Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

A blade is driven through Prim’s gut. She crumples to the ground, face screwed up in pain. I scream, trying to reach out to her, but I can’t. I keep reaching for her as I see the light dim from her eyes; she’s dying. I’m trying to reach her, but my hands keep hitting this screen, never getting to her. A cannon goes off. I hit the ground and begin to sob.

I wake screaming. My door creaks open slowly, and a small voice reaches out to me, “Katniss?”

“Prim?” I question, she makes her way over to my bed, still in her nightgown, and she crawls in beside me. “Are you okay?” she asks me. I nod, “Just a nightmare,” I say, running my fingers through her hair. The sun has begun streaming through the window at the foot of my bed. “I should probably get up anyway,” I say, swinging my legs over the side of the bed.

“What was your nightmare about? Still the same stuff from the games?” I look back at Prim, she looks so young like this, you could barely tell she is thirteen.

“Yes,” I lie, “It's okay, I'm alright now.” My nightmares have transformed as of late; before, it was a replay of what happened during the Hunger Games last year, Rue being killed, and me shooting Marvel, Cato’s screams, and Peeta losing his leg.

But now, now that I am a mentor, I dream of Prim, Prim in the Games, me mentoring her, her dying, the cause of death varies, sometimes she gets stabbed like last night, sometimes it’s poison like Foxface or mutts killing her, but every time she dies, and I'm not able to save her.

“C’mon, I’ve got something for you to deliver.” I stroke my hands through Prim’s hair again before walking out of my bedroom, and the smell of beef stew hits my nose immediately. I can see Prim following behind me.

“Smells great, Mom,” Prim comments. I nod, agreeing with her statement. I work my way over to the island in the kitchen, unraveling the bow on top of the box I picked out weeks ago. Prim sits down at the island, spooning stew into her mouth.

“What have you got there, Katniss?” My Mom questions, and I nod to Prim, “When you're done, bring this over to Gale’s.” I see Prim nod, but she looks suspicious. “You know he doesn’t accept gifts, Katniss,” she says, “It’s not really for him,” I say.

I see a look of realization in Prim’s eyes. She looks down at her stew when she realizes I’ve caught on. “Uh-huh, I’ll bring it to him,” Prim mumbles. I feel a smile creeping onto my face.

“Katniss, you didn’t,” I hear my Mom’s voice. “You know he’d never fit in Gale’s hand-me-downs, even with them rolled up, and I’ve got too much money anyway,” I say, defending myself.

What I’ve done is buy Gale’s younger brother, Prim’s friend, and crush, no doubt, a new dress shirt and pants for the reaping. It's nothing fancy, just a white shirt and black pants that barely even cost 10 dollars, and a squirrel.

It’s crazy that that is not a lot of money to me anymore; it used to mean the difference between starvation and having food, but now it's just pocket change. “I’ve got to go, okay? I’ll see you after the reaping.” I kiss Prim’s head, say goodbye to Mom, then begin making my way over to Haymitch’s house. He’ll no doubt be drunk, probably passed out from drinking all last night.

Though after this year, I’m afraid that I’ll understand why Haymitch always drinks so much. Because this year I'm going to be a mentor to the tributes of the 74th Hunger Games.

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A knock on the door wakes me up. I look around to see that Vick’s long gone from his side of the bed, and the cracked window has lit up the room. Cracked because Vick accidentally threw a ball at it when we were playing catch one night. And Gale has never been able to find enough money to fix it.

“Rory, Prim’s here,” I hear Gale’s voice, which makes a smile break out on my face. But what was Prim doing here so early? We weren’t supposed to meet up until noon. Maybe it was noon, I think, considering how bright it was outside.

I struggle to get out of the tangle of covers I must have wrapped around myself in the night. The door opens, and I fall flat on my face.

I hear a soft giggle. “Were you still sleeping?” It's Prim’s voice. I struggle to get the words out, “I was up late last night.” I can tell the change in Prim’s mood without even looking at her face,

“Katniss got this for you.” Prim’s voice is softer now, even softer.

“Well, what is this?” I start talking in a weird country accent, that the teacher at school always talks in. I feel bad about making her sad, telling her about my problems last night with Gale.

I get a little laugh out of her before her face turns into the sad, serious look again. “Well, he’s okay, isn’t he?” Prim says

“Yeah,” I looked down at the ground. For now, my mind supplies, “Well then, isn’t this just a fine, fine day?” Prim has now taken on the weird country accent, it's nearly perfect, way better than my impression. It’s one of the teacher's favourite sayings too, especially when it's nice outside. Prim and I always snicker at each other when we hear him say it.

“C’mon, you should open this,” She says, sitting down on the bed. I sit next to her.

It’s an expensive-looking present, and it is. I pull out a new white dress shirt and black pants, “Prim..” I begin

“I’m just the delivery person; this was all Katniss’s idea. Plus, it’s your first ever reaping, you deserve something nice.” I meet Prim's eyes and have the largest desire to kiss her than ever before. I’ve had that feeling for months now whenever Prim and I hang out.

But now that feeling is more intense than ever, as I hold her sister’s expensive gift in my hands. Prim looks away, her face flushed, “I’ll leave so you can get ready. We should leave soon.”

I feel my own face beginning to heat up, and nod silently. She closes the door. I dress quickly, the clothes fit perfectly, and they feel perfect too. The soft fabric touches my skin gently, unlike the itchy fabric of Gale’s hand-me-downs.

I leave my room and head down the stairs. Prim is playing with Posy, sorting rocks and sticks into different patterns and shapes. She looks perfect, well, I would say she always does, but she looks especially perfect today, in one of her mother's old dresses.

Gale interrupts my thoughts “Where did you get those?” He questions. I meet Prim’s eyes and nod towards the door. I begin walking too, “There from Katniss,” I say.

“Rory. You know-” I shut the door in his face, cutting him off. Look, I love my brother; he is actually the person I probably love most in this world, but he’s a prude. He can’t accept gifts from other people; he thinks we should always make our own way and help ourselves.

The maximum amount of gifts he accepts is cheese from Prim’s goat, or the occasional gift of bread or strawberries from Madge, but I think that's only because he has a massive crush on her.

“What happened last night?” Prim asks, as we are walking towards the justice square, which is just appearing in the distance as the first warning bell rings. Its 1:30 then, that’s what the bell means. 30 minutes to get to the reaping. I look over at Prim.

“Well, apparently, there was a malfunction in the mine shaft, and they got stuck down in the mines for hours. Eventually, the Peacekeepers showed up to lower it back down for them. Gale didn’t get home until 2 am”

Prim hums probably reminiscing of her father in that mineshaft explosion from 6 years ago, my father too, but I don’t really remember him all that much, Gale sure does though, he says I act just like him. I wonder if that’s true.

Prim breaks the ice on another difficult question: “How many times is your name in today?” she asks me. Though Prim is a year older than me, I have about 6 times the amount of entries.

“Thirteen,” I say, looking ahead at the justice building we are hastily approaching. It hits me suddenly like a ton of bricks on my head, and I freeze in place, looking ahead at the lines of kids getting in line for the reaping. Prim’s hand immediately catches my shoulder, squeezing it.

“Hey, go over to that line there, the Peacekeepers will direct you to your spot. It’s going to be okay. I’ll see you after.” She hugs me tight, and I hug back, burying my head into her shoulder. This is the first time it has truly hit me. I’m scared. I have twice the number of entries as an 18-year-old from the merchant district could.

I make my way into the line behind the other boys my age, the line Prim pointed to. I look behind me towards where the adults are slowly gathering after sending their children off. I spot Gale immediately; he must have been looking for me, too.

This is his first year standing with the adults and children under twelve, as he turned nineteen this year. This is my first year in the reaping. I can tell by the look in his eyes that he’s scared too. Scared that if I got chosen, he wouldn’t be able to protect me. Stop That! I tell myself that won’t happen.

They’ll pick some random kid I’ve never heard of before, then I’ll go over to Prim’s house for lunch, and we’ll play games, and I might even get enough courage to kiss her.

“Welcome, Welcome to the glorious reaping of District 12,” Effie Trinket’s voice crackles through the speaker at the door to the Hall of Justice. “Now, before we begin, we have a very special video all the way from the Capitol.”

The video starts, it’s the same video they play every year.

“War. Terrible war. Widows, orphans, a motherless child. This was the uprising that rocked our land. Thirteen Districts rebelled against the government that fed them, loved them, and protected them. Brother turned on brother until nothing remained. And then came the peace. Hard fought and sorely won. A people rose up from the ashes, and a new era was born. But freedom has a cost, and the traitors were defeated. We swore as a nation we would never allow this treason again, and so it was decreed that each year the various districts of Panam would offer up in tribute one young man and woman in a public reaping to fight to the death in a pageant of honor, courage, and sacrifice. The lone victor bathed in riches would serve as a reminder of our generosity and our forgiveness. This is how we remember our past. This is how we safeguard our future.”

Effie’s voice crackles through the microphone again, “I just love that, now as always, ladies first.” I look over at Prim, trying to catch her eye, but she’s frozen in place, staring straight ahead. I want to go to her, tell her that it won’t happen again, wrap her in my arms, and swear it won’t be a repeat of last year.

And it’s not. The paper crinkles into the microphone. “Clementine De Costa,” Effie breathes into the mic. I’m still looking at Prim and see her physically relax, she turns her head towards me, and I stick my tongue out in an effort to make her laugh.

Prim laughs silently and turns her head away again. I look up towards the stage to see a girl, maybe fifteen, with her bright orange hair in two pigtails; she’s visibly shaking, her hands fiddling with the brown buttons on her cardigan.

Probably a girl from the east side of the merchant district, which is why I haven’t seen her before, as we live almost as far to the west side of The Seam as possible. Effie’s voice begins again, “Now for the boys,” she announces.

I’m hyper-focused on her hand reaching inside the bowl, fishing for a name, my heartbeat quickens to a worrying pace, so I close my eyes and whisper to myself, “It’s not me. It’s not me. It’s not-”

“Rory Hawthorne,” It is me.

My eyes fly open. The other boys beside me begin making a path for me. I nearly trip on the first step, but find a steady enough pace after two or three more shaky steps. The Peacekeepers form a wall behind me as soon as I’ve stepped out of the line.

I look back through the wall of white armour to find Gale’s face. Horrified. He can’t even do anything. I catch Mom’s face too; she’s crying silently, tears dripping down from her eyes onto her cheeks to her chin, and then onto her clothes.

“Well..” Effie says once I’m on stage, her voice has a sadder tone now, two tributes from the worst District in Panem, almost destined to die.

Twelve and Fifteen.

“Shake hands, you two.” Clementine reaches for my hand, her hand shaking uncontrollably, not that mine is much better.

We are ushered away by the Peacekeepers. I try to catch a glance at Prim, but I’m unable to as we are pulled into the walls of the justice building.

Chapter Text

The fabric of the furniture in the visiting room is scratching on my hands, but I don’t know where else to put them. The door opens. A Peacekeeper's voice comes from the doorway, “You have three minutes.”

Gale bursts through the doorway and wraps his arms around me. My arms find his torso, hugging him tightly. We must hug for a minute or longer before Gale pulls back. He places his hands on either side of my face, wiping my tears away.

“Here, take this.” Gale takes a necklace off his neck that I’ve never seen on him before. “W-where did you get this?” My lip quivers slightly

“The necklace is from Madge’s aunt. The one who also owned Katniss’s pin. She said she hoped something else from her aunt’s collection would have the same effect.” The necklace is a silver plated master piece holding a heart-shaped vial. Madge must have given to Gale after the Reaping.

“The ring was Dad’s,” Gale says, placing the necklace over my head. “Time’s up.” The Peacekeeper is back and pulling Gale away. I reach out for him, but he’s yanked out of my reach. “Listen to everything Katniss says, I love you!”

The door slams harshly, and I slump back onto the itchy couch. I examine the ring closely; it’s an exact mirror of the ring Mom has displayed in her and Posy’s room. There is an engraving on the inside Mr and Mrs. Hawthorne, April 5th. To a love that will last forever. Is what it reads.

I guess the meaning isn’t exactly wrong. Mom never stopped loving him, even after he died in that mine explosion. And I’m sure he hasn’t stopped loving her either, wherever he is, wherever people go when they die, where I will go after I die. When I’m inevitably killed in the Games.

A twelve-year-old in the Hunger Games, a tragedy waiting to happen.

There are muffled voices outside. I go up towards the door and press my ear against it, trying to hear what they are saying.

“You can’t keep me from him!” A female voice shouts

“You’ll have plenty of time with him on the train and in the Capitol.” I recognize the Peacekeeper's voice, though the words are less spoken and more sneered.

“The other two can go in,” I step back from the door mere seconds before it swings open. Prim is standing there with fresh tears on her cheeks. I go over to her at the same time she tries to come over to me, and we knock heads, nearly sending us both tumbling to the ground.

“Katniss will take care of you. I made her promise,” Prim pulls me close to her, I hug her back as tight as possible. My eyes close as she hugs me, breathing in the soft scent of her clothes as my head lies on her shoulder.

“Time’s Up.” It’s that Peacekeeper again. They pull Prim and her mother away the same way they pulled Gale away, except Prim surges through their arms and grabs my head, kissing me on the mouth.

I’m so shocked, I barely catch Prim’s whispered “I love you” before they drag her away again. “I love you,” I shout towards her as she rounds one of the corners inside the justice building.

Suddenly, I’m being dragged too; I see Clementine being dragged out of her own room with a scratchy sofa. We’re pushed onto a train platform where a new set of Peacekeepers is ready to receive us and pull us completely onto the train before jumping off and slamming the train doors in our faces.

“Rory? Rory!” It’s Katniss’s voice emerging from further inside the train. She grabs me, but it’s not rough like the Peacekeepers; her grip is softer. She kneels and strokes her hands through my hair and over my face, then onto the new clothes she bought me.

“Are you okay? Did they hurt you?” Katniss is asking, but all I can notice is Clementine’s fearful look from beside me and the intense smell of food. Every kind of food imaginable, sweet, salty, and sour. Every possible scent.

“Just great, Katnip,” I reply, which earns a little smile from her. “I am a little hungry, though.” A little is an understatement, and I’m sure Katniss knows it by the way her face changes. I haven't eaten since yesterday afternoon when Prim and I were eating lunch at her house.

We had run out of Tesserae flour, so all that there was to eat was a couple of figs and a rabbit Gale had caught the day before the reaping on his way home. Mom was going to not eat any to let me, Vick, and Posy eat, but I convinced her I wasn’t hungry and that she should eat after working all day on her washboard.

“Come sit down, you too, what’s your name again?”

“C-clementine, Katniss.” Katniss gives her a little smile, not like the one she had given me, full of amusement and adoration, but polite and soft.

Clementine sits down across from Peeta, Katniss takes a seat next to Peeta, and across from me. Clementine stares down at her plate that has been loaded up with food
“Where’s Haymitch?” I ask, inspecting one of the meat sandwiches placed on my plate. “He’s busy drinking in his room, saying his job doesn’t start until tomorrow, and he needs tonight to decompress or something?” Peeta says

He looks at me, inspecting my weird meat sandwich as Clementine shoves several sweet cakes into her mouth as politely as she can. “It’s a hamburger, don’t worry, it’s good,” I shrug and begin to bite into it. A world of flavour erupts on my tongue, meat, cheese, sauce, and vegetables I’ve never tried before melt onto my tongue. It's soft, full of flavour, and most of all delicious.

