The Hunger Games FanFiction - Chapter 2

Just to let you know, from now on, this series will be called 'The Unloved Boy'. Enjoy! #WriteMoarStories

I wake up with aching back muscles and searing pain where the whip lashed me. The nerves begin to roll in. This year, I can feel it, I will be reaped. As I get up, stretching my arms, I remember the bad dreams which plagued me the whole night. I can only remember flashes, one which included me drowning in the bowl with all of the reaping tickets.
I stand up and dress in my best clothes. A white buttoned shirt and grey dress trousers, with my leather shoes. A quick glance at my pocket watch I inherited from my father told me the reaping ceremony started in an hour.
I amble through to the kitchen where Frank is devouring a slice of bread. He is also dressed in his best, a white shirt, black trousers and a grey waistcoat. Looking in the cupboard, I decide to use the last of this month's tesserae by making some porridge. This year, I applied for lots of tesserae, resulting in so much reaping slips I lost count. In my sixth year, I think I must have over one hundred slips in that reaping bowl. I don't even care.
I dump the remaining oats and grains into a pan and make something that resembles porridge. It tastes revolting, but it's better than nothing. Frank stares at me the whole time, his eyes wide and sympathetic. I stand up to leave.
"Good luck kid." Frank says, the first thing he's said to me the whole morning. Then, remembering about all those reaping slips, he adds, "You'll need it."
I thank him, and leave our small wooden hut. I take what might be my last glance at it, and start walking down the street. The roads are packed with families, the elderly, small children who don't understand the importance of today, and the teenagers like me whose dread shows on their faces. I push through the throngs of people, determined not to be late. I've heard the stories about people who have been late to the reaping ceremony.
In fifteen minutes, I arrive at the town square. The Capitol people have obviously spent a lot of time preparing for today. A large screen is set up behind the stage. Peacekeepers line the outskirts of the square, machine guns ready in their hands. There are several camera crews dotted around, ready to record the happenings. The teenagers are roped off in their different sections, all nervously biting their nails. The rest of District 7 are standing around the edge. Only about half of the population are present so far.
I get registered and go to my section. Looking around, I see a few familiar faces from school. Some of them smile hesitantly at me. The rest of the district flood in. The roped area becomes more squashed by the minute.
Silence falls over the square as Finbar Breccan, District 7's escort, climbs the stairs to the stage. This is only Finbar's second year as escort. He seems ridiculously young to have such an important job. He can only be in his mid-twenties. Today, he is wearing a lime-green suit and a bright orange shirt to match his hair. Other than his tropical hair, however, he seems relatively unaltered, except from his silver lips, of course.
Behind him, Crispin Kit sits down on a wooden chair that looks like it might collapse under his weight. Crispin might have won the Hunger Games over thirty years ago, but he hasn't lost a pound since. With his amazing strength, he easily obliterated the rest of the Tributes. Crispin is one of the only men in the whole district who could win an arm wrestle against me. Every year since he won, he mentors the chosen Tributes from District 7. There have been four other winners from our district, but they are either dead, depressed or so obsessed with drugs that they can't remain conscious for longer than an hour, never mind helping save someone's life.
Finbar bounds about the stage, welcoming us, before the Mayor comes up. Mayor Jotham is a portly man in his forties. He's not the best of mayors, but he's as nice as you can get. Unfortunately for him, he has to give us the same speech he gives every year.
Panem is a country that was once called North America. But after all of the disasters, North America was half destroyed, and the world was left with Panem, a Capitol with thirteen surrounding districts. For a while, Panem was a happy, peaceful place. But then came the Dark Days. The Dark Days were a result of many unhappy citizens, which created a massive uprising against the Capitol. Twelve of the districts were silenced, but the last was destroyed. Every year since, the Capitol have hosted the Hunger Games as a reminder to the districts that they have ultimate control over them. Because the only thing worse than killing you, is killing your children.
At the reaping ceremonies throughout Panem, one boy and girl from each district is chosen to be a Tribute in the Hunger Games. After a few interviews, parades and training days in the Capitol, the Tributes are thrown in an arena, which changes every year. There is only one rule in the Hunger Games; kill, or be killed. There can only be one victor, who wins a lifetime of food, money and pampering.
But for the unlucky twenty-four teenagers who are chosen, it's unlikely they will ever see their home districts ever again. Of course, it's possible to volunteer for someone the same gender as yourself, but in District 7, that's known as 'suicide'. However, those who fancy their chances at winning can volunteer, and volunteer they do. But that's usually only people from districts 1, 2 and 4, the districts who illegally train for the Hunger Games as they grow up. In District 7, we call them 'Careers'.
Mayor Jotham finishes his speech, and steps down from the podium. Finbar takes his place. He starts off with a few jokes that nobody laughs at, then becomes serious.
