Welcome to Ghosts of Tributes Past

HOME * SUBMIT These are the stories of the dead, the respected, and the unknown. The stories of how they came to be Tributes, how they fought for their lives in past Hunger Games, and in some cases, the stories of their eventual deaths.

[ghostsoftributespast]

Breaking Patterns

I always saw my life like a pattern. Correction: I saw life as a pattern. The same type of pattern I would print onto the vibrant colored fabric that would be sewed into a dress and worn by a stuck-up woman living in the Capitol. Because just like a pattern on a dress, the people of District Eight's lives' constantly repeated themselves. To grow up sewing clothes for your dolls, thinking it was just a game but eventually realizing that it was practice. Panicking every year that the Reaping may turn into your funeral. Then rotting away your life by drowning your mind in all things textiles, barely feeling the pricks of needles or the heat of an iron anymore. You have kids, and then repeat. Like a pattern. And I hated that I would follow the pattern too.

But it wasn't until my fifth reaping that I realized there were two patterns of lives in District Eight.

I was sixteen. My family and I lived in the slums of the District for as long as I could remember. It was the same year Daddy died trying to fix a cotton picking machine. It wasn't the slice taken out of him that killed him; It was the infection. It was also the year I started lining up with other women at the backdoor of one of the Peacekeeper's house to sell the only thing I had left in order to help feed my brother and sister. It must have been the year my luck ran out because it was that year, the fifth year of my name being in the drawings, that the Reaping became my funeral. My life ended with a slip of paper with a name on it. Roosevelt Pype. And this was the second pattern of life I had always forgotten about. The life of a District Eight Tribute. And this was the life pattern that I had taken.

My Mother cried the entire time I was given with her, repeating the word no again and again. I don't blame her; all District Eight tributes have died in the bloodbath. I held my little sister in my lap and kissed her forehead as my older brother stroked my hair and told me he was so sorry for not working harder because then maybe I wouldn't have needed to also take tesserae and I would not be at my funeral. I wiped his tears away and told him to take care of Marcy.

I was dressed in maroon velvet for my interview. I wondered if my hands had ever touched the fabric before it became my dress. But I never dealt with velvet often, so the odds were slim.

My escort said “You look great in velvet Roosevelt!” and then as if in a eureka moment she gasped, “Roosevelvet! How cute is that?!” And she wouldn't call me anything else after that, even when I demanded she called me Rosie.

My interview went so-so, and I bet waving to a nearby camera and mouthing the word goodbye at the end of it made me anything but likable. I got a training score of three with survival skills I picked up in training. My odds for the Games were grim.

While I stood on my metal plate, ready to rise into the arena, the Escort whose name I never learned came to wish me false luck.

“See you later, Roosevelvet!” was the last thing I heard before the plate started to rise. And I was horrified that the last thing I would hear would be a nickname I despised.

The arena was woods in the middle of a hard winter. The trees were bare and gray, the ground was covered in at least a foot of snow. No wonder we were given thick, insulated winter coasts and bulky boots with grooves on the soles. I searched for the District Four tributes and laughed out loud at their faces. Growing up by the always warm and sunny sea was no help to them today. I sighed, and thought of what a beautiful canvas the snow would be for all the red that would soon dye it. It would be like dying some fabric. Maybe even velvet.

And that was when a bell in my head went off, and I realized I was following the pattern of one of the patterns of life in District Eight. I would die in the bloodbath and be exactly like all other tributes of ours. I did not want to follow the pattern. I did not want my blood dying the snow.

So when the sixty seconds were up and the gong rang, I tried.

I ran for the barren woods, ran and ran in the bulky boots until my feet felt raw, and then I climbed as high as I could go without the branches breaking, and scanned the area. There was no concealment from the trees since they had no leaves, so I could see everything. I could even see a boy digging a hole into the frozen ground. I watched him dig for hours and then cover the hole with a some sort of flimsy fabric which he covered with a light layer of snow until the hole disappeared. And then he put his backpack between the hole and a tree in a way in which you would cross the hole to reach it. That is only if you didn't know the hole was there. I climbed down the tree, nearly falling from it's flimsy branches. Then I searched the snow for anything. A rock, a fallen branch. Something that I could use as a weapon. I found a rock, as big as my head, and heavy. I could barely hold it with one hand. I walked toward the hole, the rock sticking out of coat pocket that didn't face the tree the boy was hiding behind. I made a big deal of being surprised when seeing the backpack and then I jumped over the where the hole was to get it. And I heard a frustrated grunt. The boy came out of hiding, a short knife in hand. He came towards me, jumped over the hole onto the small space I was on. And I was so scared and in a panic and I just pushed him really hard and he lost balance and fell into the hole. But that wasn't before stabbing me. While he was on his back in the shallow hole, I jumped down and dropped the rock on his head. A cannon sounds. I pull the knife out of my side.

