The Book of Haymitch: An ONC 2024 Hunger Games Fanfiction

Chapter 1

Another Reaping Day—the highlight of the year. Where kids from every district gather to win fabulous prizes. Like an all-expenses-paid trip to the Hunger Games, where they can show off their survival skills in a bloody massacre while the Capitol cheers them on.

Oh joy.

The afternoon sky is overcast as we file into the Square and sign in. It's adjacent to the Hob, the black market of District 12 where I sell most of my game. I scan the nearly six hundred potential Tributes until I find the one I'm looking for, her familiar dark waves dancing in the tepid breeze.

Standing with the other sixteen-year-old girls, Laurel Storm's identical gray gaze meets mine. She's nervous; I can tell by the way her front teeth drill into her bottom lip as if they're digging for hidden treasure.

This is our fifth Reaping. While I've always taken a straightforward approach to my fate, Laurel's a worrier by nature. I'd just prefer not to waste time crying about things I can't change.

The corner of my mouth tugs up, a silent reassurance we'll be okay. But Laurel doesn't smile back.

She worries me. If her name is chosen in the lottery, there's no way she'll make it through the Games alive. Victors are ruthless—they have to be in order to win. Laurel's the gentlest person I know. Kind and soft-spoken. She wouldn't hurt a flea even if it bit her on the nose.

When we graduate—maybe before if we can manage—we're getting married. We've already picked the date. And then I'll work in the coal mines like my father and his father before him. Laurel wants to be a seamstress where she can earn a living from home. A teacher at school is showing her how to sew.

As the speakers come alive, every face turns toward the stage, their cheeks sunken from lack of protein and a measly ration of grains.

Belladonna Trinket, the long-time escort of District 12, shuffles across the platform to the podium, her ridiculous high heels scraping the weather-beaten floor.

How she defies the laws of gravity in those strappy monstrosities is a wonder—especially at her age. Layers of makeup give the illusion of someone younger, but she has to be pushing sixty if I've worked the numbers out correctly.

As always, Belladonna's the pinnacle of high fashion. Loose curls stacked on top of her head like a showy purple pineapple, and a frilly yellow dress reminiscent of staring at the sun. Among District 12's sea of browns and grays, it's the most color we've seen all year.

She wouldn't last an hour in the Seam, where everything's covered in a layer of soot and grime.

Adjusting the microphone, she taps the head with one crystal-beaded fingernail and smiles when the accompanying click floods the stage. "Welcome, welcome, one and all! Has it been a year already?" Lavender lips spread into a wide grin, her perfect rows of teeth unnaturally white. "Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor!"

Her greeting is met with the usual eerie silence, but Belladonna doesn't notice. Or maybe she's just used to it. Instead, her glittery lashes blink towards a golden-haired girl offstage who's dressed in a coordinating outfit.

She motions for the child to come closer. "I've brought a very special guest with me today," Belladonna says as she rests her hands on the girl's shoulders. "Can I get a big round of applause for my eleven-year-old daughter Effie? One day, many years from now, she'll take my place as escort, representing the Capitol and guiding District Twelve into the future of the Games!"

As Effie smiles from ear to ear, Belladonna makes a show of clapping her hands, but no one else joins in.

After a few awkward moments, she nudges Effie back to where she came from. "As you're all aware, this is a very important year in Panem. It marks the 50th Hunger Games—fifty years of penance, where each district offers up one male and one female between the ages of twelve and eighteen in a public Reaping to atone for their district's involvement in the rebellion.