Georgio Bronte from District 8
Victor of the Eighth Annual Hunger Games

When the peacekeeper marched into the room, all five victors set their eyes on him: the gun, the boots, the black visor of his uniform. They'd been waiting for him for hours. Waiting for the news. Waiting for something, anything.

"The doctors have declared him dead," said the peacekeeper's gruff voice, shattering the silence.

The day before, Lancaster Percy had been shot. Murdered by the brother of one of the tributes he'd killed in the games. And now the other victors were imprisoned in District 2 in the interest of their safety.

"It's for the best," Rowan had explained the day earlier. "In case this is part of some giant plot to kill all the victors."

That warning was oddly prophetic; within twenty-four hours of Lancaster's death, suspicious characters were found near Electra's house in District 5. They were later identified as rebels and their grand plan was tortured out of them in the soundproofed basement of the Justice Building. They probably would have succeeded in killing all the victors if not for the Capitol's incredible knack for hiding surveillance cameras.

It was weeks before the victors were allowed out of hiding. They returned to homes that had been wiretapped beyond belief; the Capitol just couldn't risk any further harm coming to their beloved victors.

A year passed, and the victors were once again taken into hiding.

The victor of the seventh Hunger Games, Jaguar, noticed mysterious scuff marks on a drainpipe near his home. He fled to the Justice Building and called the authorities and minutes later the killers were inside his home, feverishly searching for the victor that was not there. Now the Capitol had locked the victors up again, fearing another large-scale attack.

The last year had not been kind to Jaguar. He was only seventeen but seemed to be five years older than when he won the games. Tyrell was similarly aging poorly. He could often be found staring off into the distance, seeming to focus on both nothing and everything. Like he was creating an entire world in his mind. Electra could always cheer the group up, but there were times her sparking smile faltered and died out. Luxor was still terrified of everything he saw. As for Bluebell, well – her fashion sense was unforgettable.

"Ready to do this again?" Luxor cried out sarcastically when the victors found themselves once again in the small room.

"Ready as I'll ever be," Tyrell sighed. "Wonder how long it'll be this time."

Bluebell smiled a little. "Imagine if we miss the Hunger Games because we're locked in here."

"That would never happen," Luxor said. "They'd get us front row seats even if there were assassins right outside the building."

For a few days everyone was dreary. Electra and Bluebell got along well, and soon enough they were inseparable. Bluebell let Electra try on some of the colorful outfits she'd packed in her suitcase. When the other victors were dead quiet, hungry or tired or bored, laughter could often be heard from Electra's and Bluebell's private quarters.

Before long, it was time for the eighth annual Hunger Games. President Cornelius sent them a message that it wasn't yet safe for them to exit. In reality, his men needed more time tapping and installing cameras all around the victor's houses. You will be released a few days before the games begin, said the president. Until now, though, they were trapped.

"This already reminds me of the day I was reaped," Jaguar said, his eyes dropping darkly. "The tension in the air, you know."

The others nodded, murmuring in approval. They all knew the feeling.

Luxor flicked on the television just as the first reaping began. His own District 1. The volunteers, as usual, stepped forward immediately. Ivory Hanson and Goldton Carver, two of the academies' strongest students. Luxor examined Ivory's features, some faint memory stirring inside him.

"I knew her. When we were kids. We went to the same school."

Tyrell didn't recognize either of the volunteers from 2, a brutish boy named Hamlet and his partner Gypsum. Maybe that was a good thing.

In District 8, a girl named Tecida Larson was reaped. She wasn't on the younger side as far as tributes went, but she was thin and ashy and nobody expected her to be a strong contender. The escort asked her a few questions and then picked a male name. The square drew in a collective breath as the name was read aloud…

"Georgio Bronte!"

A boy with curly brown hair slowly walked to the stage. The crowd cleared around him while he walked, as though his bad luck was a disease they might catch.

Georgio tapped the microphone once. In a daze, he stammered, "I hope you enjoy my presentation about photosynthesis."

