Chapter Text
The sun came in through the dusty and broken window to your room, cut by the equally dusty curtains. You sat up after another sleepless night, stretching your sore limbs. A knock pounded on the door as your younger brother came in to greet you. Today was the reaping for district 12.
“Wake up!” He shouted your name and jumped up on your small bed. Ezra was only eleven, thus could not be reaped. But, he knew that you being sixteen would mean your name would be found inside the reaping ball. Not just once, but nearly thirty times in order to grant your family more earnings from the tessera entries.
Your family of three lived in “the seem”, and couldn’t afford much on your sister's measly teacher salary and your blacksmithing salaries, so you did what worried your siblings most and entered your name for the tessera as much as possible by your current age.
“Ezra, move your big head!” You playfully pushed your brother so that he stood on the floor, hand on his forehead. “Amelia is making breakfast! Better move your butt fast before I eat your helping!” He rushed to the hallway before slamming the door. You huffed and got to your feet, anxious and tired. Your drawers weren’t full by any means, yet you still fuss over what you would wear to, possibly, the end of your life.
In the end, you settled on a navy blue, nearly black, button up with a nice pair of pants. Wouldn’t want to look like a complete slob if your name were to be chosen. You stared in the mirror for a moment before turning to the side. The bandages you wore barley hid your chest, and the nice shirt you wore hardly helped.
Your name would be entered in the “girls” bowl nearly thirty times. Though you were a man, and publicly presented as so, your name is still legally required to be placed in the girls bowl. Your appearance and family heavily fought these restrictions, yet nothing came of your constant letters to the capitol. You sighed.
Your name bounced off the walls of the close to empty house, carrying the voice of your sister to your ears. “Your food is getting cold!” She sounded from the kitchen. “I’m coming!” Your voice cracked. You marched to the kitchen as fast as you could, knowing that Ezra would act soon if you didn’t.
“Glad you could join us.” Amelia's taunting began. “You couldn’t have found a nicer stitch to wear?” She smiled through the sarcasm. Her accent shone heavily in her words, just as yours typically did. It was something that District 12 was commonly poked fun at for by the capitol, and even some other districts.
Amelia made some toast with some kind of green juice. Most likely made with the flowers and plants you picked from beyond the fence, something that is very illegal in District 12. You didn’t know much about hunting, having only taken a few trips with your mother, but you knew a lot about foraging and setting snares, setting the table with fresh salads and freshly snared rabbits. Your sister didn’t support breaking the law so frequently, but she knew if it weren’t for you, your table and stomachs would be empty.
Often, you would sell your fresh finds to “the hob”: a black market type of place, where the people of the seem sold their, more often than not, illegal goods to those not scared enough to buy. You have been known in the hob since you were born because of your mother. She was an excellent hunter, told to have a remarkable aim, and often sold to the people at the hob. Now that you made most of the money for the house by your illegal foraging, you were known for being you. and less-so your mother. It felt nice being your own person instead of someone's brother or son.
You sat at the table in front of your cold food and began devouring what was before you. Ezra, of course, made it a competition before Amelia made you both slow down. Once you were finished, the hiccups had racked your body, though you would take hiccups and an empty stomach over the opposite.
Dread sunk over the room as you realized that the time had come for you all to gather for the reapings. A meek voice broke through the quiet as Amelia turned to you. In her cupped hands she held a pin. “Ma would’ve wanted you to have this. You were always her favorite, y’know.” She laughed, but it died soon after it escaped. It was a beautiful gold pin of a mockingjay in flight, holding an arrow in its beak. You half wondered why she didn’t sell it, while the other half of you wanted to break out sobbing. You took the pin gingerly and adhered it to your shirt, blinking away the tears that threatened to spill.
You locked hands with your siblings as you walked to the growing crowd. Ezra would have to wait with the rest of the public that was too old or too young, whilst your sister and you waited in roped off sections in the girls area. The idea of being stuck in a box that you never identified with made you almost as sick as the reaping itself.
Amelia stood in the same section as you, due to your closeness in age, holding hands to help your nerves. You found Ezras sad eyes as the mayor and district escort found their way to two of the three seats presented to us. They share a worried look as I gulp down what was once breakfast.
The bowls housing names almost seemed to stare back at me, bringing a new wave of nausea to my stomach. The mayor's monotone voice cuts through the quiet and anxiety, though not removing it, as he begins to read the history of Panem. How the districts began a series of uprisings, resulting in twelve of them being defeated, and the thirteenth being wiped off the country map. He spoke of the “Treaty of treason”, which gave us peace and freedoms.
“What a load of horse shit” My head all but screamed. He spoke up saying how this created the Hunger games as we know it today. “This is a time for repentance, and a time for thanks.” He ended the speech as he always does before reading the past district 12 victors: with which we have only two. Just then, a loud commotion starts as the only living victor makes his way to the stage. A very drunk Haymitch Abernathy climbs his way to the stage, to which the audience gives tremendous applause. He awkwardly tries giving Effie, our extravagant district escort, a large hug, which she almost doesn’t manage to dodge.
