Tw: Non-descriptive mentions of violence, death. Implied traumatic experiences.

Phil had spent more than enough time in his life fighting. He had fought to survive as a child, food was scare in the district in which he had been born, and there were occasions when neighbors or friends had gone “missing” over the simple matter of a meal. Some days, it seemed that almost everything was a fight. He had experienced enough conflict, enough bloodshed, for many lifetimes, let alone a single one. Just when he thought that by reaching adulthood, he had finally escaped that awful world of constantly looking over your shoulder, constantly fearing for your life, the games had stepped in and proved him unforgettably wrong. He could barely recall the sensation of a full night’s sleep. Barely remember a day where, at some time, even if only for a moment, he didn’t feel like collapsing from sheer exhaustion. Techno’s arrival had improved things of course. He had given Phil a reason to live again. Before Techno, Phil couldn’t sleep even the minuscule amount he did now, tormented constantly by vivid nightmares of his time in the games. Nightmares about what he had done, the faces of people he had killed or the people who had been killed on his behalf. The worst ones were the times when they spoke. He took comfort in knowing that if he did wake in a panic, Techno would be his first sight, resting by the edge of the bed with that warm smile he wore only when he didn’t realize that anyone was watching. He would nod gently at Phil, raising his hand as if in greeting. Phil would wave back weakly, taking a moment or two to recover from the dreams before drifting uneasily back into sleep.

And so, he watched. Year after year, the ceremony of the reaping was aired on every television channel, every radio frequency, projected for all to see across the country. There was no option, no choice given. President Schlatt had declared it for as long as Phil could remember, “The games must be shown to everyone, doesn’t matter where they are or what they’re doing. Everyone needs the reminder sometimes, nobody can escape the capitol.” He had never met the man, but he had seen the president speak. He could imagine the bloodthirsty smile that split his face in two as he spoke, and that low chuckle that always sent a shiver down Phil’s spine. He didn’t need to see the games to know that the capitol held power over him- over everyone. No, it was more personal than that. Nearly a decade now had passed since Phil’s own reaping, and yet he still watched every broadcast, with gritted teeth and a grimace maybe, but he had never missed a single one. And when they had asked him to mentor his first year’s round of tributes, he had accepted without hesitation, regardless of the pain that entering that damned training center had brought him. He couldn’t forget. He wouldn’t let himself forget. After the games had taken place, each year, all the anchors on the news spoke of the envy that all felt for the victors on the behalf of their loved ones. Even now, pondering this, Phil laughed hollowly. It wasn’t the victors that he would envy.

And so the reaping played out on the screen before his eyes. He wished he could turn off the part of his brain that analyzed each individual- each tribute’s potential in the games, but this was not the case. He didn’t know any of their name yet, that would be brought to him later that day so he could read about their backgrounds. That one’s strong. He’ll be able to hold someone off in a fight, his mind screamed, as the white-gold jacket stepped onto the stage with something that almost resembled confidence. It sickened Phil even after all this time, the way some of them reveled in it, as if the attention was something to be proud of instead of something to fear. Good eyes. Vicious. He won’t hesitate to kill. The boy stepped onto the stage, brushing his strikingly blue hair out of his eyes. He was followed by a girl maybe a year older than him with hair the color of a sunlit morning sky, that shone pink in the lights aimed down onto the stage. Not a fighter, but smart. She won’t let herself die easily. Only moments later, in a different district entirely, the boy with the guitar strapped to his back stumbled as he ascended the staircase that led to the stage. He tripped due to nervousness. He won’t handle it. He’ll die fast, probably first day if he even makes it through the beginning. There were more, too many more to count. The avian boy with the blond hair was rash, but would fight back ‘till he couldn’t fight anymore. The one in the green jacket was hiding something he was afraid of losing, although Phil wasn’t entirely certain of what. Strangely, district nine didn’t present its tributes. Phil wondered for a moment, but no. Nobody escaped the games.

Once the program had finished and the footage of the new tributes changed to that of the same capitol newscasters whose faces Phil had seen too many times for his own liking, he shut the screen off with a soft sigh. They would find him soon, the gamemakers’ messengers. They would want him to read the tribute’s files, give prospects on likely strategies and potential victors. As if he needed the files to tell. Phil’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the front door creaking open. He smiled and sat up, there was only one person who entered his house without announcing their presence. After a moment of footsteps coming closer, the door that led into the rest of the house slid open. “Hello Techno.” Techno’s hair, a shade of pink to rival the district ten girl from the reaping, was tied back with a small fastener. He smiled at Phil as he entered the room, but it was already apparently that something was wrong. Phil had known Techno for years now, he knew him almost as well as himself. Techno didn’t panic often, but when he did, you could see it in his eyes. He stood from his seat, concerned. “Techno? Are you alright?” He shook his head urgently. “Did you watch the reaping Phil?” He gently guided Techno down into the chair, perching beside him on the arm of the seat once he had sat. “Of course.” Techno swallowed. “And district nine- they didn’t present any tributes, did they?” Phil shook his head. Somehow, he thought he knew what Techno was saying, but no. No it didn’t make sense. There was no reason, there was absolutely no reason- “Phil, I just got a call telling me that I’m being placed in the games as the first capitol tribute. I’m district nine.”

I swear it will get better when it’s the actual story