Jaguar Stratton from District 6
Victor of the Seventh Annual Hunger Games
ENTRIES FROM THE DIARY OF JAGUAR STRATTON
Three days before the reaping:
20 June, 7HG
Dear Diary,
The victor of the sixth annual Hunger Games, Lancaster Percy, died last week. He was murdered. The brother of some dead tribute killed him. When I heard the news, I wasn't sure how to feel. Lancaster was a boy who did terrible things with no regrets. Things a man could be publicly executed for if he did them in District 6. But was he really worthy of death? Is death ever a fitting punishment?
I can't bring myself to believe that punishing someone by taking their life can ever be justified. But the Capitol must disagree with me, or we wouldn't have the Hunger Games.
I watched the killer on television last week. He swayed back and forth, his feet pointing north, then east, then south. He died facing the sunset. Then they cut the rope and called curfew. Some people screamed at him. Some watched the execution with horror. Most just bore witness with wide, tired eyes.
The reaping for the seventh annual Hunger Games takes place in three days. I'm terrified. The good news is that District 6 has the largest population of any district in Panem. We have so many people, in fact, that there's a preliminary selection system to decide who even goes to the reaping. There's just no way the entire population could fit in front of the Justice Building. We'd take up the whole city.
Yesterday, when I got home from school, I asked Mom and Dad what they thought of the man who killed Lancaster. Dad says that seeing a close family member die can completely break a person's mind. Mom says something similar.
I should probably stop writing now. It's getting late and I've got to catch up on my sleep before the reaping. It's not like there's any chance I'll be able to sleep the night before, so I'd better hurry up.
Thanks for listening to me, Diary. You know more about me than anyone.
Jaguar Stratton
The morning of the reaping:
23 June, 7HG
Dear Diary,
Yesterday my family, the Strattons, were chosen to attend the reaping. A few kids I know will be going too: the Robertses, the Landerses, the Jacksons. Maybe I can find some people I know in the crowd today. Maybe I won't be so alone.
We have to leave for the reaping in less than an hour. If we forget, there will be peacekeepers at our door to give us a friendly reminder. That was sarcasm, if you couldn't tell. We live pretty far away from the Justice Building. The capital of District 6, where the reaping is held each year, is on the shore of a giant lake that used to be called Michigan. We learned about it in history class last week. The only thing left of the old capital city is the giant Ferris Wheel with red seats. It hasn't worked in decades.
I did the math this morning. Fifteen thousand of us will be going to the reaping. If you assume half of them are kids aged twelve to eighteen, that gives me about a 1 in 4000 chance of being chosen. You're more likely to flip ten tails in a row. But that doesn't stop me from being afraid. Nothing can stop me from being afraid.
If I'm chosen, by some ridiculously remote chance, I promise I'll take you with me. The tributes are allowed one object in the arena, one token to remind them of home. You're more important to me than anything I own. I swear I'll write in you every day.
You never have to go into the reaping ball. Lucky.
Jaguar Stratton
Two nights before the games:
29 June, 7HG
Dear Diary,
I'm sorry I haven't written in so long. I'm sure you'll understand why I haven't been in the mood.
I always thought that if I was reaped I would cry. And I tried to. I wanted to cry more than anything because crying is such a fantastic release of built-up emotion. But I couldn't make the tears come. They just built up inside of me like carbon against a cork and suddenly I felt like screaming.
The train ride was nothing special. Yeah, the food was nice. But I couldn't help thinking about the train itself, how it was probably made in part by someone I know. I was riding my own friends' handiwork to my death. What a horrifying thought.
For the tribute parade, me and my district partner Axelle were dressed in starry black costumes. In the olden days, my stylist told me, travelers navigated using the stars. Constellations. When I was a kid, we learned about them in school. Orion. Cancer. I think it's beautiful that humanity can find all our great heroes in the sky.
Axelle is a nice girl. I'm not sure if allying with her is a good idea, because she's not good at travelling quietly. I don't want her to weigh me down. That being said, don't get the impression I think I'm amazing. I got a six in training (to match my district number, how perfect) and I can use a knife pretty well but not well enough to take down a strong tribute.
Maybe I need to get some more experience. Maybe I just need to trust people more. Or maybe I just need to sleep so I'll be well-rested when the fighting actually matters. Either way, I'm going to stop writing now.
As always, thanks for listening. I promise I'll write every day once I'm in the arena.
Jaguar Stratton
The night before the games:
30 June, 7HG
Dear Diary,
My interview went well enough, I thought. Luckily, my stylist didn't go overboard with my costume. Her name is Hortensia. I like her a lot. She never gets carried away when it comes to style. I can't say the same thing about the others.
