** TW: In this chapter, the female tribute's introduction section discusses CSA and human trafficking. If this is a triggering topic for you and you would like to avoid it, I would recommend skipping her section and going on to the male tribute's section
A/N I'm BACK! I know you guys have already been waiting forever so without further delay... Let the reapings begin again!
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"So… what exactly was I looking for again?" Brutus asked.
It took everything in Elsa's power not to roll her eyes or sigh.
"Look at how differently the crowd reacted to the two reapings. Adrian made quite a dramatic display- he gave up his life for this brother- but did you see the crowd stir? How was what he did any different from what the Mocking Jay did? One thing, sir, their age. Then, look at Galia. The crowd instantly broke into whispers and sobs once she appeared from the tweleve-year-old section-"
"What was that about, anyway?" Brutus interjected, much to Elsa's stifled frustration. "I thought District 4 was supposed to have a female career this year. What is it with all these twelve-year-olds from career districts this year?!"
The frustration faded to curiosity as Elsa pondered the nature of Brutus's question. She absentmindedly placed the tip of her pen to her lips in thought.
"I'm… I'm not sure, actually. It is certainly remarkable. Is it something you would like me to look into, sir?"
"Of course it is! Are you daft?" Brutus snapped before returning this gaze back to the tablet in his hands. "Between all these damn twelve-year-olds and my assistant trying to act like she has more than half a brain cell, I need some normalcy." He scrolled down to the bottom of the list on his screen and selected the file labeled "District 12." Opening it revealed two names, Leland Stone and Genevieve Shaw. "Come on, District 12, give me a good distraction!"
Genevieve Shaw, 15, District 12 (Submitted by Kkstar47)When District 13 rebelled, they were destroyed. The quiet, graphite mining district was reduced to rubble and the footage of their destruction still plays on repeat late at night when there are no other shows to air. With such a cruel fate befalling the last rebels, District 12 trembled in wait after the Mocking Jay and her supporters were slain in the 75th Hunger Games. Their punishment came, but it was nothing like the swift and indiscriminate fire bombs that razed District 13- it was a cold, calculated genocide.
Under the order of the late President Snow, anyone in District 12 who showed anything other than pure patriotism for the Capital was killed. His intentions were to show the might of The Capital and the futility of rebelling against them by turning District 12 into a model state. Seeing the district that produced the Mocking Jay singing the Capital's praises less than ten years later; it was like a cruel joke. A joke which, in part, owed some of its success to young Genevieve…
Through the television static, the emblem of Panem shined through until it was replaced by a catchy song and the logo of the Flickerman Show- Panem's premiere talk show. Once again the screen changed, revealing the show's host, Caesar Flickerman, sitting across from a tiny young girl. Her tiny, malnourished frame was nearly absorbed by plush red chair she sat so uncomfortably in, but her dark olive skin and wavy black hair just managed to make her stand out.
"Panem," Caesar began. His voice was softer and more serious than it normally was, but still maintained an excited undertone. "Today, I am with a very special guest all the way from District 12." He gestured to the little girl. "Would you like to introduce yourself?"
"I'm Genevieve Shaw," the little girl said.
"And how old are you, Miss. Shaw?"
"Twelve… I've been told."
"Why exactly are you unsure about your age?"
"Well, my parents sold me when I was two weeks old. They never told the orphanage my birthday."
"Your parents sold you to an orphanage?" Caesar said, feigning shock since he had already been briefed on Genevieve's story before hand.
"Yes. But it wasn't a real orphanage… It was a front. They were all liars."
"And that leads us to why we are here today. Miss. Shaw, I'm not sure if you are aware of just how much your story has touched the world. Hearing the story of just a twelve-year-old girl breaking free from her captors and single-handedly bringing down a human trafficking ring- why, my heart felt both heavy from your story and warm from your strength! You are truly an inspiration to us al-"
The television clicked off, leaving just the reflection of a girl's dark grey eyes and scar-ridden face on the black screen.