“Okay, but that does not taste like ham,” Katniss snickers. “It really doesn’t, does it?” she says. Peeta scrapes some shaved meat onto my plate. “Here, try this,” he says. He offers some to Clementine as well: “Would you like some?”

“Sure,” it’s one of the first words I’ve heard out of Clementine since the reaping. Peeta smiles softly and scrapes some onto her plate. She lifts it to her mouth with no question bitting into a piece of the softened flesh.

I look carefully at the meat, “Are you sure it's cooked?” I ask, “It looks pink.”

“Well, that is the best part about it,” Effie Trinket says, walking into the train carriage where we are sitting.

“The best part about it is that it’s not cooked,” I deadpan. Effie looks aghast at my comment, but sits down next to me anyway, scraping some meat onto her own plate.

“It’s a preference thing, some people like more pink than others, but it's definitely cooked,” Peeta says. After Peeta's words of encouragement, I lift a piece and drop it into my mouth. Effie looks disgusted by my table manners, but Katniss looks amused, so I’d call that a win.

Again, I am surprised by the flavours. I can't stop an audible “hmmm” from escaping my mouth. The meat is buttery, juicy, salty, it’s perfect. Just like Prim, I think smiling, Prim, who I’ll never see again. My mind supplies.

“I told you,” Effie sings songs. I shoot her a glare, but I don’t think she notices as she digs into the mash on her plate. Suddenly, an idea hits me, and I reach over and grab a handful of that mash straight from Effie’s plate and shove it into my mouth.

“Manners!” Effie shouts.

“Never heard of them,” I reply. Everyone at the table has a smile on their face, well, except Effie, and I can even hear Clementine giggling a little bit as she shoves more cakes into her mouth.

“Well, I am done here!” Effie slams the table as she stands up and walks back through the door she came in from.

I continue licking the mash from my hand. It’s good too, starchy, buttery, and soft. “Would you like some dessert with that?” Peeta asks as he offers me a tray of the little cakes Clementine has been eating.

I nod and reach for one, but Katniss pulls the plate away. “Hey!” I shout, “Maybe later, you don’t want to get too full on the first night.” She’s smirking, but I can tell there is something darker behind her eyes. For some reason I’m confident I know what it is. It’s a grim thought, my body has never had enough food, so if I were to eat all this now, I would probably get sick and throw it all up.

Peeta nods, “You guys should probably get some rest anyway.”

“Here I’ll show you where the showers are,” Katniss says, standing up. I reluctantly follow her, leaving all of that delicious food behind, and I can tell as I glance back that Peeta has begun leading Clementine away to the other side of the train.

After Katniss’ quick tutorial of how to run the shower, which wasn’t really that quick as the shower must have had about thirteen different settings, she showed me to where I’d be sleeping.

When we got back to the bathroom, a pair of plain pajamas with the number twelve printed on them was sitting there waiting for me. Katniss strokes her hands through the sides of my hair before kissing my forehead.

“See you in the morning, alright.”

“Okay,” I say quietly as she shuts the bathroom door.

Then, for probably one of the first times in my life, I get a true look at myself. I’ve always had an idea of how I look based on what others told me and what my siblings looked like, but this is the first time I’m truly seeing it.

I brush the dark hair away from my eyes to get a better look at myself. For the first time, I notice I have freckles; no one has ever mentioned it to me before, and it gets me thinking: neither Mom nor Gale has freckles, but Posy does. I wonder if Dad had freckles, too.

After two failed attempts, the shower comes to life, shooting hot water against the glass barriers of the shower. I take off my reaping-day clothes and carefully place the necklace Gale gave me on the sink.

When I climb in the shower the water nearly burns me, but it feels nice after awhile, releasing the tension from my shoulders and after finding some funky smelling soap I finally feel clean, I nearly forget about what happened today as I feel the warm water on my face but it all comes crashing down on me again the second I step out of the shower.

At least the pajamas are soft as I slip into them, and they’re warm too. As I climb into bed, I think about my family, how Gale and Mom and my other siblings are doing, and I think of how Prim and her mother must be doing with Katniss gone.

The last thing I think of is Prim’s lips on mine as she kissed me in the visiting room before they dragged her away. As soon as my head hits the soft surface of the pillow, my eyes immediately close, and I fall asleep.

Chapter Text

My eyes flutter open, a bright light has begun to illuminate the room, though it’s not natural, more like a silent wake-up alarm.

I make my way towards the middle of the train quietly, my socked feet dragging across the ground. When I get there, Clementine, Peeta, Katniss, and, surprisingly, Haymitch are already there. There seems to be a seat saved for me next to Katniss, which I take gracefully.

I scoop some of the food from the buffet onto my plate. Remembering the events of yesterday’s meal, I ask, “Where’s Effie?”

Haymitch gives me a mischievous smile I don’t think I’ve ever seen on him before. “She’s already been here, woke up early to eat to avoid you.”

I smile down at my food. It’s not like it was totally her fault I got chosen at the reaping, but it feels good to torture a Capitol person with my District habits.

“Anyways,” Haymitch begins, “We were just discussing the Parade.” I nod, looking over to Katniss, “We’ll be at the Capitol soon, maybe another hour, then you’ll be taken to the stylists,” Katniss says, lifting her coffee cup to her lips.

“Where we’ll get to meet Cinna?” I’m shocked by Clementine’s voice; it's totally different from how it was yesterday.

Katniss nods with a soft smile. “Are you into fashion?” Peeta asks, and Clementine nods politely, “My mother is a seamstress, so…” Her voice trails off, and she looks down. I can tell her eyes are filling with tears by the way she is trying to sniffle them back.

We’re silent for a moment, too silent. I begin to open my mouth, probably to say something about my mother being a laundry lady, but my mouth goes dry, and I close it again.

“Why don’t we go over the other tributes, get some basis before you meet them all?” Haymitch breaks the silence.

I nod and reach for Madge’s necklace, and notice it’s gone. I shoot up from my seat and walk as fast as possible without breaking into a run. It’s exactly where I left it last night, sitting gently on the sink.

I grab it and slip it on. The weight of Dad’s ring and the heart-shaped vial on my chest immediately makes me feel calmer.

When I walk back in, Clementine is sitting down while the others are standing by the projector on the wall. Haymitch’s eyes immediately go to my neck. “Where did you get that?” He blurts out.

I look down, “The ring was my Dad’s,” I say as I fiddle with it. “No, the necklace,” He says. “Oh, it was given to me by Madge, Gale's girlfriend.” I look back up to meet his eyes, but the look in his eyes makes me look away again. There is nothing but hurt in his eyes. Raw, unfiltered hurt.

“She said it was from her aunt’s collection.” Haymitch nods, swallowing. Peeta steps in front, “Let’s get started.”

“Wait, did you say girlfriend?” Katniss asks, “Not seriously, but Prim and I think it’s hilarious to see him get red and nervous when we mention it.”

“Of course you do,” Katniss smiles

“S-she’s not my g-girlfriend,” I say, imitating Gale’s voice. Clementine lets out a small laugh.

Peeta flips to the next slide on the projector, “District 1, part of the career pack, will most likely align themselves with Districts 2 and 4.” A picture of two older-looking tributes appears on the screen; they both have mean-looking faces, glaring directly into the camera as they step onto the podium together.

“Silver and Chanel, both volunteers,” Katniss adds, they must have watched the other reapings after Clementine, and I were sent off to bed.

“There is a new system this year.” Haymitch says, “They are trialing it for the quarter quell next year.”

“So we’re test monkeys.” I say, a small scowl appearing on my face, “Essentially,” Peeta says as he crosses his arms

“It works in tune with the scoring; it’s like a prediction system to help sponsors select who they want to sponsor from the beginning, and gives victors more time to negotiate with sponsors before the Games,” Haymitch explains to us, though he looks rather bored, and honestly, if I were him, I would be pretty bored too.

Explaining all of this to two kids that are probably going to die in the blood bath anyway. I shake my head, trying to clear the thought of me being stabbed as soon as the gong goes off by one of the careers from my mind. The idea doesn’t leave; instead, it implants itself further into my memory.

“Everything visible to the public has an impression on your P.W.S or Predicted Winner Status, as they call it, though your original status always stays visible,” Peeta warns

“So be careful,” Clementine says from the other side of the couch. I watch as all three of them nod in sync.

“Silver is No. 3, and Chanel is No. 5.” I wonder what mine and Clementine’s ratings are, probably 24th and 23rd, I think bitterly.

The slide changes to District 2, but there is barely any difference. The girl’s face is strong and hardened, just like Silver’s, but the boy’s eyes are what catch my attention. His bright blue eyes have a soft look to them, a kind look to them, though the rest of his face is an exact mirror of the District 1 boy’s face.

“Artemi and Hera, also both volunteers.” Katniss introduces “Artemi’s P.W.S is 2nd, so definitely be careful of him,” she continues. “I’ve heard he’s quite good with a sword,” Haymitch adds.

“Hera’s is 4th, she may look little but never, I mean never underestimate a career,” Peeta says. Usually, his voice has a soft, caring tone to it, but now he is dead serious. I feel myself nodding before I can even think.

The slide changes, “The last tributes likely to be in the career pack are District 4,” Katniss says, “This year that’s Ariel and Sailor.” Sailor looks quite young, I think, he can’t be more than two years older than me.

Haymitch takes over. “Ariel was a volunteer, she’s 17, District 4 didn’t have a boy career for these games, so” he gestures to Sailor, his curly blond hair flopping in his eyes. He looks frightened, at least to me.

“There’s one more tribute you should know about,” Peeta says, changing the slide to District 9. District 9? Why would we care about District 9? They have about the same chances of winning as us.

The last time District 9 had a victor was over 23 years ago. “Have you ever heard about the Nine Blessing” Peeta asks. Both Clementine and I shake our heads. Nine Blessing? What could that even mean?

Clementine seems to have an idea, though “Wait, is that the thing where only 18-year-old males from district nine will win?” Suddenly, I remember Mom talking about something like that. During the last games before Katniss had won, we were discussing the possibility at home.

I remember Mom saying something like “After Haymitch won the 50th games, District 9 had another blessing boy, Jacob Sapher. So if Katniss wins, it’s a high probability District 9 will win the next games.”

The phrase “District 9 will win the next games” is repeated over and over in my head. This is the next games; if District 9 wins, then that means that I will be dead. Does my mom even think I can win?

Probably not, but then again, I don’t think I can win either.

“Almost, the real prophecy is that everytime a 18-year-old male from District 9 is reaped, they win,” Peeta says.

“It’s amplified by the fact that District 12,” Haymitch gestures to Katniss and Peeta, “Won last year.”

“Two prophecies in one,” I say, pulling my knees up to my chest. “So, a lot of the attention will be focused on this year's Blessing Boy, Tobias Pickory. His P.W.S is 1st.” I’ve noticed now that only Tobias is shown in the picture.

“Who’s the girl?” I ask, and I see Clementine nod beside me; she wants to know too. A somber look crosses over all three of the victor's faces, “Anona Dagan, 12 years old.” Katniss says,

12-year-olds in the Hunger Games have never been a happy topic in the Districts, as they almost always die within the first day.

“Though a lot of the attention will be on Tobias, you’ll have some attention too,” Me? “Why would I get attention in the Hunger Games?” I ask, “Well, you are Katniss Everdeen’s cousin,” Haymitch says, smirking.

Right. I forgot. “Yeah, thanks for that,” I say, placing my head on my knees. Peeta tries to make me feel better. “It’ll help you get sponsors,” he says, “People will predict you to do well in the games as you are ‘related’ to a previous victor, it’s always been like that in the Capitol.”

Peeta makes sure to put air quotes around “related,” which I appreciate because, no offense to Katniss, but I would never want her to be my cousin. Because if Katniss were actually my cousin, then I wouldn’t be allowed to marry Prim as she’d be my cousin too.

Katniss looks out the train window, “We’re almost there,” she says. It’s quieter than normal, which I find strange. I rise from my seat slowly and walk over to the window to have a look at the Capitol.

I remember Katniss telling me it was huge and futuristic, like something out of a dream. That was one of the only things she told me about her games; she didn’t like to talk about it much, she said that was all that people asked about since she came back, so I never pushed.

A sadness comes over me as I think about my time with Katniss in the woods, when she was teaching me everything she knew about hunting, based on my mom’s request, because Gale was now too busy working in the mines. I miss that, when I wasn’t in the Games, when I wasn’t a tribute.

Though that is all that I am now, a spectacle for the Capitol, a twelve-year-old tribute from District 12.

Well, I won’t be a tribute for much longer, I think, 6 days and I’ll be dead. Returned to District 12, where I’ll rest in a plot beside my father, grandfather, and all of the other dead boys of the Hawthorne line.

Clementine has begun to share the window with me, looking out in amazement. The voices and eyes come slowly at first, a few Capitol citizens looking for an early peek into the tributes, then all at once, a massive crowd in front of the station, hundreds of Capitol citizens cheering and reaching towards the train.

I start to wave, trying to put on a brave face, a happy face, actually anything other than the current feeling of overwhelming sadness and horrible anticipation for what's to come.

Clementine begins to wave too; her hand is shaking again, making it look more like her hand is having a spasm than trying to wave.

The door to the train opens, and the voices from outside become 10 times louder than they were before, screams of excitement and shouting of our names, as well as Katniss and Peeta’s names. Peacekeepers enter the train, directing us off and through the throngs of people.

I’m separated from Katniss then, unexpectedly, one moment she’s there being pushed along beside me, and the next she’s gone, pulled harshly in a different direction. I try to reach out for her, but end up grazing the shoulder of a Capitol citizen.

The texture is weird under my fingertips, scaly almost, and when I look up to see who I’m touching, it becomes clear that’s exactly what it is, his face is transformed into the shape of a fish, and a giant fin sticks out from his head.

“Do you like them?” He asks me
“Yes, they're beautiful,” I lie. He’s got to be the ugliest person I’ve ever seen. I’m pulled away then, out of his reach, though I can still hear him as he turns to the lady beside him, who looks like a rainbow puked on her, and says, “They’re Beauutiful,” he says imitating what he thinks is my accent.

The rainbow lady responds, “I know, always such an interesting accent from District 12, especially from the dark ones,” she says, gesturing to my face.

At least I don’t look like a fish, I think rudely. Though I don’t know what else I expected from the Capitol.

…………

The washing starts immediately after I lie down on the preparation table. A powerful-looking showerhead is washing my whole body. It starts at my feet, and honestly, it feels kind of good, then up my legs and to my abdomen.

And finally, to my face and hair, where I am sure they are trying to drown me as an enormous amount of water gets into my mouth.

Then I feel a horrible ripping sensation as if someone is trying to take my skin off, it happens again and again, until I am horribly dizzy even when lying down. I can hear voices above me, but I can’t really understand what they are saying due to how fast my head is spinning.

Eventually, I am able to make out a few words. “I feel we should hose him down again; he is awfully dirty.” A female voice is saying.