In the pack was bread, rope, a needle, a lighter, and a pair of gloves. So I decided to do what I did best, the thing the Capitol had forced my District to do; Sew. I unraveled a piece of string from my shirt, thread it through the needle, and put the tip of the needle in the flame from the lighter. I took off my jacket and pulled up my shirt, grateful for the cold to numb my skin. And I slowly sewed the gash from the knife up.

And I knew I already was out of the pattern. And I was proud. I knew I wouldn't win, but I tried.

And when I did die, there were seven tributes left. A boy came after me with a branch he carved to have a deadly point, and even though I ran, he was faster. And the spear went through my shoulder, in a spot between my heart and neck. And I did what I did best, the thing the Capitol had forced my District to do; I dyed the fabric of snow maroon.

Submitted by "Dreamer"

[ghostsoftributespast]

The Capitol is Your God, Now.

Moments before death, with a sharpened stone set deep in her belly, a small silver parachute descended upon Grey Redpath. She had killed no one, she had done a shit-poor job of keeping herself alive, and she wasn't even that pretty. The idea that she might have a sponsor was more boggling than the fact that she was in a government sponsored coliseum.

She opened it, every movement exacerbating the pain that radiated through her abdomen. Medicine? Bandages? 

Rather, inside she found a small vial of wine, and a silver box. A note sat in the bottom of the container, and as her eyes flew over the words, she began to cry.

"Eat this, for it is my body and my blood. The blood of the new and everlasting covenant. Eat of this and your soul shall be healed."

Before the war, before the disease, before the hate, before these first games, a large church stood in the center of District 6's main square. At age 7, Grey had walked down the center aisle in the prettiest, whitest dress she had ever seen, and promised the priest that she loved Jesus. She was assured that he loved her, too. 

She didn't actually think so until the day she took a stone knife to the gut, but her new awakening was plenty to open the gates of a Heaven the Capitol claimed did not exist.

Wincing with pain, she pried open the box and placed the stale cracker on her tongue, chewing gingerly. She unscrewed the crystal bottle and let the cold, bitter wine wash over her mouth and into her aching belly. It tasted oddly like home, and briefly, Grey hoped that her grandmother was watching. 'What a good Catholic, I've become,' she thought, with a tinge of sarcasm coloring her inner monologue. She laughed, and then curled up as blood seeped from the corners of her mouth. She coughed.

"Forgive me Father, for I have sinned," she sighed, as she folded her hands together and died. The commentators described her face as "serene."

Submitted by larry-the-lobster

[ghostsoftributespast]

Chaff walked up the stairs as steadily as an ox after they called his name. Six feet of toned muscle; 14-year-old Chaff seemed to have been bred for this Reaping. The shining Justice Building of District 11 loomed over him as he waved to the massive crowd of his people.

            “I will come back!” he yelled to them. The people roared their approval before he disappeared into the bowels of the Justice Building.

            During training, he used his massive frame to intimidate his fellow tributes, and used his humor to befriend allies. He would be walking into the arena with a band of five capable tributes for allies.

The Gamemakers awarded him with a 10, and nobody was able to match his score. In the interview, he used his natural charm, wit, and confidence to win the support of the Capitol. Now he would have strength, numbers, and sponsors on his side. Everything was adding up to an easy victory.

Two weeks and twenty-three dead later, the boy from District 11 was crowned the victor of the 45th Hunger Games. Only, he wasn’t Chaff any more. Not only did he loose a hand in the games, but he lost himself. He wasn’t the same confident and funny 14-year-old boy. He wasn’t the one who had shouted promises to the crowd at the day of the Reaping. Chaff had been left behind the moment he had felt the blood of his first kill on his fingers. Chaff didn’t keep his promise: he didn’t return.

At first, he was too young to mentor. He found solace in the laughter of children with full stomachs. He was able to cope with what he had done.

But four years and countless sleepless nights later, he turned to the only thing left to ease his pain: the bottle. Every time he was able to drown out the noise of his sins with liquor, he found a moment of peace. He was happiest when he had no memory of his past and no concern for his future.

