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

[  CHAPTER ONE ]

There had been a saying in Nine for as long as Lenora Naverro could remember: where there is a will, there is a way.

The labourers in the Great Plains murmured it between themselves like a prayer, day in day out, as they cut through the towering weeds of grain using scythes that hissed and whispered with every strike. If they believed they were capable enough of pushing through yet another day of gruelling work, then the chances they would make it home before dusk settled like a blanket over the district were inevitably higher. Hope conquered all.

For some, at least.

It had dawned on Lenora quite recently that perhaps her district's tagline wasn't all that great. Sometimes, where there was a will there wasn't actually a way. Impossibility overruled tenacity. There was absolutely no amount of hope and determination that could overcome reality, or the condemned truth ── that was just plain facts.

She felt like the tagline: where there is Snow, there is an inevitable foreboding low, was more up to par. Snow being the President of Panem; the conqueror of slaying all hopes and ambitions. He suffocated the districts' intentions until they had no more space left to breathe, as a thick sheet of snow would to a man's lungs.

Even in District Nine, which was miles and miles away from the Capitol ── where their tyrannical President resided in an opulent mansion ── his existence alone felt like a glacial chill sweeping over the lands.

He made their statement of faith feel more like a con that did little to inspire hope.

The Kellers, a family who owned one of the most prominent bakeries in Sun Spot ── the hottest segment of Nine where the Great Plains lived and Lenora's shabby village thrived ── were currently half buried beneath that aforementioned blanket of snow, only their heads partially visible above the surface. After Norm Keller's crime, they had no other choice but to crawl, sinking deeper and deeper into the consequences of their own actions. They were under close scrutiny from the Peacekeepers, and had been given a strict curfew to adhere to.

But the question as to why lay in wait. There were rumours, of course, but no direct answer to the matter. The only thing proven to be true was that Norm Keller had done something terrible, something so severe it warranted an arrest. He was banished to District Two, to become a Peacekeeper, where he would never again get to see his beloved family. But why?

It was a shame. The Kellers had been so tightly knit that Lenora often feared they'd strangle each other, but this was breaking them apart. Norm's wife, Hina, part-owned the bakery with her parents, while Norm had worked in the Plains with his brothers and his niece. He and Hina had two children, both girls. The youngest, Penny, couldn't walk due to a birth defect that impaired both legs and was wheelchair-bound indefinitely. The other was around Lenora's age, perhaps a year younger, and was as beautiful as the sun from which she was named after: Sunny Keller.

She and Sunny were friends . . . sort of. It was more an alliance built up on a lack of companions. Sometimes they confided in each other over small matters, though not all that often. She wouldn't go so far as to spill her entire accumulation of secrets to Sunny.

Her mother, Ceres Naverro, was the only person in the entire world who Lenora completely trusted with her word.

Currently, Ceres was sitting at the dining table, head cradled in her hands, with a wicker basket set out in front of her. She had just come in from work, and the sun was far beyond its descent into the horizon. It was darker than onyx. Twilight. Another late shift.

Lenora rubbed her bleary eyes and entered the dining room. The district-famous saying where there is a will, there is way was painted on the wall in golden paint, just above the stove in Lenora's very own, much younger, much messier scrawl. It looked awful, but her father thought it carried an abundance of happy memories and downright refused to paint over it. The dining table itself was a shoddy amalgamation of wood, which her parents clumsily put together while Ceres was pregnant with Lenora. Again, it was horrendous in appearance, but rich in nostalgia. They prized evocation over aesthetics.

Since the sun was no longer awake, it was reasonably cold inside. Lenora threw a couple of logs onto the hearth and lit it. She watched as the flames devoured the timber and roared to life, flickering and pumping warmth into the kitchen. 

Her mother peered up, the flames throwing her heart-shaped face into clarity, hazel eyes rimmed with shadows. She forced a meek smile, though it didn't reach any further than her nose ── which wrinkled as if she were in pain.

Lenora walked across to her mother and kissed the top of her head, "Mama. You're back."