"What?" the escort stammered, just as confused as the rest of the square.

"Photosynthesis takes place in two stages," Georgio warbled. "The first stage uses sunlight to produce energy molecules like ATP. ATP is the main energy source for cells in both plants and animals."

"I'm sorry, Georgio, but I don't know what you're talking about."

"This is my presentation about photosynthesis, Mrs. Randall," Georgio said, as though that clarified everything. "After the cells have produced ATP, they use light-independent reactions – also called the Calvin Cycle – in order to…"

The escort grabbed the microphone from him. "Tell us about yourself, Georgio."

Georgio looked at her inquisitively. "What do you mean? I've been in your biology class all year." His voice was shaky.

"You know what, kid? I think you need a drink of water. Let's take you into the Justice Building." And they were gone.

The girl tribute, Tecida, watched the scene play out with equal parts confusion and terror. After a minute or two, the escort came back to retrieve her. And the civilians were dismissed.

In the victor's prison, Rowan wrinkled his eyebrows. "What was he on about?"

"Photosynthesis, I guess," Electra responded drearily.

"He must have been high on morphling," Jaguar said, bringing the room to silence. "It's all too common in District 6. People take too much and then they can't think clearly for the rest of the day. It distorts their senses of time and space."

"And… and drugs made that kid thing he was in biology class?" Luxor stammered.

Jaguar nodded gravely.

"Already, he's unforgettable," Luxor added. "Imagine if he's just pretending to make himself more memorable."

"By humiliating himself in front of the entire nation?" Electra piped in. "I doubt it."

"All that being said, I must commend his knowledge of photosynthesis," Bluebell said. "I didn't know they taught it anywhere outside of District 11."

The rest of the reapings passed without much fanfare. Eventually, the victors all turned in for bed, thinking about the mysterious boy from 8 and what would befall him in the days to come.

"And next, please put your hands together for Georgio Bronte from District 8!"

Caius Flickerman made a broad gesture as Georgio marched onto stage, dressed smartly in a rainbow suit that seemed to flash and glow in the stage lights.

"Welcome to the stage, Georgio. What a fantastic costume!"

"Thanks," Georgio said, turning left and right so that his entire body seemed to dazzle.

The six victors sat in the front row, watching the boy curiously. Luxor's stomach dropped, just as it did every time a new tribute stepped onto the stage. Because this kid, this flashy and crazy kid, was probably going to die. Rowan just watched with wide, curious eyes. Tyrell considered his size and demeanor to judge whether he would be a threat in the arena. Electra and Bluebell whispered softly to one another about something unknown. Jaguar couldn't stop thinking about the pair of tributes from his district, two kids with yellow skin who must already be morphling addicts.

What a cruel world this was.

"Now, Georgio, there's no use beating around the bush."

The boy sat straight up in his chair like he'd been pricked in the back with a needle. "Yes, Caius?"

"At the reaping – what exactly were you thinking when you started speaking to the crowd?"

In the front row, Tyrell buried his head in his hands. The details of Georgio's incident were supposed to be kept secret, but information like that is hard to keep contained. Word on the street was that he and a few friends had gotten drugged up that morning to ease their stress about the reaping. At the same time, Georgio was preparing for a school biology project, and he got to the two events mixed up – when he went to the reaping, he thought he was at school.

Georgio's face scrunched up. He was clearly thinking very hard. "I just… thought I'd share my newest science project with the whole country."

"I'm sure your teacher is very proud of you," Caius said, laughing. "What's her name again?"

"Mrs. Randall."

Caius looked straight at the nearest camera. "Mrs. Randall, whoever you are, you'd better give Georgio an A on his project."

The audience burst into laughter at all of this, and suddenly Georgio's expression lifted a little. Maybe this interview wouldn't be a complete disaster after all.

"Why don't you tell us a little more about photosynthesis? Give us all a science lesson?"

"I'd love to," Georgio said. "Plants aren't the only organisms that photosynthesize. It's also done by some protists and algae."

He said a silent thank-you to himself for paying attention in class.

