III ── GAME OF SURVIVAL,
69TH HUNGER GAMES
🦊

[ CHAPTER THREE  ]

Lenora managed to eat a seeded roll and a few bites of cheese before the inescapable nausea sunk in.

The world around her felt as though it were swaying, fixed on a giant pendulum ── left, right, left, right. It ticked imposingly in her ears, counting down the seconds until Vesta took to the stage and plucked the names of the unfortunate District Nine tributes from the identical glass bowls. Lenora's name was scattered in the girls' bowl just a total of six times ── though, still, six too many. Six chances. She was only fortunate her family wasn't in desperate need for tesserae, otherwise her name would have been in there double the amount, and the chances of being picked soared to an ineffable high.

This year, Lenora was realising just how lucky she actually was in comparison to other families. The Kellers, for instance, were being escorted into Halcyon Square by a flock of burly Peacekeepers. The sycophants were taking extra precautions, just to ensure the fractured family didn't make a second attempt at escaping.

It was humiliating for them, to be openly broadcasted at their most vulnerable. Snow was probably watching with a twisted grin on his face.

Bastard.

After searching for a moment, Lenora swiftly spotted Sunny's head of corn-blonde hair amidst the congregation of armoured Peacekeepers. She was pushing Penny's wheelchair along, and her mother padded behind them, looking disoriented and pale, her matted hair pushed back into a scraggly bun. Everyone turned to watch them pass. A silence blanketed the Square, like the citizens were quietly mourning for the jovial family the Kellers used to be.

Lenora felt a sharp jab to her stomach. Her mother was giving her a scolding look, "Don't stare," she said.

"Sorry," Lenora muttered, looking away.

In front, there were people as far as the eye could see. Everybody was waiting to enter the Square, standing in orderly queues depending on their age, all swathed in the honeyed, orange hues of daybreak. Cameras blinked down at them from every corner of the polished Justice Building, swivelling to glimpse into the depths of the packed Square.

Lenora's mother hated this part. She was allowed to stand with Lenora right up until they reached the checkpoint at the end of the queue, and then it was cardinal that they be seperated to join their respective groups. It always felt like a final goodbye ── up until the ballot was revealed and Lenora's name wasn't called.

Who was to say it wouldn't this year?

The queue slowly, painfully, shifted forward. Lenora peered around the young girl in front of her, and saw that she was scarcely a metre away from the checkpoint. There was a boy who'd she seen around her village in Sun Spot standing right at the front, blotting his bloody finger on the sheet of paper splayed out across the Peacekeeper's little table. Once finished, he was shoved firmly along, and a man who appeared to be his father tugged him into a firm embrace. They were forcefully parted, and the man was directed toward the spectator segment. Lenora's chest tightened.

It was happening.

Before she knew it, she was the second in the line. The dark-haired girl in front looked to be around twelve-years-old, maybe thirteen at a push. The bored Peacekeeper in charge of the check-in held his hand out expectantly, and the girl thrust her shivering palm into it. She was shaking so much that Lenora would probably be able to hear her bones rattling around inside of her body if she strained hard enough.

The scanning device, an intimidating flashlight-looking machine with an invisible needle poised to sting at the end, came down upon her finger and exuded a low hum. She winced and drew her hand back. A petal of blood bloomed on the tip of her pointer finger.

She pressed it to the paper. The Peacekeeper waved dismissively and the girl was quickly ushered along.

Lenora was next. She held her head high and gave the Peacekeeper her hand before he had the chance to ask for it. She'd done it five times before. This was the second to last time, until her name was cut from the ballot entirely. It was better to get it over and done with as fast as humanly possible.

The device bit into her finger, and she winced at the sharp sting as the needle met flesh. But it only lasted a second. The Peacekeeper pushed her bleeding finger against the paper and smeared her blood in the small box etched under her name. It was to be filed away into the records to prove she'd attended the Reaping. Not that she had a choice ── they'd come looking for her if she didn't.

"Next," the Peacekeeper drawled.

Lenora cradled her finger, prodding the tender flesh absentmindedly. She was shoved from behind by an armoured hand, and before she knew it, her mother's arms were swaddling her.

