~Ooh, are you ready for it? Baby, let the games begin, Let the Games begin. Let the Games begin~

President Charlotte Carstairs

Charlotte Carstairs looked down at her mother's near-death, frail form on the bed that the doctors and medics placed her one. Her Mother's chest was rising and falling with a struggle, and Charlotte could hear the wheezing every time she breathed. She was watching her mother's jade-green eyes, wondering when the moment would come, wondering if her death would be happening soon. It almost felt unbearable as time passed rather slowly with seconds turning into minutes, minutes turning into hours, as she waited for the president to take her last breath, and pass away.

And soon that moment came.

The moment where her mother's chest finally stopped struggling to rise and fall, to continue to pass air through her failing lungs and throughout the rest of the body. Once that happened, the moment seemed to pass rather quickly, with the light fading away from her mother's eyes.

She was dead.

The President was dead.

Good, she thought to herself. However, the more she looked down at her mom's dead body, she felt the pain and the grief overcame her. She didn't want this. She didn't want her mother to go like this. Tears blurred her vision, and she felt a small tear trickle down her cheek and she hastily wiped it away. A sob almost escaped her, but she held it in- barely.

"Tears are weakness, and so is crying... Never ever let them see you cry," Her mom's voice echoed through her a mind, a reminder of where she was been and what she lost.

Charlotte stood up, straightening the black dress- almost how fitting with the outfit she chosen today- and looked over her shoulders, to see various guards lined all against the stone wall. All the guards stood there, their heads bowed down with their solemn faces covered, and she assessed each of them. Her mind wondered back to the main reason why there was a large influx of guards all of a sudden before she remembered the war, the rebellion that almost let Panem be defeated. The guards were meant to make sure that the President's life would surely be saved in case there was another rebellion attack, or anymore rebels that were hiding in the shadows, just waiting for a chance to strike.

The chances were low, but the risks were high. The Capitol and Panem was still trying to recover from the remnants of war, from the past ten years- the Hunger Games served as a reminder of what was lost and what was too come for years to come. So many people have lost their family members, their friends, people they thought they could trust, all for the hopes that the United States of America could come back. There was nothing from that old era that really deserved to come back.

That was no matter.

She would show them that she deserved to be the one to rule all of Panem, until her dying breath.

And she would continue her mother's legacy: The Hunger Games.

"Wayland!" Charlotte screeched, calling her trusted advisor over.

Her trusted advisor- Peter Wayland, appeared in the doorway, in a matter of minutes.

Peter Wayland looked like he was in his early fifties, late forties, although it was hard to tell. He had dark brown skin, the color of molten Earth after it rained, and had long locs that went passed his shoulder blades. His warm brown eyes looked tired, and lingered onto the recently-deceased form of their late president. Charlotte knew that she didn't needed to worry about her advisor betraying her, considering she had served her family for decades and been around ever since Charlotte was a rebelling child, trying to figure out what life has given her.

"You called?" He inquired.

"Yes... Tell the reporters to come here as fast as they can," Charlotte told him, "The President is dead... and I'm going to be the president."

"Right away," Peter murmured, turning back and heading out, probably going to call the reporters to report to the President's mansion in fifteen minutes or so.

Charlotte looked back over her shoulder, to look at her mother's deceased body, before she ordered a guard to take it away.

Her mind wondering how she got here, in this position so quickly, when it'd been only a week, before she knew what happened.

...

One week earlier, Charlotte and her mother, Gemma Carstairs, sat around a white, round table with chinaware with small teacups and little saucer plates. They were sitting around her mother's legacy of a garden. Her mother prided herself in her garden with her variety of plants, and flowers she had. Peonies, lilies, roses along with every other plant and flowers were in her garden, creating an assortment of color hues that range from bright red to a more mellow blue. It was like her other hosted a rainbow in her garden. Of course, it created such a lingering floral scent that was very overpowered, and Charlotte couldn't help but sneeze from the strong scent.

For the most part, they were chattering about the various executions, rules that were put in place as a result of failed rebellion, and the end of the war. Sometimes, they were wondering about other things that didn't have to deal about politics, or economics. It was just basic things, until her mother told her something, barely higher than a whisper.

"Charlotte," Gemma told her, "When I die, you're going to be president, whether if that will be today, tomorrow, or in a week. You're going to be the president of the country."

"Mother, what are you talking about?" Charlotte inquired, words flying out of her mouth before she realized what her mom told her, but it was too late.

Her mom collapsed onto the soft, green grass, unmoving. Her glassy eyes staring at the sky above them.

"Mom! Mommy." those words felt foreign on her tongue, but she was still pleasantly surprised she said them. Charlotte hadn't called her mother, mom or mommy in years, not since Charlotte decided that her mother didn't deserve to be called that. She whispered, caressing her mom's face, "Don't leave me... Please... What's wrong? What happened?"

"Someone help!" She yelled, knowing that someone was bound to hear her. There were always guards nearby. "The President! She collapsed!"

The rest felt like it had been a mere dream, so hazy that Charlotte had trouble remembering what exactly what happened. She didn't remember when the guards were there, or who held her, refraining her from rushing to her mother's body, or when the medic got there. She hardly paid attention as the doctor tried stabilizing her, inserting whatever medicine was in her bag and starting up an IV. She barely heard the doctor's words as she wondered how things could quickly change when things seemed so peaceful, so perfect.

But nothing good could last.

"Your mother has cancer. She's known for a good while, and the progress hasn't been good," The doctor told her. "It spread to her organs... I'm afraid that she has days left, if not a week to live."

...

Presently, Charlotte stood at the podium, facing the reporters with their flashing cameras and scribbling on their little notepads. She stared at the notecards in her hand, her hands shaking. She didn't know who wrote them, or what they said so she figured it out. At least something that sounded reasonable.

"President Gemma Carstairs is dead. She died only twenty minutes ago," Charlotte told them, staring out at the audience with a blank look. "It is a huge devastation to our rebuilding country. It is why, I thought it'd be wise to host the games in her honor. The start of the Hunger Games will commence in over a week, to celebrate the death of our beloved president... May the odds be ever in your favor."

May the odds be ever in your favor, indeed, she thought to herself.

Update (August 6th, 2023): This story is now on Ao3 under Fire is Everywhere. I updated the prologue to reflect my current writing style and make it cleaner.