Her raven hair smelled faintly of factory smoke. Evidently, she'd been to the market. Perhaps that was the reason for her tardiness.

"I wasn't meant to be so late, I'm sorry," said Ceres, her apology heartfelt.

Lenora dragged out the other chair from beneath the table and plonked herself on it, "It's fine. I was busy all day making cakes for Papa. He gets back from Eclipse tomorrow for the Reaping, doesn't he?"

Eclipse was the abbreviation for the second of four segments in District Nine: Solar Eclipse. It was the least wealthiest part of the district, and earned its name from the constant dark gloom hanging low over the factory-strewn streets, dousing it in a seemingly permanent darkness as the moon would to the sun at eclipse.

Lenora's father often had to travel for work, to maintain working standards across the district. He was a health and safety executive in the Plains, but had been recently promoted to oversee other HSEs. Lenora scarcely saw him anymore. He was always working.

Her mother nodded, smile broadening, "He does. I'm sure he'll appreciate you going to such efforts, Lennie."

"He deserves it," Lenora said, sighing. "I miss him. I don't like it when he travels this much."

"I don't, either. I feel on edge when he isn't here. Vulnerable."

She had never said anything like that before. Lenora's brow twitched, "Why?"

Wordlessly, Ceres bowed her head, massaging the crest of her skull. Her unbound ringlets flopped freely either side of her middle parting. Her mouth was pale, inner-cheek pulled in between her teeth. She looked like she was hiding something ── lips pressed into a firm line, eyebrows drawn tightly together. The lingering aroma of factory smoke leaching from her clothes and encircling the kitchen was all but an added factor to prove her obvious reticence.

Ceres did not go to the market without a reason.

When her mother didn't answer her question, and had full intent to remain silent, Lenora folded her hands atop the table and gestured to the wicker basket, "What's that?"

"Food," said Ceres simply. "Not for us."

"What . . ." Lenora paused, swallowing down her avid disappointment, "what do you mean it's not for us?"

Ceres gave an exasperated sigh, which only seemed to highlight and determine the exhaustion pulling the wrinkles that lined her face taut.

The shadows under her eyes were so prominent that they looked like bruises. She'd been working to the bone in the Plains to get the crops prepared for summer's commencement, to ship off to the Capitol before winter. And then at home, she was slumped with her medicinal side-hustle. Illegal side-hustle. In their own home, she treated people who couldn't afford the sky-high Panem medical treatment prices, and offered their care for more than half the price ── though she never mentioned to her patients that she stole most of her equipment from the infirmary in the Great Plains. It didn't matter much to her, and probably wouldn't phase her patients, either. Treatment was treatment. 

Always so selfless, her mother.

Though, one day, Lenora feared their goodness would prove to be a curse, and they'd end up stuck in an endless loop of trouble and misery.

Just like now.

"Have you heard any of the rumours swirling about the Kellers?" Ceres asked bluntly, seemingly out of the blue.

Lenora nodded, albeit unsurely, "Some. I heard the one about Norm Keller killing a Peacekeeper with own bare hands."

"It's not true," Ceres confirmed, adamant in those words, "I know the truth about what happened. The real truth."

"You do? How?"

"This morning, while you were sleeping, Sunny Keller came by," said Ceres. "She had a broken arm, and didn't know where else to go. I helped her. And she told me everything."

Lenora stumbled over her own tongue trying to find the right words to say in response. Sunny? Why on earth hadn't her mother roused her this morning so she could speak to her?

"She was here? How did she break her arm?" Lenora questioned, voicing her biggest concern amongst many others.

"Peacekeepers. She broke curfew. They pushed her to the ground, but she fell on her arm at an odd angle. She's lucky it was only a fracture."

Lenora's hand shot to her mouth, a gasp of shock rushing to the gaping cavity in her throat. Sunny was sixteen. Snow's malevolent sycophants truly showed no mercy.

Almost every Peacekeeper she'd ever stumbled across had proven their stereotype of being inherently brutal, right down to the bone marrow, as nothing more than the truth. They lacked sympathy. Pity. Compassion. They were cruel, malicious, overseeing the districts with iron-fists poised to attack.

