I love hearing people's opinions on characters and who they think is going to die. I wasn't originally, but I'm going to make a poll for who everyone wants to win.
I'll put it up after the District 12 Reapings and everyone can have 3 votes for their favourite tributes. It won't change the main storyline or anything but maybe if there's someone's name who keeps cropping up they might survive a little longer. Maybe. Or maybe I'll ignore it entirely, still vote when I make the poll.
Goodbyes were too saccharine? I'll take that as a challenge.
I made Pat female because females are Reaped first.
The first third of this was beta read by my 11 year old next door neighbour. The second part wasn't. You'll see why.
Violence and gore warning but this is the Hunger Games fandom so you should sort of expect that.
District 9: Ahab Bronson
I hate life in the Districts.
I've never hated anything more except for the Capitol itself. I'd rather starve out here in District 9 than live, filled with food made through the blood of the people in the Districts and the tributes in the Games.
It wasn't enough for them to kill my sister in their stupid Games. They had to kill my mother too with their faulty boat. She was hunting along the swampy river in District 9 when the rotor went flying off because the Capitol refused to pay for maintenance and it killed her.
My father doesn't care about us anymore- we're just reminders of the wife and daughter he lost. Every Reaping Day he leaves the house at the crack of dawn and spends the day at Mother and Diana's graves leaving me with my wimpy little brother. He doesn't have a job and he spends all of his days 'studying' at school. It's pathetic; he doesn't do anything for our family.
Even now he just sits bunched up in a corner, huddled into a ball.
Our house is filthy; the grey plasterboard of the walls is chipped and cracked, the light flickers on and off but mostly stays off, cobwebs hang across the walls and everything is grimy and dusty. I doubt you could even tell anyone lives in here if it weren't for Ishmael's whimpering.
I don't live in here most days; I spend all of my time training.
I'm not going to be another victim caught off guard by the Games like my sister, next year I'm volunteering and I'm going to win. Then I'm going to kill everyone in the Capitol that made her die. Finally, I'll live in a big house in the Victor's Village with a maid and all the food I could ever want. Alone. My father and my wimp of a brother aren't going to hold me down any longer.
"A-Ahab?" Ishmael asks. I ignore him so he takes it as a sign to keep going because I haven't shouted at him, "Do-do we have any breakfast?"
"Even if I did I wouldn't give it to you!" I throw a bottle at him which he narrowly dodges as it smashes against the wall, "If you're too useless to get your own food, you don't deserve any!"
As I say this, I stand up and slam the door in the face of my cowering brother. Normally I ignore him but I needed to get that rant off my chest. All that matters is avenging my sister; nothing else. The only person I should have to look after is number one.
I charge straight into the forest, holding the spear that I always use for hunting tightly in my fist. I could use a bow and arrow like the rest of the hunters except that this is hunting as much for food and work as it is training for the Games.
Almost everyone in Panem will be prettying themselves up for the Reaping but not me. As if I could even afford a second set of clothes.
Instead, I'm pushing through a marsh, up to my waist in mud and water, trying to catch some animals drinking from the water. One advantage to being grimy is the added element of surprise on any unsuspecting animals.
I don't exactly like killing but I'll do it if I have to, either for food or for revenge in the Games. Right now it's food but this time next year it'll be a different kind of meat.
Despite my best efforts to keep quiet and my head out of shit creek, the movement of my body pushing through the water is obviously upsetting the animals from around the river. That means I'll have to swim.
The water's filthy and you definitely wouldn't want to swim out of choice, but since when is anything I do out of choice?
District 9: Kristy Greene
Reaping Day. The one day of the year I have to deal with both my father's my-kids-aren't-good-enough thing and my mother's obsession with making me seem more feminine. Pat's already 12 and more than willing but no, 'you should be a good role model to your sister Kristy.'
Yeah right, because I've ever been a good role model to anybody.
Father isn't any better. He's known around the District for being great with children and thinks that they're great.
Well, unless they're his own kids.
I'm a disappointment, Pat's a wimp and Nick is too immature.
