❝ never trust a survivor
until you find out
what they did
to stay alive ❞
―Kurt Vonnegut, Bluebeard
[ the maze runner × the hunger games ]
No one was ever happy in District 12. They were the poorest among the distric...
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A YEAR HAD PASSED.
The 73d Hunger Games in which Thomas, a previous Capitol resident, had won the games for District 12, were over. The Victory Tour commenced not long after the games had ended, and Thomas gave his pre-made speeches to each district, his voice emotionless and numb. Something in the boy seemed broken; people were heavily reminded of a zombie as they glanced at him, taking in his tired skin, bloodshot eyes and apparent lack of life.
Who could blame him, though? Anyone who watched the games saw how his friends were brutally murdered before his eyes - and now he was forced to relieve all of that trauma he had endured through the Victory Tour.
There were talks and rumours of small riots starting in a few of the districts after that year's games―but Thomas turned a deaf ear to them all. He only caught a few glimpses of the story; apparently people found out that he and Teresa used to be part of the Capitol, and a small rebellion emerged, with talks going around that the rebels were demanding the Capitol to send more of their own kind into the games instead of picking on the poorer districts.
But the Capitol shut them all down. Snow sent people to kill anyone and everyone related to the rebellion. And that was the end of that.
Despite that, once a spark had been ignited, it was difficult to put out the fire. The rebellion died―but only publicy. Several rebels who managed to survive went underground, spitting and hissing obscenities at the Capitol when no one could hear them.
Thomas returned to living in the district, now sharing residency in the Victor's Village with his mentor Haymitch. The two males never spoke a word to each other, the death of Rosalind hanging between them like a bomb. One utter of her existence and they would both explode in little chunks.
They stayed holed up in their houses, barely moving, one consuming alcohol as a way to relieve his sanity and escape from reality, if only temporarily, the other lying on his bed the whole day, wishing that he was the one who had died instead of his friends.
Rosalind's family was still grieving―but they were forced to continue living on as if nothing had happened. They, too, were like zombies; wandering around with no aim, exhausted and devoid of hope as memories of Rosalind lingered around like poison in their minds. On the rare occassions Thomas had to step out of his house, he would sometimes spot one of her brothers in their bakery. The sight of them sent sharp stabs through his heart, and he had to walk in the other direction to avoid reminding himself of Rosalind. He wanted nothing more than to lend them a comforting embrace―they were her family, after all―but just the sight of them was so painful that it sent migraines.
Instead, people from all over the district came to console them, whether through words of comfort or supporting their bakery by buying their food―but none of it felt right to them. District 12 had won the 73rd Hunger Games―but at what cost?
When the next year's reaping day finally arrived, Thomas and Haymitch were dragged out of their houses to attend. Haymitch threw up a racket, smashing his bottles of alcohol everywhere and making a scene―but Thomas let himself get pushed towards the town square where the reaping took place. There wasn't a single drop of energy in him to fight or protest. It was bad enough that he had to survive last year's Hunger Games and watch all his friends die―now he had to act as a mentor and train the next unlucky pair for this year's games.
The mayor started reading the list of past District 12 victors. In 74 years, they have had exactly three. Only Haymitch and Thomas were alive out of the three. Thomas slumped into his seat, wishing for the day to be over already, while Haymitch hollered something unintelligible and staggered and slumped onto the third chair.
Effie Trinket trotted to the podium and gave her signature, "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!"
As Effie went on about what an honor it was to be there, Thomas' eyes scanned the crowd before him, wondering numbly whose names were going to be called out. And then it was time for the drawing.
"Ladies first!"
The crowd drew a collective breath and Effie pulled out a slip of paper.
And then―
"Primrose Everdeen!"
Silence. Eyes turned to a small girl in the middle of the crowd. Thomas felt an ache in his heart―the girl was so small, so young―there was no way she would be able to survive the games.
"Prim! Prim!" A horrified shriek echoed through the air.
Thomas glanced up to see an older girl screaming. She must be Primrose's older sister.
"I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!"
Thomas winced.
"Lovely!" Effie Trinket chirped.
Primrose started screaming then, screaming for her sister not to go, screaming and screaming. But the sister made her way to the stage, looking as if she was trying her hardest not to cry.
"Well, bravo!" Effie Trinket said. "That's the spirit of the Games!" She seemed pleased to finally have a district with a little action going on in it. "What's your name?"