But there was an instance, just once, where Lenora wondered if they weren't all bad.

She was five at the time, overly curious about the world, about how it span, about the sky and the earth beneath her feet. On a school trip to the Great Plains, she walked away from her teachers and got lost. The endless land of weedy corn submerged her tiny being entirely, and the darkness of night quickly dawned, and with it came the ominous yapping of distant foxes prowling the land. She was terrified, so afraid of what lay beyond her perception ── of what was hidden in the labyrinth of gold and shadows.

Curled into a ball amongst the grain, Lenora wasn't found until dawn, when the sun was beginning to rise over the hazy horizon again. It was a Peacekeeper who sought her out, and she distinctly remembered waking up to feel an armoured hand, gentle and steady, pressed against her cheek. He told her she was safe now. Although, she didn't feel it at the time, gazing into the black-holes punched through his mask where a pair of eyes should be.

Nevertheless, the Peacekeeper took her back to her mother, but he wasn't kind to Ceres like he was to Lenora. He told her to take better care of her children, then dumped Lenora in Ceres' arms before walking briskly away.

She wondered if that had been a front. A facade. A disguise. Maybe he was kind, deep down; as soft as his touch against her cheek. Maybe a good heart thumped under the surface, buried beneath the heavy, snow-white armour enforced over him by the President.

But she would never find out. Most of the Peacekeepers in Nine wore their helmets, to keep from inhaling an excessive amount of smoke spanning across from the factories in Solar Eclipse. She never knew what he looked like. She never would.

Twelve years later, and her mind was altered incorrigibly. Lenora couldn't help but follow the stereotypes about Snow's sycophants; that they were all evil. Why would she think any differently? She hadn't come across a singularly kind Peacekeeper since that day when she was five. And even then, it hadn't been entirely believable.

"That's terrible," Lenora mumbled.

Ceres nodded, her expression grave, "She told me why Norm was arrested."

Lenora urged her on with a little nod.

"He didn't kill any Peacekeepers. He tried to flee the district. Attempted to scale the wall with Penny on his back," Ceres explained, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She swallowed hard, giving a feeble shake of her head, "Sunny said he wanted to escape. To take Penny somewhere safe, where nobody would find them."

Lenora's confusion forced her to put in, "Why?"

"Well, Penny turned twelve last month, didn't she? It's predetermined for her name to be in that Reaping bowl now that she's of age. And there's always a slim chance she's picked," Ceres looked to be on the verge of tears, "Poor girl can't even walk, nevermind fight to the death."

Ah. So, Norm Keller had been afraid, and he'd acted on it. Fear in this day and age was a sickly thing; it made people do foolish things. 

Evidently, Norm hadn't been able to bear the impending consequences of Penny being in the running for those games ── not with her defects, her inability to walk. His trepidation must have coerced him into believing that where he had a will, there was a way, no matter what. But attempting to escape was a death wish; there wasn't a person alive who had ever managed to succeed. The walls between the different districts were enormous, made of wire and steel and stone. Nobody in their right mind could climb it, especially with a small human clamped around their shoulders, like Penny to Norm.

But, surprisingly, his punishment was lighter than expected. Rather than being whipped and shot at the top of Justice Building stairs, he was arrested and banished to an alternative district. Now, however, the rest of his family were condemned to pay for the mistakes he made. That was, perhaps, the remainder of the "light punishment."

"And now," Ceres continued, visibly irate by the situation. She lifted her hand and started labelling things off on her fingers, "they have no food. Limited water. A curfew. The Peacekeepers are cutting down their supplies. They're making their lives a misery."

"On orders of President Snow, I'm assuming," said Lenora.

Her mother gave a severe nod, "Yes."

"Bastard," the seventeen-year-old hissed.

Ceres immediately shushed her, gazing around the room as if the president himself would burst through the door at any given moment.

She levelled Lenora with a stern glare, "Speak those things only in your mind, Lenora, not aloud."

"Fine," she agreed, huffing. She made a sweeping gesture to the basket, which still didn't have a reason for existing, "What is that for, anyway? You didn't elaborate."