Maybe I wouldn't be such a disappointment if he didn't whine about me so much. Then there's his Capitol loving. Maybe I wouldn't be such a disappointment if he didn't love the government who spends a day each year trying to send me to my death and the weeks after that killing his 'beloved' children from our District.
"Get off your lazy ass and get out here Kristy!" Father yells at me as I groan and jump out of bed. I pull on the cheap, frilly dress Mother has laid out for me but without any gusto.
We're rich enough to have a few walls inside our house for which I am eternally thankful, although Father is always threatening to rip my wall down.
Still, I've been faking 'nice' while delaying the inevitable day on which he puts his foot through it and tears the wall down so random guests can watch me while they eat dinner after I get sent to my room for making snide comments about the Capitol. I stopped that after one of the gits reported me and I got whipped and left on the whipping post on the windiest day of the year so that the wound was whipped open and filled with burning dust.
Mother is screaming about how my hair is horrible, Pat's screaming because Mother is yelling hysterically at her that she should have better friends or the Peacekeepers will pick her and how it's all my bad influence.
When I tell them to shut up, Father joins the din and I'm about to go to my room, but he's expecting this manoeuvre and lunges in front of the door as I leap out the window and run two doors down to hide in the alley between the corner shop and the apartment block.
Father doesn't chase me because anyone seeing him screaming down the street after his kids would definitely ruin his image.
"Enjoying the morning?" I ask as I spot Nick behind a trash can. He jumps back and almost smacks his head on the wall as he pants, holding his heart under his fist.
"Kristy! I thought you were Father for a second… Don't sneak up on me like that, how many times do I have to ask?"
"It's a skill," I grin as Nick slides back down the wall, "What're you out here for?"
"Father being his usual self 'you're too scruffy, pat your hair down, straighten up and fly right,'" Nick replies in a passable impression of our lovely father, "You?"
"Bad influence."
"Still?"
"Yeah… my fault Pat's going to get Reaped for hanging with the wrong crowd."
"So a usual Reaping morning?"
"Pretty much."
Ahab:
My haul is crap and I'm in an even worse pre-Reaping mood than usual as I stumble out of the river smelling like whatever crap makes its merry way into District 9's biggest river.
I rip my stinking shirt off and toss it behind a bush for collection on the way back from Reapings. I can't avoid wearing pants but the lack of a shirt gets rid of some of the stench of old sweat and bog. Eau de bog is inevitably horrible- next year, no swimming before Reapings. Having to get the train car fumigated would make a bad impression on the audience I plan to win over.
No one dares talk to me as I walk towards the square, shirtless, my legs covered in mud and holding a spear but I get some appreciative glances from the girls and most of the guys give me a wide berth while the stronger ones nod and walk by me on the way to the Reapings. It doesn't matter to me. I know some people have 'egos' but I have neither time nor patience to care about anything but the Games and avenging my sister.
Signing in is dull because it involves standing around while my mind is on other things, when I could be training.
When I stand in the 17s section I can break up the people standing within it into groups, almost as if they're wearing brightly coloured shirts to show off their feelings.
Some of them have trained, hoping their names won't be drawn but training just in case. There are only a few of them. Next, those who hope they won't be Reaped but just rely on luck if their names get drawn. Finally, the largest group are those quaking with fear, glancing at younger siblings and hoping against hope that they won't be Reaped.
I stand alone as wanting to be Reaped, begging for the chance to be in the arena and to kill like my sister never managed as a member of that second group.
It seems like forever before the section is filled and our candy cane of an escort walks up onto the stage with a red and white top hat perched horribly on her head.
She jumps and giggles through out her speech and it's taking a fair chunk of my self restraint to keep calm and focused on my goal of avenging Diana.
Finally, "Pat Greene!" the name spurts suddenly out of the escort's mouth, a random interlude in a current of Capitol loving jargon.
There's barely a second before a girl leaps out of the 17s as she shouts, "I volunteer," and sprints up to the stage, leaving no possibility of her sister making it to the stage before her.
Another one? It seems like a year doesn't pass without someone volunteering for a younger sibling who was Reaped. With the way they stagger the Reapings so that the older, and more entertaining to watch fight, kids have a greater chance of getting Reaped it's strange that they let so many little kids get Reaped. I would never volunteer for my scum of a little brother.