"I really wish they would stop airing that interview," Genevieve said with a sigh as she set the remote back on top of the television.
Every year around the reapings, the Capital would starkly increase the amount of propaganda they'd air- especially in District 12. Genevieve's interview had become one of those programs. When the Capital heard that a little girl had suddenly shown up on the mayor's doorstep with enough information to bring down a major human trafficking ring in District 12, they jumped on it. Her escape took place six years into President Snow's "re-imagining" of District 12 and somehow the cruelty she went through was used to represent the atrocities District 12 used to commit prior to their reform and her strength and cunning were supposed to represent how far the district had come thanks to the Capital's efforts.
"H-h-honestly!" Another, slightly older, girl named Lysa said from her spot on the nearby sofa, her voice slurred. "It is a bit weird… though. You sound a-almost the same."
"That's about the only thing they let me keep the same." She plopped down on the sofa next to Lysa. "I remember being in hair in makeup for hours. They said my scar wasn't 'dramatic' enough so they used all this makeup to highlight it- it was still fresh too so it hurt like hell!"
Both of the girls began to giggle. For a moment, everything seemed normal. They were two best friends- sisters- laughing together as they should. It was almost like Lysa's body wasn't tearing itself apart from the inside, causing herself near-constant pain. It was almost like Genevieve didn't wake up screaming every night, kicking and biting at her adoptive mother until she realized she wasn't another buyer. For a moment, they were normal teenage girls…
The front door swung open and Jewel, Genevieve's adoptive mother, stepped inside carrying a stack of empty crates.
Lysa stuttered for a moment before smiling and shouting "Mom!"
"Hey, Jewel," Genevieve said as she rushed over to help her with the crates.
Genevieve hardly saw Jewel as her adoptive mother anymore- nor did she see Lysa as her adoptive sister. After her escape, the mayor arranged for Genevieve to be adopted by a family outside of the Seam, which ended up being Jewel and Lysa. With them, her happy memories began. They were the only family she had ever known. They made her pain feel so small.
"Hello, dears! Quite a big sale today- sold three dozen goat milk bottles!"
"What?! You broke my record!" Genevieve cried as she set the crates into the hall closet.
Jewel chuckled.
"You may be good, my dear, but don't forget who taught you the trade in the first place!" Jewel walked up to Lysa and gently pushed her daughter's hair out of her face. "How are you feeling?" she said in a soft, caring voice.
"Okay," Lysa replied. "My vision is a… bit better today. I watched some TV with Genevieve."
"And your neck? How's the pain?"
Lysa frowned. "Still bad. I-I can't feel my fingers or toes."
Jewel looked back over her shoulder to Genevieve who was just finishing up with the boxes.
"Dear, I'll help Lysa get ready today. You best get yourself ready too. The reaping is soon…"
Leland Stone, 18, District 12 (Submitted by neonfunerals13)When the peacekeepers came to hunt down all those who didn't support The Capital, the Seam and the Hob were hit the hardest. Of course, the poorest area of the poorest district wouldn't harbor much love for the Capital- and neither would black market traders. These areas did begin to slowly rebuild themselves after the slaughter, but many abandoned buildings still lay forgotten and untouched… or, so it seemed.
In what was once probably a factory, Leland stood atop a metal platform, his fists drawn up in front of his face. From a metal beam hung a sandbag. He struck out at the bag, his fist colliding with it like a train hitting a cart. The quiet air shook with the intense thud from the strike. Again and again, Leland struck the bag until his tangled brown hair and tan skin were soaked through with sweat. Suddenly, there was a snap, then the sound of rushing sand. The cloth of the bag burst open from the abuse and poured gravel and sand down onto his hand. He pulled back his hand and examined it. Sand stuck to his bloodied knuckles and to the fresh cuts- but Leland didn't care. They weren't the only injury on him right now anyway, and if anything it took his mind off of his mental pain.
