Tales of the Hunger Games

Cassius Heath: The Announcement

The war was over. We lost.

I remember walking through the street that night, bringing back food from the market for my parents and uncle. As I passed the large television screens on the Mayor's House, they suddenly flickered back to life. I jumped, startled.

Gasps and shouts passed through the crowd pushing through the overpacked street, mothers stooping down to protect their children, fathers and fighters standing up taller, their eyes gleaming with hope, yearning to see what was about to occur.

As the static on the screen cleared, it revealed a well-kept room with velvet cushioning and fancy drapes. Fuzzy carpeting covered the floor, and in the background, a large window could be seen. Outside the window smoke was rising and misting up the glass. Through the glass, I could barely see the foggy form of a large Capitol skyscraper, the top half leaning to the side at a dangerous angle, ready to fall at any moment.

Confused murmurs could be heard from all directions of the street. I too did not know what was happening. This room was one of a rich and wealthy Capitol citizen, no question. It did not seem ransacked or destroyed in any way, however. In fact, despite the wreckage outside the window, the room seemed to still be in prime condition, as if undisturbed throughout the whole war.

Maybe it was the rebels, hacking the television feed as they had done so many times prior to this, showing us that they broke into yet another Capitol home. Yet, that seemed like a rather trivial thing to go through such effort to show. Perhaps they were doing it to instill confidence in us, tell us that although the war was not going our way, they were still fighting, and victory was still a distinct possibility.

More likely, though, it was the Capitol. Telling us that we lost.

My fears were confirmed as a man in a black suit, and well kept black hair with grey streaks, stepped into the frame of the screen. Whimpers and fearful shrieks spread through the street. I clutched my bag of food closer to my chest. President Ravinstill.

The tall man seated himself at a cushioned chair a few meters behind the camera. Clearing his throat, he adjusted his tie, before turning directly towards the camera and starting to speak.

"To my dear Capitol viewers," His voice was silky and soft, despite the smoke polluting the streets and squares outside of his home. "I am proud to announce that after the carnage and barbarity shown by the ruthless and cruel members of the districts, the war is now over." At this, several people on the street collapsed in heaps of despair, children crying, fathers silent, unknowing about what to do next. "The Capitol has subdued the remaining rebels in the city. They will be subjected to execution, to make sure that they do not harm you any more."

I was stock still. Frozen in shock. We lost.

"To my district viewers," Ravinstill's voice hardened, and his black eyes grew darker and loathful. "the war is lost to you. If any more spark of rebellion ensues, it will be destroyed. The embers will be stomped on before the fire spreads again. Understood? Wonderful." He clasped his hands in his lap, his fingers tightly curling around each other.

Some people sighed in relief at the lack of punishment, but I was tense. Our president would not stop so short, when he had an excuse to torture the districts. Work us like slaves. Whatever he chose to do, it would not be fair, it would not be just. It would be retribution tenfold more painful and cruel than anything we had done to him and his citizens.

"Now, for the punishment that the districts are facing for this terrible act of rebellion." The president leaned forward silently, and dread rose in my body. "This punishment will have two uses. To subdue the districts, and to comfort and give back to my dear Capitol citizens for all the hell they went through to get to this bittersweet point of victory.

"After much deliberation with the most creative heads in our government, we stumbled upon a wonderful proposal. An annual Games, to provide entertainment to the Capitol, and to remind the districts of their wrongdoings."

Games? There had to be more to this.

There was. "Every year in preparation for these games, two children will be chosen, or reaped, from each district. A male and a female. These children will be taken to the Capitol. And don't worry, they will be taken great care of."

I was a child. What danger would I be in? I could be too old, at fifteen, but I was still worried.

"These twenty-four children will be sent into an arena to fight. To fight each other. To the death. A battle royale, you could say. Last one standing wins as victor. If you don't fight, we will take it upon ourselves to kill you more painfully than you would have died if you had complied."

Twenty-four? If two were chosen from each district, would that not be twenty-six children?

Ravinstill smiled, leaning in even closer to the camera, his white teeth glistening, his black lipstick chalky. "More details will be released in a later broadcast. Good luck!

"And to my district viewers, no complaining. Remember, you brought this upon yourselves." The president's eyes twinkled. He was enjoying this far too much.

And with that last message, the screens once again faded to static, and then to dead black.

My food bag was on the floor, overripe fruit spilled out around it, but I did not notice. Annual Games. Fighting to the death. Children. I thought Ravinstill did not want the districts to fight anymore.

He did not want us to fight the Capitol. He wanted us to fight each other. I understood it more, the more I thought about it. He could make the districts focus on each other, hate each other. He could destroy alliances, and make us tear each other apart.

Smart.