"Very cool, very cool. While you're at it, is there anything else you'd like to demonstrate for us?"

"I can touch my eye with my tongue!" he burst out so quickly it was almost comedic.

The audience giggled along with Caius. "Amazing!" he shouted. "A demonstration, please."

Georgio reached into his mouth, grabbed his tongue, and pulled it up to his eye. He let them touch for a split second and then pulled it back into his mouth.

"Incredible! Legendary!" Caius shouted, standing up and shouting with excitement. "Ladies and gentlemen, we may as well crown this young man the victor of the eighth annual Hunger Games right now!"

The victors in the crowd murmured in admiration of the kid who'd stolen the hearts of the audience members. Some people confuse reapings and science classes, and some tell jokes. Get yourself a tribute who can do both.

Three weeks had passed since the reaping. The victors, once again sitting in the front row, watched as the Victor's Crown was lowered onto Georgio's head. President Cornelius whispered something inaudible to the boy who'd survived the arena. He cued for the lights to dim, for the crowd to hush. And then the film was playing.

The film began with the reapings. They were played rapidly and only lasted a few minutes on the screen. The only reaping played in full was District 8's. The audience relived the moment Georgio stumbled onto the stage, dutifully reciting his speech about photosynthesis. The crowd roared with laughter the entire time.

Georgio just watched the screen with a fake smile that covered so much pain.

Next, they showed the tribute parade. Ivory and Goldton from 1 entered first, garbled in sparkly white tunics that dazzled like curtains of jewels. The cameras quickly cut between the chariots and then came to a rest on the one carrying the victor. The District 8 tributes were wrapped head to toe in bright green thread. In hindsight, Georgio wondered if the green color was specifically chosen to match the color of plants.

He took a moment to get a good look at his district partner, Tecida. She looked healthier and happier on screen than Georgio remembered her. Maybe her image had been doctored for the movie. Or maybe the outfit was just that flattering. Or maybe everyone just looks nicer when you're no longer fearing for your life.

As the film showed footage from the training center and the training scores, all Georgio could think about was Tecida's voice and her childish grin and how she was doomed to die in the end.

The arena this year was a rolling prairie that spread on for miles. The tributes looked stunned when they saw the prairie for the first time; the way the grass bent in waves under the wind was mesmerizing. When the gong rang, several of the tributes stood motionless on their pedestals, entranced by the arena that surrounded them.

But not Georgio. He'd managed to snap himself out of it, and he was at the cornucopia in a matter of seconds.

Hamlet and Gypsum from 2 instantly proved to be the biggest threats. With the help of the pair from 1, they took out eleven kids in the opening minutes. The rest of the tributes scattered across the arena, jogging or walking or thundering for their lives as the grass bent in waves to the horizon.

Georgio couldn't believe the boy on the screen was him. He'd never seen such a wild look in his eyes, or such a hopeless drawl in his movements. The victors in the audience thought of their own games, and how scared they felt, and how they were never the same again.

It would never end, they realized. Every year someone new would join their group. And suddenly they wanted to embrace the boy from District 8.

Soon enough, the prairie proved to be deadly. Lethal foxes and coyotes roamed the arena, picking off the tributes one by one until there were only ten left. By that point, Hamlet had made a few more kills as well, slaughtering a duo of allied tributes from District 12 with the help of his allies.

A week into the games, the first twisters appeared. The storm had been brewing for several days, but even so, the tributes were unprepared for the horrible natural disaster they were forced to face. The first funnel cloud dropped out of the sky on Day 7, a roaring vortex of dirt and angry air, and suddenly every tribute ran for their lives.

The careers were much too close to the first twister to escape with their lives. Two of them were killed, including Hamlet. That left only the girls: Ivory and Gypsum. Georgio himself would have died if he wasn't such a fast runner. The tornado was fast, but he was literally running for his life, and adrenaline powered him forward for several miles. That night, he curled up next to a pool of sweet-smelling water and passed out from exhaustion.

