Voices of the Dead: A Hunger Games FanFiction ©

1. Macon

I have always loved the desert. Loved the way you could sit on a sandbank and not see or hear anything for miles. It was like its own realm of desolation. So vast were your surroundings you felt like if you were to blink, you’d disappear; simply cease to exist.

As the warm orange sun began to rise in the horizon, chasing away the shadowy clouds, I sighed. Closing my eyes, I drank in the warmth of the growing rays. I let go of my horse’s reins and simply let myself feel free. I wanted to be one with this place; my place.

It was long moments before Horse, my cleverly named companion, nickered and brought me back to reality. I opened my eyes and grinned as Horse shook his mane impatiently, and pawed at the earth. It was logical of course, we’d been riding, nearly sleep-less, for more than two days. We’d been herding about twenty heads of cattle up north. The job had been a long one, and we’d had to rush so I’d be back in District Ten for the reaping. Once we’d delivered the cattle to their destination we’d turned and galloped back without rest.

This would be my final year of eligibility for the Hunger Games; I was eighteen. I smiled morosely as my mind flit across the fact that, indeed, the odds had been in my favor since I’d turned twelve. I’d never had to add my name more than was required. My father and I made sufficient to keep ourselves well fed, and decently clothed. My mother had died giving birth to me, and so, my family consisted of my father and Horse.

With a sigh of defeat, I turned away from the beautiful scenery in front of me and nudged Horse to follow behind my father, who was already trotting at a steady pace towards our small home. We were minutes away from arriving back at the square of District Ten, where the reaping was always held.

“Macon, it’s almost time,” my father murmured when we reached the inner parts of our city. He motioned to the sun that was steadily rising; indicating the time. “Better hurry and get ready.”

I nodded, and trotted ahead of him, catching glimpses of young children already making their way to the square. As soon as I spotted our home, I easily jumped off Horse before he’d come to a complete stop. Without pausing to tie him to the post outside of our house, feeling it was silly since he’d never been one to stray, I loped into the house and proceeded to give myself a quick cleaning.

I splashed cold water on my face and, with a damp wash cloth, I wiped down the dust that had collected on my skin. I slipped into one of my nicer plaid shirts and gave my boots a quick shine. Before heading back out though, I stopped by my room and picked up my token. Though I doubted I’d get picked, it never hurt to be prepared. I shoved the little piece of woven twine into my jeans and then grabbed my hat and head out the door.

Almost immediately I bumped into my father, who had already tied up both of our horses and was trying to wipe away a smudge of dust from his shirt. He raised an eyebrow at me as he inspected my clothes. He seemed serious, but what few would’ve seen, was the tiniest of smiles as he reached over, pulled off my hat, and ruffled my hair.

“Decent?” I asked, in mock concern. My father and I shared many qualities, one of them being our dry sense of humor, and lack of effusiveness.

He shrugged, and pretended to study me hard as he took a step back, “I suppose it’ll do,” he finally said.

Horse whinnied and I gave him a quick pat, “I think Horse agrees.”  I grinned at my father and we made our way to the square. In the silence we shared I watched him from the corner of my eye; he hadn’t returned my hat, and had been keeping himself distracted by fiddling with the rim and pretending to rub at some unseen dust.

I’d heard from people that had met my mother, that she’d my father’s polar opposite; bubbly, talkative, a social butterfly, and in general very open about her feelings.  This wasn’t to say my father was some cold-hearted figure that never showed his affections; he was just had his own particular way of showing it. Now, as he tinkered with my hat, refusing to look me in the eye, he was showing just how worried he really was.

“I’ll be fine you know.” I told him just before I head to the eighteen-year old section. He’d just looked long into my eyes, and then nodded, a small frown forming between his brows.

I joined the other boys who were clearly nervous and proceeded to drown out the sounds of the crowd. Things went as they usually did, and would always be; the mayor walked to the podium and gave the customary speech, “-welcome, blah, blah, such an honor, blah, so exciting, something about the odds…” I suppressed a yawn and fiddled with the twine in my pocket. How badly I wanted to just run back to the desert, to my real home.

Somewhere along the line the Treaty of Treason was quoted, and then the real event began. The district escort pranced onto the stage and picked the female tribute first. I didn’t recognize her, but I instantly felt sympathy as I did for any tribute that was reaped.

It wasn’t until it was time for the male tribute to be picked that I paid close attention. I focused on the glass bowl that held all our names; our fates, our destinies. I shuddered, and then gave a quick glance at my father.

I didn’t actually hear the name called out, but it hadn’t been necessary to know what had happened; I knew from the moment my father’s face crumpled that it’d been me. As I felt the crowd beside me move aside, I felt my heart thud with fear. Me, it was me.

I tore my eyes away from my father, stared up at the district escort, and steeled myself. I walked at a measured pace; attempting to appear calm and nonchalant. Outside, I probably appeared tranquil, but on the inside I was in a terror-driven stupor.

When the ceremony was over and I’d been taken to an empty room in the Justice Building, I slumped into the nearest sofa and held my head in my hands. Maybe this was a punishment; it’d been too much for me to be actually happy with my life in District Ten, I’d been an anomaly, I’d had to suffer. When the door opened I looked up at my father and instantly jumped to my feet. I thought about hugging him, then reconsidered, knowing well that he wasn’t one to show physical affection.

I  was still thinking this when my father closed the distance and wrapped me in a tight embrace, It caught me completely by surprise, but I responded without thinking. I hugged him back, suddenly realizing how shaken he was. It was as if my father had been replaced by another man; one who looked exactly like him but acted as another.

Minutes passed slowly, but at the same time quickly. When my father finally pulled away, his face was set in a mask of resolve. He stepped back and held me at arms’ length. He held my shoulders and looked deeply into my eyes. “You come back to me, you hear,” he said with authority.

“I’ll try, I promise I will,” I whispered.

                He nodded and before the Peacekeepers returned, held me close again. I breathed in his scent of leather, dust, and smoke. It was the smell of home. When he left, I gripped my braided twine harder, trying hard to believe that I would indeed return.

                But as I went through the motions; riding in the car to the train, boarding, and then entering my train compartment, I reveled with a single thought. I’d said I’d try to come back, to win, but why had it felt like a lie? Why had it felt like I’d unintentionally deceived my father…