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Each year the kids of the district wonder if they are seeing the last sunset from their homes, watching as the Capitol hovercrafts fly in the evening before the Reaping.
The Life Games are a punishment the districts endure for a war that happened before the time of even the oldest folks still living, when their ancestors rebelled against the dictatorship of the Capitol and lost. Now every year, on Reaping day, one kid for each district is sent to slaughter for the Capitol’s elite entertainment and the common people’s misery.
Grian knew he should not linger on the despair of it all, after all it was his last year and there was no way he could be so unlucky, he would get out of his reaping years almost unscathed. He had already defied the odds in so many ways, so the night before the Reaping he just tried to go to sleep early, to avoid the pangs of hunger that would certainly come to him later otherwise.
The week of the Reaping was always one of the worst in terms of scavenging for food. While usually the forest is rich in forage, this is the time of year more starving folks venture in for a better meal, either preparing to celebrate their children being spared or to mourn their loss.
It is better than it was, there used to be two tributes for each district, a boy and a girl, but some decades ago the birth rates dropped drastically and the Capitol had to halve the number of tributes to avoid decimating the population, especially with the disproportionate numbers of boys to girls that got to grow up. Grian understands why theoretically parents would rather have a son than a daughter, boys were usually stronger and they could provide for the family earlier and better. He also doubts it’s anything more than a theory, being that all the strongest and most resilient people in his life are women.
Still with only twelve kids the games had become more brutal than ever, there were two weeks now after the Reaping for kids to train, giving everyone, even the younger ones a half decent fighting chance.
Well almost everyone, since twelve had only one lone victor in 147 years of games, a man who won so long ago no one even remembered his name, which Grian found weird since in school he’d been forced to study the history of the Life Games thoroughly and was supposed to remember most of all the former victors, as a reminder of the greatness of the Capitol that had allowed them to live.
That was something that they did in the Capitol, they took credit for the lavish life the celebrity victors got to enjoy while ignoring and shunning the brutality of all the dead children’s blood on their hands and the enormous trauma that the survivors went on to live with.
If a victor is agreeable or pretty enough they are made into a spectacle, if they are smart they are put to work in the Capitol labs and if they just lost it, as is understandable after the violence of each Life Game, they become a laughingstock that was too district-like to embrace the fancy life that the Capitol so kindly provided.
They still will not let you die, after you win, because your life becomes part of the propaganda, as a victor you get to mentor each new year of the kids destined to slaughter, trying to lead them to victory.
Obviously without a living victor in twelve that isn’t possible, so they would get someone from another district, and they usually weren’t very helpful being partial to their own people.
Well that was the case up until last year, when for the first time in over a century, District 12’s tribute had won. So now there was an 18 year old girl that was to accompany one of her former classmates to slaughter.
Grian did not sleep well.
When he inevitably woke up to hunger, there were still a couple of hours of twilight before the sun would poke out from behind the mountains, so he chose to go out to the forest, to try again for something half-decent to eat.
He donned his favourite not-so-red-anymore sweater, which could have really used a wash, and some comfortable enough pants to go with his only pair of boots.
He gingerly left the half dilapidated shed he lived in so as not to wake the kind owners that let him live there in exchange for some labour around their house.
The Seam might have been harsh in its living condition, but the people that lived there were not unkind to their own. Grian would know, as he’d been raised by basically his entire neighbourod’s collective effort. That’s how it goes for kids orphaned young. Now he was older he’d give back to his community any way he could.
The forest was eerily quiet so early in the morning, but that meant no one could have already grabbed the few things that were edible and calling Grian’s name. A few eggs from an abandoned nest, a patch of fresh chicory that had been missed by less experienced eyes and a bunch of freshly bloomed dandelions.
A true feast, worthy of a proper picnic, and so Grian pulled out a small pot to boil some fresh stream water and went off to a quiet clearing he’d made his second home, a small hut could shield him from light rain and store a few of his belongings, beginning from the quilt blanket he’d sit on.
It was the only heirloom of his mother he still had with him, and while it was at least 17 years old, it still stayed intact and soft.