The 50th Hunger Games passed, and a 16-year-old boy much like Chaff won. His name was Haymitch. Chaff met him during his victory tour, and they instantly clicked. Every year after that, Chaff looked forward to seeing Haymitch during the games. They slowly became more than friends: they became brothers.

They were brothers in the pain that they shared, and the bottles that they drank to kill that pain. They kept each other alive.

Twenty-four years after they first met, Haymitch had his first victor. In fact, he had two. Whenever Haymitch and Chaff met, all Haymitch could talk about were the two sixteen-year-olds that were about to change everything.

The 75th Hunger Games came and took Chaff back. Haymitch convinced him to help protect his two victors so that Panem could be free. Chaff could give only one response: yes.

Chaff was able to see Haymitch one last time before entering the Games. He knew that once he entered the arena, he would not come out. Haymitch knew it too.

During the climax of the Games, Chaff saw his opportunity to do one last thing for the brother that had saved his life. He fought off the man from District 2 in order to save the life of the boy from District 12. He saved the life of one boy who would go on to help the Mockingjay save Panem.

That was the last thing he ever did.

  Here reads his gravestone:

CHAFF AMARANTH

DIED FOR A BROTHER,

DEAD TO SAVE US ALL.

Submitted by myshiphasrunaground

[ghostsoftributespast]

The 67th Games were hell in what seemed like heaven.

Kedai Lin came from District 3, with parents who came from two different sides of town. He was smarter than even an average District 3 citizen, and by 17 was working as an electrical engineer, creating complex circuitry all over Panem. No one could imagine he would be the one to be reaped. But when he was, he came in fighting. During training, he effectively used his time to somewhat master the use of a knife and the skill of identifying edible plants. He had already picked up useful survival skills from his time working around to help him as well.

In his Gamemaker session, he successfully created an electrically charged knife with a rubber handle. He was able to hook it up to a powerful battery he placed in the handle and in one throw, shut down all the lights and electricity in the training room. He received a 10 for it as the Gamemakers thought with the right sponsors, he would be unbeatable with his smarts and skills. His interview went well, with his wit adding a personality to his face.

The arena looked innocent. It was a meadow of sorts with a small forest and a lake with a little island where the cornucopia was. There was a surprising amount of rocks and rock formations everywhere as well as fruits.

The Games start, and Kedai picks up a backpack floating in the water and runs before the real bloodbath starts. He makes his way into the forest and finds himself slightly underground under a large slab of stone. 

That night is when the real hell begins. It rains. But not just any rain. It's acid rain, undrinkable rain. Anyone who drinks from the lake or from the rain will die. The rain will burn tributes' skin and eventually cripple them close to death. The rocks are not affected by the rain and therefore are the only method of shelter.

Kedai realizes this. He observes a girl attempt to eat one of the fruits from the trees, and though she can get it open, one bite poisons her and kills her. He squirts the juice onto the ground and figures out it's just as, if not more acidic than the rain. 

The rain must be equivalent to battery acid. Suddenly, he gets an idea. He's only seen it been done once. But in his bag, he finds some wire, metals, and clips and he attempts to make an electrocution device using the acid from the plant as energy. Before he tries it out, he goes to look at the cornucopia to find that the goods have been stashed and pressed up against...the metal horn. He works at night while the careers are out hunting or have fallen asleep with electrician's gloves given to him by a sponsor and wires fifty or more of the deadly plants to the cornucopia.

Sure enough, the girl from district two goes to retrieve an axe and is fatally electrocuted. That night, when the acid rain falls, it only makes the wires spark more.

The problem is, after 5 fatalities by this method, people are catching on. And with 8 players still left in the game besides Kedai, he has to improvise. Luckily, with no one at the cornucopia, he disengages the fruit and is able to grab some food and water from the inside...as well as one knife. 

All the players have migrated into the forest, and with a parachute left in his backpack, his final plan comes crashing down. He attaches the parachute in a tree to some food or goods he took, lets it fall down near a tribute, and while over top of them, drops a knife into their body.

This method of silent killing works until the last boy from District 9 sees him up attaching the parachute. They brawl, and Kedai kills him.

He's alone, scared, and mentally destroyed, and when they announce him as victor, he's curled up in a ball on a rock crying and convulsing. 

