The Hunger Games- What If's: Book Two

Chapter One

   The Hunger Games. They started because of the Dark Days. Well, guess what? It's not dark anymore. In fact, the fire is burning brighter than ever! Can't anyone see that? Does anyone else even care?

   The Capitol says the Hunger Games are for remembering. Remembering how hard the Capitol works to "protect" us. People always remember the worst things, and it just so happens that the Hunger Games are far worse than any war Panem has ever faced, will ever face. However, nobody wants to change things. Even if they do, the Capitol always dampens those ideas, they drench that flame into nothing more than the old and burnt-out log it sparked upon.

   I am one person. Not only am I a person, I'm a person with an idea, a way to change the country. One person can turn into two people, then four, eight, sixteen, thirty-two . . . and so on. But can that really happen? I mean, will it? I'm not exactly a people person, but I know at least two others who want to change things. Haymitch and Cinna. But, they're not here right now. They can't be. Because I am standing in the middle of this room alone.

   This room is filled with dozens of screens, and each one has a different image from my worst nightmare, the 74th Hunger Games, playing across them. They all strike a cord inside of me. A cord that vibrates, long and low, and makes my eyes want to cry. I won't let them, though. I know there's a camera, two at the very least. They want me to cry, to break down. But I won't.

   Why do so many of the images have to have Peeta in them? Even though he's not living anymore, he's followed me everywhere, just like a shadow. Unfortunately, I'm afraid of the shadow he casts. Because every time I catch a glimpse of his ever-present shadow, I'm reminded that I am weak, and I let him die. It was my fault. There is no one else to blame. I might as well have been the one to throw a blade into his heart, over and over and over and over and over and over. . . .

   And then there are the images of Rue. Good, sweet, kind Rue. She didn't deserve to die. She didn't deserve to be drawn for the Hunger Games, or work so hard her hands hurt, or be beaten by the Peacekeepers, or be born into District 11, or to be born into Panem. She didn't deserve that. No, she was better than all of it.

   Still, she's right here in front of me, being killed. Being sung to. And it's my voice, too. My voice that sings to her. I wonder what Prim thought when I started singing that oh-so familiar lullaby. Did she sing along with me? Did she cry the way I did? Did she know that Rue reminded me so much of her, of her goodness, of her lovely smile and beautiful features? Does Prim know now that I love her more than anything? Does she know that I love her more than myself?

   That doesn't matter now. Focus, Katniss. You can do this. You can win. You can do it, you can! I know it! I'm you, and I'm telling you: you can WIN the Hunger Games!

   Suddenly, there's a voice booming all around me. It announces grandly: "Hello, Katniss Everdeen of District 12. Today, you shall be facing Linsky Klenning of District 9 in the continuation of the 74th Annual Hunger Games. So. . . Let us begin!"

   There is a long pause. The screens go black, and I'm encased by that blackness. Then, one small light pours into the room. It's the screens, they begin to part. They reveal a space big enough for only one person to enter into. Light is spilling across the screens and into my dark room. I slowly take a step, then another. Finally I am in a different room. It's more like a hallway, actually.

   I am in a cold, white hallway. The screens again shift behind me. I do not need to turn back to know that they've closed, locking me into this metal box.

   That's exactly what it is, too. It's a box. The walls, floor, and ceiling are all made of metal. Stone-cold metal. In the middle of this box is a machine, I think. It's sleek, shiny, and curved. It's curved just so that a body could be comfortable laying down inside of it. There is a casing wrapped around it, thin metal sheets that trap you inside. It looks like some kind of mutated bug, which I might very well be. I walked around the machine and find a control panel on the side of it. There are no eyes on the machine, which is a very good thing.

   I turn and look at the wall across from where I entered. There's a keypad on the right-hand side of the wall. I can tell that it must lead to somewhere, because there is a definite crack, a seam of a sort, in the white metal. I realize that I cannot get through, because I have no code. A moment of realization dawns on me, and I slowly turn back to the machine. In order to get the code, I must go into that death trap.

   No. I don't like it. I don't like that thought at all. What if it's a trap, something to lure me in with? The Gamemakers could kill me in that thing! Then what would I do? No, there has to be something else. But what?

   I turn back to the wall, and run my finger over it. I allow my fingers to dig into the squishy seal that holds the door shut in an air-tight seal. On the lower portion of the seam, I find that there's a small hole. Small enough only for an unfolded paper clip like the ones at school to enter, or a blade. Or maybe even . . . a pin?

   As I snap open my folded-down lapel, I think about what the announced said earlier. He said that it was the continuation of the 74th Hunger Games, not the Quarter Quell. Does that mean that there will be yet another Games this year?

   Never mind that, now. Slowly, my hands detach the back of the pin and pull it out from the material of my lapel. I study the mockingjay on the pin for a moment, thinking of Prim. Then I push the pin into the little hole in the seam, and bring it down, breaking the seal towards the bottom of the door. Then I bring it up, up, around the top curve, and down, down, down.

   Finally, I hear the seam pop. I clip the mockingjay pin back on my lapel and brace myself as I peel back the rubber seal that was holding the door shut.

   As soon as I pull out the last bit of the rubber, the door opens up a little bit. I push on the hard metal with my shoulder, and the door creaks open.

   This other room is just like mine. It's completely metal, and very, very cold. There is a keypad on the wall I just entered from, and there is a machine. However, there is one thing different about this machine.

   It is glowing red. Bright red. The kind of red you can only see when metal heats up to a million degrees. With a sudden jolt, I realize that Linsky must be in there.

    What's happening to her? Is she dying? Is the machine cooking her like a groosling? What is she feeling? Is she even in there at all?

   I tell myself to calm down, Katniss. It's okay. If she dies, then she dies. There's not much else you can do besides accept what happens. I can't help feeling a little guilty at the thought that Linsky might be dying in that machine, but it must have been her own stupidity of falling for a trap so simple, right?

   I don't know.

   Working up all the courage I can muster, I decide that I have to do something. What, I don't know as of yet, but I will do something. To win, I have to kill Linsky myself. There's not other way. . . . Is there? No, I must remember my goal is to survive, not to kill others. I need to try and prevent all of these deaths. I cannot stoop to the level of the Capitol; I must show them, in the words of Peeta, that "they do not own me."