Chapter Text
From de Treaty of the Treason:
In penance for their uprising, each district shall offer up a male and a female between the ages of 12 and 18 at a public Reaping.
These Tributes shall be delivered to the custody of The Capitol.
And then transferred to a public arena where they will fight to the Death, until a lone victor remains.
Henceforth and forevermore this pageant shall be known as The Hunger Games.
DISTRICT 12 (The seam) MJ'S POV
The woods, the trees, the only place I feel safe in this rotten country.
Even though trespassing in the woods is illegal and poaching
carries the severest of penalties, more people would risk it if
they had weapons.
Either that, or die of starvation.
When I was younger, I scared my mom to death with the things
I would blurt out about District 12, about the people who rule our
country. But eventually I learned with who I had to hold my tongue and put and indifferent face so no one could even read what I was thinking.
That's part of why my only friends are my little sister and her ugly ass cat, who by the way doesn't like me very much either. I'm a dog's person anyway.
I look at the sun, because of course we can't afford a watch and I calculate that the reaping must be like two hours away. Enough time to get us lunch, and hopefully dinner.
Not that we would eat a lot. This was the first time Adelaide's name would be at the reaping, and I didn't feel like eating. And I don't think my mom and my dad are going to be that down for that anyways either.
"Jones" I hear behind me and almost instantly I put my bow up and point at whoever is behind me with it "Easy"
"Are you stupid Keener?" I said putting the bow down "Don't scare me like that, I could have shoot you"
"Look what I shot" Harley said holding up a loaf of bread with an arrow stuck in it.
"You think you're funny huh?" I said taking the bun from the arrow "How much"
"Meh, just a squirrel" Harley said, just as me he was here trying to survive and provide for his family. I had my dad, who brought money with his job at the mine but Harley's dad died on an accident five years ago and he has 3 younger siblings "I think Mr.Stark was feeling sentimental"
"I don't think Mr.Stark can be sentimental" I answered, Tony Stark was from the seam many years ago, you can tell by his looks, jet black hair, dark eyes...But then the baker's daughter Virginia Potts fell in love with him and they got married giving him a place on the side of Disctric 12 that wasn't that poor. Don't get me wrong, we all struggle but at least they have food to put in their mouths every day.
"This day is hard for everyone" Harley answered while we sat down on the grass and he gave me my piece of bread "Happy Hunger Games"
"And may the odds be ever in your favor" I finish. We have to joke about it because the alternative is to be scared as fuck.
"We could get the fuck out of here" Harley said "If we didn't have so many kids"
They weren't our kids, but we loved our sibling very much.
"I never want to have kids" I say
"I would, If I didn't live here" He answers
"Yeah, but you do" I say "We should leave, we have to get ready I'll see you in the square"
At home, my mom my dad and my sister are ready to go.
A tub of war water waits for me, I scrub of the dirt and put on a dress that my mom probably has laid out in my bed for me.
"You look beautiful" Adelaide says in a hushed voice.
"And nothing like myself" I say, it's true, dresses are not my thing. I know she's scared for me, her name is only going in once but mine is going in twenty. I took tesserae so we could eat a little bit more. Tesserae is food in exchange of putting your name more times.
At one o’clock, we head for the square hand in hand. Attendance is
mandatory unless you are on death’s door.
People file in silently and sign in.
Twelve- through eighteen-year-olds are herded into roped
areas marked off by ages, the oldest in the front, the young ones,
like Adelaide, toward the back. Family members line up around the
perimeter.
When we're all set up. The major starts reading the list of past District 12 victors.
In seventy� four years, we have had exactly two. Only one is still alive.
Bucky Barns. Who is sat in one of the chairs on the stage. And he is probably drunk, as always.
Bright and bubbly as ever, notice the sarcasm, Carol Danvers, sent directly from the Capitol, trots to the podium and gives her signature, “Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!”
When it's time for the drawing Carol says as she always does "Ladies first". She reaches in and pulls out a slip of paper, she soothes the slip of paper and reads out the name in a clear voice "Adelaide Jones".
My mind instantly thinks it's a mistake, this can't be happening. Adelaide had ONE slip of paper in thousands, her chances of being chosen were so remote that I'd not even bothered to worry about her. One slip, one slip in thousands. The odds had been entirely in her favor.