He has strong PTSD afterwards and can no longer eat citrus fruits anymore without being reminded of what he did and how he killed those children. He also hates the rain, and when there is a lighting storm, he will flashback badly.

During the rebellion, he was 25. He did electrical work and planning in District 13 but never made a strong impression on Katniss Everdeen or the others, due to his social anxiety formed after the games. But, just like his silent killings, he was a silent helper for the cause, retreating back to his home in District 3 after a new nation formed, having fallen in love with another victor from District 8 who was 22 at the time. They try to live their lives together as well as they can.

Submitted by Lovethroughthedarkdays

[ghostsoftributespast]

He knew he didn't belong. He was a freak. He was from District 1. The Capitol's favorite. He was genetically modified as a child to be the best tribute the Capital has ever seen. He was not aloud to play or even talk to other children and was trained to kill.

  So when he was 13, he volunteered to be tribute and took his place next to a fierce looking 18 year old girl. No one wished him goodbye because he had no family or any friends. He HAD to win so when he came back home everyone would love him and want to be his friend.

    He scored a 10 in training and talked to no one because that is all he had known. He entered the arena and it was a snow covered wasteland. This had never been done before and the boy had never seen snow and was not prepared. But once that gong rang he knew what he must do. He killed 5 children on his own and wounded another. Then took off into the woods with only a backpack and a knife. The whole time he told himself he had to win to have friends.

Then a blizzard came he had to take shelter. He found a small cave but he was not alone. A small boy form District 5 was there. He did not kill the boy because he thought the boy might be useful. They stayed in that cave for 3 days and the boy had finally made a friend. They worked together and helped one other survive. Then it was down to the two of them and the boy who had no friends had finally made one and killed himself to save other.

Submitted by hateu-loveu-withallmyheart

[ghostsoftributespast]

Anonymous asked: Why haven't you been posting anything for a while?

I haven't been receiving submissions!

This blog is still open, so everyone feel free to submit your stories!

[ghostsoftributespast]

The 60th Annual Hunger Games

District eight's designer hated the Hunger Games. She would always get attached to her tributes only to see them die. So on the year of the 60th Annual Hunger Games she decided to show the Capitol what the games were really about... When District eight rolled out onto their chariot the people of Panem gasped in shock. The tributes were dressed in tattered, bloody clothes with makeup arranged on their bodies to resemble deep gashes and cuts. The male tribute's head piece was a fake knife that was embedded in his head, while the young female tribute's head appeared to have been half chopped off with the way she held it. They truly were what the games were about, horrible, bloody and disgusting. District Eight's designer knew she had set herself a death sentence, but the people of The Capitol couldn't undo what they had seen. So when Tigris was called to see President Snow, she simply smiled.

Submitted by gossipchicken

[ghostsoftributespast]

I run away from the Career camp, realizing that the pair from 2 are merciless killers, and that the boy could've saved Glimmer, but he didn't. I reach a clearing and see a pair of tributes. The girl from 12. I know that if I want to win, she must die. I throw my spear but the small girl from 11, I think, steps in and gets nailed. I feel an arrow pierce my neck and say Glimmer's name before I die.

Submitted by Joe M

[ghostsoftributespast]

Home was the sea.

The warm water that ran along the coast of District Four had fed her when she was hungry, bathed her when she was dirty, and, in her moments of sadness, its warm waves had embraced her. The sea had made her strong. A lifetime of battling the tides left her legs tan and powerful while a decade of hauling nets full of struggling fish had done the same for her arms.

Long and lean like an eel. The sea had also made her deadly. She could throw a spear as well as any man, and could gut and clean a fish with less than a dozen cuts of her knife.

Sharp and dangerous as a shark. The sea had trained her for this moment her whole life. So, when the call went out for volunteers during her last eligible reaping, she made sure she was the first to respond, elbowing her way to the front of the crowd, hard faced, daring anyone to dispute her claim. Blood pounded in her eyes like the surf against the shore, and the only sound came from the gulls overhead.

