Hey guys! This is a pretty short fanfic, probably could have posted it as a one shot but decided not to. Please review and check out my other stories! Thanks!
hiro hamada
I pull a pair of calf-high boots over my trousers and slip a soft, brown leather jacket onto my shoulders. I need to look my best today. I don't know why—the fanciest thing I might do is ride a train and it won't even be for long. I'm only District Three. But I'm richer than a lot of kids in my district, living in the Victor's Village, and apparently the reaping is the perfect time to show that off.
I leave my room and meet Tadashi and my parents in the kitchen. The breakfast is simple—rolls and fruit, nothing fancy like they have in the Capitol. Even with Tadashi a victor, we don't live in luxury. But at least we live.
"You nervous, Hiro?" Tadashi asks as I pick mindlessly at an orange.
I shrug.
Tadashi won the fourth Quarter Quell five years ago almost by chance. That year, all the tributes were twelve-year-olds, but Tadashi was easily the smallest. He hid by a stream and hunted food until everyone else killed each other off. He even built an electric fence to protect himself using parts from the drones he received. Everyone called it a genius victory. He was hurt really bad at the Cornucopia—a sword slash that missed his femoral artery by about a millimeter. Stitched it up himself with a medical kit he got from a sponsor.
"It's not as bad as anyone makes it out to be, Hiro," Tadashi says encouragingly.
I swear I hear him mutter, "It's worse."
The people of District Three gather in the square, where the reaping will be held. Amara Trinket, the Capitol woman who draws the names, stands on the stage. Tadashi sits next to her in a chair, rubbing his neck nervously. He hates attention, and the cameras are pointed right at him.
"Welcome to the 105th Hunger Games!" Amara squeals. "May the odds be ever in your favor!"
Tadashi rolls his eyes.
"Ladies first!" Amara dances over to the ball with the girls' names in it. She draws out a piece of paper with a flourish and smooths it in her hands.
"Megan Everdeen."
A dark-haired girl walks up to the stage, calm and composed. She looks around fourteen or fifteen. Amara calls for volunteers.
There are none.
Amara makes a pouty face at the camera, then brings back her dazzling smile and reaches into the boys' ball. I hold my breath. I only have two entries. I'll be fine.
Amara draws the paper. "Hiro Hamada."
"No!"
The voice is Tadashi's. He stands from his seat on the stage, almost collapsing on his bad leg. All I can see is a blur of color as the world spins around me, dizzy with the knowledge that I have been reaped.
I am going into the arena.
I start up the stairs that lead me to the stage, shaking slightly. Tadashi is still trying to reach me, held back by two of our other victors.
"I volunteer!" Tadashi gasps. "I volunteer as tribute!"
"Sit down, Tadashi," Amara says firmly. "Past victors cannot volunteer for a tribute."
"I volunteer," comes a soft voice from the crowd. I look down and see my mother.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Hamada. Parents cannot volunteer either."
My mother lifts her chin and turns away. I see the tears in her eyes, though. She's trying to be strong, but she doesn't want to lose anyone else to the Hunger Games.
The Hamadas have bad luck with the reaping. A few years before Tadashi, my mother's sister, Cass, was killed in the Hunger Games. Backstabbed by her ally—literally.
"Any eligible volunteers?" Amara asks through a smile, all purple lips and bright white teeth.
No answer. The square is silent except for the sound of Tadashi's desperate, pleading gasps behind me. "Please. Please. Don't let him…not Hiro…please…please…"
"I'm so sorry, Tadashi," Amara says, her voice much colder now, her smile frozen. Her deep purple lids flutter. "The show must go on."
tadashi hamada
"Hiro!"
As soon as the cameras are off, I lunge for Hiro, pulling him against my chest. He can't go into the arena. He just can't. He's too small, too weak, too vulnerable. He won't survive training, much less the Hunger Games themselves.
"Tadashi, let me go," Hiro mumbles into my jacket.
I pull away from Hiro, resting my hands on his shoulders instead.
"They're going to make me mentor you," I whisper. "They want me to see you die up close."
Hiro smiles sadly, reaches toward my face…
And slaps it.
Hard.
"I'm not going to die," he says. "I'm not going to let you go through that."
He turns and sinks down on the steps of the stage, his face in his hands. I think he believes he's going to die. No matter how much he tries to reassure me.