Still, the boy's name is of more interest to me. Should I volunteer this year? Do I really need another year before I go to the Games?
When the boy's name is called, my choice is taken away from me, "Ahab Bronson."
Good.
Kristy:
Nick and I crawl out from behind the dustbins when the sounds of voices begin to increase in number from the east, where the square is.
Pat will get taken to the Reapings by our parents and we want to be out of here before they come past and pre-empt screaming at us some more with death stares. Meanwhile we get a few hours of parent-free time without work or school after the Reapings.
I'm grinning wildly as we join the queue of people entering the square and Nick raises an eyebrow, "What's happening to the Peacekeepers this year?"
I always try and prank the Peacekeepers every Reaping and while they've never caught me in the act, it pisses my father off because he knows that it's probably me.
My best was rigging a sheet of plate glass that was being replaced on the Justice Building so that it dropped on the head of a Peacekeeper who was getting the Reaping bowls set up. The crash over his head was like music to my ears and it didn't do any damage.
Well, lasting damage anyway.
This year it's a little bit more domestic. I covered rocks in lemon and pepper after sharpening them so when I blow on a hollowed out stick from the forest, they cut and sting for hours afterwards. That and the enormous bag of mud on top of a building bordering the queue so that the Peacekeepers on the perimeter are going to be covered in the foulest, most disgusting mud I could dig up from a bog in District 9.
Nick has to peel off to go to the 15s which is good, it's further away from the mud so there won't be any suspicion on him if I get caught. Pat is already in the 12s and Mother and Father have mysteriously vanished despite the other mothers fawning over their little 12 year olds. Hypocrites; 'We love kids?' Bull.
5 Peacekeepers get hit several times by my rocks but they can't move or they'll look weak. They just have to stand through the stinging.
I slip in between the 17s before coming to a halt beside a boy near the middle. He's about to say something to his friend who used to be beside him when he almost smashes into the girl behind him when he starts at my sudden appearance.
"Wow, I did not even see you coming. I'm guessing that was you," he says, pointing towards the Peacekeepers who are squirming uncomfortably with tiny spots of red around the hems of their uniforms. Let's just say I have a reputation and not necessarily a bad one. Well unless you're a Peacekeeper or my parents in which case it's abysmal.
I smile, "Of course. Lemon juice and pepper with just a sprinkle of pointy rocks."
"Not your best work, but not bad either," he replies.
"Oh you didn't think that was all I'm doing did you?" I grin before melting into the crowd again. I love sneaking up on people; it's fun and dead useful when it comes to agro Peacekeepers with guns.
When I release the mud it occurs to me that the mud might relieve some of the stinging. Oh well, it lasted for half an hour or so anyway and the stench will last much, much longer.
Tem, another girl in the 17s, whispers to me, nodding towards the Peacekeepers, "Nice trick," while several people snicker, but most are too afraid of the ramifications of such a small act.
"Thanks," I whisper, but I see one of the Peacekeepers glaring at me. Do they realise that she was congratulating me on the prank? That would be more than enough proof in their books for things I don't even want to comprehend.
Despite ignoring the escort's speed of sound ramble, the name drawn answers all my questions, "Pat Greene!"
I don't waste a second in sprinting out of the 17s and yelling, "I volunteer!"
No way am I going to let anyone not know that I'll never let my sister go to her death, whether my father thinks she needs to 'harden up' or not.
I can see the greedy smiles of the Peacekeepers and I can tell that they're hungering, excusing the pun, for my death. I should have known something like this would happen. Picking me was too simple; they had to give me an ultimatum between my death and watching my sister's death with no escaping the choice.
"Ahab Bronson!" the escort calls as a tall, mud covered boy walks up to the stage, looking pleased with himself. The mud wasn't me at least (vendettas are a really bad start to the Games) since it's only from the legs down and he's clean and shirtless on his top half.
At least I'll have something to look at on the train to my doom.
Ahab:
No one visits me for the goodbyes and that doesn't displease me much. I don't want to see my father who's probably preparing me a grave beside my family's as we speak or my wimp of a brother.