The Capitol loved her as they loved all beautiful things. She looked like a sea goddess wrapped in silks that flowed like water from her shoulders. Her hair was an ocean of brown waves cascading down her back. They threw rose petals at her feet as her chariot rolled through the city and called out Siren! and Mermaid! when she passed. To her it sounded like cheers blended together into one roar, and when she closed her eyes she heard only the sea, urging her on. The Tributes feared her as they fear all powerful things. She was a sea storm in the Training Center, power and skill and deadly determination; washing over each station with the fury of a hurricane. They avoided her when she approached and whispered hushed alliances behind her back. To her it felt like she was adrift alone, and when she closed her eyes she dreamed about the sea, and she found courage. Then came the day she rose into the Arena. The sun was too hot, the air too dry; and all around her the landscape was filled with reds and browns and dusty oranges. The desert caught her off guard, and she hesitated one second too long on her podium, missing her chance at the Cornucopia. Instead she was forced to run and wonder how a girl from the sea could survive here. She ran until she was exhausted, collapsing under a dead tree. Sweat rolled down her face, stinging her eyes and moistening her dry, cracked lips.

And, as she tasted the salt of her sweat, she remembered. The sea is within me. She would go on to win those Games, the mermaid from District Four who should have shriveled under the desert sun. Over time, they told her that she would forget the faces of the children she killed, that time would wear away their blood and tears like the ocean on a rock. But she dreamed of them every night, their faces crashing over her again and again her in a typhoon of agony. She was the Victor for only a year before she walked into the sea, longing for the last gift it could give her.

Submitted by Jedishywalker

[ghostsoftributespast]

As Perfect as a Snowflake

It was something like a joke in District Nine, where snow was a story seen on TV, something that only happened in the Hunger Games. They would tell children that they were as perfect as a snowflake, and the children would smile and laugh at the joke.

Isa was never one of these children, but she was the smartest in her family. She always looked out of place, with her too-pale skin and dull eyes. The reason for her looks was simple, Isa was sick and no one knew why.

She had always been sickly, from the day she was born. Her skin lacked color, and her hair did too. her eyes were a dead red, dull and without shine. Words would follow her when she left her home, Freak, Disgrace, Albino. She never understood why they hated her so much.

The First Quarter Quell was the day of Isa's birthday. Her fifteenth to be exact. They had to vote the Tributes in, and every single ballot had Isa's name marked for female Tribute. Even her parents threw their freak of a daughter to the wolves.

Isa held her head high as she walked away from the one place she called home. These games would kill her, and that would be that. The amazement of the Capitol was unexpected.

They told her she was a rare beauty, and that she was perfect. For once, Isa was loved.

The Arena that year was an Arctic Forest. Isa blended in to the colorless land, and within two weeks it was her and the girl from Three left.

Isa walked right up to the girl, not a weapon in sight. The other girl stared at her, before reaching out a hesitant hand.

"Copper." That was the name the girl from Three whispered, before handing a small, poisoned knife to Isa.

That day was Copper's birthday. Her fifteenth to be exact.

It was also the day a simple saying, As Perfect as a Snowflake, fell from grace. No one whispered the words as the colorless Victor walked by, instead they locked themselves up tight in tiny cottages near the grain fields.

Isa lost her family, but she did not lose her life. She met a nice boy, and started a nice family. Their daughter was named Copper, after the girl who gave her life for Isa.

She was Reaped for the games too. And, like her namesake, she died on her Birthday.

Her fifteenth to be exact.

Submitted by perfectrebel

[ghostsoftributespast]

The 28th games. The girl from 4, she’s the projected winner. But then there’s the boy from 7. The one that has had his ax the entire time. He picked it up at the cornucopia. He’s decapitated two tributes. Cut through the spine of three others. Polls are changing. The girl from 4? No one believes that she will win anymore.

The final battle and it takes place right at the cornucopia, and the rain in the arena is coming down heavier than during any day of the three weeks they’ve spent in there. She walks up and staggers to the gleaming horn, tries to steady herself, tries her best not to cry out over the gaping hole in her side. This rain must be manufactured specially by the cruel gamemakers because each drop makes her wound burn, her blood boil. Where’s the last damn tribute? She has to kill him. Soon.

And he’s there, he’s been sitting there on his platform for a long time, waiting for 4 to arrive. His ax is nowhere to be seen. She smiles.

“Just you and me, 7!” she screams at him. Not that she expects any reply back. The silent one, the boy who isolated himself during public training, the only tribute that did nothing but breathe calmly during his interview. The one everyone thought was calm. The careers all said he’d be an easy kill. He’s killed three three out of five careers.

“We’re all dead, aren’t we?” he asks. His voice shocks her; smooth, sarcastic, almost happy. But she doesn’t let that scare her. She knocks an arrow back and aims at his forehead, at the spot right between his two brown eyes. “I have a sister, you know. Elsie. And you. You have a fiance waiting.”

