Disclaimer: The Hunger Games and its characters are all property of Suzanne Collins. No profit is being made from this piece of work. No copyright infringement is intended.
6
I leave for Tribe 1 tomorrow. They tell me it's all that's left of what was once known as South America. They don't use the same words we do. I don't know what that means for me or how I am going to be able to communicate with them.
But before I can do all that, I need to make a speech to the public. Despite my absence in the public eye for over a month, Plutarch is quick to tell me that my fans are still waiting for me.
"You know what they say," he told me when I had arrived back home from District 4, "Absence makes the heart grow fonder."
So now I stand at a podium in front of most of the Capitol. I hear girls screaming my name and the crowd cheers but I'm too numb to notice anything else. The crowd goes on for as far as the eye can see. I'm aware of Plutarch and President Paylor sitting behind me. I can almost feel Plutarch's beaming grin bearing into the back of my neck. And I'm most definitely aware of General Hawthorne and his soldiers standing offstage so the crowd can't see them. Their guns pointing right at me.
Looking down, I find the screen in the podium already reeling off my words. At least I didn't have to write this monstrosity of a speech myself. As Plutarch had reminded me, I was an actor; I said the words, I didn't write them.
"Citizens of Panem," I declare, loud and clear. I concentrate on not feeling anything, on not letting my emotions get the better of me. My image and my message are being broadcast all across Panem. I can't afford even for my voice to catch and give my emotion away.
"I stand before you today," I continue, "As not just the handsome face off the television-" I cringe as people laugh, amused. Some cheer and whoop. I wish I had read this through before now. "-but as a valued member of the Panem Government." The fact that I have seemingly ventured into politics causes murmuring to spread throughout the crowd. I wait for the noise to die down before I continue.
"Panem is in a state of crisis," I continue, "And we need to band together to come through this crisis. People who do not belong in our country are trying to force their way in. We can't afford to feed and cater for everybody. If they continue to enter our borders, our own people will starve."
More murmuring. This time it's shocked and angry. The screaming fan girls have been overtaken by the deep voices of their fathers and husbands who, by the sounds of it, agreed with everything I – or Plutarch the scriptwriter – was saying.
"To combat the situation, the government has proposed a solution which I, Fin Odair, fully support." I pause to check I'm not going to vomit; I feel as though I am reading aloud my contract. Once the sickness in my stomach has subsided, I continue. "We feel we have no choice but to resort to a solution inspired by the Hunger Games."
A few people gasp. These are the older generation, and ones who are originally from the Districts. The others are too young to have experienced the Games personally or are from the Capitol so were never really affected anyway.
"Each year we shall select one boy and one girl aged sixteen to twenty from each Tribe through lottery. These will battle it out in arenas televised to you, the public. You have the option to sponsor and support your favorite but only one will win and earn their family a better life in Panem."
The crowd is stunned into silence. They don't know how to react. This isn't the Hunger Games they are used to nor does it affect them. After all, it is not their children fighting to the death. I wonder how the audience behind the screens are feeling; the people in the Districts. I bet they hate me right now.
I long for nothing more than to tell them how wrong this idea is but I'm too much of a coward and the guns are still pointing at me. Would there be an uproar if I was to be shot dead on stage? Maybe. Maybe not. I am too easy to replace.
"I hope you will join me in my support for the Games." I swallow hard to rid my throat of the rising bile. Hopefully nobody seems to notice my discomfort. "I will soon be leaving to spread this message across the world. Thank you."
I walk off the stage as I am instructed to by the screen on the podium. Nobody cheers, nobody boos. Everybody is frozen in a state of shock. Well, everybody except Plutarch.
"Fin, you're an actor," he reminds me once we meet up backstage, "You'll have to do better than that."
(*)
A lot of travel in Panem is by train. Very rarely do the hovercrafts come into action so, as we board one to fly over to Tribe 1, it's my first time travelling by air. My stomach is in knots.
"You gonna be okay?" Jem asks, taking a seat next to me. Jem is part of the camera crew who will be filming my journey around the world. He is from District 4 but has lived in the Capitol since he was twelve. He's three years younger than me yet he seems okay with the whole flying thing.