"I will see you later, okay?" Ceres said breathlessly, her eyes glassy, "Hopefully your father will be back home tonight."

Lenora felt numb, but she nodded regardless, "Okay. See you later."

Ceres pressed a chaste kiss to the side of her head, and then they were being shepherded away into their sections by a pair of miserable Peacekeepers armed with assault rifles.

The bigger one, with oily black hair like wet tar and an inhumanely thick neck, gave Lenora a particularly nasty look as he pushed her into the seventeen-year-olds' girl section. She'd seen him a few times before around Sun Spot or near Halcyon, always without his helmet. He dished out the district's harshest punishments on the steps of the Justice Building ── always with a whip or a gun in hand. His face was curdled like milk, marred by crater-like scars and a shadow of dysfunctional stubble.

Lenora grimaced at him when his back was turned.

Around her, she saw an abundance of familiar faces. Most were from Sun Spot, but there was the occasional Corn Moon and Eclipse dweller in the mix, too. They all exchanged succinct nods and tight-lipped smiles that weren't all there, their terror palpable.

Lenora fixed her eyes on the temporary stage set up in front of the Justice Building, where she could see the stately glass bowls twinkling in all their glory, and the tall, golden microphone situated in the centre of the stage.

Beside the podium, there were four seats, all of which had been filled. In the first chair, closest to the microphone, Mayor Miller, an old man with sagging jowls and bushy eyebrows, straightened his formal jacket as he murmured something to himself. Beside him, clad in a charcoal black suit, was Emmet Lunar ── 54th Hunger Games winner. In one pierced ear, a silver hoop dangled. He always looked annoyed about something, like everything in the world had an insufferable talent at irking him.

With troubled eyes, Grania Katz sat in the seat next to Emmet, dressed head to toe in gold-trimmed cashmere. She was a bit of an enigma, an odd-bod. She won the 60th Hunger Games by lacing the only water source in the woodland arena with venom procured from deadly spider-mutts. Grania wasn't at all vicious like Emmet had been in his Games ── bludgeoning through the Career pack as a butter knife would to cheese ── but she was smart. Her quick thinking got her the crown. The Games were a fight to the death, but sometimes violence was not the only solution. She used that to her advantage.

In the last chair was Capitol-born Vesta, the district's eccentric escort. Her wig was the notorious shade of aquamarine blue she habitually donned, and she was wearing a sapphire dress that ballooned out around her knees, which Lenora thought made her look like a jellyfish. Akin to vines, the straps on her glittering stilettos coiled around her legs and ended at her kneecaps, and the heels themselves must have measured over eight-inches. Possibly nine.

The fashion trends in the Capitol were downright ridiculous. How did anyone think that looked appealing? Alongside the wig, and the sweeping gold eyelashes, Vesta looked more like a clown than anything. All she needed was a red nose.

She leaned over Grania ── much to the former-Victor's chagrin ── and whispered something to Emmet Lunar, a saccharine grin on her powdered face. Amusingly, Emmet pretended not to hear her. Vesta found that to be extremely offensive, to be so wilfully ignored, but she masked it well. She gave a shrill cackle and slumped back in her seat.

Once the Square was filled, and the check-point stations were empty, the clock stamped on the front of the Justice Building eventually struck two o'clock. The Mayor rose from his chair. He approached the microphone, and a low murmur of terror swept through Halcyon ── the realisation that the Reaping had officially begun. Mayor Miller tapped the top of the microphone, and the screech of static it emitted was enough to silence the entire district.

Considering he had done it a dozen times before, the Mayor began to recount the history of Panem from the barrens of his muscle memory. About the Dark Days, and the Treaty of Treason, and the formation of the Hunger Games in an effort to avoid the seeds of an uprising against the Capitol, like the one that obliterated District Thirteen so many years ago, from ever growing again.

As Mayor Miller twittered on in that painfully slow drawl, Lenora scanned the crowd. She quickly found her mother in the spectator section, standing tall amongst the other pallid parents. Ceres' eyes were on the Mayor, but she was not listening. She was submerged in thought.

Lenora swivelled her gaze elsewhere.