A male voice responds to her statement with a tone of disgust, “I know, but we are already running late, Portia. We should send him over now,” Then I feel wheels moving underneath me and the cool air of a hallway.

Another door pops open, and I’m rolled inside and left there. I slowly sit up and begin to take long breaths, trying to stop the busyness in my head. As I dangle my feet over the edge, I notice they’ve cut my toenails too; all that remains in front of me are 10 digits of bright pink flesh.

The door pops open, Cinna is standing there at the doorway, he enters slowly as if he’s trying to not to scare me.

“I’m sorry this happened to you. I’m here to help you in any way that I can,” He says to me. I look down at my fingers in my lap. I’m sorry that this happened too. I’m sorry that Mom, Gale, Katniss, and Prim will have to see me die.

“I’m sorry, I’m not a winner. I’m sorry, I’m not like Katniss.” Cinna’s hand reaches up towards my face, brushing a few of my hair strands out of my eyes and behind my ear. “You don’t have to be a winner to make an impression,” he says.

“Are you ready to get to work? I’ve tried to outdo my look from last year.” He’s looking me in the eyes now. I give him a look of ‘Are you serious right now?’ “Well, that’s got to be impossible,” I say, lowering my gaze to my hands again.

“Nearly,” he says.

And nearly it is.

Cinna dresses me in a suit, like the ones seen on Capitol T.V, used for important ceremonies like weddings and presidential announcements. Except it’s all black and covered in some sort of shiny coating.

I look down, running my fingers over the bumpy texture of the blazer. Cinna takes my face in his hands. “Make sure not to look down during the ceremony,” I look up at Cinna, weirdly, don’t look down? Why?

“Why not?” I ask as my eyes meet his, “It may not look bright right now, but under all of those stadium lights out there, it’s going to shine like crazy, at least that’s the hope.” Cinna pinches my cheek.

Clementine arrives dressed in the same black, shiny fabric, except hers is a floor-length dress that reaches down over her hands. Her bright orange hair has been taken out of its signature pigtail style.

Her hair framed around her shoulders, while the pieces in the front have been tied into a bun at the back.

“You look beautiful,” I tell her. “You look nice too,” she says, and even though I am severely loyal to Prim, I appreciate her compliment. Nodding, I say, “Thank you.”

“Alright!” Clementine’s stylist, Octavia, claps her hands. “We'd better get going.” She and Cinna take us down to the lowest level of the Remake Center, where the rest of the tributes are already waiting.

District 1 catches my attention first; they look like the Greek gods and goddesses in the school books. The girl, Silver, is dressed in an off-the-shoulder bright gold gown speckled with jewels. Chanel, on the other hand, is dressed in what would be the typical clothing for a male deity, one shoulder covered with the same gold fabric as Silver, the other bare, showing his toned chest and arm.

A golden cape flows from his shoulder, jewels emblazoning the darker end of the cape. District 2 is the same as it is every year. Gladiators, to represent the number of peacekeepers that come from the District.

I catch the girl from District 9 in the corner of my eye as we are loaded into our carriage pulled by coal-black horses; she looks like a goddess, too. The wheat crown on her head is stunning, along with the white fabric and wheat-strand cape; she looks stunning.

The blessing boy helps her into the carriage; he’s sporting the same wheat crown. The music starts in tune with the opening of the giant doors at the front of the Remake Center. District 1’s horses take off, and the screams of excitement start immediately.

Before I know it, our horses are taking off, bringing us into the light of the City Circle. Screams of our names nearly burst my eardrums; everyone is looking at us and pointing, the other tributes forgotten. I struggle to follow Cinna’s instructions, but for the health of my eyes, I obey. I am probably going to need them in the arena.

I wave to the crowds on my side of the City Circle, and Clementine does the same for hers. She reaches down for my other hand, pulling it close to her side. Clementine interlaces our fingers, bringing mine and her arms up in the same way that Katniss and Peeta did last year. The screams intensify, and roses and confetti are thrown in our faces. I struggle not to gag on the rose petals in my face as I blow kisses to the crowd.

Before I know it, we are at the end of the City Circle, right in front of the Presidential Palace.

The anthem starts, and I meet President Snow’s eyes as our horses slow to a stop at the doors of the Palace, his bright blue irises cut right through my soul. I know for a fact, right then, that I will not be surviving these Games; Snow isn’t going to let me.

Chapter Text

“In two-weeks, 23 of you will be dead, 1 of you will be alive.” A jarring voice cuts through the fog in my mind. “Who that is depends on how well you pay attention in the next 5 days.” Who that is depends on who the President wants to win, I think bitterly.

I still haven’t gotten over the look in President Snow’s eyes as he glared at me last night during the parade. I barely slept last night, my mind imagining all of the ways he could kill me, some less painful than others.

Both Katniss and Peeta asked me what was wrong several times last night, and even Effie asked. She seems to have gotten over the incident that we had the first night, as I haven’t done anything else to annoy her.

Haymitch didn’t ask, though; he didn’t say anything, actually, he did, however, squeeze my shoulder before I went to sleep in the Tribute Center. It made me wonder what about Haymitch I don’t know. What nobody knows.

The lady at the front allows us to dissipate, and everyone seems to get in line for either sword fighting or fire starting. I see the girl from Nine sitting alone at the medical station. I am suddenly reminded of Peeta’s words from this morning.

“Your goal today is to make some allies, okay?” He said, gripping my shoulders, Katniss and Haymitch were questioning Clementine on what skills she has. They obviously thought she had a better chance of winning than I did.

I lower myself down to the floor where she’s sitting, and I look over at her piece of skin that she’s stitching; it looks perfect. I grab my own piece of skin, inflicted with a deep cut, and turn to look at her.

“If you teach me how to do that, I can teach you how to build a trap,” I say. I was never very good at shooting, Katniss had tried to teach me loads of times, but I could never figure it out. Snares, however, I was a natural at, Gale had even said that I was better than him.

But I think he just said that to make me feel better about being a lousy shot. The girl from Nine looks at me, then nods a little.

She hands me a suture from her right side. “First, you need to assess how deep the cut is, and if it even needs stitches.” That reminds me of Prim. Prim had done the same thing after I got in a fight in the schoolyard, and one of the other boys broke my nose. I don’t even remember why I got into that fight.

Something about that they hope Katniss dies in the Games, then Prim and her mother starve to death. He said something like “Little baby Primrose is making her sister go into the games for her. When she dies, I’ll have fun watching you starve.”

A blinding rage came over me, and I socked him right in the eye. Even though my nose got broken, I still won; his eye was never the same. My nose, however, looks okay from a distance.

“Are you with me?” The girl’s voice snaps me back to the Tribute Center, “Yeah, sorry.” A worried look crosses over her face, but she continues with her instructions anyway.

“You’ll want to place the suture wire on the right side of the wound, putting it through the skin and pulling the suture all the way through.” She says starting on a different piece of skin than before.

I place the wire through the left side of the wound, and a hand immediately covers mine, “I said right side,” She says, pulling out my wire, “If you place it on the left, you’ll have a difficult time tying it off.”

“Right side,” I say as I place the wire on the correct side of the wound this time.

“Then, insert the wire through the other side of the skin, pulling all the way through again.”

This time I didn’t get any corrections on my work. “Then we tie it off, using the medical scissors.” Before I even get a chance to speak, she hands me a pair of funky-looking scissors from her right side, “Here are your pair. Wrap the wire twice around the scissors.”

She looks at me to make sure I’m following, then down at my scissors, “Yes, like that,” she says. The scissors feel too big in my hands, and I now understand why you must insert the suture on the right side first.

“Pick up the other end, sliding the wire off the scissors as you pull the other end.” Okay, that’s not too hard, I think, completing my first ever suture. “That’s great, now let's practice again,” she says, handing me another wire.

I do the same process several times before I dare to speak. “Your name was Anona, right?”

She looks up, “Yes, yours was Rory, no?” I nod, completing my fifth suture. She doesn’t say anything else, so I prompt her with another question: “Where did you learn to do this?” I ask her,

She’s quiet for a moment, and I am ready to tell her never mind when she answers, “My dad’s a doctor. The best doctor in Nine,” she says, handing me another slab of skin before picking another up for herself.

“Who taught you to set traps?” She asks, “My brother, Gale.” She looks at me weirdly, “Not Katniss?”

“Katniss mostly taught me about forging and shooting, which I’m lousy at. My brother is a genius at snares; he’s been teaching me since I was 5.” She nods, smiling a little.

We don’t talk for probably another hour; all we do is practice different types of stitches. Until she looks at me, eyes panicked, she nods to her other side.

It’s the boy from Two. Sitting down beside her and beginning to work on his own stitches. I continue working on the three new stitches that Anona taught me, while she looks over at the boy from Two’s stitches.

Anona’s voice comes suddenly, “Your stitches are too close together.” She says, and for a second, I think she’s talking to me, but when I look up at her to say something back, I notice her head is still turned in the complete opposite direction.

She’s talking to the boy from Two.

He looks at her, and for a second, I am afraid for her, but I notice that there is no malice in his eyes. “If the stitches are that close, the skin will pucker,” she says. He looks down at his stitches and nods, “Thank you…”

“Anona,” she says, she has an air of confidence I’ve never seen on a 12-year-old tribute before.

“Anona.” He repeats

A gong goes off in the Tribute Center. The lady speaks up again, “That’s all for training today, tributes, back to your quarters now.”

I look towards Anona, “meet me over there tomorrow”, I say, pointing to the rope tying and traps section of the Tribute Center.

She nods, and we part ways. I can tell that the boy from Two has his eyes on me, but I don’t look back. I walk over to the glass elevator, looking around for Clementine before pressing the number 12. She’s nowhere to be seen. I wonder if she’s still practicing some of her skills before the Peacekeepers kick us out for good.

The ride back to the penthouse of the Tribute Center is silent. Not that it would be any different if Clementine were here, but it feels empty, like she’s supposed to be beside me, as she is the other tribute from Twelve.

When I reach the penthouse a good ten minutes later, the silence persists. I look around the whole penthouse for everybody else, and even shout Katniss and Peeta’s names a few times, and get no response.

This feels kind of like a nightmare, like a killer clown or something is going to burst out from the dark corners of the walls and murder me. I sit down in front of the TV, which only has the Capitol symbol on it, and wrap myself in the blanket from the arm of the couch.

I fish the remote off the coffee table and attempt to turn the T.V. on. I’ve never used a T.V. before, so I take a guess and press the big red button at the top of the remote.

The screen flickers on, and I am faced with a menu. It has four options: Past Games, Capitol News, Capitol T.V, and 74th Hunger Games Coverage. Past Games are highlighted. I look down at the remote, I press the OK button in the middle of the remote, and the screen changes.

A carousel of options is shown in front of me. 73rd Hunger Games is the first option, “Definitely Not.” I say, hitting the arrow button on the remote. I am scrolling for a while until I see the words,

‘50th Hunger Games; Winner Haymitch Abernathy.’

I punch the OK button with my finger again, and the recording starts playing after a few seconds of buffering. I place the remote down beside me as the Capitol symbol flashes on the screen again.

A voice comes from the screen, “Twice the Tributes, twice the glory.” The screen pans to Haymitch’s face as he gets ready for the cannon. “It’s time for the Second Quarter Quell.” The clock in the center begins counting down from sixty.

Haymitch is shown making eye contact with a tribute across the arena, before the cannon goes off and everybody starts running from their places around the Cornucopia.

A tribute dressed head to toe in snot green tries to tackle Haymitch as he runs away from the Cornucopia. Haymitch is able to throw him off and continue forward.

He picks up a knife and a bag from the outer ring of the Cornucopia before heading off deep into the bright wilderness.

Haymitch kneels next to a river and begins scooping water into his mouth with his hands. Then his eyes flicker up, and he sees a bunny doing the same before it collapses and dies. Haymitch then makes himself throw up, and the contents of his stomach are emptied into the poison river.

“Ahh, gross,” I say audibly. The camera cuts, and a little girl also from Twelve approaches Haymitch. He looks shocked to see her, but she simply taps her ear, one that seems to be bleeding profusely, and says, “Find Haymitch.”

“Find Haymitch? That’s so weird, the Gamemakers must have had something to do with that.” I say, it's horrible to think about how much power the Gamemakers have; they can make any tribute do anything they want.

Haymitch’s voice comes through the screen; he’s knelt down to her level. “Were going to go north, okay, that way,” Haymitch points off to the distance, “To find Mr. Snake. Okay?” The girl nods excitedly, grabbing Haymitch’s hand.

The next scene shows Haymitch and the girl still hand in hand, walking north through the beautiful landscape.

The girl runs over to a random bush and begins smelling it, smiling. Then she collapses, blood spewing from her nose and eyes.

My hand slaps over my mouth, horrified. She looks up at Haymitch before the light dims completely from her eyes, and a canon goes off.

The next cut is weird, as Haymitch has cuts on his face that weren't seen in the previous shot. He continues north, finding a place to set up camp and rest a little before nightfall.

Bustling from behind me, tears my attention from the screen, servants hauling in platters of food into the penthouse before hustling back out and shutting the door.

I look back at the screen, Haymitch embracing a boy who seems to be his ally. I reach for the remote at my side and probably press about 3 different buttons before I select the correct one, pausing the recording.

I pull myself off the couch before slowly making my way over to the food. There is the most delicious-looking spread in front of me. All of the stuff from the train is there, as well as some extra things, soft-looking bakery bread, cheese, and a giant roasted bird.

I load a little bit of everything onto my plate and sit down in front of the T.V again. I select the play button and see Haymitch and his ally discuss some important matters. The next morning, Haymitch wakes up and sees his ally being attacked by giant squirrels.

When they pull away, there is nothing left of Haymitch’s ally except his bones. The piece of the bird I was eating drops from my mouth and onto the plate again.

“That’s so wrong,” I say, lifting the glass of milk I poured for myself to my mouth. It’s not nearly as good as the milk from Prim’s goat, but it’s good enough.

Haymitch continues north, where he finds a giant hedge maze and begins to traverse his way through it, or tries to as he gets lost, spinning himself around in circles.

A bunny hops out in front of Haymitch and begins leading him through the maze as I lift the last piece of bread into my mouth.

I set the plate down on the table, next to the sofa, and wrap the blanket tightly around myself again. As Haymitch exits the maze, he is ambushed by 3 Careers, though he can fight two of them off with his knife, the third one is able to disarm him and holds his machete to Haymitch’s throat.

The door creaks behind me, and I rush to press pause on the remote again, and the image of the Career’s blade against Haymitch’s throat is frozen on the screen.

Coughing fills the room, and I see Katniss and Peeta carrying Clementine through the door as Effie holds it open.

Haymitch approaches me, but freezes, probably at the sight of his own face on the T.V.

“I-uhh,” I stumble. Haymitch walks away, towards the minibar of the penthouse, and begins pouring himself a drink.

After the coughing gets significantly quieter, I see Katniss and Peeta emerging from the far-off rooms behind me. They dish themselves up plates of food and walk towards the couch. Haymitch stays at the table with Effie.