I saw the expression on his face when I was Reaped. It was almost… pleased.
He wasn't exuberant, he wasn't sobbing and sad about my impending homicide and victory but he was… maybe relieved is a better word. Ungrateful bastard.
I'll be free of him soon. No whining from the corner, no more interruption to my training. No more swamp training for that matter.
I can almost imagine the clang of metal as I put an end to my opponents, the screams of the tributes who morph into the Capitol in my mind and the retribution for the death another tribute dealt to my sister. Revenge is all I can think of, all I need to keep me going.
Instead of being showered in love and hugs from a sobbing family I was wiping the mud off on the curtains and lying across the couch picking the grit from my fingernails, totally alone. It was just the way I wanted to be before the Games.
No family commitments or empty promises, just the promise of imminent revenge. I will be able to avenge my sister in just a few days and pay back the losses of my family because of the Capitol.
I will not lose my calm.
I will focus, fight and win.
Death is not an option.
Kristy:
Ahab and I are ushered into separate rooms for our goodbyes and I'm expecting a tearful scene with Nick, Pat and my parents when the door opens.
It's not what I get.
Instead, the opening of the door heralds a swarm of Peacekeepers with truncheons in their hands and murder on their minds. They know they can't kill me but I know from the look in their eyes that they'll get damn close.
The one at the front pulls his helmet off and I recognise the one I dropped the pane of glass.
"Remember me?" he asks sadistically, kicking me brutally in the ribs, "You better, because I'm your worst nightmare."
His boot slams into my ribs again and this time I'm smashed against the wall, my head banging on the window sill and making me see stars. He holds his hand out for a truncheon and he repeats his last blow with the steel rod. This time I'm sure I hear ribs crunch under the truncheon's brutal path. I can feel them crunch as a sharp pain blossoms in my chest around the aching of the boot's marks on my skin. There isn't any blood, any sign of injury except for the agony pulsating through my body and the screeching of my mind for the pain to stop.
He grabs me by the neck and slides my body into a standing position against the wall, not caring that he draws blood as he smashes my head on the edge of the window, a slight trickle of blood running down my temple and wetting the top of my dress and dying my blonde hair dark red.
"Still-think-your-little-pranks-are-funny-do-you?" he grunts, emphasising each word with a punch to the stomach. I can feel every one of them and feel the moment at which my stomach muscles tear under his relentless fist, causing my body to try and shy away from the attacker, only serving to strain my agonised stomach further. I can see lights dancing before my eyes and the promising painlessness of unconsciousness rushing towards me through a swirling sea of dizzying blackness.
I attempt to answer but I just cough up a trickle of blood. Now I can't breathe and the blood in my airway is making me pant for air as the blows cease for a moment for him to catch his breath, straining the taut muscles and skin across my ribs and stomach and sending a new layer of pain to join the rest.
He only laughs as his boot smashes my shins, hitting a nerve and making me try to curl up in pain, but with his hand in the way I can't do anything more than grit my teeth as my entire body tries to stop the motion for fear of more pain. I will not give him the pleasure of knowing that I'm in agony: my ribs are screaming in protest of his elbow crushing against the broken fragments, my stomach feels like it's been crushed by one of the presses they have in District 7 then pulled apart and snapped, my shin is twitching and my head is dripping blood down my face and skewing my thoughts.
He drops me onto the floor and cackles as he leaves the room.
I try to stand up, but I can't even do something as simple as moving my arm to push myself up without my ribs and torn stomach muscles sending fresh waves of pain over my body.
In the end the Peacekeepers pick me up and I see Ahab's eyebrow rise slightly as they throw me through the doors and onto the train.
My thoughts are groggy as they vaguely form; so the only goodbye I get is an ass-kicking from the Peacekeepers…
I can't say I didn't deserve it… but really? On my Reaping?
I didn't even get to say goodbye… to my family or my friends… I'm going to leave without so much as a hug… a touch… even a word.
Still too saccharine? It wasn't really gory because I'm saving that for the Games but a hint of blood before they start other than Calvin and Fleur being their psychopathic selves.