Near the front of the stage, she once again spotted the back of Sunny's head ── corn-blonde hair dripping down her back like the waves seen in District Four.

In a similar fashion to Lenora, Sunny was gazing around absentmindedly, not interested in divulging in the tragic past of Panem. She peered over her shoulder, and it only took her a second to find Lenora's eyes. Despite the situation, a genuine smile bloomed on her lips. Discreetly, Sunny raised a hand, shaking it in wordless greeting. Lenora mirrored the gesture cautiously, not feeling particularly inclined to draw any unwanted attention.

Then, before she knew it, District Nine succumbed to the jangling voice of Vesta.

"Greetings, District Nine!" she practically squealed, hands clasped in front of her chest. She wore dark-blue acrylic nails to match the rest of her oceanic attire, which stretched almost as long as her pale, bony fingers, "What an absolute pleasure it is to be here. Another year, another Happy Hunger Games!"

Rather than the applause she'd desired, Vesta was met with an impregnable silence instead. Someone near the back of the crowd gave a harsh cough, and a girl next to Lenora sniffed ── but other than that, the Square was so quiet that you could probably hear a pin drop.

Vesta cleared her throat, albeit a tad awkwardly. She clapped her hands together, "Now, it is up to fate to decide which exceedingly lucky boy and girl will compete in this year's Sixty-Ninth Hunger Games!" Her blue wig teetered slightly as she shifted along, attempting to amplify her voice to its full extent in the microphone, "May the odds be ever in your favour. And, as usual, ladies first!"

Stumbling gracefully on her enormous heels, Vesta crossed the stage in the direction of the glass bowl on the right. A collective intake of breath breezed through the crowd as she plunged her hand inside, dipping deep and rifling around in the bowl purely for dramatic effect. Then, when it felt as though every ounce of oxygen in the air had evaporated, she finally used her claw-like acrylics to pluck out the slip of paper with some unfortunate soul's name scrawled on.

Lenora squeezed her eyes shut, imagining she was someplace different. Somewhere with a vast field, where the sun blinked alluringly down on the green plains, and the smell of freshly-baked bread was rife in the air. There would be a barn to home horses, chickens, maybe a donkey or two. It was always warm and sunny. There would never be any snow.

Pain suddenly rushed through her veins.

Lenora looked down. There was blood coagulating in her fingernails, crimson wetting the tips of her fingers. She didn't even realise she had been balling her hands into fists ── too entwined in a false reality.

Her fists bloomed like ripening flower-buds, and she saw a dozen crescent moons engraved into the palms of her hands. A colossal weight sunk to the pit of her stomach.

She looked back up at the stage. Vesta was swanning toward the microphone, peeling open the slip of paper as she went. Lenora had never heard the Square so silent.

Blue wig lolling around precariously, Vesta leaned into the microphone. Again, her tinny voice enveloped the district, only this time it came with an underlying sense of consternation.

"Penny Keller!"

Lenora gasped unexpectedly, like an iron-fist had ploughed directly into her stomach. Penny? Penny Keller?

She couldn't believe it, didn't want to believe it . . . yet, she'd already had some inkling that this year's Reaping would be completely unlike the rest. Vastly different for reasons that were plainly obvious. The Hunger Games were punishment. What better way to punish the Kellers than this?

A singular word rolled around in her brain. Rigged.

Lenora stretched onto her tip-toes to discern the sudden shifting of the crowd in the far left, where all the twelve-year-old girls were grouped. They were splitting. Separating to let someone through.

A shrill cry sounded in the distance as a blonde-haired girl begrudgingly pushed her wheelchair through the parting swarm of people. There were gasps, sobs, cries from all around as this year's unlucky District Nine tribute was thrust into the limelight: a child who couldn't walk.

Before Penny Keller had even stepped foot into the arena, or the Capitol itself, she was already rendered a corpse.

At the front, wedged between a number of startled teenagers, Lenora saw Sunny sobbing into her hands. She was shivering like a dead leaf in a harsh gale, and a girl beside her slung an arm around Sunny's shoulders in a futile effort to offer some means of comfort. But who could comfort someone who was being forced to watch their beloved sister shipped off to her death?