I fumble with the remote as I turn the T.V off, and the Capitol monogram shows up again. Katniss sits next to me, Peeta on her other side, “How did training go?” Katniss asks, “Did you make any allies?” Peeta continues.

Instead of answering, I ask, “What happened to Clementine?” Katniss goes completely silent, her gaze lowering to her hands. Peeta swallows before speaking slowly, “She collapsed during training. The doctors said she-” Peeta is cut off by loud coughing.

I look towards the sound and see no one visibly coughing; it must be Clementine, I think. Peeta swallows again before finishing his sentence, “has Tuberculosis.”

Memories flash in front of my eyes as I stare straight forward. My friend Everett, my only real friend besides Prim. Us laughing and playing tag. Everett coughing loudly, throwing up more mucus after every choke. Me visiting him in the Longhorn’s house, him bedbound. Me being escorted out as he goes into another coughing fit.

Hearing the news from Prim, “He didn’t make it through the night, the Longhorns are pooling donations for the funeral.” Katniss reaches for my shoulder, “I’m sure it’s not…” I don’t hear the rest of her words as I bolt off the couch and into my room in the penthouse.

I collapse on the bed, tears spilling from my eyes. I’ll see you soon, Everett, I think, before my mind is pulled into complete darkness.

Chapter Text

A knock wakes me up. “It’s time for training.” It’s Peeta's voice; Katniss probably couldn’t look at me after giving her possibly winning tribute tuberculosis. I struggle to get out of my bed, the blankets wrapped tight around my ankles.

I slowly pull on the black tribute training uniform, the number 12 stamped across my back and shoulders. In some ways, it feels like a cattle auction, like the ones I used to attend with Prim back in District 12.

District 12. I would love to be back there. I used to hate it. The suffocating heat and ever-present scent of coal dust, but now that I am here in the Capitol, being prepared for my death, I would love a time machine.

I walk to the elevator silently; no one even says a word to me. Clementine stumbles in behind me, gripping onto the handrails of the elevator. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her chest heaving violently as she coughs. I focus my eyes on the ground after that.

I spot Anona immediately after I exit the elevator and leave Clementine to go stand beside her. I keep my distance from her, though, nervously fidgeting with my fingers.

Once the lady at the front dismisses us, Anona and I head over to the ropes and traps section of the training facility. I gather ropes from the corner of the station and bring them over to us. As soon as I get back, Anona’s hand lands on mine.

“Are you okay?” I look up at her, and immediately have to look away, or else I’ll start crying like a toddler who doesn’t get their way. I pass a rope over to her, and before I even get a chance to speak, Anona asks again,

“What happened to her?” she says, pointing over my shoulder. I look, even though I already know what I am going to see. Clementine is gathered in a heap on the floor, coughing. As we watch, Clementine lets out a particularly bad cough and blood spurts from her mouth, landing on the floor and all over her clothes.

Peacekeepers leave their stations at the corners of the room and yank her up by her underarms, dragging her away from the training quarters as blood drips out of her mouth and onto her chin.

We look back to our ropes after that, “She’s sick,” I tell Anona. She nods, saying nothing. She probably sees lots of sick people with her dad being a doctor, “Tuberculosis,” I tell her. “I figured,” She says, twirling the rope around her fingers.

“There was an outbreak in Twelve recently, killing about 75 people. 25 children.” It’s not really a lie; there was an outbreak of Tuberculosis in Twelve. She just wasn’t one of them; I was. I don’t understand why she’s sick, and I’m not.

“Let’s get started,” I say, changing the topic. “The first step is to understand the size of the animal you're trying to catch,” I say, laying down my rope in a circle on the ground. “A trap for a rat is going to be different than a trap for a wild dog.”

“Rats?” Anona’s voice sounds unsteady. “Yeah, why?” she shakes her head. “No reason,” I know she’s lying, I can tell by the panicked look in her eyes.

“If you are making a snare for a smaller animal, you’ll need a smaller rope, but these are the only ones we have, so it’ll have to work.” I make sure I see her nod before continuing.

“You know how to tie a knot, right?” I ask her, and she nods again, still completely silent. “Tie the first end to a tree branch or something strong enough to hold the weight of the animal,” I demonstrate by tying one end of my rope to one of the shelves in the corner of the room.

“Then twist the rope in a circle twice, ensuring that it holds as you tie the second end.” The rope twists easily in my hands as I secure it to another shelf a few feet from the first shelf.

“Why make a circle? Why not just trip the animal?” I hear Anona’s voice again, and a memory flashes in front of my eyes. I asked Gale that exact same question on one of the first days he took me out past the boundary and into the forest.

I repeat his words, at least what I remember to be his words, “When the animals run through the trap, and its head or foot gets caught, the snare gets tighter the more the animal tries to get away.”

Anona nods, understanding, “and usually you dig a hole underneath the snare so when the animal gets caught in the trap, it snaps their neck as they fall down.” I look over and see that Anona looks horrified. The more time I spend with Anona, the more she reminds me of Prim.

“It’s the most painless way to kill an animal,” She nods, swallowing. I hear footsteps behind me and look over my shoulder, it's the boy from Two again, trying to set up his own traps.

He’s setting up a trap for a larger animal. I go through the process of setting that kind of snare while watching him do it. He sets up the first circle, first tying one end of the rope to the top of one of the shelves, then crossing the rope to make the circle.

My eyes refocus, and I see him pulling the end of the rope through the knot. That’s not right. That trap is not going to go off. He didn’t cross the rope over again. Instead of grabbing the animal’s foot when he pulls, the rope is going to unravel, only tripping the animal, not catching them.

I watch it play out in front of me. Anona taps my shoulder, “Can you teach me another one?” She asks. I don’t respond, continuing to watch the boy from Two. He places the fake rabbit inside the trap and pulls on the rope.

Nothing happens.

Well, not exactly nothing, the plush rabbit has fallen over onto its side, but that’s about it. I hear a sound of frustration come from him. My legs move before I can even think.

I grab the rabbit and place it to the side, reaching up on my tippy toes, I pull out the rope from his knot and unravel his trap. I twirl the rope around my fingers, creating a circle before tightening it and doubling the circle over.

I feel the boy from Two’s eyes on me, but I don’t stop. I reach up and pull the rope through the knot on the top shelf, pulling it far enough where you can reach it, but not far enough that it sets the trap off.

I look up, “Try it now.” I say passing the rope over to him. He says nothing, just places the rabbit in the trap again and pulls down. It works this time, launching the rabbit up and grabbing its foot. Trapped.

“How did you do that?” He asks, Anona has come to stand beside me now, her arms crossed. I say nothing and begin walking away. I go to pull Anona’s arm, but she catches mine first. “We should help him,” She whispers.

“Why?” I whisper back

“Maybe he’ll be less likely to kill us, allies, you know?” I look at her, then turn back around. I’m upset to admit that she has a point. We do need allies, especially strong, capable allies like him.

I approach him slowly. “It’s simple, really,” I begin, “When you set your trap, you only crossed the rope once to create the circle; you need to cross it twice, or the trap will unravel when you pull.”

I see him nodding. I will admit that maybe my tone of voice wasn’t the nicest, but he responds anyway. “Okay,” he says as he unassembles the trap. He begins to set it up again, creating the first circle.

He looks up at me, “Like this?” he says as he crosses the rope over again. I nod, “Yes, now trap the rabbit,” I say to him,

He does so and traps the rabbit perfectly. “Thank you. I've been struggling with that trap forever. I could never figure out what I was doing wrong.”

He comes closer, and I resist the compulsion to take a step back. He opens his mouth to say something, but is interrupted. “Artemi, bro. What are you doing over here?” It’s Chanel, the boy from One. His eyes close, and he squeezes them tight before responding.

“I was just working on setting traps. We’ll need food in the games,” He looks over at Chanel, who rolls his eyes, “Come back over here, we should spar, it’ll be good practice for...” He gazes over to us, his face transforming into a smirk.

Both Anona and I give him the most annoyed look we can conjure before turning away, returning to our station.

I look back over my shoulder as we reach our station and see Artemi already looking at us. He tries to smile at me, but I look away again.

I’m able to teach Anona a couple more traps before the gong goes off again, signalling the end of the second day of training. Before I leave Anona for the rest of the day, she grabs my arm, coming close to my face.

I try to pull away, to at least create some distance between us, but her grip is firm. “If she can get enough water and rest, she should at least be able to make it to the games,” She says. I look at her, confused for a second, then realize, “Clementine?” I say.

“Yes. Herbs would be better, but there isn’t a lot of that around here.” She says to me before releasing her grip on my arm.

I try to give her a small smile, “You’ll be a great doctor,” I tell her. I see a flash of hope behind her eyes, but it quickly disappears. “Tobias will win, everybody thinks that, not me.” She points to Tobias, who is still practicing with his scythe.

I shrug, walking away, “Not everybody,” I say.

Anona stands there still shocked as I walk into the District 12 elevator and close the door. I fidget nervously during the ride back up to the penthouse.

Anona’s words, repeating in my head, ‘she should be able to make it to the games,’ was Clementine’s condition really that bad? What happens if she dies before the games? What does the Capitol do then?

This time, when I enter the penthouse, I hear voices, loud and arguing. I push the door open slowly, peaking through. Haymitch is there arguing with Katniss and Peeta, his hands stretched out in front of him in a serious manner.

I hear his voice; it’s quieter than normal. “Listen, you can try doing it your own way, but I’ve been here. I know what President Snow’s move will be.”

I take a step closer, pushing the door open a little more. The door lets out a terrifying creak, revealing my location. Haymitch freezes, Katniss and Peeta look up and make eye contact with me.

“Come in, Rory.” Peeta’s voice sounds tense

Katniss stands up, interrupting Peeta, “Are you hungry? You didn’t eat this morning.”
I shrug. I don’t feel hungry, but then again, I never used to feel hungry at home. If you felt hungry, it made getting through the day ten times harder, so I stopped feeling it.

Katniss approaches the kitchen island, opening up the pot on the counter. “Stew?” she asks. “Sure,” I say, sitting down on the other side of the island. Katniss dishes me up a bowl of stew before sitting down next to me.

The stew smells delicious; it looks like an exact replica of Greasy Sae’s stew from the Hob. I lift the spoon to my mouth, my hand trembling, letting most of the stew escape back into the bowl.

Once the remaining stew reaches my mouth, I am transported back to the first time I ate Greasy Sae’s stew. Which coincidentally was only a few months ago. It was on a Sunday, the only day Gale had off from the mines, and we had just finished collecting our game from the snares we set up early that morning.

Gale had said, “Let’s sell some of this stuff at the Hob, before we go over to Katniss’s.” I said nothing, afraid that if I did, he would change his mind. Gale had never let me come to the Hob with him before, no matter how much I begged.

It was hard to see in the Hob at first, with the only light source being the few dull bulbs hanging from the exposed rafters, but after a while, my eyes began to adjust, and I could see the different sellers, jewlery, shoes, baked goods made from Tesserae flour, and Greasy Sae’s soup bar.

Gale had kept his hand on my shoulder the whole time, steering me around to the different sellers of the Hob until we reached Greasy Sae’s soup bar near the back of the Hob. She had smiled when she saw Gale approach.

“What have you got for me today, boy?” Greasy Sae had said. Gale had lifted the wild dog we had caught over the counter and into Greasy Sae’s hands. “This is a big one, I’ll give you Thirty-Five District Dollars.”

Gale's hand squeezed my shoulder harder. “Forty.” He had said, Greasy Sae shook her head, “Thirty-Seven and I’ll throw in two bowls of soup.” Gale had nodded, motioning for me to take a seat at the soup bar.

“This is your brother, I’m assuming,” Greasy Sae said as she put down our bowls of soup. She slid the wooden spoons into our bowls. “The older one, Rory,” Gale had hummed, mouth already full of soup.

The memory ends, and I’m left staring down at my bowl of stew, a cold bath of sadness is splashed over my head. I will never see Gale again. And he will have to see me die. In three days.

“How has training been? We haven’t been able to talk since yesterday morning.” I know Katniss is looking at me, but I keep my eyes focused on my stew. “It’s been fine,” I say. Katniss stands up again to dish a bowl of stew for herself.

“Make any allies?”

“A few,” Peeta walks in, Haymitch trailing behind him. Clementine is still nowhere to be seen, nor is Effie, if I think about it.

“Who have you made allies with?” Haymitch asks, stealing Katniss’s seat next to me.

“The girl from Nine and I taught the boy from Two a trap.” Silence radiates around the room. Katniss speaks first, her voice gaining a harsher tone than before, “You helped a Career?!?”

Peeta is next to berate me, “Do you not remember what I told you on the train? Never-”

I interrupt him, “Anona said we should.” Everybody's head snaps towards me again, the same confused look written on all of their faces.

“Anona. The girl from Nine. Her dad is a doctor; she taught me a few stitches.” A sigh escapes into the room, “Maybe tomorrow, try talking to the tributes from Five or Seven or even Three. Two twelve-year-olds against the Career Pack will end up with your picture in the sky,” says Haymitch.

I grab my bowl of stew and leave for my room. Peeta comes after me, but Katniss stops him, venturing after me herself.

I go into my room, and I attempt to shut the door, but Katniss holds it open, “Listen, Rory. Haymitch is right, you need stronger allies if you want a chance in these Games.” If I want a chance.

“If I’m going to die anyway, I at least want to be around people that I like!” I scream at her, and I succeed in shutting the door in her face. I lower myself on the bed and bring the stew up to my lips again, but all I can taste are my tears.

I cry as silently as I can for about thirty minutes before I can get the rest of the stew into my stomach. I fall asleep sometime after that. The empty bowl by my side.

I wish Gale were here, or Prim, or my mother. They would know what to say.

……………..

There is silence again when I wake up. But this time, not everybody is gone. Katniss is sitting at the breakfast buffet alone, staring down at her plate.
“Where is everybody?” I ask her. She looks up, judging by the red streaks on her face, she must have just been crying. It hits me then, for the first time on this trip, that this is probably hard for her too. She has to leave Prim and come to the Capitol to train kids meant to die.

She rises from her seat slowly, and once she is close enough, I hug her as tight as I possibly can. She hugs back, and I am reminded of the last hug I shared with Gale before leaving for the train. It makes me hold onto her impossibly tighter.

She lets go, motioning for me to sit down. “Come eat, there’s about thirty minutes until training.” She says, pushing the stack of pancakes perched on the table closer to me.

“Where is everybody else?” I repeat, stacking a pancake and a few pieces of bacon onto my plate.

“Clementine had to um…” She cuts herself off, pressing a hand to her mouth like she’s trying to stop a gag.

“Peeta, Haymitch, and Effie had to take her to Emergency. She stopped breathing during the night.” I stare down at my plate, suddenly not hungry anymore.

I get up from the table, “I should get ready.” Katniss nods, saying nothing. I pull on that stupid coal black uniform and begin making my way towards the elevator.

Katniss is gone by the time I reach the dining room again. I enter the elevator and select the ground floor.

Only some of the tributes are in the Training Center when I exit the elevator. Artemi is one of them. He makes eye contact with me, but I look away as quickly as I can and take my spot behind the District 11 tributes.

Anona and Tobias arrive just before we are allowed to go to our own stations. Anona comes straight over to me. “Did you guys oversleep?” I ask her.

