"Hannah Lugeth," the Capitol announcer said. I hated her. I hated the Capitol. Murderers. The killers of my parents, my father, mother, my three brothers, and, worst of all, my baby sister. I made my way to the stage, head high, shoulders back, features neutral, just as my father, a general in the war, had taught me.
"Any volunteers?" he said, his atrocious Capitol accent grating in my ears. I spied Lunara, my best friend, standing with the other fifteen-year-old girls, a hand of comfort of her shoulder. Aubrey. Worn and weary, the only three daughters of three leaders of the rebellion in District ten. The Dark Days, as the Capitol called it, had made us see things fifty-year-olds would not dream of witnessing, and the three of us knew how to fight, how to kill, how to snap a man's neck without flinching. How to hide our emotions, how to charm, to manipulate, to not fear death, but capture by the enemy, and this, this was our worst nightmare. I barely heard the name of the male tribute, but when I saw him, I gasped.
"Hannah," Zach said, his sharp blue eyes boring into mine.
"Zach," I murmured, forcing my features to remain blank. What were the odds? That my boyfriend for two years would be Reaped?
The Capitol man congratulated us, the Tributes from District Ten, and was met with stony silence and cold glares. Then we were whisked off to the Capitol to die. We were introduced to the other Tributes, but I refused to get to know them, knowing that that would just make everything more painful. I excused myself, saying that I had a headache, and went to my room. A minute later, though, Zach came in through the door, sitting down next to me, putting a hand over mine, entangling them together.
"Hannah," he started, but couldn't get another word out before I kissed him, hard, pushing him down onto the bed. We stayed like that for a moment, kissing, lingering, reveling in the other's touch, and, for a moment, letting the cold, cruel world fade around us.
I drew away slightly, smiling softly. "Yes, Zach?"
He looked slightly dazed and took a moment before he answered. "When we get to the arena, I want you to kill me."
I gasped. "What?"
His eyes hardened, turning into sapphires. "I want you to kill me."
I nodded slowly, understanding the incentive behind his words. "I will survive these Games," I vowed to him, letting my hatred for the Capitol guide my words. "I will survive, but I will not live. I will 'win', as they call it, but I will never leave their arena. I will stand, over twenty-three bodies, look our murderers in the eyes, and show them, show them, that they can never take me."
I looked at Zach, green into blue, and he laughed. "I always knew that red hair was a good thing."
I scowled at him but found myself unable to stay angry at him.
"Damn, girl, did I ever tell you you're beautiful when you're angry?" Zach murmured.
I laughed, and wrapped my hands around his shirt, dragging him into me, kissing him, his lips, chapped, caressing mine. The kiss intensified, each of us fighting for control. This was why I loved Zach. we both were Alpha Wolf stock, both of us desired to come out on top. We balanced each other out, edging the other on, keeping the other in check.
His hands found his way under my shirt, pulling it off. I did the same for him, revealing deeply tanned skin, stretched taut over muscle and sinew, rippling under my fingers. A loud knock sounded on the door, tearing us apart. Instantly, I felt his warmth receding. I shivered slightly. The door burst open, a Capitol attendant at the door. She gave a little screech and looked away, flustered, giving me enough time to slip my shirt back on.
"We are at the Capitol," she stuttered. "The President wishes to tell you that the Games will start in the morning. Have a good night," she finished, fleeing the room.
I looked at Zach, regretting what I had to say. "We should probably get a good night's sleep. I don't want to be sleep deprived tomorrow morning."
Zach nodded and left, kissing me one more time, leaving me by myself.
~O~O~O~O~
"Nice arena," I said sarcastically to my escort, who ignored me pointedly. He pushed me up onto the plate and left the place. The one-minute clock started, and I looked around quickly, taking in my surroundings. The other Tributes were spread out in a circle, each an equal distance apart. A pile of weapons were dumped in the center of the circle. The timer hit zero, and all hell let loose. I sprinted to the pile, and snatched up a pair of daggers, just as my left leg exploded in pain. I grunted, spun around, slashing the throat of my attacker.
Within five minutes, only six of us were alive, the rest dead or dying.
"I'm sorry," I heard one of the surviving tributes whisper before decapitating the Tribute closest to him.
Zach looked at me, bleeding from a dozen wounds. Kill me, his eyes pleaded with me. I swallowed drily, schooling my emotions like I had a hundred times before, and plunged my knife into his throat. Someone lunged at me while my back was turned.
Backstabber. But ten years of instincts, training, and natural reflexes acted for themselves, and before I knew it, he fell, throat slit. I wondered why they were so willing to kill. Was it that the reward was so tempting? Or was it because that it seemed that it was better to kill, to comply with the Capitol, than show a shred of humanness, to tell the Capitol that it cannot keep the districts chained, that every restraint, however mighty, could, and would be broken?
I glanced around. Only one other Tribute was still standing, having just killed her district partner. Her face was streaked with blood. She bared her teeth, small, pointed things, gleaming in the dim light. She leaped at me, a sword swinging at my face. I rolled, parrying her blows. My leg throbbed. Adrenaline was no match for blood loss, and I was tired. So tired. Tired of all this death, tired of the Capitol's cruelty, tired of the level of compliance the Tributes showed. Good thing I didn't plan to live much longer. In a final burst of energy, I leaped forward, thrusting my knife into my opponent's heart. I set her down gently, closing sightless eyes.
"Congratulations, Hannah Lugeth," a voice said over a speaker. "Our first Hunger Games Victor!"
I exhaled sharply, hating the sound of my name.
"Well," I said, "I would like to say a few things to all of you fucking bitches. You don't own me. You will never own me. You cannot win. You will never win. It may seem like that now, but we will kill you. You cannot put out the fire of rebellion by throwing more wood onto it. The fire may seem to die for a moment, but we will come back, stronger and brighter, until all of Panem is consumed by it. YOU. WILL. NEVER. WIN." I hefted the dagger in my hand, drawing it to my throat, and with a jerk of my wrist, slit my own throat.
~O~O~O~O~
Pain. Blackness. A floating sensation. I opened my eyes.
"Mother? Father?" there they were, younger, freer, happier than I'd known them before the firing squad had lodged bullets in their chest.
"Yes, dear. Welcome home."
No one ever won the Hunger Games. Only Death would reap the results.