"Yeah, I'll be fine," I assure him. He gives me a skeptical look from under his blonde fringe but says no more as he returns to looking out the window.
My hands are shaking slightly as the hovercraft lifts into the air. To take my mind off how far above the ground we are, I look at the team of strangers who are accompanying me on my trip.
Jem is part of a small team of three. He and his co-workers, Anton and Blie, have been ordered to film every speech I give and every moment I communicate with the people of the Tribes. My stylist, Katrina, is with me to make me look good at all times. She is the only familiar face on board – along with General Hawthorne. At first, I felt guilty and felt as though I was dragging her into this – with her being my stylist on Plutarch's show and everything. Plutarch surprised me by telling me she had volunteered herself for the job.
And of course, the soldiers are here. There are about five in all but I don't bother to learn their names. I know the General's and that is enough.
"I hope you're prepared for this, Mr. Odair," Blie tells me as soon as we are cruising through the air. "The Tribes are nothing like Panem."
"Just call me Fin," I tell him. "And I'm taking you've already visited them?" I can't help but sound impressed. It's so alien for anybody to have ventured out of Panem.
"Indeed I have," Blie replies. "And believe me, Fin-" He stressed my name as though it's a silly one, "-when you see the state of these places, you'll find they'll be begging to get into these Games. Only chance they have of getting out of the poverty."
"When did you see them?" I ask him. I don't care if he looks down on me, my stomach is churning again and I need a distraction.
"I was part of the camera crew that went out with President Paylor," he tells me, as though I should be impressed. "I filmed her saving those little people from all that hunger and taking them to Panem." He obviously has a great deal of pride and respect for the President.
I can't help but play with him.
"So I suppose you'll agree when I say she started this whole immigration mess in the first place by telling the Tribes about Panem?" I say.
An unnamed soldier grabs Blie's wrist before his punch can hit me. Blie is ordered to remain silent and seated for the rest of the journey. I smirk at him in satisfaction.
We land in Tribe 1 to the greeting of a crowd of people. For a moment I am taken aback by the difference of these people. The faces looking back at me are a mixture of black and white, blonde and ginger, green-eyed and brown-eyed. It's not unusual to have a mix of people in different places back home now but it's a new thing. I know it never happened before the Revolutionary War.
The people look surprised and scared at first but when we approach them with our hands in the air – as we are instructed to do by General Hawthorne – they can't get enough of us.
I lost count at the amount of times I was poked and prodded in the face. One little girl seemed to like my hair as she kept reaching up to touch it. I don't know whether it was the color or the style but she loved it. Her mother places her in my arms so she can reach up and feel it. I hold her to me, marveling in how similar we are. She's human.
Despite my rejection of the Government's plan to bring the Hunger Games back, I'd always had this feeling that the people in the Tribes were different to us. But they're not. And I realize this from just my first visit, from just holding this young child in my arms. I had been stupid to ever try to convince myself otherwise.
Tribe 1 is a beautiful place. The people here do not bother with houses, probably because of the heat and they take shelter under the large leaves of the tall trees that are all over the small country. There seems to be no order here. There is no leadership or Capitol, just people living. And I find it wonderful.
Their only source of nourishment is the purple sour berries that grow in the bushes. We are all offered bits of food as soon as we arrive. Despite them not knowing we were coming they seem delighted to have us. Their words come out fast but with an odd rhythm. I wish I could understand what they are saying.
I take a woven bowl from a small girl with big green eyes and olive skin. I thank her and she grins at me though I am certain she cannot understand my words. I recognize the weaving of the bowls and even offer to help them weave some. The technique is similar to the one we use in District 4. It's just more proof that these people are similar to those in Panem; to me.
I do as I am told and give the speech to the Tribe's people. They all look so eager to hear what I have to say though I know they cannot understand a word of it. All the time, I am aware of the constant presence of General Hawthorne and his military. Their guns are always pointing at me whether I can see them or not.
Part of me wonders what will happen if I do stand up to it all and they shoot me dead. Would I be remembered as a hero or a traitor?
The following day, I try to add some sugar to the sour purple berries but a girl of about seventeen stops me, frantically speaking to me in words I do not understand.