She nods, “It would have been fine, but our mentors made us eat before coming. We had to run to get ready.”

I smile a little. “What should we do today?” she looks around, observing all of the training areas. “Sword fighting looks empty,” She says.

“Do you even know how to use a sword?” I say a look of concern crossing my face, “No. My brother Harlo has taught me to throw a punch or too though.” Anona has a brother, Harlo, and her telling me this is a good sign, I think, it means she is trusting me more. We are becoming stronger allies.

“Well, might as well learn,” I say, we head over towards the sword-fighting station and pick up two random swords. They're not exactly sharp, but if you tried hard enough, you could do some damage.

“Any update on Clementine?” She asks while inspecting her sword. “Not anything good. They rushed her to Emergency this morning because she stopped breathing.”

Anona hums, pointing her sword at me. I point mine back at her. It feels awkward and heavy in my hands. Anona’s sword clashes against mine; the sword wobbles in my hands, but I can keep it steady and swing mine back at her.

She is able to block it with her sword and attempts a shot at my abdomen. I block it, swinging the sword with both hands. A hand grabs hold of my sword, and I look up to see Artemi standing there gripping my sword.

“It’ll be easier for you to swing the sword with one hand; it allows for more mobility.” I look over at Anona, and she sends a look that tells me to keep going.

“Here, I can show you.” I let him take the sword out of my hands, and he positions it in his right hand and takes a swing at Anona’s sword. She tries to block it, but that move only causes her sword to end up clattering to the ground. She looks at Artemi, then at me, shocked.

He hands me my sword back, “Here, you try,” he says. I take the sword into my right hand and leave my left at my side. Artemi walks over to Anona’s side. He picks up her sword and hands it back to her.

“You're small, take advantage of that,” He says to her. She looks up at him, “You don’t always have to block with your sword; you can dodge under his attacks, which can land you in a better position.”

She looks at me, it’s as if she’s asking me ‘can we trust this guy’ I give her a short nod, and she readies herself with her sword.

“Now let’s try that again,” Artemi says, stepping back. Anona and I’s swords clash again, but this time the sound is louder, and as I go for another attack on her, she ducks, dipping under my sword.

I lose my balance and fall straight on my butt, and Artemi chuckles a little. “Better, but still needs a lot of work.” He offers his hand to me, and I hesitate to take it for a second, but eventually I do, and Artemi hauls me back to my feet.

The next three hours are a blur of fighting strategies and moves on how to take on a bigger and more skilled opponent. By the time the gong rings and I get back into the elevator to go back to the penthouse, my non-existent muscles are throbbing, and sweat is dripping down my back.
I push the door to the penthouse open and find Cinna and the rest of the District 12 team, including Clementine, sitting on the soft couches of the living room, waiting for me.

Though Clementine looks worse for wear, as she is propped up on the couch, her skin is paper white as sweat drips down her forehead.

Cinna smiles at me, “It’s nice to see you again, Rory,” He says. I gulp, sliding down beside Katniss. I know exactly what this is about.

Chapter Text

The sit in my mouth feels like glue as I listen to Cinna describing my outfit for my tribute interview.

“Remember its not real fire, it's just an illusion.” Cinna looks at me, probably looking for me to nod in agreement, but I just look down towards my shoes.

I miss the way Gale’s old boots felt on my feet; these new shoes feel scratchy and stiff on my toes. I feel Katniss’ hand grip mine, squeezing. I squeeze back, holding onto her fingers as tight as I possibly can.

“I designed a dress for you, Clementine,” Cinna says. Clementine can barely move her head to look at Cinna, but she manages, and a small, weak smile comes across her face.

“Thank You, Cinna,” Her voice is so rough, and it's clear from her voice that there is fluid in her lungs. Everett sounded like that, too, when I went to visit him. He had died the next day.

Suddenly, I’m transported back to when I was teaching Anona traps, her words about Clementine press down on my brain, nearly crushing it.

‘If she gets enough fluid, she should be able to make it to the games.’

I spring up from my seat, and Katniss’ hand is ripped from mine due to the abrupt movement. I walk over to the bar, ignoring the look of surprise on everybody’s face.

My hand reaches for one of the glasses, pulling it off the stack. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Peeta stand from his spot on the couch.

I leave the bar, walking past the couch again as I travel to the one place I know has water. Here’s the thing about the penthouse: there’s lots of food and drinks, but only when the Capitol servants bring it.

Other than that, there’s nothing. Only an empty kitchen and a bar.

I twist the tap in the bathroom, and crystal clear water begins flowing straight from the faucet. Must be nice, I think. These Capitol kids don’t know how good they have it. If all I had to do was twist a tap to get clean drinkable water, I’d be the happiest kid in the world.

I’m only twelve, but I’d say I’ve probably spent over two hundred hours waiting for clean water. Either collecting rainwater for my mom’s washing business, or waiting at the communal clean water tap in Twelve to fill our cistern at home. Prim and I usually did it together, while Gale and Katniss were out hunting.

It was the typical younger sibling job while the older siblings made money in the mines. Vick was probably doing it now, since I’m gone.

I’d taken him with me one time, when Prim was busy with her goat. He wasn’t very helpful; he claimed that the water jugs were too heavy and that the line was too long, or that the tap took too long to fill up our jugs. Basically, he couldn’t sit still.

I never took him again after that; I either went with Prim or alone when Prim was busy. I wonder how he’s doing now. Gale had probably taken him after the reaping, showing him how to turn the tap on and off.

Vick would have probably filled our cistern twice by now, once on Tuesday and once yesterday. They’ll live without me, I think. Mom is still there, and so is Gale. Katniss will take care of them, too, at least I hope.

I twist the tap off and return to the living room, where everybody is still sitting. Peeta has returned to his seat as well.

I approach Clementine cautiously. Her eyes met mine; her’s hazy and unfocused, the stark blue colour completely gone from them. I lift the glass to her lips, and she slurps up the water hastily, like a wild dog on a hot summer day.

That’s why she’s gotten so bad.

The realization crushes me. She hasn’t been getting enough fluid, maybe not even any, as she hasn’t been present for at least the last five meals.

I drain the last of the water into her mouth, setting the glass down next to Cinna’s designs.

Everybody is silent. Katniss looks at me, still silent, and I give her a small smile, but she continues looking at me seriously. No, not seriously, Katniss is scared.

I look away, glancing towards Peeta’s face; his expression is the same. Swallowing, I return to my seat. It doesn’t make any sense.

Cinna clears his throat, changing the subject. He says, “Do you know what to do when you’re on stage?”

“Open up the suit, but you said it has to be right in front of the stadium lights,” I repeat. I’m too busy thinking about Clementine. Why didn’t they give her any water or some Capitol medicine?

They want her to make it to the games, right? Right?

Cinna stands up abruptly, gathering up his scattered designs. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Rory, before the interview,” He says, placing a hand on my head. “Stay Safe, you too, Katniss.”
Katniss nods uncomfortably. I look over at her, searching for answers. She gives me nothing, choosing to look at Peeta instead. “Why don’t you and Haymitch bring Clementine to her room?” she says.

Haymitch and Peeta get up silently, each taking one of Clementine’s arms and lifting her from the couch, “Wait! Water, more water!” Clementine screeches, her voice wet and thick. Haymitch and Peeta say nothing, dragging Clementine down the hall.

I reach out for her, but Katniss pulls me back. I look at her, “She’s going to die, Katniss!” I begin screaming at her.

A look of horror crosses Katniss’ face, “I know, I know.” Her arms are pulling me towards her. I collapse against her chest, sobbing. Don’t they know she’s going to die? Why won’t they help her?

I hug Katniss for a long time, long enough for Peeta and Haymitch to reappear, and long enough for Effie to announce that we should settle in for dinner; it should be arriving soon. Effie’s voice makes me so unbelievably angry, I want to yell at her, spit in her face, and tell her that I want everyone in the Capitol to die.

How could they just let Clementine suffer like that? Sure, things in the Districts are bad, but at least people will help you when you need it.

I do nothing, separating from Katniss, I sit down at the stupid table like Effie asked. Nobody says anything. I look up and see the look of guilt on Effie’s face. I smile at her, well, at least try to, she was likely just trying to change the subject.

The food arrives shortly after. Baked potatoes and pork, with brown sauce and cheesy noodles, fruit cakes stacked taller than my head, and fancy bubbling drinks in giant glass pitchers.

I dish a little bit of everything onto my plate, but I can’t force myself to eat any of it. I move the food around with my fork, but I don’t pick it up.

Haymitch sets his hands on the table, “Tomorrow is the evaluation,” he says, “Since it’s organized by District, you’ll go last. Be sure to show them your best skills.” I hum in agreement, unable to say anything.

“Make sure to show them that you’re good at climbing too,” Katniss says. My fork drops from my hand, clashing with my plate.

“You Monkey!” Dad says, I giggle, his strong arms lift me down from the tree I had climbed into. “Can you believe how good he is already, Hazelle?” He says, Mom laughs “Our little Monkey, for sure.” Dad lifts me in his arms, high above his head, and my fingers brush the low-hanging branches of the trees.

I slowly pick up my fork again, it’s the only memory I have of Dad, I was three years old. Climbing trees was natural for me then; I guess it still is, but I rarely do it anymore.

“I will,” I say, Peeta’s hand reaches across the table, “You’re smart and quick, if you show the judges that, they’ll like you, they’ll probably give you a good score.”

Katniss pauses, “Like Rue,” Rue had gotten a seven in the last games despite only being twelve years old.

“Try to eat a little bit, then you should rest. You’ll need energy for tomorrow,” Peeta says as he stands up from the table. He motions for Katniss and Haymitch to do the same. I stare down at the food for a couple more seconds before finally deciding to lift a bit of food into my mouth.

I manage a few more bites before I begin to feel sick, I leave the rest on my plate and begin my way towards my bedroom.

I lay in bed with my eyes open for what seems like hours. When I’m sure sleep isn’t coming, I slowly slip out of bed and open the bedroom door. The sky is completely dark by now, though the artificial lights from the Capitol buildings outside cast a stream of light across the floor.

I see the light of the kitchen peaking out from a door I have never noticed before; the door blocks me from entering the kitchen. I hear Katniss’ panicked voice from the other side,

“Snow has to know that,” she says, and I can hear her pacing, “That’s not how he works, Katniss, you know that.”

“In Snow’s eyes, what Rory did was an act of rebellion; it doesn’t matter that he didn’t know,” Haymitch is telling her. I feel the need to push the door open and demand to know what they’re talking about, what I did that was so rebellious.

“Is there anything we can do?” Peeta asks, Haymitch sighs, “The most we can do is keep him away from Clementine, Snow won’t forget this though.”

“How much more time has the water given her?” Katniss asks, “Maybe a day or two. That’s too much for Snow; he wanted her dead before the games.” I step backwards away from the door, turning around quickly, and I run back to my room.

I pull the cover of the bed over my head and begin to cry again. Snow wanted Clementine to die; that much was clear. But why? He wanted her to die so bad that even helping her condition a little bit was considered a rebellion.

I am assuming that’s what they were talking about, at least, their shocked faces make sense now. Not really, though, why did President Snow want fifteen-year-old Clementine De Costa, daughter of a District 12 seamstress, dead so badly? What did she do?

I run over scenarios in my head for probably several hours before I drift off to sleep. The most viable theory I can come up with is her actions during the parade, when she lifted our hands together as Katniss and Peeta did. Maybe the murderous look in Snow’s eyes then was for her, not for me.

I know it’s terrible, but that thought makes me feel better about my chances in these games. Sure, Snow will still want to kill me, but if his main priority is killing Clementine, I might be able to slip through the cracks.

……………………..

As I pull on my District 12 training uniform for the last time ever, I convince myself that my one goal today is to find out what Snow hates Clementine for. I doubt Haymitch or Peeta would just tell me, but Katniss might, if I ask in the right way.

She’ll need to be alone, though; my first chance comes right at breakfast. I notice Haymitch and Peeta in the hallway as I walk by the bathroom, their hands tightly grasped on the doorknobs of both the bathroom and Clementine’s room.

Katniss is alone in the kitchen, pouring coffee for herself. “Katniss,” my voice comes out quieter than I expect it to. Katniss’s eyes meet mine, “Hey, are you ready for today?” she asks me. I don’t acknowledge her question, slipping down into the seat beside her, I wrap my fingers around hers.

“Does Snow hate me?” I ask her, it’s a dirty trick, but I know it will work. Katniss gulps, slowly putting her coffee cup down, and she rests her other hand on my shoulder. “He just thinks you’ve gotten in the way of his plan. If you can keep to yourself, it shouldn’t get too dangerous.”

“What plan?” My scared twelve-year-old act is wearing off now, and the genuine curiosity is peaking through.

Katniss looks around the room. Effie is watering the plants in the penthouse, not even listening to our conversation, and both Haymitch and Peeta are still nowhere to be seen.

“Persimmon De Costa, Clementine’s father.” Katniss takes a deep breath, “He disobeyed Snow, spreading rebel information around District 12.” I remember hearing of a Persimmon. My mom washed his clothes.

He always left letters in the pockets of his coveralls. I just thought he was trying to flirt with her. She always returned his clothes with a new note written by her. My eyes widen, “My mo-” Katniss slaps her hand over my mouth.

‘Snow doesn’t know,’ she mouths to me, and I nod vigorously. Katniss peels her hand off my mouth, dishing some of the breakfast food onto my plate.

I stare down in disbelief, my mom is a rebel. Gale, I would have expected, but my mom? Though when I really think about it, I remember seeing that fire in her eyes when Katniss had pulled out the berries last year. Something I had never seen in her, at least not recently enough to remember it.

Haymitch and Peeta emerge from the hallway. Peeta sits down, but Haymitch doesn’t. “Try to eat a little, I’ll take you down in” he looks down at his watch, “Five minutes,” he says,

I shove a couple of pieces of bacon in my mouth, downing my water glass, I say, “I’m ready now.” Better to get the embarrassment over with than sit around waiting for it.

“Alright then,” Haymitch says. I feel his hand grazing the fabric of my t-shirt. Once the elevator doors close, I look over at him. “When will Clementine do her evaluation?” I ask. Haymitch gives me probably the biggest side eye I’ve ever gotten.

“Listen, kid. I’m trying to keep you alive, and you're making it really hard.” Haymitch never makes full eye contact with me, keeping his head focused on the front of the elevator. I don’t say another word to him.

The waiting room is silent, and my eyes find Anona easily. She gives me a shy smile. The boy beside her has his chest puffed out and is sitting in the most obviously uncomfortable position.

Sound comes from the Careers at the front, laughing and pushing each other around. I can feel Artemi looking at me, and soon I can feel all of the Careers' eyes on me. A whisper from the District 1 girl, a snicker from the District 1 boy. I remain silent, sinking into my seat at the back of the waiting room.

The wait is long. Five minutes for each tribute doesn’t seem too bad until you go last and you’ve already waited an hour, and only half the tributes have gone. I try to think about what I’m going to do during my five minutes, but nothing seems to stick.

I have no idea what it is going to be like in there. I don’t know what materials are going to be there, or what obstacles. By the time my name is called, I have been waiting for at least 2 hours.