Anyway, I was dressed in a grey tux that felt very comfortable. Caius and I got along pretty well, I guess. He asked me about my home life and my friends, and I didn't exactly stutter but I wasn't giving the most detailed answers either. I couldn't stop thinking about the career tributes and how much more impressive they were. I was dying inside.
The girl from 1 is named Sequin. The District 1 girl's dress gets shorter and clearer every year, I swear. Her district partner is a big guy named Facet who I'd totally be friends with if not for the fact it's our task to kill each other. District 2 has a pair this year named Aurelius and Lydia. They weren't as flashy as Sequin and Facet but they seemed just as powerful. Those are the two districts where the tributes are trained for the games before they even volunteer. We aren't told the exact details. It's supposed to be a secret. A poorly kept secret, but a secret nonetheless.
I learned afterward that Axelle said some nice things about me in her interview, which probably helped my cause. She's a good friend. I'll give her a helping hand in the arena if she needs it.
This might be the last time I ever write in your pages. If it is, I hope you know how much I care about you. You always listen.
Jaguar Stratton
Day 1:
1 July, 7HG
Dear Diary,
I survived. I don't know how, but I did it. I wasn't planning on running into the bloodbath, but I saw all the knives laid out and suddenly I knew I had to grab one. Then the supplies kept getting more valuable, luring me closer to the horn. Like a death trap.
I had a close call with the boy from 2, Aurelius. His sword missed my shoulder by inches. In that moment, my heart stopping beating. I swear it did. Fortunately, he didn't think I was a big threat, so I managed to slip away before he could pursue me any further.
Establishing yourself as a threat early on is one of the biggest mistakes a tribute can make. The boy from 3 earned a seven and the careers targeted him instantly. I'm pretty sure he was the first tribute to die.
I'll write more in the morning. Right now, I'm too tired to continue.
Jaguar Stratton
Day 2:
2 July, 7HG
Dear Diary,
I'm still alive. This morning, I took inventory of all my supplies. I have two knives, a pack of three dinner rolls, a bowl of soup I've been carefully rationing, a slingshot, an empty thermos, a few feet of rope, and a make-up kit. I'm sure the gamemakers laughed their asses off when they put that in the cornucopia. But whatever, now I can look gorgeous while I die.
I've been travelling all day. This arena is just like last year, with the cornucopia at the lowest point and curving steadily upward as you travel toward the edge. The ground is made of rock and there are scraggly bushes here and there.
Despite what you'd think, it isn't too hot. If anything, the slightly above-average temperature keeps me from dozing off.
Water has been on my mind. I need a drink more than I need anything in the world right now. Two cannons fired this morning and suddenly it's clear to me that death always lingers around the corner here. I imagine a skeletal claw looming over the arena, occasionally reaching down to claim a victim. Soon after, I realize I'm picturing the claw of the hovercraft, enclosing the dead tributes in its talons.
I'll get back to you again soon.
Jaguar Stratton
Day 3:
3 July, 7HG
Dear Diary,
I'm still alive. I found water. I'm too tired to write much today, but I thought I'd let you know I'm still kicking. There are twelve of us left now. I know for a fact all four of the careers are included in that number. It's a scary thought.
I'll explain in more detail later.
Jaguar Stratton
Day 4:
4 July, 7HG
Dear Diary,
I'm still alive. Sorry I didn't write much yesterday. I was on the run. I wasn't exactly being chased, but I'd heard a boy screaming and some loud rattling noise and suddenly I didn't feel so safe staying in the same place for long.
The good news is that I found water. I know I mentioned this yesterday but I'd like to elaborate now that I can finally get my thoughts in order. I moved to where the brush was thicker, where the land was steeper; somewhere I could get a good view without exposing myself to the lower-level cornucopia. It didn't seem to be working at first, but I patiently moved horizontally along the slope until I found a thin stream.
I probably should have made some attempt to purify it before I gulped it down, but I wasn't thinking clearly enough. I could sense that I was less than a day away from death by dehydration. I stayed at the waterside for the next hour, doing absolutely nothing but drink water and pass urine.
I hope the cameras weren't looking when that happened.
The moon in the arena is so big that I suspect it isn't real. And if that's not real, I suppose the whole sky must be fake too. The sun, the stars, everything. I wouldn't be surprised if this is actually a giant indoor place, disguised to look like a rocky desert. The gamemakers' technology is unbelievable.
Thanks for sticking with me all these days.
Jaguar Stratton
Day 7:
7 July, 7HG
Dear Diary,
I killed someone today.
I haven't written in three days but I just killed somebody and suddenly I need to write more than I need to do anything in the world. I'm so glad I took you to the arena, Diary. You're the only one who can listen to my problems now that I'm all alone.
