Chapter Text
They don’t like it when I hide, because then they can’t find me aund if they can't find me they can't saddle me with some task. I always wonder why they can’t find me, because honestly my hiding place isn’t even that good. If you look closely, you can spot me pretty quickly. It’s so obvious that every time someone comes too close, I have to hold my breath so I stay hiden. Its childish, but I need these moments alone. A few minutes of silence. A few breaths, just me. There are simply too many of us in the house, and if I don’t hide, I’m never alone.
I’m one of 33 orphans living in the Sector 6A orphan quarters. We’re together almost all the time. At school and of course here. There are 33 of us, and the old house we live in has only a few rooms: a dormitory for the girls and one for the boys, the dining room with the kitchen, and the two bathrooms. And the staff area, which we’re not allowed to enter.
“Wiress!” Someone is calling my name, probably because I’m supposed to wash up or do my hair or… I have no idea what I’m supposed to do this time. Today is Reaping Day, but it’s still early. I don’t want to face reality. Not yet.
“Wiress!” Maybe the voice doesn’t even mean me. I’m not particularly popular, and besides, there’s another girl with the exact same name. We even have the same last name.
“Wiress!” I start thinking about my name. Hearing it so many times in a row, it was inevitable.
Wiress - Wire - Wired
Not very imaginative for a district responsible for technology and considered especially intelligent. But many of us aren’t that clever at all. Well, we’re not supposed to be. They need more people to build the inventions than to develop them.
Many people in the factories would probably understand more about technology if someone taught them, but they aren’t meant to understand. It isn’t necessary.
In school, which actually feels more like a big workshop, we learn how to recreate blueprints but not how to develop them. We learn soldering, welding, and how to assemble the smallest parts. We learn to build, not to understand. To work, not to think. We learn just to follow instructions.
Monotonous work bores me quickly, and I often think about other things. Things I’m not supposed to know anything about, but years ago I stopped accepting that my knowledge should be limited. The book I stole when I was thirteen is still my most precious possession, well hidden: Fundamentals of Physics, Volume 3. There are at least two more volumes, but I will never get to see them.
Sometimes I still wonder how I even managed to get the book. I wish there were an interesting story in which I showed courage and cleverness, but in the end I simply took the book. Someone’s had left it at a bus stop and I picked it up.
Still dangerous, but my action was dumb rather than brave. Even after five years, I’m still afraid to read it. I don’t always understand, but at least reading in it has become easier since I started.
I shouldn’t even be able to understand the words, but I want to. Sometimes I even recognize what individual components we build at school might be used for.
From my hiding place I can look outside. You can’t see much. There isn’t much to see in 3 anyway. High-rises, factories, and former warehouses that serve as homes, like our house.
Many people live in our district.
I sometimes think about all the technology that we need here despite our simpler lives, I can only guess how much the Capitol depends on us.
They need us. Well, at least our labor in the factories.
I close my eyes.
On some days I wish I could just disappear. Just be somewhere else, somewhere nicer, quieter. The humming sound that you hear everywhere in the district once again drills its way into my skull. Some days I don’t notice it at all, and on others it burrows so deeply into my mind that I can’t think of anything else. That happens to me often. I often focus on little things that others don’t even notice.
I know I’m different. Different from the others my age. I wasn’t always aware of it, but the others have told me often enough how strange I am. Sometimes more bluntly, sometimes more kindly, but always with the same result: I’m an outsider.
Chapter Text
When I come out from were i was hiding, the others are getting ready for the Reaping.
Each person takes the one good thing of clothing they own from the wardrobe.
Before that, everyone washes up, but I skip it.
The chaos in the bathrooms is too much for me, so I grab the gray dress that was assigned to me three years ago and that I’ve worn to every Reaping since, because I stopped growing at fifteen.
Some of the other girls are already standing by the wardrobe, waiting to get their clothes as well.
It feels like mass processing.
There are seventeen of us.
Nine of us have our names in the Reaping bowl.
Three of us for the last time today.
I am one of those three.
Even though my name shouldn’t be in the drawing at all.
I don’t know exactly when I was born, but it was in winter.
Still, they set my birthday to July 18th when I was found and brought to the orphanage. That’s standard practice for orphans whose birthdays are unknown.