‘Rory Hawthorne,’ I stand up slowly, trying to give my muscles a chance to wake up after being asleep for 2 hours.

I bite my lip nervously as I entered the evaluation room. All of the judges are staring at me, and if I look close enough, I can see a simmering force field separating me from them. Probably because Katniss shot an arrow at their heads last year.

Seneca Crane specifically stares me down. I notice the towers of city rubble to the far right of the evaluation room. I try to make my way over as quickly as possible. The stacks of rubble feel more intimidating up close. I release a sharp breath, Dad’s phrase circling in my mind. Monkey.

I begin the timer stationed on the first of the rubble stacks. Pulling myself up is the hardest part; the first reasonable foothold is longer than I usually can handle. Though after my initial struggle, the rest comes easily.

Foot, hand, foot, hand. Before I know it, I am reaching the peak of the first stack of rubble. The jump is far, but it's nothing I've never done before, and as long as I can land with a solid hold, it shouldn’t be an issue.

It feels freeing, almost, for a second, I am transported back to District 12, goofing off with Vick in the forest, racing to climb the highest tree, jumping from branch to branch. This part of the climb is easier; the handholds are closer together, and the footholds are less risky.

The second jump is harder; it's from further away, probably one of the farthest jumps I have ever done. Though once I have landed, the climb isn’t much further until the very top. Once I reach the top, I collapse to my knees, taking heaving breaths of air.

The announcement comes from everywhere in the room, “Your five minutes are up, please exit through the left door. Scores will come out at 1:00 pm today.” The way down is a lot easier than the way up, a simple fireman's pole. My hands stick to the metal, and it feels as if I’m ripping my skin off when it comes time to depart from the metal.

It’s been so long since I’ve climbed something like that, I’m sure the judges weren’t all that impressed.

The sweat all over my skin feels uncomfortable as I ride the elevator back to the penthouse. “Good job, kid,” Haymitch says, grabbing my shoulder. “That was pretty impressive,” he says. I don’t look up at him, “I’ve done better,” I say.

We don’t say anything else to each other.

Katniss hugs me as soon as I enter the penthouse. “That was good, really good.” She says, “The scores will be out in thirty minutes. Why don’t you shower, then come join us back here?” I nod, “Thanks, Katnip,” I say,

It takes me fewer tries to start the shower this time; the water is scalding hot, but it feels nice to wash the sweat off my skin. I use the same weird-smelling soap, which feels slimy underneath my fingertips. I almost drop it about three times.

I use the insanely fluffy towel to dry myself off before slipping into the pyjamas someone must have laid out for me while I was showering. They're softer than the training clothes and more comfortable.

The Capitol broadcast has already started by the time I reached the living room. Clementine is nowhere to be seen, probably still locked in her room. Of course, they can’t risk me giving her any more water.

Caesar Flickerman’s voice booms from the T.V, “Allllllll right everybody, it is now time to reveal the rankings of tributes for the 74th Hungerrr Gamess,”

I look over at Katniss nervously. She gives me a reassuring smile before focusing her eyes back onto the T.V.

Chanel’s face flashes onto the screen, “District 1, Chanel, with a score of ten.” A sigh escapes me. Chanel is the one who has been making jokes about killing me for the last five days of training. I can’t imagine my chances are very good.

“Silver with a score of nine.” What a duo. I think sadly, I’m so dead. “District 2, Artemi, with a score of ten,” I close my eyes after that, resting my head on my knees.

“District 9, Tobias Pickory, with a score of,” Is the next thing that draws my attention. I look up towards the screen to see that Caesar has paused for dramatic effect. “Eleven,” he says. I look around the room to see that everybody has the same shocked expression as I do.

Eleven. Just like Katniss had. “Anona, with a score of,” I suck in a deep breath, “Six.” I release all of the air in my lungs in one continuous breath. A six, that’s great for a twelve-year-old, most land in the three to four range.

I close my eyes again after that, all I can hope for is a decent score for myself, maybe a five or a six like Anona. Both Districts Ten and Eleven go by with a slew of sixes and one three. “District Twelve, Rory, with a score of,” Caesar pauses again for dramatic effect. Katniss’s hand grips mine, and I can see her gripping Peeta’s hand with her left hand.

Haymitch has leaned forward, perching his elbows on his knees. Effie has her hand over her mouth in suspense. “Seven,” I spring out of my seat in surprise. A seven?!? Katniss hugs me, then so does Peeta, “Clementine, with a score of,” my happiness disappears in an instant.

I thought Clementine hadn’t done her evaluation. “Two,” that definitely changes the atmosphere. Cinna comes bustling in at that exact moment.

“Sorry for arriving late,” He says, dragging in two black dressing bags, “I had a hard time getting this from my studio to here without revealing it.” I assume he is talking about my suit; the jewels probably shine intensely in the natural light as well.

“Rory. Come down this way, I’ll show you how to put it on,” I follow Cinna nervously. I pull on the pants first; they're nothing special.

The fabric of the dress shirt feels scratchy as Cinna pulls it over my shoulders. He comes around the front, doing up the buttons for me. “Make sure to wait until the end of the interview, okay?” He says, smoothing the shirt over my shoulders.

“Here’s the blazer,” He says, handing it to me. I pull it on slowly and do up the buttons, “What do I even say during an interview?” I ask him, and he gives me a smile, one that tells me he’s been asked that before.

“Just be yourself, pretend you're talking to someone you know, and focus only on them,” He says. “I’ll have to take this, I’m sorry,” He says, unclipping Madge’s necklace from my neck. I miss the weight that it has immediately after Cinna removes it, “I’ll bring it to you before the Games,”

“Okay,” I say, I want to reach out for the necklace, and tell him he can’t take the last piece of Gale I have, the last piece of home. Somehow, I’m able to keep it all inside.

“Katniss will take you to your interview. I’ll be in the crowd, along with Haymitch and Peeta,” by the time he is done speaking, Katniss is waiting in the doorway. She looks tense and uneasy.

She doesn’t say anything to me as we walk through the tribute center and down into the fancy car parked out front. I’ve never ridden in a car before. Though it’s not much different from a train. I’ve actually ridden a train before, only once.

Though the train back in District 12 was very different from the Capitol train. It was sticky and hot, smelled like a mix of sweat, garbage, and coal. I think I’ll remember that forever. That’s not really the train's fault, though.

The Capitol embassy was frigid cold, a stark contrast to the train I had ridden alone, secretly without Mom or Gale’s or even Prim’s knowledge. Though I’m sure Prim had an idea of what I was doing. I was never good at keeping secrets from her.

I sat in that train much like I am sitting now in this car. Silently, biting my lip in anticipation, the knowledge of possible death pressing down on me.

Gale had been so mad. He had refused to talk to me for days, refused to even look at me most of the time.

“Ready?” Katniss’s hand grazes my shoulder. We’ve pulled up at a secret door at the back of what seemed like a stadium.

“I can’t not be.”

Katniss grabs my shoulders, looking me straight in the eyes, she says, “If you feel that you don’t want to do the performance, you don’t have to. Only do it if you want to.” I open my mouth to speak, but I’m cut off by Katniss opening the door.

I see all of the other tributes lined up. As usual, my spot is at the very back. I see Anona standing in front of Tobias. She locks eyes with me and gives me a smile and a thumbs-up. I flash one back at her. She opens her mouth, beginning to mouth something to me, but is cut off by Caesar Flickerman.

“Welcome, everybody!!!! " It’s time for the 74th Hunger Games tribute interviews!!!” Caesar allows the applause to go on for a while before speaking again. “Our first guest is Silver, all the way from District 1!”

Silver walks up onto the stage in probably the tightest dress I’ve ever seen. It doesn’t leave much for the imagination. I actually end up closing my eyes at one point. From what I can hear, she says all of the usual Career stuff.

‘I’m so happy to be here.’

‘It’s truly an honor to participate in the Hunger Games.’

‘I’ve dreamt of volunteering since I was a kid.’

All that propaganda stuff that the Capitol eats up every time. Chanel and Hera are basically the same. Artemi, however.

“As you folks may know, Artemi is rated in our brand new scoring system as the number two predicted winner,” Caesar pauses, allowing the crowd to digest what he’s saying. He then turns to Artemi.

“People are saying without the Blessing Boy, you’d be number one. Do you think you can win? Are you deserving of that number one spot?” Caesar asks.

“I am going to win, I promised I would.” He says, Caesar says my thoughts out loud, “Promised who?” Artemi shakes his head. “A mother? Father? Girlfriend perhaps?” Caesar is questioning, “Sister,” Artemi whispers.

“Sister.” Caesar repeats, he then seems to have a lightbulb moment, “reminds us of a certain girl on fire, doesn’t it, folks.” The crowd erupts into cheers, Caesar stands up, bringing Artemi with him, “Artemi!” He shouts cheerfully, and Artemi disappears backstage.

After the next fourteen interviews, I began swaying back and forth. I can’t possibly imagine how good it would feel to sit down in one of those chairs. Caesar’s voice rings out again. “Everybody Welcome, this year's shortest tribute, Anona Dagan!”

I can see Anona whispering something to herself as she steps on stage. “Oh my, folks, would you just look at her! May I have a hug, Miss Dagan?” Caesar asks. Her outfit is stunning, though the vibrant lights kind of hurt my eyes.

“Of course, Mr. Flickerman!” She responds, and the hug lasts about five seconds before Anona pulls away. “Oh my goodness, folks, they weren’t kidding, you are just like a little field mouse,” Caesar says excitedly. Anona promptly takes her seat across from Caesar.

“Quick as one too,” she quips back. Anona's eyes seem unfocused for a moment before they focus in again, “Oh, Mr. Flickerman, there are just so many people here, I don’t know how you do it,” She says.

“I know it can be quite a challenge, dear. Don’t worry, I’m sure they all love you.” He says, patting her knee, “And no need to call me Mr. Flickerman, call me Caesar, we are all friends here.” Caesar says, spreading his hands out towards the crowd.

Anona pauses, then “Well then, why don’t you call me ‘Nona then, that's what all my friends back home call me,” She says all cheery. It seems fake to me, but I guess I only met her like five days ago.

“Alright, then, ‘Nona. Since we’re friends, can you tell me what you did to get that six in training?” Caesar asks.

“I really wish I could, Caesar, but it’s confidential,” Anona says with a wink, “Final question then, your brother and father came to see you, correct?”

A look of terror crosses over Anona’s face, “Yeah, they did.” She says, “And what did they say, my dear?” He is asking her.

Anona’s teeth bite into her lip, “Well, my daddy said he thought I was a hero for doing this.” A glisten has begun to form in Anona’s eyes. A hero. I wish someone had said that to me, instead of just wishing me luck on my death.

Caesar’s face comes more into view, “Well, Nona, you go out there, and you win. You become that hero for your Dad and your District.” Anona has a different look on her face now, “That’s not what I meant. My daddy said that going to the Hunger Games makes you a hero, he says I already am one, we all are.”

An aww comes from the crowd, “Well, isn’t that just adorable, folks. Anona, everybody!” Anona exits the stage, and I see her wiping tears off her cheeks.

Tobias’ interview is lackluster to say the least. He repeats almost verbatim what the Careers
said.

Before I know it, I’m standing at the front of the line, and Caesar announces that Clementine was too ill to come.

“And our very last guest for tonight. Our second shortest tribute by 2 inches, Katniss Everdeen’s cousin, Rory from District 12! I shuffle onto the stage, fidgeting with my fingers as I settle into the seat across from Caesar.

“Well, Rory, tell us what it is like being here?” Terrible. “The Capitol is just wonderful, Caesar, I feel truly blessed to be here,” I lie to him. I am rapidly trying to find Katniss’ face, eventually I do, and a deep breath escapes my lungs.

I notice more of Prim in her than I ever have, the same eyebrows, the same nose, the same face shape created by hunger. “I’m going to get right down to the nitty gritty if that's okay?” Caesar asks me, “That’s more than alright.” A little bit of my District 12 accent slips, and giggles circulate the crowd.

“What is it like having Katniss Everdeen as your cousin?” Caesar is basically fangirling at this point.

I have a lightbulb moment of my own: “Well then, you must ask me how Peeta Mellark is as a cousin-in-law.” Gasps erupt from the crowd, even from Caesar. I quickly put a guilty look on my face, “Sorry, that was meant to be private.”

Caesar laughs, an actual laugh. “It’s no worries, thank you for telling us.” I catch Haymitch in the crowd, and he raises his drink at me.

“Now, I’m certain there is a special girl back home, isn’t there?” He jabs at me playfully on the shoulder. The blush that comes over my face is vibrant, red, and most importantly, real. I shrug, not wanting to give away too much. “Go on, give her a sign to tell her I see you, and I’m going to win,” Caesar jests.

My hands form the bird symbol too quickly, the symbol Prim and I made years ago, which means, ‘have to go, see you later.’ I flash it for the crowd, everybody whispering and jesting to each other.

“Isn’t that just lovely, folks, young love?” He says. I put my hands down, “Caesar, before I go, may I show the audience something?”

“Anything.” I slowly rise from my seat, taking my position in the middle of the stage. My fingers fumble with the buttons, slowly prying them open. I open up the jacket and immediately feel the light shining off the jewels.

The crowd stands up in applause, clapping rings louder and louder in my ears. I close the jacket and exit the stage.

……………………..

That night, after failing to sleep again, I sit by the window overlooking the whole Capitol.

I guess it’s official then, tomorrow is the day I die. Tomorrow is the beginning of the 74th Hunger Games.

Chapter Text

I am surprised to see Clementine at breakfast the next morning, though there is no food on her plate, and she looks ready to faint as she sits limply at the dining table. I pull out the chair next to her, but she doesn’t move, not even an inch. It’s like she’s a zombie.

I try a pancake for the first time ever, I can’t imagine that it’s a breakfast food, it seems more like a dessert. The syrup on top is good though, it blends perfectly with the soft texture of the pancake flesh. Cinna and Octavia arrive not five minutes later.

Clementine has to be supported by both Haymitch and Octavia in order to walk. I am about to leave with Cinna when Katniss stops me. She pulls me close to her. I smell the laundry detergent on her clothes; it’s similar to Prim’s, probably identical, actually.

She grabs my face as she pulls away, “Just know, whatever happens out there, I’m proud of you, and you are so loved.” I look down, trying to stop myself from crying, but a stray tear breaks loose. I hug her again. One last time. She kisses my head, and I am pulled away by Cinna's commands, not wanting to be late.

I’m still in my pyjamas; there is no training uniform today, today is the real deal. The outfit is similar to what Katniss wore last year. With a black t-shirt and sweater, along with a black raincoat and brown pants. I enter the waiting room once I’m dressed.

Cinna is there waiting. He stands by a desk with a chair. The tile walls of the waiting room make me feel unsteady. Cinna zips up my rain jacket, “The council approved this, thankfully,” he says.

Madge’s necklace slips over my head, Dad’s ring jingles with the glass vile from Madge’s aunt. Cinna smiles at me sadly. I remember suddenly that this is only his second year in the Games as a stylist. “One last detail,” He says.