The only comfort Sunny could obtain throughout this entire ordeal was if Penny's name was, somehow miraculously, replaced by another's. If Penny wasn't sent into the arena.

Sunny had already lost her father. Her mother was practically catatonic. So why did she have to lose another to the Capitol's hands? To Snow? Would she be next?

A throng of Peacekeepers lifted Penny's wheelchair onto the stage. Vesta immediately flocked to the incapacitated girl's side, and she bent lowly, if not patronisingly low, next to the wheelchair. Penny hardly took notice. Her shoulders were trembling, and her cheeks were painted red-raw as tears gushed freely from her eyes. She was inconsolable. Terrified.

Lenora felt useless. But . . . maybe she didn't have to be.

The conversation she had with her mother yesterday floated to her. Those words, that made her feel so guilty ── that sliced open her flesh and let her bleed all over the linoleum floor.

I don't believe in turning a blind eye, and neither should you. I did not raise you to be uncharitable, Lenora. Where we have room to offer help, we will. Do you understand?

At that moment, she'd thought she understood the meaning of her mother's scorn ── the intent behind it. But, Lenora was quickly beginning to realise that perhaps she hadn't. She only attempted to salvage Ceres' perception of her by pretending, being what Ceres wanted her to be, and not acting on her true intentions. She had only been trying to make her mother happy, to prove she wasn't heartless, by taking that basket of food to Sunny in the market after all.

But . . . what would her mother do in this situation? What would Sunny do? And what would Norm Keller, who sacrificed his liberty in an attempt to save his daughter from the Capitol, think? What would he make of this?

Where there is a will, there is a way.

With a flourish, Vesta leaned into the microphone. Her voice was uncharacteristically thin, "Oh, well I do say. Do we have any volunteers?"

Lenora did what she thought she had to do. For Sunny. For Norm Keller. For Hina Keller. For Penny. For her own mother, Ceres Naverro. And for herself, Lenora Naverro ── because she wasn't selfish. She wasn't uncharitable. Her intentions were not warped. She had room to help someone who desperately needed it . . . even if that meant divulging the possibility of signing away her own life. These things were fated. Goodness really was a curse. And she understood that now. Truly, she did.

She stepped forward.

Her hand shot into the air before she allowed herself the chance to reconsider, and then her voice ── trembling and pitchy── followed it, "I volunteer as tribute."

The entire Square whipped their heads around to see her. There was a lasting pause, as if the district itself couldn't fathom the state of affairs. Even Vesta, always merry and smiling, was stunned. A volunteer? They'd never had one in Nine before. Nobody was ever that stupid.

Who would choose to seal their life away?

Cognisance seemed to bleed back into Halcyon Square when somebody squealed, far off in the distance. It was bloodcurdling, distraught. The noise managed to sever through the painful ringing in Lenora's ears, and her blood ran cold. Ice-cold. Her head was stiff, but she managed to look behind her.

Ceres had been the one to scream. That much became clear. Behind the spectator lines, Hina Keller was embracing her mother ── bawling, knees bent in on themselves, struggling to keep herself upright. Lenora had never seen her mother so hysterical.

Suddenly, there were Peacekeepers flanking her.

Lenora felt as if the flesh was sloughing from her bones, like the world around her was melting, the people surrounding her ── their eyes puncturing holes through her organs ── sinking into the ground. Everything but her own mind was slowly fading into the void. It was surreal. Not real. Had she actually just signed her life away? It couldn't be real.

But it was.

The Peacekeeper from earlier, with the greasy black hair and the enormous neck, was the first to lay a hand on her. His hand coiled around her wrist, fingers pressing firmly against her tawny skin; she was like glass in his unrelenting grip. Eyes as dark and unyielding as obsidian looked at her, into her soul. He was fighting a smirk.

The rest of Snow's sycophants, three in total, closed in on her. Lenora let them lead her out of the crowd and into the aisle of cobblestone separating the boys and girls, their boots thumping against the ground grandiosely. The stage was just metres away now.

