The Hunger Year

The Capitol wasn't what they told her it'd be. The first time she'd visited was right after she was reaped. There, she spent a week of luxury and training beyond her comprehension. It was swell. Everyone was wild, supportive. They gave her enough wine to make her drunk nightly and there were enough hot guys around that she could flirt twenty-four-seven without ever getting bored. Except, that wasn't the Capitol. When she returned, President Snow was the first to talk to her. He was an old man, far older than he realistically should have been, but the Capitol had ways of keeping people alive.

They'd restored her from all injuries after she was lifted out of that death-cage. Her body was once more smooth, lacking all scars. Only her freckles remained upon her face, a dash of dark against the light skin she so adored. Her nose was fixed, no longer crooked from fighting, and there were no slashes upon her stomach, her side, no scratches, no bruises, not even a hint of pain. Their medications filled her body like a balloon.

She floated beside President Snow, hardly alive as he led her to his office. Everything was off, her heartbeat just slightly off, her head reeling with different thoughts, emotions, urges and feelings that she couldn't describe. In the Games, she'd expected to see herself up on the screens. To hear her cannon blast. To feel the life leave her body. Instead, she wound up victorious. It was one thing to pretend that she had everything under control, to wax with confidence about how easily she killed and how good it felt to win...it was another to deal with existence when her body still existed within that nightmare.

The only noise was that of their footsteps. Shoulders tensed, she waited for more. In the Games, the most dangerous person was the one she couldn't see. Now, the most dangerous person was beside her, a loose smile on his face and a tailored suit snug on his skin.

"Congrats, Amelia Montaigne," he'd said. In a way, Amy almost believed he meant it. But there was something in the way he spoke...fire emboldened his words. After the 75th Hunger Games, everything had been different. Victors were no longer the same as they used to be. No one was trusted. Not that they'd been to begin with.

Last year, they announced that the Victors would live together. All Victors, from all Districts. What would his stipulation be this year?

"On?"

"Your win, of course. You did a fine job."

"Except." She paused, waiting for his next words. They lingered just out of sight, hidden, but she could smell the way he hesitated. Amy hated the way people did that. The Capitol was full of snakes. "Well, President Snow? I won. Is this the time where I receive my talk?"

He laughed. They walked through a large building towards his office. It was immaculate, the walls a blinding white and the ceilings stretched high, delicate trills carved into the trim. The gray of his outfit contrasted against them just enough to make her want to vomit. Though he was surely over a hundred years old, he was impeccably fit--the Capitol was full of drugs and recreation, the best type of it. His eyes were yellow, like snakes, and his beard was just to the point of unruly. Amelia felt something shift inside her. She'd heard stories of how he'd take the tributes on walks to his office, long walks through the never-ending corridors, how their screams could be heard throughout the entire building before they came out, molded to his will...no, those were rumors, nothing for her to truly believe.

Yet when he stopped walking and leaned against the wall, his dry lips parting, tongue slithering out to coat them, something changed in his demeanor.

He'd been a dying man to her seconds before--old beyond his years and a touch away from death. That was not President Snow. His body was pristine, arms strong, his eyes glistening with intelligence. The old man was alive, more so than she could ever claim to be. When he spoke, it was like listening to thunder.

"There's no reward for the Victor this year."

Her heart sank. Heart as dry as his skin, Amelia shook her head, then, tilting it, asked in a trembling soprano: "Why?"

The sigh that came from him was deep, straight from the pits of his cold soul. His voice was deeper than before, younger. There was a life to him. One that radiated poison and death.

"The Games just don't do it anymore. Things have gotten a bit out of hand. The riots have started up again. However, the Capitol has no need for these people. We have a new source of supplies. The Districts are old, they're decaying, they don't bring in enough resources. Keeping them alive is useless. So we've decided to do something different. There will be no rewards for the Victors as there will be no reward for the District. Those that can prove themselves able and strong, those willing to do whatever it takes to live, may find themselves at home with us in the Capitol."

"And those that don't?"

President Snow began walking again. Uneven footsteps drowned out her hummingbird heart. Their walk continued in silence, her trailing him, uncertain, unsteady. Something in her was willing to do whatever it took, to fight, but another something pulled at her heart--what was the plan for the Districts? More importantly, what was the plan for her? She'd never cared much for the lives of others. Her parents had taught her that no one truly did. The Games taught her that as well. All those allies ruined the second the end came, all those easily seduced by a kiss killed too fast, too far. But to willingly know that they were going to...die? To be destroyed? That was another sort of apathy, a different level of hatred.

"President Snow? What happens to those that don't?"

He didn't turn, didn't seem to recognize that she'd spoken at all. The man walked like a dog, trotting slowly towards the end of the hall. There, a large set of double-doors awaited. She knew what was on the other side. If the large 'S' at the front didn't say it, then everything else did: President Snow's chamber. His secret office. The place few were allowed into and even fewer left alive. A dry heart turned to ash, sticking to her lungs and coating her in dust. She could've been breathing in District 12 for all she knew.

The doors opened before they got there. They creaked and pulled as the edges scraped against the floor.

"Come in. Let's continue our conversation in here, shall we?" Snow stood in the doorway, shoulders strong, hand outstretched towards her before waving inward and pointing at a seat. It looked like a combination of silk and wood, laced together to become something soft and strong. Gentle and tough.