"The sugar takes the nutrition out of the berries," Jem says as though he is translating for her. I frown at him, my question written on my face, but he just shrugs. "Well, it makes sense. They grow all this sugar but they never use it on the berries so I just guessed."
He seems to have gotten the right idea though as the girl smiles at him and walks away from us. I watch her go, realizing she is within the age range for the Hunger Games.
"It's a bit weird isn't it?" Jem asks me as we sit in the shadow of the large leaves. "I mean, I thought they would be, I don't know, different?"
"They are different," I disagree. "But they're still…"
"Like us," Jem finishes frowning.
I had been going to say 'human' but Jem's definition is a lot more frightening and personal; 'like us'.
We leave Tribe 1 to the waves of the Tribe's people. They call up to us in unusual words of departing as I wave down, a smile plastered on my face. The camera crew film everything and are going over the footage on the hovercraft as we fly away to Tribe 2.
"That was a nice place wasn't it?" Katrina gushes as she sits next to me. I keep staring out of the window, marveling at how small the land looks and how blue the sea is. "I think they'll make for very interesting tributes by the time the Games come around."
"How long do you think it will take?" I ask, "Until they have an arena ready?"
"Oh they've had arenas in the making for years now," Katrina tells me off-handedly. I stare at her, shocked that Plutarch did not inform me of this.
"You mean they've been planning this for a long time then?" I ask.
"Oh yes," Katrina says nodding enthusiastically, unaware of my horror. "Arenas aren't built in a day you know." Then she giggles and skips along the aisle to sit and chat with Blie – who seems just as enthusiastic about the Games as her. Anton sits beside them both with Jem; the two of them are inspecting their camera equipment.
The next month is pretty much the same. We travel from Tribe to Tribe, experiencing their cultures but at the same time knowing we are not here to bring good news.
Tribe 2 grows a lot of fruit and their oranges taste better than the ones found in Panem. The sudden downpour of Tribe 3 is a shock to the system after the sunny climate of 1 and 2. Despite the rain, the locals make us welcome with the little food they have. Not much grows in Tribe 3. I didn't want to take anything at first but Jem insisted it would be rude to refuse them. Tribe 4 brings back memories of sitting in Jorge and Dana's bakery as they give us samples of all the breads they make. Jorge and Dana had been right; there is no ocean in Tribe 4. Tribe 5 treat us to the finest beer I have ever tasted.
As we went through the Tribes I started to notice how little they had to offer. The only things that defined them were the food they grew and the words they spoke. They have nothing compared to what the people of Panem have. I begin to realize just how appealing the world of Panem would seem to them. By the time we land in Tribe 6, I'm aching to go home.
Tribe 6 specializes in rice. We have so much rice in the Capitol that I didn't expect much of a difference but this rice was good as was the sauce they used. I wish I could have understood them so I could take the recipes back to Panem. I wonder if any of the Tribe's people live in Panem and have opened up a restaurant like Jorge and Dana opened up a bakery. Tribe 7 has to be one of my favorites. Where they lacked food and technology, they made up for in games and dance. I watched and laughed as Jem got dragged into the dancing crowd of people, drums and cloths. Tribe 8 has to be the most advanced. They live individually instead of as a Tribe. Each has their own land and lives in their own homes which are sturdier than any of the huts I'd seen in the other Tribes. Sometimes they even let their people be homeless on the streets. They are the most like Panem. Tribe 9 can only be described as a warrior breeding ground. The people there are so well built and they have to be tough to brave the freezing weather conditions. I can imagine them going far in the Games. Despite the different words we use, I thought they were the most enthusiastic when I made my announcement. Tribe 10 was a nice one to finish with. They spoke most of the same words and lived by the blue ocean. I even 'surfed' with them; something I'd never seen done before.
Tribes 3 and 10 understood most of what I was talking about when it came to the Games. They were the most difficult to face. Some were happy, some were curious but none of them protested. Even Tribe 8 – with its fancy three storey homes – lacked when it came to education. All these people knew was that they needed each other to survive; the fact that two of their teenagers would be going in instead of just one cheered them up. They liked the idea of winning a place in Panem. They liked the idea of their country being represented.
As I board the hovercraft home, I ponder on whether their views will have changed this time next year.