And then I see her, the blood drained from her face, hands clenched in fists at her sides,walking with stiff, small steps up toward the stage, passing me. That brings me back to myself.
"Adelaide" The strangles cry comes out of my throat, I don't need to shove through the crowd . I reach her just as she is about to mount the steps. With one sweep of my arm I push her behind me.
"I volunteer" I yell "I volunteer as tribute"
There’s some confusion on the stage. District 12 hasn’t had a
volunteer in decades and the protocol has become rusty. The rule
is that once a tribute’s name has been pulled from the ball,
another eligible boy, if a boy’s name has been read, or girl, if a
girl’s name has been read, can step forward to take his or her
place. In some districts, in which winning the reaping is such a
great honor, people are eager to risk their lives, the volunteering
is complicated. But in District 12, where the word tribute is
pretty much synonymous with the word corpse, volunteers are all
but extinct.
"Great" Carol says "But why don't we introduce the reaping winner and then..."
"What does it matter?" Bucky asked from one of the chairs.
Adelaide is screaming hysterically behind me. She's wrapped her arms around me like a vise "No, Em! No! You can't go!"
"Ad, let go" I say, because this is upsetting me and I don't want to cry in front of everyone "Let go!"
I can feel someone pulling her from my back. i turn and se Harley has lifted Adelaide off the ground and she's thrashing in his arms. He carries her off towards my mother. I still myself and climb the steps.
"Well! Bravo!" gushes Carol "That's the spirit of the games, what's your name?"
"Michelle Jones" I answer.
"I bet that was your sister" well duh you stuck up princess.
To the everlasting credit of the people of District 12, not one
person claps. All of this is wrong.
“But more excitement to come! It’s time to choose our boy tribute!” Carol says she crosses to the ball that contains the boys’ names and grabs the
first slip she encounters. She zips back to the podium, and I don’t
even have time to wish for Harley’s safety when she’s reading the
name. “Peter Stark”
Peter Stark!
Oh no, not him. Because I recognize this name, although I have never spoken directly to him.
The odds were NOT AT ALL in my favor today.
I watch him as he makes his way to the stage. Medium height, stocky build, hazelnut hair that falls in waves over his forehead. He is struggling to remain emotionless, but his brown ayes show the alarm I've seen so often in a pray. Yet he climbs steadily onto the stage and takes his place.
No one is going to volunteer for him. Not because he's not loved, because everyone loves the kid. But because his parents can't, his friends won't and the only sibling he has is a 5 year old sister that adores him.
Why him?
Peter and I are not friends, because I'm not friends with anyone.
Not even neighbors.
We don't speak.
Our only interaction was years ago, and he saved my life.
We didn't have any money, the rain was falling in relentless icy sheets. For three days the four of us had nothing but boiled water with some old dried mints leaves to eat. I fell into the side of a tree, starving and sick. I thought I was going to die. Then I saw him coming out of the bakery, Tony Stark, his dad, laughing about something he said. In his arms he carried two large loaves of bread that must have fallen into the fire because the crust was black.
"Feed it to the pig Pete, it's fine, we all have burnt something at some point" Tony said smiling at him and going inside again.
I stared at the loaves in disbelief. They were fine! Perfect really.
And then his eyes fixed into mine. Even with the purring rain he came closer.
"You should go home or you'll get sick" he said throwing me the bread. That night we could sleep with our stomach full. It didn't occur to me until the next morning that Peter could have saw me fall and burnt the bread on purpose so he could give it to me. But I dismissed this, why would he do that?
I can not explain his actions.
I feel like I owe him something, and I hate owing people. Maybe if I had thanked him at some point, I’d be feeling less conflicted now. I thought
about it a couple of times, but the opportunity never seemed to
present itself. And now it never will. Because we’re going to be
thrown into an arena to fight to the death. Exactly how am I
supposed to work in a thank-you in there?
Somehow it just won’t seem sincere if I’m trying to slit his throat.
Oh well, there will be 24 of us. Odds are someone else will kill him before I do.
Of course, the odds have nor been very dependable of late.
I fucking hate it here.