Clown-like Vesta was watching with a newfound grin on her face, looking particularly enthralled. Beside her, Penny's skin was as pale as chalk, and her tears ran dry. Her expression was struggling to settle on one emotion. She was petrified and befuddled. She couldn't believe it. She couldn't believe someone would volunteer to save her life, nevertheless Lenora Naverro. They scarcely knew each other.

Lenora was at the steps now, leading up to the stage. She didn't have much time left before her actions were completely validated. No turning back now. All of District Nine was watching her.

"Lenora!" a voice cried.

Lenora snapped her head back. She searched for the source.

It was Sunny. She'd pushed through the throng of children to reach the very front, hands gripping at the Capitol-red rope that sealed them all off like pigs at an auction. Her eyes were pink, brimming with tears. Her corn-blonde hair was sticking out in every angle ── like Lenora's had done back in the market ── and her cobalt-blue Reaping blouse was creased, damp with tears. She still looked beautiful, despite her sorrow. At least, Lenora thought she did.

A Peacekeeper stomped toward her, an assault rifle angled menacingly in his hands. Sunny didn't try to say anything else. But her glassy eyes never left Lenora. She looked dumbfounded.

"Well!" Vesta exclaimed. She helped Lenora up the stairs, noticing the dangerous sway in the seventeen-year-old's step. "It seems District Nine has its first volunteer. How fantastic!"

The moment Lenora reached the top of the stage, the congregation of Peacekeepers marched away. They scooped up Penny's wheelchair and returned her to the crowd.

"I must say, what a wonderful turn of events!"

Lenora didn't listen to Vesta. She couldn't take her eyes off the view. It was slightly nauseating.

From up here, she could see absolutely everything. The crowd was enormous ── far bigger than she ever would have imagined. There were thousands of children split into their opposing sections, and at the back, the Reaping spectators stretched right to the end of Halcyon Square, barred in by rope and armed Peacekeepers. Behind them, peering through the gaps between the buildings, Lenora saw the Great Plains. It glistened like woven gold in the gritty grey atmosphere of the district.

If she were to run away and hide in the labyrinth of grain, she doubted the Peacekeepers would ever be able to find her. She could live in the Plains forever. Alone.

Suddenly, Vesta was right there, blue acrylics curving around Lenora's shoulder like a tiger to unsuspecting prey. She flinched at the sudden contact.

Vesta was saying something, but she couldn't really hear. Didn't really listen.

There were thousands of microscopic, beady eyes bearing into her. They didn't know who she was. Unlike the Kellers, she wasn't infamous in the district. Just some girl. Some dead girl.

But they respected her. They respected that she would sacrifice herself for someone who did not stand a chance in the Hunger Games, if only because they would not step up themselves. It was an act of heroism, of selflessness at its finest.

Where there is a will, there is a way.

Much to her surprise, Lenora spotted numerous fleeting nods scattered about the crowd ── little nods of approval. So small only she could see. They were meant for her.

Maybe they were discreetly applauding the tiny flicker of rebellion; embers spitting to life. It took a very brave person to plant those seeds, to even acknowledge its existence.

If Penny Keller's name was rigged to be plucked from that bowl, then Lenora had just doused the Capitol's plans in gasoline and set them aflame. She saved a 'convict' from the Hunger Games. Was that a sign of rebellion? Could that be considered an act of defiance?

Perhaps that was exactly what Lenora wanted. To defy. To see snow melt.

She swallowed thickly. Her throat felt like sandpaper. But what if it wasn't what she wanted? The Capitol would have it out for her.

It felt vaguely like a mistake now, volunteering. She didn't know how to fight. She'd only ever punched someone once. And she didn't have any deadly talents worth noting, which was one of the most important things in the Hunger Games.

Without warning, a microphone was thrust under her chin. The cloying smell of honey infiltrated her senses, her every thought.

"And what might your name be, sweetling?" Vesta asked softly.

She cleared her throat, "Lenora Naverro."

Vesta made a sound of approval, "Beautiful name! And how old are you, Lenora?"

"Seventeen."

"Lovely!" Vesta said. She returned the microphone to its stand and stood directly in front of it. She elevated her arms either side of her body, flaunting the golden bangles dripping from her wrists, "Well, I do believe it is now time to choose our lucky male tribute!"