The mayor, not knowing how else to salvage such a laughingstock, introduces Effie Trinket. She gallops across the stage and to the podium, as large and excessive as ever in a brilliant green suit and cotton candy pink hair, brandishing her, most likely, award winning, pearly white smile. Saying her typical and expected “Happy hunger games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!” I struggled to suppress a groan at her silly accent and stupid words. “With thirty names in the bowl, my luck will soon run out.” I soaked in the truth to those words. She gives a few empty words about how honored she is to be there. I roll my eyes before Amelia gives a light slap to my shoulder. We share a small smile, potentially one of the last we’ll share.
You missed a few words, because the next thing you remember Effie saying is “Ladies first!” before trotting her way over to the reaping balls. She reaches her hand in and your stomach clenches. It was so quiet you could hear your sister's quick breaths. You almost vomited right then and there, but hold it together for Amelia and Ezra, whom you can see fighting tears from the section of the general public.
“Amelia (Last Name)!”
Your world spun. you could feel the beating of my heart through my fingers and neck. You couldn’t even stop myself from shouting, “No!” at the top of your lungs. Amelia had to restrain me as you tried to get to the stage. Finally, your head cleared a little and you found the words that needed to be said.
“I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!” Amelia went still and her arms went stiff. You could hear her muttering “No, no, no” over and over again. The tears were freely running down your face and you could hear Ezra screaming. You pried Amelia's hands away from you and bounded towards the stage. Effie's face was full of confusion as you made it up the stairs. “Sir, you cannot volunteer for her.” The brief moment of euphoria popped as you remembered your circumstances. “My name is in that ball thirty or more times.” She gave another look of confusion before finding her way to the mayor. You took this time to wipe your face and make it as hard as stone, not wanting the cameras to catch your stray tears. Those were not for the capitol to see.
They shared a few hushed words before returning back to you. “And what is your name?” You angrily rushed out your name so as to almost get it over with. Effie strained a smile and faced the crowd, shouting your name with a handful of other words you were too angry and sad to hear.
When the crowd doesn't clap as you expected, you begin to collect yourself a bit. You look to see the crowd raising their hands in a silent message. Three fingers, kissed by their lips, and held to the sky. A message unique and hardly seen in district 12, typically seen at funerals. A sign that means “I will miss you.” Your heart ached more, if even possible, as you brought your calloused fingers to your chapped lips before raising them to the sky. Finding the eyes of Amelia and Ezra, you let the tears leak from your eyes before letting them fully spill, raking your chest with hiccups and quick breaths.
Effie and the Mayor quickly gathered themselves, allowing Effie to find the podium and begin again. “And now for our boy tribute!” The hands of the district 12 citizens found their way back down beside them as Effie reached into the big, glass ball containing the boys' names.
“Peeta Mellark!”
You recognized that name from school. He was a boy in your grade in school, who worked at the bakery with his family. He was shorter than you remember him being, but big and bulky. His blonde hair was swept back with gel. You remember briefly thinking how attractive he looked at school, but never found the courage to speak to him.
It was back when you were Ezra's age, preparing for Amelia's birthday. You had saved for months to buy her something nice, though you didn’t know what. You knew she liked colorful and pretty smelling flowers and sweets, so you headed to the bakery. You had known the son of the baker and his wife because of school, Peter you thought his name was, and thought it was worth it to step inside.
The sun was just beginning to set as the sky was dyed brilliant colors. You didn’t have much time to buy something, so you quickly glanced around, hoping to find something in your price range. You met Peeta's eyes after scouring to find something worthy of Amelia. There was nothing you could afford. Peeta must've known the sad look in your eye, because she looked around him and quickly stole a cookie from the display.
It was a beautifully made cookie, with frosting that dressed it up to be a bouquet of wildflowers. Shouting sounded from the back, a woman's voice. The baker's wife. “Quick, leave!” You didn’t even have time to thank him as you were pushed out the door, cookie in hand. He closed the door and locked it as you shouted your thanks.
The next few days at school, he wore this ugly bruise over his eye. You didn’t know how to go up and speak to him, so you collected as many flowers as you could and left them where he sat at lunch, proceeded by you opting to skip yours. He always gave you a big smile in passing after that.
And now, you would be pinned against each other, forced to kill one another for your own survival. You missed the days of wildflowers and cookies. You tasted blood before realizing that you were biting your lip, a terrible nervous habit you never seemed to have broken. No point in trying to stop. You kept biting. You had missed a lot of talking before you were asked to shake hands with Peeta. His hands are firm and warm. You looked into his eyes and saw the boy who gave you that beautiful cookie. Who allowed your sister to keep smiling after your parents death. You looked into the eyes of the boy you would have to kill.
You would fight tooth and nail to win and see your siblings again, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to killing Peeta. Your siblings. You regret never teaching Ezra how to hunt or fish or forage, but you’ll never regret standing here instead of Amelia. Sure, it would be harder to get food, but you’d actually have a chance in the arena. Amelia, would fail. She never went hunting or foraging. Only ever to school and the hob. She always wanted to be a teacher, so she didn’t feel the need for such “barbaric” things.
She never felt the need to kill. You never did either, but now, you would have to. That’s one major difference between you and Amelia: She would never do what is desperately needed, like killing. You were taught how to.