Hidden away within the folds of the blankets Grian found something he could not have put there, a small bag filled with all his favourite candies, something he definitely could not have afforded on his own. He wondered who this gift might have been from, it’s not like his little spot was secret, lots of District 12 kids hung around there, to enjoy the privacy of the forest, spend time with a sweetheart.
“That’s it,” - he murmured to himself - “one of those rich merchant kids managed to forget their stuff here, so now it’s mine, not like they need it if they left it here and since they are all my favourites the odds truly are in my favour today.”
And so he ate all he had foraged today, paired with some nuts he’d stashed away and a couple sugary treats, he’d have to save some for later, to celebrate.
As the morning started, the forest woke up around him, and so did the nearby inhabitants of District 12, even the air thick with heat and coal dust or the grim day could not stop the shouts of children playing in the streets.
Grian made his way back to the shed he calls home and dropped off half a dozen eggs to his elderly patrons, the sweet ladies were always grateful for the extra bits of food and they wished him the best of luck with the reaping that afternoon.
The Reaping day is considered a holiday in the Capitol, so the people were not working the mines, and everyone but especially children in the reaping pool are to dress elegantly, to pay respects to the day and the institution.
Since elegant clothes were about as important to Grian as the latest news in terms of most popular breeds of purse dogs in the Capitol, he donned a slightly cleaner button down rust colored shirt with the same old pants, which he at least tried to brush the dirt out of, he also attempted to brush his hair into something more neat than the mop of matted brown that sat on his head, but he quickly gave up and headed out with the rest of the populace to queue up for slaughter.
The week had been hot and the cloudy sky was not offering any respite from the suffocating heat, so when he got squished into the line to get checked in with the other 18 year olds, he regretted choosing long pants to wear. He watched with envy as the people up on the Capitol stage that was temporarily set up chilled in the cold air of the climatised gazebo they sat under.
The Mayor was talking the District 12 representative ears off, possibly trying to get in a good word for a possible reduction in her taxes next year, which he has absolutely no control over, after all to represent District 12 you really must have really bad social standing in the Capitol.
The flamboyant young man in front of the Mayor, dressed in a mock royal outfit that must have been breaking at least 27 unsaid rules about common sense in fashion and with hair so long that Grian wondered if it took more than an hour to brush them out, looked about as bored as could be with the Mayors chatter.
He very gladly left her hanging as soon as the signal that they were ready to go live was given, and he ran off to take his place in the center of the stage.
“Welcome, welcome, boys, girls and esteemed District 12 citizens!”
He said with the tone of someone who really wanted to be doing something else, but would make the best of the situation. After all, it was his first year getting sent out to host the districts, so what if District 12 was the worst of them all, time for greatness would come, so he went on, more confident and believable in his act.
“As you can see I am not your usual representative, so do allow me a moment to introduce myself, if you please?”
He waited for even the smallest sense of approval from the crowd, but why would the pigs in the pen cheer for the butcher. So he continued to the dead quiet of the square.
“My name would be Ren, and I am truly honoured to be the one to chaperone your valiant tribute to the Capitol this year! On that note, just in case I haven’t said it yet: Happy 149th Life Games, and may the odds be ever in your favour!”
He bowed, twirling his fancy cape around in an obnoxious manner.
“As you very well know, these games are the reparations for the rebellion that ended 149 years ago, and yet here we stand, still hosting the Life Games as to never forget what we are without the great Capitol, savages without any control.”
Ren, without losing the bounce in his step, sauntered over to the large glass bowl that sat filled with small pieces of paper with all the names of the eligible kids in the district, so that he could pick this year's victim.
“And the tribute for District 12, for this year’s Life Games is…”
He said he toyed with the paper, to build a suspense that nobody enjoyed,
“Well let’s see, it’s an important moment here.”
He plunged his hand deep in the bowl and yanked out a piece of paper.
“The lucky tribute for District 12 is: Grian!”
Everything froze around him, he’d been so bored with it all that it took him a second to realise, there was no way after all that the odds would be so stacked against him, no way that after his sister he also could be reaped into the games, it could not be fair, or mathematically possible for his family to be so unlucky.
There must be someone to whom he could complain to, they couldn't really let him-
His spiraling train of thought was interrupted when, from the victor’s stands, flanked by two peacekeepers, upon hearing his name being called, Pearl screamed.