It was the girl from 12. Her name was Chassidy. I remember that from the training center. I was walking quietly late at night, guided by the faint moonlight. And suddenly there she was, curled up on the ground, snoozing contentedly.
It felt like my mind was being torn apart. I looked at the nearest camera and I looked at my hands and I looked at the sky. And suddenly, I decided to kill her. That's right. I decided to kill a human. I grabbed a rock and held it tightly and savored the feeling of having dry hands and then I killed her.
For the next few hours, I couldn't comprehend what I had done. And I still can't. I don't think I ever will.
I wonder how Axelle is doing.
I'm still alive. I almost forgot to mention that.
Jagur Stratton
Day 11:
11 July, 7HG
Dear Diary,
I'm still alive. There are six tributes left. I saw the girl from 9 die yesterday. I was hunkering down in a little cave in the rocky slope, and suddenly I heard her screaming. I peered out the opening, keeping myself concealed in the darkness, and there she was. Her chest slashed open, spurting blood, wailing like a madman. I couldn't bear to watch the moment she died. But I couldn't hide from her cannon shot.
I left the area quickly, not wanting to be found. Facet, the boy from 1, was all by himself, so I figure there must be only two careers left: him and someone else to guard the cornucopia. I hope it's Lydia. She doesn't seem too difficult to take down. I shouldn't jinx it, though.
Sorry I haven't written in so long. I get really caught up in each day and by the time it's dark enough to stop moving I'm too exhausted to write a single word. I'm sure you understand.
Thanks for being such a great companion.
Jaguar Stratton
Day 15:
15 July, 7HG
Dear Diary,
No one has died in four days. I can tell the gamemakers are getting angry. It's raining hard now and the cornucopia seems to be completely submerged. There's thunder and lightning as well. It's scary.
Unfortunately I don't have much shelter. Only a windbreaker, a small mercy of the gamemakers, found hastily stashed under a bush by some hurried tribute trying to cover their tracks.
Not a single square inch of my body is dry right now. It hurts so much.
Jaguar Stratton
Day 17:
17 July, 7HG
Dear Diary,
Axelle and I are allies now. The chance of this happening is so slim I never even considered it: both of us surviving this long. That's a true miracle.
I was walking along in the early morning, when the mist was still thick. And I saw her, ducked down, tried to hide myself in case she was a career. But I watched her carefully and quickly identified her. The way she walks. With the tips of her feet pointed inward.
Now we're sitting together on a rock ledge near the very edge of the arena. Axelle is pretty well-stocked with food and she's been nice enough to share some with me. There are only four of us left; the games will probably be over in a few days. No use fussing about starvation.
Axelle claims that Facet is the only career remaining. She killed Lydia yesterday by slipping snake poison into her thermos. Good to know the deadly snakes are still out and about. One of them almost bit me last week, but I was fast enough to escape. That or it just wasn't too hell-bent on killing me in particular.
I have two friends now, you and Axelle. I hope you don't get jealous.
Jaguar Stratton
The day after the games:
19 July, 7HG
Dear Diary,
My mind is going to explode unless I write down all of my thoughts right now. That's why I turn to you, to let out the things I can't tell anyone.
The end of the games was chaotic. Facet targeted us pretty soon after Axelle and I allied. Through a combination of knives and rocks, we killed him. But he didn't go down without a fight. We were both brutally injured and it was suddenly clear to me how stupid it was to trust her with only three tributes left.
So I grabbed her by the neck and threw her to the ground. My hands started moving ten seconds before my brain had time to catch up, and the next think I knew I'd broken open her head like a rotten melon. In a moment of panic, I had killed my only ally.
Now I realize that if I hadn't done that I probably wouldn't be alive now. I must be grateful for my selfishness.
I'll never forget the look on her face as she died. Betrayal. Because she must have really trusted me.
The only other tribute was the boy from 10, a kid named Ben who only survived because he was small enough to hide in the scraggly bushes. He was twelve, if I recall correctly. And I killed him. I killed three people, including a twelve-year-old, so that I could survive.
It was black when I won. It was black in the sky and in my heart and in my brain. District 6 no longer seemed like a safe haven to me. I no longer longed to return home.
Nowhere in the world will feel safe to me ever again.
List of Victors
District 1 (1 Victor): Luxor Dodge (1st)
District 2 (2 Victors): Tyrell Crowley (3rd), Lancaster Percy (6th)
District 3 (0 Victors):
District 4 (0 Victors):
District 5 (1 Victor): Electra Wilty (4th)
District 6 (1 Victor): Jaguar Stratton (7th)
District 7 (1 Victor): Rowan Dobson (2nd)
District 8 (0 Victors):
District 9 (0 Victors):
District 10 (0 Victors):
District 11 (1 Victor): Bluebell Singer (5th)
District 12 (0 Victors):