"It's food for the Kellers," said Ceres. "I can't let them starve."

"Right. And how are you going to give them that? Peacekeepers are watching their house like hawks, aren't they?" Lenora rebutted, as if she was the parent in this case and not the child, "One wrong move, and they'll have you arrested next, Mama."

"That is why I need to talk to you."

The ominous tone in her voice was unsettling.

Ceres scooted her chair closer to Lenora's, eyes downcast and serious. When her hand ── calloused from years of scythe-wielding ── darted out from under the table and coiled around Lenora's soft palms, the reality of the situation became apparent, inching up Lenora's spine like a cold chill. Her mother was worried. Frightened. Tense. Buttering something up.

"What is it?" asked Lenora, her chest significantly tighter.

Ceres' thumb etched smooth circles over the top of Lenora's hand ── a gesture her mother had done for years in an effort to comfort her during difficult times. Or after a nightmare, which this felt strangely familiar to.

"Listen to me carefully," she began gently, her thumb still stroking the tawny flesh on Lenora's hand, "You're going to meet Sunny in the market tomorrow, before the Reaping."

A wince curdled her features, as if she were afraid those words would result in immediate backlash . . . which they pretty much did.

Lenora instantaneously interrupted with a stuttering remark, pulling her hand from Ceres' grasp, "What?"

"It won't take long. All you need to do is give Sunny this basket of food. The market is the best place to do so, where the Peacekeepers won't see," she explained rushedly, before Lenora could interrupt again, "And then after, you meet me in the Halcyon square. We will walk to the Centre together."

"But ── I mean, it's the Reaping tomorrow. The Peacekeepers will be everywhere, cracking down on latecomers. They might find me."

"They don't know anything about the black market, or where it is. It's safe," Ceres assured, attempting to curl her hand around Lenora's again.

But Lenora flinched away, pushing herself up from the chair.

"How is it safe?"

"It's hidden. You'll be hidden."

Lenora swept a shaky hand through her raven locks, "But I don't know the market well enough. What if I walk into a Peacekeeper trap?"

Ceres reassured her with a shake of the head, "Sunny knows it better than anyone. She won't let you endanger yourself in any way."

That was assuring, to an extent.

Lenora pressed her hands to her hips, swaying on the spot as she considered all the possibilities of putting herself into a predicament like this. She'd seen people shot, whipped, beaten for participating in secretive things like black market trade and unlawful assistance ( especially with criminals accomplices like the Kellers ) or just sneaking around in general. They wouldn't go easy on her just because she was young.

"You'll be fine, Lennie. I've been stealing equipment from the infirmary for six years now," Ceres attempted to console, her voice significantly lower now that she was speaking on illegal matters, "They have never been suspicious."

Lenora clenched her jaw, still swaying.

"We need to help them," Ceres added. "We have no other choice."

That struck a nerve, deep down, snapping like a band in Lenora's stomach.

"I know you're just trying to help them, Mama, but this is dangerous," she barked, throwing her arms out in annoyance. "We do have a choice. We can choose not to get involved. The last thing we need is Peacekeepers watching us. What if they find out about you giving people medical treatment without a licence? It's illegal. If you're arrested, I'll never see you again."

Ceres looked down at her hands, fingers weaved together like the strands of the wicker basket. There was guilt dousing her expression, dripping from her chin like water ── but between the lines, Lenora could see lapping waves of frustration slowly trying to break the surface.

"Sometimes it's best to stay out of the limelight," Lenora said, her voice steady. Calm. Hesitant. "And if that means leaving people to figure out their own problems . . . then so be it."

At that, Ceres' head snapped up. The guilt evaporated, and in its place, her inner turmoil of anger and frustration began to boil. Every seam around the edge of her beautiful, demure face had split, allowing room for a foreign abrasiveness to fester. It didn't suit her. Her nature wasn't tainted by nastiness, or cruelty; she was overwhelmingly good to the bone.

This only further proved that point. Any hint of selfishness in her beloved daughter was snuffed out like wet fingers to a flame.