At the mention of her lover, 4 stops, hesitates, her fingers don’t release the arrow like they are supposed to.

“Instead of being with them, we are here. And it’s so wrong.”

Every screen in Panem turns blank and people are confused when the cameras turn back on at the exact moment a cannon sounds. A voice rings out overhead, announcing the District 4 girl as the victor. Her bow is cast several feet away from her, she’s on the floor and hugging her knees. What’s going on? The District 7 boy is gone, but no hovercraft has yet come to collect his body. There’s just a bloody mess on his platform.

She dies in the hovercraft

The games are a failure.

His family is killed.

Submitted by exit-seraphim

[ghostsoftributespast]

She lived in the shadow of her sister. Olive was her sisters name Olive won the Hunger Games. Olive got everything. And little Kit got to sister and listen to people say “Oh why can’t you be a brave as Olive or Olive won the Hunger Games and what did you do?”

Kit hated being in the shadow of her sister. Of course she loved her sister, but she just hated everyone else asking her to be something she was not. So in during the 54th hunger games Kit stood in line with the rest of the girl and one behind her whispered “Bet you Kit won’t volunteer like her sister did.” And that got to Kit.

So she volunteered. Everyone at the Capitol said ” Oh look she looks just like her sister or i hope she is a brave as her sister.” She went to the bathroom and cut off all her long blond hair. And the next day in the arena she stepped of the platform. Stepping out of her sisters shadow and being her own person.

Submitted by hateyouloveyou112723 

[ghostsoftributespast]

Last year, President Snow made a rule that all games must send 48 kids, but his idea was put off. But the Council said that it could happen that year, so 48 went in the 73rd Annual Hunger Games.

This one boy from 2 was only 12, but he killed 11 tributes singlehandedly. It came down to the final 4 and the boy from 2 was up against the huge boy from 11, the boy from 12, and the girl from 12. The boy from two cut off the girls head and went looking for the boy from 12. He lost his machete to bear mutts and his survival pack to the sandstorm that brought the final 3 together.

The boy from 12 had an axe and the boy from 2 had nothng. The boy from 11 had a metal club. The fight was gruesome but the boy from 12 killed the boy from 11, and then the boy from 2 killed the boy from 12.

Then, in the 74th games, a similar thing happened. The boy from 11 had nothing, and he was killed by the boy from 2. Everbody thought the boy from 2 would win, but when the boy from 12 threw hIm off the horn. He was eaten by dogs and the pair from 12 were forced to fight, but they used berries to their advantage. But they were both crowned, and Snow swore that in the 75th, the two would go, and they wouldn’t get out again.

They both did….. along with 4 others.

Submitted by "Joe"

[ghostsoftributespast]

The submission box is still open, and I'm all out of new things to post! Put on your creative caps and let's get this show back on the road!

I apologize again for the death of this blog. I'm prepared to revive it with the help of your stories! 

[ghostsoftributespast]

It was the 73rd games, and President Snow announced that it should be a quarter quell every year. His idea was put off, although the council said that the 73rd should be a quarter quell for the exitment. The careers that year were very interesting, but deadly. They sent 48 tributes to go, and 1 to come out. From district 2, it was all 12 year olds. But they were very deadly. In training scores, the boy with the blonde spiky hair scored an eleven by throwing spears into the arteries of dummies, throwing knives into the same area every time- the head, and using his machete with such deadliness that Gamemaker Desora strategically placed weapons all over the arena- a forest with a mountain side.

The games began, and 19 died in the blood bath, 6 of which were the blonde boy from 2. This year was also special because the tributes from 2, Joe, the blonde one, was the brother of Lily, the girl and Danielle, his friend, and Owen, his friend since birth. These four teamed up with the knife thrower from 5 and the spear thrower from 1, Anthony and Kameron. These 6 Careers, or twelvies, as they were called by the others, dominated the arena. By the end of the week, only 11 remained and half of them were from these…. children. Lily was killed by a mutant bear, Kameron was killed by enormous spiders, Danielle was betrayed by Anthony, and Anthony’s neck was snapped by Joe. Owen and Joe hunted down the last people until 3 remained. They went there seperate ways and Owen shot the boy from 1, the enormous boy, Strenge, and went after Joe. They met in the valley near the mountains. 3-4 of the viewers were for Joe. Owen shot. One arrow protruded from Joe’s leg. They were bother bloody, burned, and starving, something they hadn’t expirienced. Owen ended up with a spear in his chest and a knife in his arm. He dragged himself to a tree, and Joe approached. But suddenly, the mountain, which turned from white to black, started to spew lava. It came down very fast. Joe ran for it. But Owen just turned to the other side of the tree. He lost his legs in the process while the lave spewed around him.

