my own fresh twist and unique take on it. Regardless, there may be some similarities between my story and others, especially at the beginning. As noted, I think that's unavoidable in fanfiction writing, but there are certain stories that I loved so much that I do think they directly inspired some of the elements of this one (despite the fact that I will be taking this in quite a different direction). This will be my own take on the Quarter Quell—but I think it's important to acknowledge when other stories give you the motivation to write your own.
The stories I want to shout out are as follows:
-Soldier On by This is Not a Horcrux – this is the best fanfiction I've ever read in the Hunger Games setting. It is another retelling of the Quarter Quell where Cato was not present for the 74th Hunger games. Some elements of our versions of the Quell are similar (tribute pairs), though I will be taking mine in a fairly different direction, particularly when the Arena begins. Regardless I think this is probably the best characterization of Cato I've ever read involving the Quell, and it will help inspire my own. The main character is very likable and realistic, the plot kept me hooked, and it feels like it could actually have been written by Suzanne Collins. Don't miss this one. I wish he/she'd make a sequel, but he/she seems to be inactive now.
-It Might Kill Me by Frick6101719 – another retelling of the Quarter Quell. Like mine, it involves tributes sorted into pairs. Has a main character who is quite a bit different than mine and the character from Soldier On, but the author does such an excellent job describing the characters' thoughts, feelings, and different points of view, and the Arena she/he depicts is absolutely unique. This one is still in progress.
-Convergence by Rogue0fVoid – this plot is entirely different in that it takes place post 74th-games and is a "what if" scenario of Cato survived along with Katniss and Peeta. However, I wanted to shout it out because it is also another excellent characterization of Cato (a great one of Katniss as well) that will likely have some influence on how I write him myself. Sadly, this story is inactive as well.
-AND OF COURSE – ALL RIGHTS TO THE HUNGER GAMES UNIVERSE AND CHARACTERS FROM THE ORIGINAL TRILOGY GO TO SUZANNE COLLINS! THAT INCLUDES PART OF SNOW'S SPEECH DURING THE ANNOUNCEMENT AND FUTURE SPEECHES, SOME OF WHICH ARE PULLED DIRECTLY WORD FOR WORD FROM THE BOOKS/ MOVIES.
WITHOUT HER AMAZING CREATION, YOU WOULDN'T BE READING THIS, NOW WOULD YOU?-
P.S.-I'm not going to sit here and beg for reviews or anything like that. Of course, they'll always be appreciated, but I'm mainly writing this for me—to practice my own writing skills and get back into it. Regardless, I hope at least someone out there enjoys the story :)