"How could you say that?" Ceres snarled tempestuously. "People can't always help themselves. We are the only ones able to change that."

Lenora exhaled sharply through her nostrils, "Mama, you can't always carry that weight on your shoulders. There are other people in Nine who can help the Kellers. It doesn't always have to be you."

"I know it doesn't. Why do you suppose I've given you this responsibility?" Ceres questioned. She lay her palm flat on the table, knuckles blanched, "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?"

Her mother's voice cracked like a whip. Lenora's throat felt like sand-paper, so she swallowed, nose wrinkling. Maybe she was being selfish. There was nothing her mother abhorred more than egotistical people.

She nodded eventually, unable to meet her mother's gaze, "I understand."

"I'm glad you do," Ceres said. She shook her head with disappointment, eyebrows furrowed, "It wouldn't do well to let Sunny down this harshly while she and her family are so vulnerable. Believe it or not, she thinks very highly of you, Lennie."

"I ── I didn't know that," Lenora whispered, more to herself than anything.

"Now you do," Ceres replied sharply. "If it were us in their situation, I know Sunny would jump at any chance she had to help us. To help you."

That was enough to bring tears to Lenora's eyes, though she refused to grant them passage, even when her throat tightened to the point she feared her oxygen supply had been severed at the root. She didn't need to cry. After what she had said, what she allowed herself to believe ── she had no place to cry.

Sunny thinking highly of her? They hardly spoke. Hardly knew each other. She didn't understand Lenora well enough to think anything.

Still, that didn't matter. Sunny clearly drew enough information together to make an inexplicit summary of the person she thought Lenora was: but her conclusion was based on loose assumptions. Lenora was selfish, quiet, shy, petulant at times, and she grew irritated inhumanly fast, snapping at people when they probably didn't deserve it. How could Sunny possibly think highly of her? Did she see Ceres' reflection in Lenora's hazel eyes and just instinctively think they were the same person, inside and out? Good. Selfless. Considerate.

They were limited to Ceres Naverro's way of thinking, not Lenora's. Sunny ought to see the difference.

Maybe she could make that clear tomorrow, at the black market.

Don't depend on me. My mother is the one you should trust. I'm not reliable ── I don't have selflessness coursing through my blood. First I have to think about what I will achieve from something, from someone, before I can act with selfless intent. I'm sorry. You can paint me cruel, uncharitable, evil, even, but please don't paint me like my mother. I'm not her. I can't be her. We aren't even on the same boat. I don't have the capacity to be that good.

But I do want to be like her. And that's why I will help you.

Finally, Lenora heaved a sigh, seeking out her mother's gaze. The woman's eyes were heavy, cloaked in shadows, swollen and wrinkled and much darker in colour than usual. More like tar than hazel.

Truth be told, she wanted nothing more than to see her mother happy. Some of that weight needed to be shifted from Ceres' shoulders, without question. She was buckling beneath it, breaking a sweat to hold it aloft, yet Lenora did nothing to help. Now, perhaps she could.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said what I did," she murmured sheepishly. Ceres' frown faltered, her mouth twitching, "I'll do whatever it is you need me to do tomorrow."

Silence. Shrouding the room like a blanket, it was positively suffocating. Lenora fidgeted with the sleeve of her mocha-brown shirt, waiting for her mother to reply.

But Ceres didn't. Wordlessly, she nodded, brows still cinched together. Then, she stood up and walked from the kitchen without even sparing Lenora a single glance. She disappeared into her room.

The door slammed closed behind her mother, and the flimsy, stone-built walls around Lenora shuddered.

Ceres Naverro's visceral disappointment stung more than a knife plunged through the heart.

━━━━━━━━━━

AUTHORS NOTE !

woah my eyes hurt. but here
we have it, my christmas
present to you guys! an actual
chapter after my month hiatus
from publishing anything
at all *gasps*

this chapter sets up the rest
of the pre-reaping process,
and part of the actual reaping,
so take that information and do
with it what you will. the whole
keller family/storyline is quite
important. make notes.

BUT i hope you like it. i
am officially back in business.
merry xmas!