Work Text:
You crack open the new Hunger Games novel. The blurb on the back seemed a little vaguer this time—it's another prequel, that's clear, and it stated which Hunger Games it takes place in, but surprisingly, it doesn't mention any major characters that you recognize. After 5 books, you trust the author. Maybe Collins decided that following a completely unknown character again was the right choice for whatever issue she's exploring this time.
You dive in, finding yourself once again on a Reaping Day in District 12. You follow the frightened little underdog of a protagonist through the familiar terrors of the Reaping, the goodbyes, the journey to the overwhelming opulence of the Capitol and its interviews, and into the arena itself.
In the opening bloodbath, they die.
You sit stunned, staring at the page where their POV cuts off mid-sentence after a Career's blade hits its mark. The rest of the page is blank.
This can't be right. They've got to be merely knocked out and mistaken for dead by the other tributes. You must be following a tribute that won their games by managing against all odds to treat their serious injury in the arena and fly under the radar until a surprise victory. They'll wake up in the next chapter.
You turn the page to an illustration of the Capital crest displaying the number 12 and the tribute's name to mark their death.
The Capital sensor must have malfunctioned, too, and that's the twist of how this tribute survived so long—all of the others thought them already dead. After all, you're only a fraction of the way into the book. You quickly rifle through the remainder of the book, just confirming that there is text on the remaining pages, without reading it. Clever twist, Ms. Collins.
You turn the page.
You're back on Reaping Day, in another district, in the head of another scared child.
The time between the Reaping and the start of the games flies by a little quicker this time—you've seen a lot of these events before, from your first POV. Soon the second tribute is standing on their pedestal, waiting for the cannons.
They don't survive the bloodbath either.
The remaining pages of the book begin to look more ominous than reassuring.
You turn the page. Reaping Day again, another child. Another path to the games. Another death.
And again. And again.
Finally, a tribute escapes into the arena unscathed, and you could almost weep with relief. They search for a hiding place, for water, for shelter. It's almost like being back with Katniss, and you can begin to hope. They watch the announcement of the dead tributes on their first night, and the names and districts of the earlier doomed protagonists appear.
The tribute is found and killed in the night.
When the book inevitably returns to another Reaping, you start to think you understand the pattern. You're following each tribute in the order of their deaths. You look at the remaining pages of the book, assessing how many tributes are left. Is she really going to go through all 24? Are you sure you're up for reading through the deaths of 23 kids? On the one hand, at least by the time you reach the end, you'll know you can root for this kid knowing they'll survive… On the other hand, every child the victor kill or watches die to eke out their victory will be one whose POV you've lived in for at least a chapter.
You keep going.
About midway, you find yourself, for the first time, in the head of a Career.
Their attitude as they approach the Reaping is shocking, even repulsive, after reading through the accounts of their terrified competitors who died first. They have nothing to fear from the Reaping today, because they already know its outcome—it's their year to volunteer. This is their Games; their time to revel in Capital luxury before their chance at glory.
Soon enough, you realize it's bravado, even to themselves. They've been trained for the games since they were tiny. They know how it works. They're not the only Career in the games, and only one can win. Only one can survive. They know who else from their own district is volunteering this year; they've trained with them; they know how dangerous they are, and, no matter how much they brag and puff themselves up, they're not sure they could win, even in a one-on-one fight, much less with all the variables of an unknown arena.
Ultimately, this is another scared child.
The tributes continue to fly by. You learn more about the districts than you've ever known before. You see the fatal mistakes that victors avoided; you see pain and utter despair; you see fragile hope and genuine brilliance from kids leveraging whatever they know from their past lives in a desperate bid for survival that just isn't quite enough to save them.
The sections get longer as each tribute survives further into the games.
Eventually, inevitably, you see previous tributes you followed and whose perspectives you lived through die at the hands of the current one. You see tributes grieve over the deaths on their hands; you see tributes justify the violence to themselves, and you see a few who enjoy the carnage. You live through alliances from the perspective of the tributes betrayed first, and then through the eyes of their betrayers.
The 22nd tribute dies. Only two remain.
When you turn the next page, you will know who is the Victor of these Games, but even this far into the book, you won't really know them. You've only seen either of these remaining two through the eyes of their fellow tributes.
The 23rd tribute is reaped, and you follow them, too, into the games.
The remaining pages in the book are dwindling fast, and there's still a final tribute. The 23rd cannot be long for this world.
And yet, their story continues.
Something is wrong. There's barely any book left to read. You know the 24th tribute exists, because they have appeared through the eyes of other tributes. But there isn't enough room left for their story. The 1st doomed tribute took up more of the book than is left. You keep reading. The Reaping of each tribute took up more of the book than is left now.
The 23rd tribute dies, and you pause to mourn. They fought so hard and so long.
You turn the page to the Capital emblem announcing their death, and then to the next, knowing there just isn't enough book left.
The page is blank except for a bold, unadorned statement announcing the 24th tribute as the Victor of the Hunger Games.
History may be written by the victors, but this book is about the dead.