The agony! He heard a cannon and hear the trumpets. He won against his best friend, and to keep it in his mind, all he had to do was look at his legs, the two stubs that carried him so far.

Submitted by "Liam Keegan"

[ghostsoftributespast]

In District Ten, where it was expected that Cows and Sheep would wander, three things were commonly accepted as unconditionally true: The Capitol is supreme in its power, The Hunger Games will never cease, and Maura Blackwood had morbid thoughts.

The last was proven when the Reaping for the 37th Hunger Games floated around. Maura’s name had been picked- out of millions of slips, no less- and she would fight to the death.

A good third of the Population thought Maura had the guts to win. another group insisted she would die in the Bloodbath- Maura’s friends included. The last group were mindless sheep, and lacked the brain power to form opinions.

When the Tributes were paraded around, Maura was dressed as a milkmaid. her District Partner was a cow. The crowd cheered, she was a favorite. the seventeen-year-old basked in their adulation.

In training, she was marked as an odd one. She floated from station to station, often singing twisted versions of nursery rhymes. Even the Careers were afraid of the small girl who seemed to lack any sense of humanity.

Not that she was insane or anything.

Maura was proud of her 8, earned by throwing knives with her feet, climbing the wall with two swords, and neatly flipping off the ceiling, landing on the wrestling mats.

Everyone-including the idiot of an Escort she had-was impressed with Maura’s score. It became the topic of speculation. How could a tiny girl like Maura Blackwood receive such a high score?

In her interview, Maura played the part of sadistic killer perfectly. Her haunting voice, combined with the words she was singing, freaked her competition out more than they’d admit.

Caesar Flickerman, whose color was bubblegum pink, asked her about her family. Maura replied, strangely cheerful, that they were dead. “We found them floating down the river, poisoned. I had nothing to do with it of course. Even though they had grounded me the day before…” She really was unstable.

In the Games, she quickly teamed up with the careers and killed them all in their sleep. As she slit their throats, she laughed. “I’m not dead yet, Kira.” She cackled.

she made it to the final three, before she was stabbed through the heart with a rusty piece of metal. She died singing- a haunting song that filled her opponents’ minds with fear- the song she sung after each one of her kills.

Run, Run, Run, away from me

You’ll be dead, just wait and see

Blood is dripping, ‘cross the floor

Little Tributes are no more

Run, Run, Run, away from me

I’ll win these Games, just wait and see.

After the Rebellion, after the Capitol was overthrown and the games were no more, the Citizens of District Ten reconsidered their rules of thumb. The Capitol was not all powerful, the Games were not unstoppable. However, Maura Blackwood always did, and always will, have Morbid thoughts.

Then again, things could have been different.

Submitted by perfectrebel

[ghostsoftributespast]

There is a part of District Eleven where all they grow is flowers. Acres of them, blooms of every color as far as the eye can see.

That was where he worked, the boy. That was where he worked and where he watched her, and where, under the light of a half moon, he first kissed her. That night she had come to him smelling of earth and honey and there were yellow flowers in her hair, and he had loved her.

On the day she was reaped, he watched as she walked up onto the stage, head held high and unsmiling. She wore a green dress and there were pink flowers in her hair, and he loved her.

The night of the Tribute parade he held her mother’s hand as they watched her chariot’s processional through the Capitol. She wore a dress made up of a thousand twisting silver garlands and there were golden flowers in her hair, and he loved her.

The day she died he watched as the girl from seven plunged her axe deep into her skull. She fell backwards into the stream and blood bloomed like a red flower in her hair, and he loved her.

He waited at the train yard for her to return to him until, finally, the tiny pine box was unloaded alongside the barrels of grain and crates of salted beef. She wore the clothes she died in but he placed white flowers in her hair, and he loved her.

Fifty years later, he watched the girl from eleven die bloody and broken in the arms of the girl from twelve. She had a spear through her belly, but there were flowers in her hair.

On the day the Victory Tour came, he thought of her as he licked his lips and whistled. He wore a faded red shirt under his overalls as the bullet entered his skull, and he loved her.

Submitted by jedishywalker