She sat.

The doors closed as President Snow approached his desk. She sat in discord as the doors slammed against one another, their clash leaving a thudding resonance within the skeleton of a room. The graveyard they sat in hadn't been updated since the Baroque period. It was too grand--exaggerated as the man before her. Snow stripped off his jacket to reveal a slimming skirt, gold buttons in a straight line to the middle of his neck, the rest hidden by his beard. He cleared his throat and picked up a rounded, opaque paperweight. It was as large as his palm and he rubbed his hands over it, fingers revealing the glinting light within.

"Are you aware of how the Hunger Games work, Amelia?"

Amy shifted in the seat. It was rigid, the back too narrow, and the sides cut into her shoulder bones.

"I'll take that as a yes. You should be. Well, the Hunger Games don't work. They're a useless thing. What does work, however, is you."

"Me?"

"Not just you." He sat down the paperweight and walked towards a large set of windows that made up the back wall. "All those able to win in the Games. The Hunger Games will no longer be annual. They will now be a monthly competition. All those who win will be accepted into the New Capitol, built just outside of the remains of 13."

Thirteen...She hadn't heard that District mentioned in years. It was a whispered, deadly word. Everyone knew of their betrayal. Twelve and Six came just as close in the second rebellion to being destroyed--it was only at the death of Miss Everdeen herself that they caved, falling like the weakened Districts everyone knew them to be. There had always been rumors that the Capitol wouldn't need them. That they'd all be destroyed.

That's all it had been. Rumors. Word of mouth that no one truly believed. Conspiracies by weird uncles and odd friends that no one really wanted to talk to.

But the words coming from his mouth were as pungent a reality as the stale, citrus-scented death that waited in the shadows of the room.

From her seat, she couldn't see what he looked out upon. Gardens, likely, as his building was surrounded by them at all times. The ivy vines climbed up the walls and choked the building, just as Snow did Panem.

"Why each month? Isn't that asking for another rebellion?"

"On the contrary." He turned, the light hitting his form and surrounding him as he looked to her once more. "It's asking for forgiveness."

"Forgiveness?"

"Oh, you victors are all alike. You think that things are as simple as we've told you...it's impossible to think for yourself, isn't it? What can I really expect from District Two, though? After all, it's not like you have anything real to offer." President Snow sighed, his hands caressing each other as they rested on his chest. "Panem is crumbling. Over the next year, it will cease to exist. Our resources are falling apart. There is no use in staying here. There has been other land, other places built to contain us. A better Panem."

"And you want to get rid of the Districts?"

"Get rid of? Heavens, no. You'll do that yourselves. Each district will host its own games. Twelve, one for each month of the year. There will be twenty-four victors from each District. Two hundred and eighty-eight survivors."

She shrank in the chair. That number didn't include any of the Victors. "And where do I fit in?"

"You're at an advantage, my dear. You're going to inform every one of their choices. You're going to show them how to win."

"And if I don't?"

He stepped closer, the light a beacon against his gray form. The frayed edges of his beard appeared to be on fire, the white light suffocating all in its presence. In his presence.

"There is no don't. Do you know why so few people see this room?"

"You're a private man?" He laughed. "It's the room where you kill people, right?"

"You're not as stupid as they said you were."

Her lungs couldn't breathe as he came forward, his uneven steps striking the floor like the arrhythmia within her chest. "This is the room where you decide to join the rest of the Victors, Amelia. We're ushering in a new Panem. A new world. You won the one hundred and second Hunger Games--one hundred and two mistakes. Finally, we're going to end this asinine process. There is no use in keeping with tradition...though there is use in its reward. The Hunger Games are all these people know. That is why they will agree."

"What happens if they don't agree?"

"You have a lot of questions, don't you?" He sighed again.

President Snow stopped walking just inches before her. He towered, a giant before her small form. Those yellow eyes were darker, deeper, almost vermilion around the edges of his irises. He placed his hand on her shoulder, grasping her tightly.

"The Districts are on lockdown. The walls have been built higher during the Games. There is no escape for them. They will participate, or, at the tap of my fingers, their districts will be blown to the ground."

All air left her chest. She couldn't breathe--couldn't remember how to. Amy wanted to pee. She wanted to jump up and run far, far away. To close her eyes and pretend that it was all some type of weird, Capitol-induced nightmare.

The pinch of his fingers against her bones was enough to remind her of the gravity of life.

"Amelia Montaigne, you're in no position to say no."

"I'm not going to," she whispered.

He wore smug better than the chiffon woven throughout his suit. It slathered against his lips as he pulled away from her, his hand patting her twice before he lifted up and stepped back. Adjusting his tie, he turned from her again. Thunder was no match for the brilliant lightning within his words, striking against the pillars of the room with every detached syllable. "Tomorrow morning, you will address District Two. As you are the last Victor, District Two will be the first to participate. They will have exactly one month to decide which twenty-four get to win."

She nodded, swallowing hard. "Of course, President Snow."

"You may go now. There will be an Avox outside. It will take you to your room." He sat down at his desk, the chair stretching to hold him as he leaned back, head tilted as he sucked in a deep breath. Just as she stood to leave, his eyes met hers. She froze before the doors, which opened as slowly as his words. "Oh, and Amelia? Their response will be on your shoulders."

"I-"

"The Capitol will be watching."

The doors slammed behind her.