Today was it. His last reaping. He could just barely remember his mother talking about this day when he was young. She was holding Leland's hand in the crowd watching the reaping for the 74th Hunger Games. She held onto it just a little tighter when they called the name of the male tribute. As that baker's boy walked up to the stage, Leland remembered hearing his mother mutter: "Your 18th birthday can't come soon enough."
You should be celebrating this day…
Leland thought to himself.
Not laying in your grave.
Before tears could form in his eyes, he caught movement in the corner of his vision. Instantly, Leland went on guard. Typically, this area of the Hob was completely abandoned. He wouldn't be surprised if only his friends and the other members of their club were the only ones who knew about this building. In a shadowed hallway, three figures in black appeared. Every fiber of Leland's body tensed. On instinct, he fell into a battle stance. He focused on perfecting his form in order to stop himself from shaking. Then, the figures moved forward and the light streaming in from the broken ceiling illuminated them.
"Yo!"
Breath… It's just Howie and the others.
"Thought we'd find you here," Howie, another man around Leland's age, continued.
"Hey, man, what happened to your fist?" Joshen asked.
Leland realized his fists were still pointed toward his friends. He quickly relaxed his stance and shrugged.
"Were you here training?" Zac said, gesturing to the now empty sandbag. "Dude, you know we don't have a fight tonight, right? It's reaping day, why would we have a fight club meeting on reaping day?"
"Yeah, Leland," said Joshen, "I know fighting is therapeutic to you, but you've already gone and injured yourself enough with that broken nose you got two weeks ago."
Howie looked thoughtful for a moment before speaking up.
"Were you training to take your mind off your mom?"
A twinge of pain struck Leland's heart. He was a lone wolf, always preferring to be on his own- but the few friends he made in the fight club he joined eight years ago still brought him joy to be around. They knew him so well, even if he rarely opened up. It felt like they could see through him at times.
Leland nodded his head.
The trio frowned. Zac walked up to the metal platform Leland was on and stuck out his hand. Leland grabbed it, allowing Zac to help him down. Once on the ground, Zac gave Leland a hug and patted his back hard.
"We're here for ya, man."
"Yeah!" Joshen piped up, "We came all the way out here to find you so we could walk to the reapings together."
A smile cracked open Leland's lips, a quiet show of gratitude.
"Yeah, gotta give the best wrestler in our club the proper send-off he deserves-"
"Don't say it like that!" Joshen snapped.
"What? What did I do?" Howie stammered.
"You're making it sound like we're sending him off to the Hunger Games!"
Howie chuckled and scratched the back of his neck nervously.
"Okay, yeah, I see how that sounded now. I just meant- Well, you're 18 now and-"
"Let's just go," Zac said through laughter as the group began to make their way out of the abandoned factory and towards the reapings.
The ReapingsDistrict 12 still didn't celebrate and cheer before the reapings like in the more patriotic career districts. After all, their patriotism was a need for survival, not a choice. In an attempt to find a happy medium, families would desperately attempt to smile and feign excitement. No one dared to act sad or scared due to fear that the peacekeepers would see that as "un-patriotic" and kill them and their whole family. This charade created a strange air that hung over the crowd like a noose. They all knew what one wrong move could mean for their whole District.
Genevieve pushed Lysa's wheelchair up towards the entryway for the ceremony. Lysa could walk, but only for short periods of time and when her symptoms weren't bad. Jewel knew how long their new escort liked to drone on about the "goodness of the capital" and was worried about Lysa having a flare-up while waiting for the speech to end so she insisted on the wheelchair. Genevieve didn't mind helping Lysa with the chair and anyone who would dare judge her adoptive sister for it was met with a quick and piercing glare from Genevieve.
The population of District 12 had decreased dramatically in the past nine years, meaning the line to get in the reaping was short and before Genevieve knew it her turn came.
"Arm," the man at the station said as he readied his open hand.
Genevieve froze. As anxiety filled her body, she looked the man up and down. He was an older man with sun spots on his arms and wrinkles on his face. Any other person probably would have written him off as harmless and wouldn't have thought twice, but every fiber in Genevieve's body screamed as she thought of him touching her.