I'm going on the train with Hiro, as his mentor, so at least I don't have to say goodbye. Not yet. But it still breaks my heart to see Hiro bidding farewell to our parents, our mother clutching his hand as the Peacekeepers wrestle him away.
I try not to let myself remember, but my mind keeps coming back to my reaping.
The air is unusually chilly for July. I shiver despite the heat of the bodies all around me, waiting as Amara selects the girl for District Three.
A sudden sense of anticipation and finality washes over me, and she's only on the girls' bowl. I don't even have a chance of being chosen yet.
Amara draws the name out and holds it up. "Honey Lemon Prior."
Oh no.
Not Honey. Honey is too pure for the Games. Too sweet, too kind. She could never kill. She'd die before she left the Cornucopia.
By the time I regain my presence of mind, Honey is on the stage, her blonde hair swishing in the summer breeze, and Amara is calling for volunteers.
I step forward. "I volunteer."
They changed the volunteering rules a few years ago. A boy can volunteer for a girl, but a girl can't volunteer for a boy. They'll take me to the Games and draw another girl's name.
I don't think my voice carries over the murmur of the crowd, so I inhale and shout, "I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!"
The crowd goes silent.
"Dashi, no!"
Hiro's tiny arms wrap around my waist.
"I have to go, Hiro," I tell the eight-year-old. "I chose this."
A Peacekeeper leads Honey off the stage and pulls me up in her place. She squeezes my hand once before the Peacekeeper pulls her away.
I stand with my jaw lifted and my shoulders squared, trying to appear confident, but everyone who knows me will see I'm not. The neck rub gives me away.
Amara calls another girl's name and she walks up to the stage. I barely hear it. I am lost in my own world, fully aware of what is going to happen to me. I've been reaped for the Hunger Games.
I am going to die.
I limp back to my quarters on the train, trying not to think about what happened next. I taught myself how to hunt and survive in the wilderness while I waited for everyone else to die. I took a knife and some tranquilizer darts from the Cornucopia, knocking out the prey before I killed it. I didn't like killing anything. But that made it easier.
I never killed a human being. Never. I would have had to kill myself if I'd done that. I did only what I had to to survive.
After I was slashed at the Cornucopia, I nearly bled out. I needed thirty-three stitches for the six-inch cut in my leg. I know for a fact there were cameras on me when I was sewing it up with no numbing agent. I can't imagine how entertaining the Gamemakers must have found a bleeding, sobbing twelve-year-old trying to stitch his skin back together while in so much pain he could barely breathe.
I rub the scar on my leg as Amara summons me to dinner and I limp toward the dining car. The scar doesn't hurt often, but I have a permanent limp. Something to remind me of my Games every time I take a step.
I pick at my food in the dining car, the only sounds the clink of forks and knives against plates. The girl from Three, Megan, looks like she wants to make conversation but doesn't have the words.
Finally she says to Amara, "Have you heard of my mother?"
"I don't think so," Amara replies coolly.
"Really? Katniss Everdeen?"
Amara freezes.
"Why, I suppose I have." Her tone drips with fake politeness. "How did you end up in District Three, then?"
Megan shrugs. "My mother gave me to her friend to protect when she was captured by the Capitol. He was offered a job in Three a few years later, after she was executed."
"Ah." Amara spears piece of lamb on her fork, studying it. "What's your guardian's name?"
"Gale Hawthorne."
"Really. Him I've heard of. Betrayed Katniss to the Capitol to save his family, didn't he? Brave man."
"Yes," Megan says through gritted teeth. "Brave."
Clearly she has no love for her guardian.
Hiro pushes food around on his plate, the only thing he's eaten a small white roll and a handful of apple slices. I can see why he's not hungry. He ate kind of a lot at lunch. All the District kids are overwhelmed by the food when they get to the Capitol.
Night has fallen by the time we reach the Capitol, all glitter and marble and gold. Though the older styles are coming back, the Capitol itself has been transformed into a shimmering metropolis since the war.
I lead a wide-eyed Hiro into the Training Center's living quarters and up to the third floor. The floor numbers correspond to the district the tribute is from.
"Wow," Hiro whispers as we enter his room. It's not fancy, but it's huge, and equipped with highly advanced technology. Paradise for a District Three.
"I get to live here?" Hiro breathes, looking around at the skylights and machines glittering on the walls.
I bite back a reply about how he might not get to live anywhere for long.
End of part one! I'll post the next chapter tomorrow!