Lucy Gray Baird is a name lost to time, yet she is kept alive in many ways.
Despite the efforts of President Coriolanus Snow to scrub the victor of the tenth Hunger Games from the face of the earth, her legacy remains.
Once, only a master copy of the tenth Hunger Games existed, but in the sixty-five years since then, the tapes have been released to the public. The editing is odd, and sometimes it’s hard to make out anything, but it’s impossible to miss how Lucy Gray sings to the serpents that swim across the asphalt and coil around her skirt like vines.
Even before the games, guitar in hand at the interviews, she trills to the crowd; serenading them into a trance just like snake charmers of old.
Yearly, her name is the first read out at the District 12 reaping. The short list of past winners is read to the hundreds of citizens made to stand in the square. No one gives it a second thought, not when they’re standing there silently pleading for someone else’s name to come out of the bowl.
Haymitch Abernathy has always been curious about his predecessor. He has a copy of the tenth games under his floorboards, and when he’s in the depths of drink, he pulls it out and watches the tape. Again and again. Not many people alive in Twelve remember the girl in the rainbow dress, but if you know the right people and have expensive booze, you can find what you need. The goat man seems to know a lot.
Lucy Gray Baird is kept alive by the spectacle that the Hunger Game have become. She’s kept alive by the mayor of Twelve when he reads her name once a year. She’s kept alive by Haymitch, who’s grown fond of the woman who disappeared before he was even born, who could’ve been his mentor. She’s kept alive by the girl on fire, whose voice is as clear as day and sweet as a songbird. Whose grandmother could memorise a song from a single listen.
theartofmadeline
gracieabrams
vaporwave
2087
romaincrisis