"I-Is there a woman?" she finally managed to croak out.
"What? No," the old man said bluntly.
Lysa caught her adoptive sister's gaze as she looked around frantically. Genevieve took in a deep breath. While never breaking eye contact with Lysa, she slowly gave the man her arm. The man pushed back the sleeve of her pale blue flannel and patted her skin with a sanitizing wide before pricking it with a needle. The second he made contact with her skin, it felt like his fingertips were burning her. As soon as he was done taking her blood and confirming her identity, she practically ripped her arm away from him and entered the waiting area. She pulled back down her coal-dust-stained flannel sleeves and clutched tightly onto the dark green headdress she had covering her hair.
"Gen-"
"I'm fine," she said shakily before grabbing onto the handles of Lysa's wheelchair and heading towards the 17-year-old section.
After dropping of Lysa, Genevieve made her way back to the 15-year-old section. Meanwhile, Leland and his friends were just getting past the identity check station. Leland was last and his friends were chatting just ahead of him, waiting for him before going to their respective sections. After the man waved Leland through, he walked inside and began to walk past his friends.
"Hey!" Joshen cried. "Where are you going?"
Leland pointed towards the 18-year-old male section.
"Come on, let's go together-" Zac began before Howie put his hand on his shoulder, signaling Zac to stop.
"You want to go it alone, don't you?" Howie asked.
Leland nodded. He wanted to tell them that he wasn't trying to ditch them, it was just important to him to be alone with his thoughts for a few moments before the anthem played and everything began. He even opened his mouth to speak, but his better judgment caught up to him before any words formed.
No. Not now. I can't speak now.
What if I speak and it causes one of them to get reaped?
"It's alright, man," Joshen said. "We'll see you on the other side, alright?"
Leland smiled and nodded before quickly turning around and walking alone. Leland stood off to the side of his section. Like the line, the crowd was sparse, so he wasn't standing shoulder to shoulder with others like they do in some districts. He was able to be relatively by himself. After a few minutes of quiet contemplation, Leland softly whispered:
"I'm sorry you're not here, Mom."
Then Panem's anthem began to blare through the speakers.
The district escort soon took the stage. They were a young, skinny person with long teal hair and yellow eyes. They were dressed surprisingly conservatively for a Capitalite- probably so they didn't risk seemingly too much like the late Effie Trinket. After a series of speeches and propaganda videos, the moment of truth arrived…
"Now, my fellow citizens of Panem, it is time to reveal your tributes for the 84th annual Hunger Games!"
An awkward applause filled the air. No one wanted to clap but feared what would happen if they didn't.
The escort walked over to the female bowl and pulled out a single piece of paper before walking over to the male bowl and doing the same. Once they returned to the microphone, they selected one of the two papers and unfolded it, slowly.
"District 12's first tribute is… Leland Stone!"
I knew I shouldn't have spoke…
What may very well be Leland's last breath as a free man slowly escaped him. Everyone around him began to look around. They probably didn't recognize his name. There were only three people in his crowd who would recognize this poor orphan boy from the Seam. They were all looking around, trying to find someone who looked terrified- but they would never find the future tribute that way because Leland looked calm. There was virtually no emotion on his face as he walked forward. The worn wooden steps of the stage creaked as he placed the weight of his massive muscular frame on them. He walked up onto the stage and looked out over the crowd, still emotionless and calm.
The escort nodded to Leland and smiled, a gesture which wasn't returned, before unfolding the next piece of paper.
"District 12's second tribute is… Lysa Tenel!"
Genevieve's arm instantly shot up into the air.
"I volunteer as tribute!"
There was no hesitation. The words practically tumbled out of her mouth. It was like the escort saying Lysa's name activated some protective instinct in Genevieve and the reaction was instantaneous. She wasn't shocked by her action like the rest of her district, however. The mere prospect of volunteering seemed idiotic to anyone in District 12 after the Mocking Jay became their first-ever volunteer. No one would risk putting their name in the same list as hers. It was surely a death sentence. However, Genevieve considered her actions perfectly logical despite this. Lysa was physically unable to compete in the games, her multiple sclerosis was too severe. She wouldn't last a day.