Each of the subsequent days contained another tornado. Before long, the tributes became accustomed to the daily rhythm: wake, hide from storm, run from tornado, go back to sleep. The twisters followed the same path every day, pushing the fleeing tributes closer to one another to ensure more bloodshed.

On Day 10, Georgio made his first kill. He stole a spear from a supply pack that had been cast across the arena by one of the tornados, originating from one of the now-dead careers. He ran the polished wooden handle through his fingers as he walked.

He was thirsty. Too thirsty. The water of the arena was drying up by the hour. Soon there would be none left. After a lull of a few years, the sponsor system was back in swing, and Georgio hoped that if he made a kill he could get the crowd back on his side. He just needed water. Just a sip. He'd do anything.

There was a flash of movement. A shriek of panic. That was all Georgio needed to prompt an attack. He dove through the grass and forced his spear into the other tribute's neck, stomping on her head and chest as hard as he possibly could.

Only after the cannon fired did he see the dead body of Tecida Larson. Mangled and bloody under his feet. His very own district partner.

Several tributes died over the next few days, some from tornados and some from the deadly fox and wolf mutts that roamed the arena. After two weeks in the arena, it all came down to Georgio and Ivory. She was armed with only a bow and a pair of knives after a twister wrecked the cornucopia four days earlier. Ivory was a fearsome opponent nonetheless. Any boy from 8 would be hard-pressed to take her down.

The next evening, the tributes clashed at the west end of the meadow. Georgio's sponsors had sent him a belt of knives he didn't really know how to use, but it was better than nothing. They spotted each other about fifty yards away and both began sprinting. Then the fight began. Ivory's first few shots were powerful; she sent several of Georgio's knives flying out of his hands.

It happened all at once. One of Ivory's arrows landed in Georgio's shoulder. He heard the sound of the daily tornado, rolling over the meadow like the screams of a dying beast. And he charged. He charged so quickly and so powerfully that Ivory didn't have time to react. The 8 boy yanked away the 1 girl's bow and snapped it under his feet. He kicked her in the groin, sending her stumbling backward, and Georgio thrust the spear into her chest, her latest arrow bouncing back and forth in his shoulder like a spring.

The Georgio wearing the Victor's Crown closed his eyes as he watched himself kill Ivory on screen. The look on his face was too much to bear. Living it once had been enough.

"We all know how you feel, Georgio," Electra whispered, lightly touching his fingertips.

It was a friendly gesture, not a romantic one. The experience of surviving the games bound the victors like oath.

"I just hate that there's no end to look forward to," the newest victor lamented. "In the arena, I kept thinking, I just need to survive the games, I just need to win, and then it would all be over. But now there's… theres…"

His voice cracked and he started to cry. Rowan offered him a tissue.

"There's interviews and paparazzi and all that. And it all seems endless. Like this is leading nowhere."

"Believe us, we know."

They were right, and Georgio knew it, because the company of the other victors always made him less uncomfortable. Tyrell's wisdom. Jaguar's love of journaling. Bluebell's enthusiasm for anything colorful.

"What do you say we all talk to each other on the phone tonight?" Tyrell said between mouthfuls of ice cream. "I'm sure it would be helpful to get our thoughts in order. One on one."

"Sounds like a plan," Luxor said from a far corner of the green room. "And Georgio – I'd like to talk to you first. I survived the games before anyone else. I know a thing or two about surviving after them."

Georgio just smiled softly. "That'd be great."

He returned home to District 8 to find he'd gotten a perfect score on his photosynthesis project. The happy feeling almost made up for everything else. He also promised himself he would never get high on morphling again. And he kept that promise. Not all of the future victors could say the same.

Like the other victors, he vastly preferred life at home to life in the Capitol. Yeah, the food was great and the beds were very comfortable. But he was revolted by the microphones and flashing cameras. He always said a life of pulling thread was enough for him.

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): Georgio Bronte (8th)

District 9 (0 Victors):

District 10 (0 Victors):

District 11 (1 Victor): Bluebell Singer (5th)

District 12 (0 Victors):