He reaches over towards the table and grabs the hard firefighter hat. “These work,” Cinna flicks the switches on the flashlights featured on it; there is one present on each side. The black badge on the front of the hat features a giant, stark white number twelve.

“All of the different districts have different hats, all with their number featured on the front,” Cinna tells me. I nod, too scared to say anything. The firefighter hat feels heavy as he places it on my head. Well, it will definitely stop my head from getting crushed, I think.

Cinna directs me from the waiting room inside the tribute center towards one of the high-powered jets waiting outside the tribute center. I look back towards the tribute center one last time before the door of the jet is slammed shut.

Clementine and Octavia are already there, Clementine looking just as zombie-like, just this time in a different costume. Her firefighter hat has tilted to the side, revealing rash marks on the exposed side of her face. Her hazy eyes look at me, silently pleading for help. I look away.

A lady from further inside the jet approaches me, holding a long needle and syringe. “Your arm,” I extend my arm towards her. I’m not going to lie, it hurts a lot. I’ve never been a real big fan of needles.

My tracking device blinks twice before she walks away. The jet ride is quick and dead silent. Soon, Cinna is leading me off the jet and into my one and only launch room.

The launch room is completely white and sterile, only possessing the launch tube.
‘Sixty seconds until launch,’ an automated voice pours into the room.

Cinna pinches my cheek, “I believe in you,” he says. ‘Thirty seconds until launch, tributes, please enter your tubes.’ I turn around and slowly walk into my launch tube; my heart is probably going about a million miles a minute.

I flinch as the tube slides shut in front of me, creating a loud bang. I make eye contact with Cinna one last time before the tube begins to rise, and I lose sight of him. I rise in the tube for about two minutes in complete darkness before a brightness from above nearly blinds me.

The launch tube stays in the tunnel as I continue rising up into the arena. The platform underneath me rattles as it comes to an abrupt stop. I look around and finally get my first look at the arena.

The stacks of rubble in the evaluation room make sense now; giant skyscrapers surround the flat ground of the Cornucopia, all in different stages of decay. There are a couple of entrances into the lower underground buildings as well.

I look to my sides to see the boy from Ten and Clementine. Luckily, Chanel is on the other side of the Cornucopia. I spot a bag not too far to the left of my podium, though the boy from Ten seems to be eyeing it too.

I find Anona not too far away from me, though she doesn’t notice me focusing on the bag about three feet in front of her. I watch as the girl from Six snarles at her, preparing to run for the bag herself. Anona doesn’t flinch.

‘There can only be one winner, may the odds be ever in your favour. Let the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games begin.’ The countdown begins from sixty. My breath quickens, and I get ready to run for the bag; the boy from Ten copies my motions.

‘Ten, Nine, Eight, Seven, Six, Five, Four, Three, Two’, A gong sounds.

I get a better start than the boy from Ten. I also run faster. I reach the bag first, gripping the handle as I run into the ruined city landscape. I look back over my shoulder to see that Chanel has already speared down the boy from Ten with a throwing knife.

I duck in behind one of the buildings, sensing that he’s looking for me. Clementine breathes heavily as she tries to step down from her podium. Chanel reaches her, his hands grab her face, and he stabs the knife through her right eye.

I repress a gasp with my hand as he snaps her neck, pulling his knife out of her eye. He continues on his search, probably for me. I start running again, through the abandoned streets to the arena.

I slow down after running for about an hour. I take in giant mouthfuls of air as I slow to a walking speed. No one seems to be behind me, which is a good sign, but they could also be in any one of these buildings. I look up towards the giant skyscrapers, at least one hundred stories tall, some of them just look abandoned, while others look completely ruined.

As I continue walking, I notice the buildings shift from tall skyscrapers to smaller buildings of an urban area. Stores, I guess I could call them. Clothing stores, jewelry stores, grocery stores.

A creaking stops me dead in my tracks. I look up to see a swinging yellow box, illuminated green at the bottom.

The light turns to yellow, then quickly to red, and the hinges seem to snap in an instant, sending the light box crashing down. I jump quickly out of the line of fire before it hits the ground, shattering the lights into a million pieces.

“Not going to take me out that easily,” I mumble to myself. A voice comes from behind me, “Please, please, please, I promise I won’t cause any trouble.” It’s a girl's voice, it doesn’t sound like Anona, and it is definitely not Clementine, so I keep walking.

“That fact that you’re alive is trouble,” Chanel.

“Shit,” I say, then I remember I’m not allowed to say that, only adults can, or whatever Mom had told me. Then I realize, I am never going to become an adult, so it doesn’t really matter.

I look towards the closest store, I basically run up to the door, and am surprised to find it open. Thankfully, the door opens and shuts quietly. I duck behind the counter, placing my new backpack and firefighter's hat on the ground. I slowly begin to peek my head over the counter, looking into the street.

A girl is there, the girl from Eleven, Queen, or whatever her name was. Chanel is there too, with the rest of the Careers. I attempt to name them from memory as I look at each one of them. The girl with ratty red hair is Ariel, the blond boy beside her is Sailor. Wow, I think, I am surprised they actually let him in the alliance.

Ariel holds onto her trident. Meanwhile, Sailor stands next to her timidly, his fingers interlocked in the net he’s holding.

Chanel stands with his spear pointing at the girl from Eleven’s chest, Sliver, no, that’s a small piece of wood, or what you get when you slide down a tree with shorts on, I would know. Every time my Mom pulled them out, she told me to be more conscious of my fashion choices, but I never seemed to learn.

It makes me emotional thinking of my Mom now. I will never see her again, never eat her stew, or feel the weight of her hugs, never see her face, nothing.

It comes to my mind suddenly as I think of Mom and her wedding ring, which she never took off, Silver. That’s what it was, Chanel and Silver, pretty stupid names if you asked me. Silver is standing beside Chanel, her dagger at the ready.

Hera is the butt-ugly girl closest to me. I didn’t think she looked too bad on camera, but in person, when I saw her in training, and now, she has to be the ugliest girl I have ever seen. She’s hunched over, with her chin protruding out.

She’s also got huge shoulders and a face that is always twisted into a distasteful snarl. Her hands are rippled with scars as she holds tight onto her axe; greasy strands of her hair obscure her crooked nose.

My nose is also crooked, but at least I have a reason; I think she was born like that. At least Silver doesn’t hurt your eyes to look at.

Artemi is standing behind her, his sword resting limply in his hands. Chanel begins to raise his spear, ready to stab it into the girl’s chest, when Silver stops him, "C'mon, El, let me have one.” Chanel’s spear is lowered, and I see the girl from Eleven visibly untense.

It doesn’t last for long, though. Silver’s dagger is slammed into her chest, and the girl from Eleven lets out a loud cry. “Oh shut up, you big baby,” is the last thing the girl hears before Silver’s dagger is implanted into her forehead.

Silver pulls her dagger out, leaving the girl to collapse onto the ground. The rest of the group continues, leaving the street empty once again. A canon fires, the first one I’ve heard since the games started.

Then another, and another, and another. Ten canons. Only fourteen left, I think.

I consider emerging back onto the street and continuing in the direction I was going, but think better of it, at least at the moment. I continue deeper into the shop I wandered into, a giant sticker on the wall startles me.

A bright pink candy wrapper, Donner’s Candy Shop, it reads. Donner’s is what is familiar to me; I know the Donner’s. I’ve been to their candy shop. My brother is in love with their granddaughter.

I begin to wonder if all of the other stores and shops I passed existed in other Districts. I make my way into the kitchen. A singular cart is all that exists in there. I approach it with caution, hoping to avoid another light accident.

Sticky red treats covered in white powder are all that wait for me. A sign is slack against the cart, so I carefully push the sign up with my fingers. Turkish Delight, 99₵ each.

I wrap two of the treats up within the paper laid out on the bottom of the cart. “This place is creepy,” I whisper as I retreat back to the entrance of the store. I grab my firefighter hat and backpack, shoving the treats in my backpack, and leave quietly.

As I continue down the street, I glance back towards the Donner’s shop, and I swear I see something move. Or maybe someone. I quicken my pace after that.

Not until the Donner’s shop is completely out of my view do I slow down. The scenery changes again, from urban shops to farmhouses. The ground underneath my feet changes from cement to grass.

Some of the houses have lights on, maybe other tributes, I think. Others are decorated with Happy Birthday balloons or weird bunny creatures. A giant lagoon comes into view, and electric blue water appears next.

Then, splashing. Someone writhing around in the water, I come closer. The person has a backpack on, which appears to be the only thing keeping them afloat. The person is small too, probably one of the smaller tributes, one of the thirteen-year-olds.

The closer I get, the more detail of the person I can make out, a camo green hat, and the letter N. A few steps later, I see the letter I, then another N, then finally, as I breach the edge of the lagoon, I can make out the full word.

Nine.

My backpack tumbles to the ground without a second thought, then my firefighter hat, and my fingers reach for the zipper of the rain jacket. I untie my boots, slipping them and my socks off in one motion, and the last thing I take off is my sweater.

After the first touch of the cold lagoon water, I am transported back to District 12 again.

“The best survival skill you can have is to be able to swim,” Gale was saying. I ignored him, splashing my feet in the water.

“Listen to me, Rory, I’m serious,” He said, pulling on my hair, not hard, just enough for me to listen. “Uh-huh, I am listening,” I said, not looking up at him. The next thing I remember was the sudden feeling of cold everywhere.

I began to flail and freak out, water invaded my mouth, my ears, and my eyes, just as suddenly as it had happened, it was over. Gale had jumped in and dragged me back to the shore. I coughed for about five minutes before I was able to speak again.

“Why would you do that?” I asked as I looked up at him. He crouched down to my level, his hands dried the water droplets on my face, “Everybody can climb a tree, anybody can kill an animal, not everybody can swim.”

Safe to say I took swimming seriously after that.

Anona is pretty light, especially in water. She doesn’t struggle either, at least not once I’ve hooked my arms onto her and begin pulling her to shore. My legs begin to get tired after a couple of minutes; luckily, by then I can touch the bottom.

Once I pull her onto the grass, I begin pulling my boots on again, allowing Anona time to catch her breath. My raincoat and sweater go into my bag, my firefighter hat goes back on my head, only after I make sure the lights still work. They do, I close my eyes and fumble with the switch to turn the lights off.

Anona is sniffling, wiping the last droplets of water off her face. She finally looks up at me, her eyes flicker with confusion.

“Rory?” I smile at her, “Not expect me?”

“Not really,” She says, standing up. I put my backpack on, and she does the same. Her hand points left, “This way?” she asks me, “Sure.” Our walk begins silently, just like training was. Then Anona turns to me.

“Where did you learn to swim?”

“My brother taught me,” that part is true. Anona's face transforms into a look of confusion again, “I thought Twelve didn’t have any lakes, Nine certainly doesn’t.”

“It doesn’t. Big bathtub,” that part isn’t. Anona chuckles a little, “Do you just have huge bathtubs in Twelve?” she asks, she seems genuinely curious.

“Gigantic,” I lie to her. I heard from Everett when he was still alive that the best lies always have some sort of truth in them, so I turn to her and say, “My brother Vick and I fit in one together, saves water too. Though he always splashes me.” That part is true, Vick and I often did bathe together.

Though not because our bathtub was huge, because we were poor, really poor. I frown. Vick will have the bath all to himself now. I wonder if he misses me. Anona seems convinced, or she’s just amazing at acting.

“How many siblings do you have?” Anona asks, “Three. Gale, then it’s me, then Vick, and then Posy. My Mom is around too,” I tell her.

“Cool,” Anona doesn’t say anything else, forcing me to ask her, “You just have your brother right?” She hums, “Yeah, just me, Harlo, and my Dad. It’s been like that since I was born.”

“I’m sorry,” I say to her, looking down at the ground.

“Don’t be. We’ve all lost someone.” I bite my lip, trying to stop my story about Everett from tumbling out, so I change the topic. “How is the ‘Blessed Boy?’”

“Don’t know. Last I saw of him, he was running the opposite direction from me.” This time, I’m the one who hums. Anona opens her mouth to speak, then closes it again. I already know what she’s going to ask.

“Clementine’s gone. Chanel killed her,” She doesn’t say anything, she just nods. Our walk becomes silent again after that; the terrain has transitioned again, back to the urban center with the shops and stores. Luckily, we are another road over from the Donner’s Candy Shop.

I sling my backpack over my shoulder, pulling out the sticky red treats. “I almost forgot, here.” I hand her one of the two bags that I have. “How do you know it’s not poisonous?” She questions me.

“I don’t.” I bite into the sticky flesh, and it’s good. Nothing anything I’d sell my family for, but it’s still pretty tasty, the powder on top takes away from the almost soap-like taste of the treat. Anona bites into hers after seeing that I didn’t immediately start frothing at the mouth.

Her face looks disgusted as she turns towards me again, “That tastes like soap.” I nod, taking another bite. “At least it’s food. Where did you find this?” I swallow the piece in my mouth before speaking.

“Chanel and the Careers were chasing some other girl, from Eleven, and I ducked into a random shop, and they had these in there,” I don’t mention the creepy movement I saw as I left the Donner’s shop.

“They didn’t see you?” She asks, “Nah, I hid behind the counter.” Anona seemingly approves of my strategy. “How did you end up in that lagoon?” It’s now my turn to question her. Anona sighs,

“My mentor told me that the first thing to do in the Games is to find water, so I ran from the Cornucopia and walked until I found that stupid water. Then, when I reached down to fill up my bottle, a current came and swept me in.” Honestly fair, I think.

“I really thought that was my end. I was mentally cursing Jacob.” She says, looking down at the cracks in the pavement we are walking over.

“Good thing I saved you then,” I tell her. Anona lets out a breathy laugh, “I saw your interview. What girl were you talking to?” Anona looks at me again.

“Primrose.” I don’t give her anything else, and she knows not to push. “I’m better than my brother, though; he’s in love with the mayor’s daughter.” That gets an excited reaction from Anona.

“My brother is too. With our mayor’s daughter, I mean. I actually caught them kissing the morning of the Reaping.” This is the first time I think I’ve truly laughed since my last school day with Prim. “You know this is live, right?” I tell her.

Her face transforms into this mischievous smile, “Oh, I know.” I begin laughing, and then Anona does too. It’s quiet again as we walk away from the stores and shops part of the arena and into the high-density area of the skyscrapers.

“Can I ask you something?” I question Anona, she answers without hesitation, though she doesn’t look at me, “Anything.”

“When did you first meet your mentor? I feel most other tributes think it’s weird having your cousin as your mentor.” I’m trying to play into the whole Katniss is my cousin thing. Anona’s eyes find me again, then she looks away, her finger comes up to her mouth in the way my Mom does when she’s thinking.

“Well, I first met Mr. Sapher when I was eight, though he didn’t meet me until recently,”

Now I’m just genuinely curious, “How does that work?” I ask her. “Well, my Dad’s hospital is basically in our kitchen, right?” She begins explaining. I nod in agreement, “Sure,”

“My Dad stopped practising medicine for years after my Mom died, until one night.” Okay, I’m like invested now. “Got it. I would too.” I spur her on.

“Jacob Sapher, the ‘Blessing Boy’ of the fifty-first Games, came to our house one night after a bad fight at our local pub. Of course, my Dad told him he didn’t practice medicine anymore, but Jacob didn’t leave, saying he only wanted my Dad to help him.” That’s sweet, I think.