Genevieve didn't falter. With unwavering confidence, she walked forward. She gathered up her white skirt so she wouldn't trip on it going up the steps to the stage. Once she made it up there, she took her place next to Leland with perfect posture. She looked out over the crowd. They dared not react, but she could sense the horror, confusion, and pride. Even the escort seemed stunned at her actions as they approached her with the microphone.
"Volunteer, what is your name?"
"Genevieve Shaw."
Recognition flashed briefly in both the eyes of the escort and of Leland. They both knew that name. Most people in the district and many in the Capital knew that name.
"We welcome you to the games, Miss. Shaw."
Genevieve nodded and gave a polite smile.
"District 12! I now present to you your tributes for the 84th Hunger Games!"
Genevieve and Leland turned to each other. They knew this was the part where they were supposed to shake hands, but it was easy for them both to sense that neither of them wanted to touch the other. Instead, Genevieve bowed her head to Leland slightly before the escort led them both off stage.
Leland Stone, 18, District 12The peacekeeper gestured for Leland to enter the visiting room. On the cusp of the doorway, Leland stopped. Leland had no family who would come visit him, but he knew Joshen, Howie, and Zac would be here any moment. Leland cared deeply for his friends. The wrestling club they started as kids was just about the only safe haven he had from the tragedy that was his life. They put him with him despite his quiet, lone-wolf nature and weren't scared off by his intimidating stature. Leland wanted nothing more than for them to visit and give him the chance to finally tell them exactly what they meant to him… but he knew that was a bad idea.
Every time I open my mouth, someone dies.
First my mom… and now me.
This cruel world won't let me have anything. Why should I assume it would let me say goodbye to my friends without something terrible happening to them too?
Leland looked to the peacekeeper and shook his head.
"What?" the man said from behind his mask. "Speak up, kid!"
"No visitors," Leland muttered.
"Right to the train for you then."
The peacekeeper put his hand on Leland's back and led him away from the room and towards the train. Leland didn't dare look back. He never wanted to see District 12 again.
Genevieve Shaw, 15, District 12"W-why did you have to do that…?" Lysa said through stutters and sobs. "You… You didn't have to do that!"
"Lysa," Genevieve said calmly. "It's okay. I'm not even scared."
"Dear, you don't have to pretend-" Jewel began as she dabbed tears away from her eyes.
"No. I'm being serious." Genevieve took in a deep breath. "My whole life, there have been so many unknowns, but now, the only question left is if I will live or die. There's nothing unknown but that truth."
Jewel and Lysa stayed silent for a moment. They tried to decipher Genevieve's body language and expressions. She was always so hard to read, but there were no obvious signs of fear or dishonesty. She smiled up at them comfortingly, not a tear in her eye.
"It's just not fair," Jewel finally said as she placed her hand gently on her adoptive daughter's shoulder. "You've already been through so much… You wake up screaming from nightmares every night. Genevieve, you deserve a normal life-"
"My life has never been normal, Jewel. It never will be normal." Her smile faltered and her gaze fell to her feet. "I know that now… but it's okay! I have survived everything so far- what's one more thing? Don't you trust me?"
Lysa placed her hand gently on top of Genevieve's and smiled at her.
"You're my best friend, o-of course I t-trust you. You will come h-ome."
The door swung open, revealing a peacekeeper with his baton.
"Time's up! Let's go!"
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A/N Big thanks to all of you guys for sticking with me and this story through my hiatus. I'm so excited to continue this with you guys! Another thank you to neonfunerals13 and Kkstar47 for submitting Leland and Genevieve. They were the perfect tributes to restart this story with and both super strong in their own ways. What did you guys think of District 12's tributes? What about how the Capital treated District 12 after the rebellion? Leave a review and let me know! Thanks for reading :)