Again, stumbling gracefully on those huge stilettos, Vesta walked toward the glass bowl on the left. She dunked her hand in and picked one from the very bottom of the pile. Unravelling it, Vesta click-clacked back to the microphone.

Distracted, Lenora took notice of how much her own hands were shaking. She pressed them together and hid them behind her back. Better not to make herself an easy target already ── the other tributes would likely be watching footage of the other Reapings to gauge their competition.

Vesta reached the podium. Mouth almost brushing over the microphone, she read out the name of the male tribute, "Ryeda Crynn!"

Silence. The crowd didn't move.

"Ryeda Crynn?" Vesta repeated. Her gold-flecked eyes swept the Square. "Come on out, sweetling."

Finally, there was some movement, quite close to the front of the stage. Vesta appeared relieved, letting out a ripple of breaths. There was a boy being marched toward the front, with close-cropped, curly black hair, and a pair of glasses that were stuck together with tape. His skin was dark, and he had soft eyes that made him look incapable of malice. There was nothing but terror on his face, which Lenora didn't blame him for.

He stepped on the stage beside Vesta. She gravitated to his side, giving him a fleeting once over. He didn't even look at her.

Ryeda Crynn. The surname was familiar. Lenora had heard it before. There was a fairly notorious family of Crynn's in Corn Moon. His grandfather ── or possibly his father ── owned one of the flour mills: the Crynn Mill. The surname was stamped on several products derived from their mill, like cakes and cookies and pasta. That meant they probably had money . . . or, at least, some money. Nobody in Corn Moon was rich.

Lenora's eyes found Ryeda's. They were bulging from his face, rimmed by shadows and wetness from his tears. He looked away almost instantly.

"Do we have any volunteers for Ryeda?" Vesta asked the crowd.

It didn't come as a shock when nobody stepped forward like Lenora did for Penny. Nothing like that could ever happen twice in a row. But perhaps Ryeda had been expecting it, or hoped for it, because he let out a strangled sob that he didn't quite manage to muffle behind his hand when the silence revealed he had no volunteers. Lenora felt somewhat bad for him.

Vesta clapped, "Fabulous! It seems, beloved District Nine, that we have our Sixty-Ninth Hunger Games tributes!" she exclaimed merrily. She gestured to the doomed souls on either side of her, "Our first ever volunteer, Lenora Naverro, and Ryeda Crynn! Shake hands, my darlings."

A customary gesture between two tributes, one that didn't make complete sense. They walked into the Games together, and only one would come out alive ── maybe they'd even have to kill each other to get to that outcome. They shook hands as if to acknowledge that fact.

I may have to kill you. I hope you don't mind.

Nevertheless, Lenora stepped toward Ryeda. She reached forward, and splayed her right hand out in front of her. It was still trembling. She doubted it would ever stop.

Ryeda, too, reached out. His hands were surprisingly still. Lenora clasped her fingers around his palm ── which was slick with sweat ── and shook it gently. He gave a nod that was small and reserved solely for her, much like the crowd had done earlier out of respect for her heroism.

Did Ryeda Crynn respect her? Would he respect her when, if it came down to it, she was forced to stick a spear through his heart? If she ultimately chose glory over honour?

No, she would never.

Lenora released his hand and looked out over the crowd. They were this year's tributes from District Nine, destined to die.

Hopefully, it would be a quick and painless death. A valiant one, without any of those gut-wrenching, pleading screams they'd become all too familiar with while watching their fellow district residents succumb to the Career pack or the initial Cornucopia bloodbath. A swift death was preferable, to save their loved ones the traumatic experience.

Unfortunately, it was fate. The Hunger Games meant death for measly little districts like Nine.

Those corpses on stage had already started to decay. How long until it was just their bones left? Just their pearly white bones.

━━━━━━━━━━

AUTHORS NOTE !

im actually so happy with how
this turned out. would you
volunteer for someone who
didn't stand a chance in the games
like penny? i doubt lenora would
have if it wasn't for her mother's
lecture, or her meeting with
sunny in the market. certain
things have certain outcomes!

the end line is also a nod
to our queen, lucy gray.

( lenora and her mom, ceres )

i love making these.