"The reaping ceremony marks the start of the 57th Hunger Games!" Finbar shouts enthusiastically. "That being said, let the Hunger Games commence!"
"Ladies first!" he exclaims, walking briskly over to the bowl which must hold the slips for the girls. A few of the girls standing beside me tense. Finbar rummages through the thousands of slips, finally choosing one of them and thrusting it up in the air. I feel for the unlucky girl, I really do.
"Lilibeth Vita!" he proclaims.
The name doesn't ring any bells, but I vaguely recognise the girl who is shakily pushing her way forward. I'm pretty sure she's in the year below me at school. Her black hair has been neatly separated into two plaits. Her faintly tanned skin has turned a pale white. Although she's not necessarily a weakling, I can't see her surviving in the Games for very long. Those skinny arms don't look like they can handle a sword, somehow.
Lilibeth makes her way up the stairs, being remarkably brave for someone who has just been told she will almost definitely die. Her face is ridden with grief and fear.
"Are you Lilibeth Vita?" Finbar smiles encouragingly at her once she reaches him, shoving his microphone in her face. She nods, as though she is scared to speak.
"Any volunteers for Miss Vita?" Finbar asks hopefully. The Capitol citizens love nothing better than a volunteer. A few of her friends in the roped section next to me look visibly upset, but none of them volunteer to take her place. Finbar registers the silence, his face falling. Lilibeth bows her head, presumably to hide the tears streaming down her face. She isn't fooling anyone.
"Well, moving on!" Finbar continues, walking over to the other bowl. "Who will be our male Tribute?"
Finbar makes a rustling noise as he searches through the slips. I panic as I think of my hundred slips. He pulls one out, waving it above his head proudly.
"Tobiah Jotham!"
Instead of relief showing on the faces of all the boys, panic is shown on their faces, as well as all of District 7. Not Tobiah Jotham. Anybody but him. Nobody had ever worried about him. He only had one slip in thousands.
Tobiah Jotham is the Mayor's son. He's the sweetest person you'll ever meet. He's barely a day over twelve. He's spent his whole life in the luxury of his house, he's not prepared for something like this. But the worst part is, he's crippled and has to use crutches to walk around. We all know he'll be killed instantly in the Hunger Games.
Mayor Jotham's face is grim and lined with terror. I feel terrible for him. To want to save his only son, but knowing he can't do anything to stop it. His older sister, Tally, is pleading with a Peacekeeper, asking if they can change the rules. Tobiah struggles to mount the steps with his crutches. Finbar's face is empty of any pity, which makes me hate him even more. Crispin has been staring ahead the whole time, without even flinching. I can't imagine what it feels like for him. To mentor two kids every year who almost always die. The guilt he feels must be unbearable.
It's a mix of all of these things that urges me forward. Mayor Jotham, who doesn't deserve his son to be cruelly snatched from him. Tally, who would blame herself for not doing enough. Tobiah, who is too good a person to die so young. Finbar, and all of the Capitol residents who love to see us die. Crispin, who is fed up of having no hope.
It angers me. It's a fury I've never felt before. My cheeks burn red. My chest flares with a fire that cannot be put out. I shove my way through the crowd. Some move out of the way in time, but those who are too slow end up on the ground. I end up at the front of the roped area, in full view of the stage.
"I volunteer!" I shout. The previously mumbling square quiets. Finbar looks at me, grinning widely and gesturing for me to join him on stage. Tobiah looks confused that a near stranger has saved his life. Tally looks shocked, but smiles at me gratefully. Crispin moves for the first time since he sat down, assessing me through his small eyes. Mayor Jotham looks relieved and does a salute towards me that is famous in District 7. It means "thank you".
I walk over to the stairs, keeping my head held high. When I step onto the stage, Finbar shakes my hand and leads me over to the podium.
"A volunteer! What is your name?" he asks, holding the microphone in front of me.
"Jago Ozias." I answer boldly. The words echo around the square through the massive speakers.
"Are there any volunteers for Mr Ozias?"
I've long since accepted that no one loves me, but it still stings when the square becomes as remote as a sleeping sloth.
"Very well then! I present to you, your two Tributes! Lilibeth Vita and Jago Ozias!"
No one applauds, something that Finbar isn't prepared for. He fills up the silence by making Lilibeth and I shake hands. She clasps my hand gently. Despite having labelled her earlier as a small threat, there's a glint in her eye that tells me she isn't afraid to kill me.
The Mayor then drones on with the Treaty of Treason. The anthem of Panem plays. The anthem ends, and the people are dismissed. Most of them scurry out gratefully, but a few of them look back at us. I take my last look at the residents of District 7, before some Peacekeepers escort us to the Justice building.