What/Who is Anonymous?

Installment two of my Hunger Games Headcannons.

*Mayor Blythe reads us the history of Panem as we sweat in the dull sunlight. My hands wont stop shaking and I keep looking up at Ky who gazes off in the direction of the low hills. He is only twelve and looking calmer than some of the oldest kids at the front. I am three years younger than him and I am terrified.

Our district escort, Jennelle McCordia sweeps her lavender hair off her forehead, I can see that it is sticking there. My whole body starts to shake as Jennelle pulls the girl’s name.

“Maritrista Rae.” A sixteen-year-old blond girl bursts into tears and is pushed up to the stage.

I wipe my hands on my pants as Jennelle walks to the glass ball with the boys’ names in it and reaches way down to the bottom. With a dramatic flourish she pulls the name out and reads it in the microphone. “—*

It was Ky Alder. I know it was Ky. I just don’t have to remember it that way. But I do. I wish I could have volunteered for him and saved him from being randomly slaughtered by the Careers in the first five seconds of the game. It was over so quick. The reaping. The game. His life.

Every day the story plays over and over in my head. I can’t stop it, but I have learned to make it help me. After Ky was killed in the bloodbath I decided to take revenge on the capitol and the tributes that killed him by becoming a Career to beat the Careers. As far as I know, I am the first and only district 9 tribute to do this. I have been secretly training since Ky was killed, and eight years of training and guilt later, I am ruthless. Practice in the fields cutting grain has made me deadly with a scythe and years of hate towards the capitol and the Careers has made me unafraid to use it.

I am eighteen now and today is the reaping day – my last chance to enter the games.

I get ready methodically, knowing I will soon be on the stage. I pull on a black sweater and turn to face my parents. They both hug me absently, I know they are thinking of Ky.

The three of us follow the masses to the town square. I nod at my parents and make my way to the front of the crowd. A girl named Izzali Brown calls out to from the seventeens.

“Jace!” She smiles at me. I make eye contact and then nod at her too.

The reaping ceremony seems to take longer every year. Finally, Jennelle, who I have come to think of as a funny cartoon character, comes to the microphone.

“Hello district nine! Ladies first! And – may the odds be ever in your favor!” She reaches into the girl’s ball and swirls her hand around for an indeterminable amount of time.

As luck may have it, the name Jennelle reads is Izzali Brown, the girl who smiled at me earlier. I sigh inwardly, I don’t want to have to kill her.

Izzali is surprisingly calm as she walks up to the stage, shakes hands with Mayor Blythe and her mentor Shenna Corslan. She proceeds to blow a kiss to the camera closest to the stage.

Jennelle moves to the boy’s ball. She takes even longer choosing a boys name but finally calls out, “Jereme Skitz.” A slim, trembling thirteen-year-old boy with pale brown hair stumbles out of the crowd and starts to shuffle to the stage. Before the peacekeepers surround him, I step out of the crowd and take the stage.

I look straight into the camera, as Izzali had.

“I volunteer as tribute.”

Title Borrowed From: Cybernid

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