Chapter Text
The water pump was broken again. Natalie exhaled sharply in annoyance as she pushed down on the lever again, only for a gush of water to come flooding out for a couple seconds.
As she was pressing the lever once more, she heard a scuff of boots behind her.
“Are you going to take any longer doing that? Some people have places to be.” A familiar voice rang out.
Natalie suppressed a groan.
“Shipman.” She said, turning around, picking the half-full bucket up.
Shauna Shipman was, to put it lightly, not the most pleasant girl in 12. She had her nice moments, sure, but as a whole, she was rude, and in Natalie’s opinion, a little too volatile.
Shauna rolled her eyes. Her brown hair was tied messily in a ponytail, and she was wearing a worn red flannel and mid-thigh shorts. She opened her mouth to speak, but she was cut off by the thud of peacekeeper boots.
Natalie counted 4 peacekeepers, who were fanning out and barking at people with orders to get to the square. She frowned. The reaping wasn’t for another 3 days. Regardless, she turned from Shauna, who was watching the soldiers with a wary eye, and began to walk to the square, the shitty wire of the bucket handle cutting into her hand.
It wasn’t long before all of District 12 was in the square. The wide screens flickered to life, playing a short fanfare, accompanied by the usual display of Panem’s flag.
Usually, on any other morning, seeing that familiar figure on the screens would’ve resulted in a chorus of groans. But today, there was a heavy silence that had settled over the assembled members of district 12.
As always, he was in all black, his face blurred, but the danger radiating from him through the fuzzy screen sent chills across the nation. Nobody really knew the identity that belonged to the all-powerful leader of Panem. Some people said he wasn’t possibly human himself; something of an entity who could bend things to his will. Some people even referred to him as an ‘It’.
His voice was distorted, perhaps to protect his identity, or perhaps to instill further fear in his citizens, but the words were chillingly clear.
“People of Panem. As you all know, in a few days the 60th Hunger Games will begin. This particular games will be different. It will celebrate the nation, and the pride of the districts who house victors. This year, people of the districts will be voting for their two tributes that will fight to the death.”
A collective gasp echoed in the square. Natalie’s heart dropped, the gnawing feeling of collective gaze falling on her bit at her skin, as she firmly fixed her eyes on the screen.
“The tributes may be both of the same gender. Voting will take place in the local peacekeeper headquarters. All votes will be finalised by the 4th of July. May the Odds be forever in your favour.”
Natalie swallowed thickly, looking back down at her rippling reflection in the bucket. She forced her feet to move, walking briskly back to her house, away from the prying eyes of those who were already planning to vote for her.
She wasn’t a bad person, not really. But in the eyes of 12, Natalie was a renowned troublemaker. She stole, she fought, and rumours spiralled around her consistently. Both her and her family’s illicit reputations meant she wasn’t well liked in her district at all. Her father, before his untimely demise (which, is theorised to be Natalie’s fault by most in 12), had been notoriously awful. He’d set up betting rigs before each games, and then when it was time for people to collect their money, he would simply pat his pockets down and tell them he no longer had it. Nobody had the time or effort to argue with him, for they knew it would be a hopeless attempt.
All of this unfortunately meant that, for Natalie, a staggering number of votes would most likely be in her name. She wondered who the other tribute would be. Maybe Henley Farrel, who lived a few doors down. She was strong enough, Natalie supposed, from hauling bags of flour all day.
Or perhaps it would be someone equally as disliked as she was. Only one person could come to mind. Shauna Shipman, the girl who’d been outcasted since she was a child. People called her ‘insane’ after a particular stunt in which she bit a peacekeeper. Natalie wouldn’t go that far, but she certainly wasn’t the best company in 12.
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That night, Natalie didn’t sleep. In fact, she didn’t even lie down, knowing it would be futile. Instead, she sat at the windowsill. Her favourite time of the day was the dead of night, when the town was quiet and she could watch the sparse natural life roam freely.
She counted squirrels. Her high-score was 8, in one night. She watched them sprint across the dying grass, and she watched them soar up trees. She sometimes thought that, if she was something as insignificant as a squirrel, life would be simpler. She wouldn’t have to worry about being sent into a arena.
Natalie spent the rest of the night with her forehead pressed against the cold glass, a million scenarios flashing by in her mind. As the sun rose once again, banishing the peace of the night, she had narrowed it to two outcomes. Either she’d be voted into the arena, where she’d have to..well, she didn’t want to think about that. Or, if some miracle decided to bless her, she’d be spared.
Natalie didn’t believe in miracles.