“That’s a lovely story,” I tell Anona. Anona looks up towards the sky, “So, Mr. Sapher, if you can hear this, that’s why I wanted you as my mentor, cause you saved my Dad.” Nice story; definitely don’t hear a lot of those these days.

Something scurries out in front of me, and I freeze like a statue watching a rat scurry around my feet, then hurry off into one of the skyscrapers.

As soon as I look at Anona, I know the choice is clear.

Chapter Text

The entrance to the skyscraper takes us around two flights of stairs to reach. Once we finally get to the entrance, we are met with a giant cracked glass door, propped open with a chunk of rubble.

Anona enters first, pushing the door open further. I’m left by the door, watching for any other possible dangers. “I think it’s clear,” she says. I kick away the rubble from the door, entering behind Anona.

The glass rattles as the door shuts, and more cracks make their way into the glass, creating large spiderlike designs. The lobby of this building is huge, with one long hallway on the left side of the building.

“We could stay here,” I suggest to Anona as I approach her. She’s snooping behind the reception desk of the lobby, her hand searching in one of the desk drawers. Anona shakes her head, “Find water, find high ground,” she repeats to me.

Her hand grips something, a pair of scissors emerges from the drawer, and I step back from her. Anona smiles, placing the scissors into a pocket in her pack, which seems to have dried from her swim in the lagoon.

“That’s what Jacob told me, at least. I haven’t been very successful.” When I think about it, my mouth feels rather dry and salty. A saltwater lagoon. The perfect trap for thirsty tributes.

“This building looks like it goes at least ten stories up. There should be stairs somewhere.” I tell her, my feet shuffle across the floor as I walk towards the hallway. As I walk towards the dimly lit hallway, a faint buzzing becomes noticeable. Soon I have ventured away from the lobby completely.

Anona has appeared next to me, “Down there,” She says, pointing towards where the hallway curves sharply to the right. Our walk quickens after that, following the hallways' sharp lefts and rights that seem to have no destination at all.

A fork in the path stops both Anona and me. Her eyes meet mine, and a silent panic is displayed deep in her brown irises. “Let’s say it at the same time,” I tell her. She nods. “On three,” she adds.

“One, two, three.” We count down in unison, “Right.” is what comes out of both of our mouths. I sigh, “Guess that’s decided then.” The right path is similar to the original path, with dimming yellow light bulbs and a faint electric hum.

A raised tile trips me, dumping me face-first onto the ground. Anona quickly yanks me up by my arm. My hands wipe at the dirt stuck on my face. Dirt? I look up towards Anona and see her looking around wildly.

“Their footsteps. The ones before must have dried,” she says, pointing back down the hallway. Footsteps mean someone else is here, but it also means there might be something valuable here.

“Should we follow them? It could mean there’s water here,” I tell her. She nods. Once I’m confident I’ve gotten all of the dirt out of my eye, we start walking again. Anona and I walk on opposite sides of the hallway, keeping the footprints in between us.

The hallway is mostly quiet otherwise; we walk for a while, the hallway remaining the same no matter how long and how far we walk. Eventually, we reach another crossroads, and the footsteps lead off to the right.

“I’ll check this side, we can meet back here.” My voice comes out unsteady, but Anona agrees anyway. I watch her disappear down the left path, before taking my first steps on the right path.

The footsteps are wetter here, more recent. It doesn’t take me long to reach the giant opening at the end.

The sight is horrific. A living room sort of set up, with chairs and desks and couches like the one Gale sleeps on, but that is not what scares me. A tribute is on the ground, a monster made of decaying flesh and scraggly hair, biting into their neck. Not just one, multiple.

An axe is stuck in the head of one of the monsters, though three others have pinned the tribute down, all ripping into their flesh.

The tribute looks at me, his eyes glimmer with a small sense of hope. My feet stumble backwards, “No, please! Help me! Help me,” the tribute, a boy, shouts at me. I turn around as quickly as possible, beginning to run the other way.

The air feels thick and hot in my lungs as I run back towards the crossroads. I turn sharply onto the left path, sensing Anona hadn’t reached the end yet.

The backpack I’m carrying is heavy, making me run slower than I want to. The lights above me begin to pulse, dimming and then becoming brighter, over and over again. A body crashes into mine.

I step back, stunned, and the lights turn off completely. My hand reaches out, grazing a braid in the other person's hair. A growl comes from behind, footsteps become louder, and a hand slams into the wall behind us.

“Run!” I tell her. We run. The lights return to their usual low brightness, and the growl of the monster becomes less and less close. I can see a bright light emerging from the end of the hallway.

Once we reach the end, both Anona and I collapse onto her knees, gasping for air. “Stairway,” Anona gasps breathlessly. Her hand points towards a stone stairway positioned at the far left side of the new area we have just entered.

I am the first one to get up; my feet drag slowly over to the staircase. Once I finally reach it, a wave of disappointment goes through me. Rubble blocks off the stairway completely, tightly packed stones, reaching from floor to ceiling; there’s not a chance we are getting up there.

I stumble away from the stairway. Anona has stood up and begun walking over towards the elevator. Her small fingers pry open the elevator doors, and she releases a small sigh. As Anona walks away, my eyes catch the empty elevator shaft, though a ladder is present against the wall.

As I peek further into the elevator shaft, a ledge makes itself clear. A way to get onto the ladder. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Anona run her hand over the dusty surface of the elevator before she also peeks inside.

Her hands grip the side of the elevator and the wall, her foot reaches for the ledge. Soon her hands reach the ladder, and she swings her feet over, beginning to climb. Once she’s up a few steps, she looks down at me.

“Are you coming?” She asks, I wipe away the residue of Anona’s hand prints, then make my own way onto the ladder. “Good,” she says, satisfied. The metal bars of the elevator shaft feel cold against my hands. I make the mistake of looking down. In endless darkness, the walls of the elevator shaft seem to be getting closer and closer as we continue to climb.

It reminds me of a certain memory. Not one that I’m proud of.

It was shortly after Everett died. All of the other boys, boys from school, wanted to go down into the mineshafts late at night. It involved climbing down a ladder just like this one. We’d go deep into the mines and explore them.

Prim had begged me not to go, cried, and said I should stay and that she was worried something bad was going to happen; she couldn’t lose me, too.

I think it was really the first time I realized Everett was her friend, too. Sure, he was my friend first, but we became a trio quickly. I, of course, went anyway. I told her that too, that I wanted to go, and I didn’t care what she thought.

I definitely thought about that the rest of the night. The mines weren’t anything special anyway, just hot sticky air and lots of coal. I don’t know if she ever really forgave me. I guess I haven’t forgiven myself.

Though maybe her kiss after the Reaping tells me she has. A cannon fires, shaking the elevator shaft. I speak my thoughts out loud, “Thirteen left.” Anona makes a disgruntled noise but doesn’t say anything.

After we have climbed a few more rungs of the ladder, Anona speaks again, “I can see the top,” “Finally,” I comment. My fingers have begun to feel numb, moving thoughtlessly from one rung to the next.

A rumble comes from below my feet, long nails clink against the rungs of the ladder. Anona’s leg swings over the top of the ladder. A wet hand grazes my ankle, and the long nails begin scratching into my skin. My arms move quickly up to the top of the ladder.

As I step onto the top floor, a hand with mossy growths and charred skin reaches for us. I step back slowly, out of the monster's grip. The monster growls, its disgusting face finally being shown to us.

It looks like a cross between a human and the wild dogs Gale and I used to catch in the forest. With sharp, gnarly teeth, and long fur all over its body, though the flesh of it’s face has begun to decay leaving chucks of skin hanging off. The long nails of the monster scratch against the ground digging into the concrete of the floor beneath us.

As it slowly begins crawling towards me Anona slides her backpack off her shoulders, the monster goes down with a horrible snarl, tumbling back down the elevator shaft. I’m still sitting on the ground, shaking in fear.

I wish Gale were here. Or even Katniss, someone whom I knew I could trust, someone who would protect me. Stray tears escape my eyes, rolling off my cheeks. I slowly get off the ground, sliding the elevator doors shut.

I’m still crying, but I help Anona up, and we begin walking through the top floor of the skyscraper. My mouth feels salty as tears continue streaming down my face. Anona is crying too, it seems, but neither of us mention it.

I kick open a door off to the left. It’s an office, or it was. A large desk sitting in the middle of the room is the only fully intact piece in the whole room. There are no windows, which could mean this could be a good hiding spot.

Anona had gone off the other way, but she appeared in the doorway of the office. “Rory. Bathroom. Water,” her voice comes out in broken sobs, her eyes still a waterfall of tears. I leave the office, following her towards the other side of the building.

The women’s bathroom sign flashes over my head. Anona directs me inside, pulling me into one of the stalls. A pool of crystal clear water sits in the toilet bowl. Anona digs into her backpack, pulling out a weird tube, “Lifestraw,” she says.

I open my own backpack, pulling out a silver water bottle stuffed at the bottom. My fingers shake as I undo the cap. I extend the water bottle towards her, keeping the cap in my other hand. Her tiny hands reach into the toilet bowl and begin scooping water into the Lifestraw.

It’s slow at first, but soon almost the whole water bottle is filled, and we begin filling her bottle too. Once we are done filling Anona’s water bottle, she gulps down some of the water. I am more hesitant, but eventually I cave and begin drinking from my water bottle too.

I can’t say it tastes different from the water taken from the District Twelve communal tap, though the idea it came from a toilet makes me slightly uncomfortable. It does however taste different to the water in the Capitol, though I had never tasted water like that before the train. More chemicals maybe or tighter regulations on what’s considered safe.

I peek my head out of the bathroom to make sure the coast is clear before we return to the office. By the time we reach the office again, my tears have completely dried. Both Anona and I slide down behind the desk, leaving the door to the office open to avoid any suspicion.

I pull my raincoat and sweater out of my bag, I pull the sweater over my head, and I drape the rain jacket over my legs. Anona pulls out socks from her bag, slipping them over her hands. I lean my head back against the desk.

Anona’s head turns towards me. “What’s District Twelve like?” She asks me, her voice is steadier than it was before. “It’s hot. There’s lots of coal.” Anona doesn’t say anything else, probably expecting me to say more.

“Umm, we have lots of mines.” I shrug. I don’t really know what else to say, not without giving away that many people sneak past the fence.

“Is it hot all the time?” She asks, “Yeah, the air is always humid and suffocating.” I can see Anona nod out of the corner of my eye. “What about District Nine?” Anona releases a small sigh.

“Lots of grain.” I let out a little laugh, “What’s the weather like?” I ask more specifically, “Winter, fall, and spring. No summer,” she says. Winter in District Nine? Wouldn’t that be bad for the crops? I can’t imagine you could grow grain in the snow.

“The fields need time to rest. Years ago, the President thought it would be better if we farmed all year long, using heaters to warm the fields. It didn’t work. Growing crops takes nutrients from the soil; winter is the soil's time to rejuvenate.” I find that pretty interesting; it’s funny too, the President was wrong about something.

“We mine coal all year, though there are more deaths during heat summer,” I tell her. That’s when my Dad died, on one of the hottest days of the year.

“Heat summer?” Anona questions, “Since it’s hot all year long, we have regular summer and heat summer. Regular summer is when it’s hot but nice, heat summer is when you feel like you're boiling alive,” I can see Anona bite her lip across the room.

“Why are there more deaths during heat summer?” She asks cautiously, I think Gale explained it to me once, when I asked how Dad died, I try explaining it to Anona.

“When it’s hot outside, it gets hotter in the mines, which increases the pressure, so basically when it's really hot, the pressure gets too much for the mine elevator, causing it to explode,” I tell her. Her face transforms into a horrified look.

“Oh,” she says, “Well, during harvest season, we have the most casualties. We are forced to work through the night, creating more room for error, since it’s dark.” Typical President Snow cruelty, I think.

“That’s horrible,” I tell her. “Do you work in the fields?” is the next question that comes tumbling out. She shakes her head, “My dad says I’m not allowed, neither is my brother, at least not until he graduates, but hopefully he can sell his art instead.”

“Your brothers an artist?” She nods, humming, “His art is amazing, your brother Gale, what does he do?” She asks. I look away from her eyes when I tell her.

“He’s a coal miner. Only recently, though. You can’t work in the mines until you're nineteen.” Anona nods, understanding. If you were from another District, you would think it was a safety measure since working in the mines is so dangerous, but to everybody that lives in District Twelve, we know it’s how they keep us the poorest District. It’s why so many kids have to take out Tesserae.

It’s why I had to take out Tesserae. Gale had argued with me, saying we would have been fine and I had no right to put myself in danger like that. He was wrong; he may have been able to lie to Vick and Posy, but he can’t fool me, at least not anymore.

It was three months into the year that Gale had aged out of the Reaping, cutting us off from his Tesserae. I had known hunger before, many, many times, but nothing like this. Before we each ate at least one meal a day. After, on one particularly bad week, there were about three days which I didn’t eat anything at all, and the days I did eat, Gale didn’t.

That’s when I made up my mind, I had to do something.

One of the most distinct memories I have of that day was the feeling of Prim’s cold hand pressing the train token into mine as I walked with her back to Victor’s Village. She knew how I was feeling; somehow, she always did.

Thinking about Tesserae makes another question emerge in my mind: “What kind of grain do you grow in District Nine?” I ask Anona. “Wheat mostly,” Anona tells me. Shocker, I think.

“Do you grow Tesserae grain or just grain for the Capitol?” I’ve always been curious where Tesserae grain and oil come from since they’re not the greatest of products, to say the least.

“We grow all of the grain for all of Panem. It’s a classic slogan, ‘The Capitol runs on Nine,’ it’s supposed to inspire us to work in the fields.” Interesting, in Twelve it's more of a work in the mines or starve kind of concept.

“Oh, to actually answer your question, the grain used for Tesserae is Class C grain, grain that didn’t grow properly, so instead of making the soft flower people in the Capitol are used to, it creates a gross brown mush,” Definitely familiar with that, I think. So the people in the Capitol get different grain? That’s why it tastes so much better.

Through a hole in the roof of the office, I can see the Capitol logo. ‘The Fallen’ begins to play. Eleven kids are already gone: the boy from Five, Clementine, both tributes from Eight, Seven, and Ten, the girl from Six, and the boy from Six and the girl from Eleven.

Anona’s eyes close before mine, and I stare endlessly at the exposed night sky. Prim had taught me some of the constellations, but I can’t see any of them now. I wonder what Prim is doing right now, hopefully sleeping. Though I know that if it were her in these Games, I wouldn’t be able to close my eyes for a second.

Anona’s whimpering is what breaks me from my trance. “No, please. Tobias, please, I don’t wanna die, please. Mr. Sapher, Mr. Everlot!” I spring up from my spot on the floor. I shake her shoulder roughly, “Anona.” I repeat.

Her eyes snap open, and she jumps back, nearly slamming her head against the desk. “It’s just me,” I tell her, and she nods unsurely. She points past my head, I look back and see a grey parachute floating down towards the office, the sound of the parachute is what ensures me that this is not a trap.

This is a sponsor gift.