Suspiciously many of us have birthdays in summer or fall.
That way, we stay in the Reaping pool longer and can provide for the orphanage longer.
We have to take tesserae for ourselves and for the other children, sometimes even for the caretakers.
The system is obscure and probably very unfair.
I'm don’t even sure how many times my name is in the bowl. In theory it should be seven. Fourteen at most. But I know my name must be in the bowl at least 120 times.
You’d think that would mean orphans are chosen for the Games particularly often, but I’ve only seen it happen twice. It’s probably because drawing our names doesn’t make a good show.
After all there’s no desperate family crying for their child.
No drama.
No entertainment.
If there is any reaction in the crowd when an orphan is chosen, than it’s relief.
No one misses us.
Well, at least no one would miss me.
The Reaping Square is already quite full when I arrive.
I go through the usual procedures and then head to the area reserved for eighteen-year-old girls.
I’m nervous. I always am and not just because my life is at stake. I simply don’t like big crowds. Sure, I’m rarely alone, whether in the orphanage or at school. There are always people around. But what happens here every year on the Reaping Square is something else entirely. Here lies fear is in every breath. District 3 is not one of those districts that celebrates the Games. In our District the Games are not an honor. They are a death sentence.
And this year, I’m making things harder for myself.
I didn’t notice it at first, but quietly, over the last few weeks, something has crept into me.
I feel hope.
I know I will never live an extraordinary life. I will live in a tiny apartment and do the same job every day, but if I survive this last Reaping, I will live. And that is exactly my problem.
These last days, maybe even the last weeks, I’ve done something I never allowed myself to do. I’ve dreamed of my future. A future in which I no longer have to fear the Games, in which I can simply be part of the system that keeps Panem running day after day. And maybe, just maybe, one day I might even be more than someone who stands at an assembly line every day.
I shake my head lightly.
I often lose myself in daydreams.
I know the assembly line is the only thing that awaits me, and I know that this work will make me unhappy. But still better than dying for entertainment, right?
No matter what the future holds, first I have to survive this final drawing, the last time hoping that none of the slips with my name on them gets chosen, the last time feeling my heart skip a beat when the female tribute’s name is read.
I’ve endured this torture six times already, and I hope that luck is with me one last time.
Eventually everyone has arrived, and the people on stage take their seats as well.
District 3 doesn’t have many victors.
Buckley Zion, who won the Games before I was even born, and Beetee Latier, who won them when I was still a toddler. After that there was another female victor, but she died a few years ago. We often make it far in the Games but we rarely win.
I look at Buckley, who is certainly blind in one eye, if not both. He generally seems unaware of most of the things that happen around him.
And then I look at Beetee. He is much younger than Buckley.
He smiles for the cameras, but there’s always a certain seriousness in his eyes.
I admire Beetee. He is very smart.
We’ve learned a lot about him in school. He’s an inventor, and some of the blueprints we’re given to replicate are fragments of his creations.
I would love to see one of his inventions fully assembled, to know what becomes of the components we make but I know it will never happen.
For that I would need to be one of the smart kids who are occasionally sorted out of school because they’re destined for something better.
The Capitol melody starts and pulls me from my thoughts.
Torana, District 3’s escort, steps onto the stage.
First the mayor gives his speech and then it’s her turn. The same words every year.
The same show every year.
Whenever I hear the Capitol accent, I wonder if the people from District 3 sound strange to the outside world too.
During the interviews, I rarely hear any difference.
The tributes usually sound the same. Sometimes the choice of words or the emphasis is different, but no one stands out the way the Capitol people do. At least non of the younger people.
“Ladies first.”
I was so deep in my thoughts that I missed Torana’s speech, but now she has my full attention.
One last time. One last time here in the crowd. One last time hoping that I’ll be spared.
Torana has made her choice and now pulls a slip from the bowl.
With a big, artificial smile, she steps up to the microphone.
Every year, she announces the tributes with such cheerfulness, as if they had already won the Games just because she pulled their name out of the bowl.
She unfolds the slip and pauses dramatically.
Everything is a show in the Capitol.
The tragic end of eleven children for some and entertainment for those who never have anything to fear.
I look around and wonder who it will be, who will travel to the Capitol with Beetee. Its always Beetee who mentors the tributes since Buckley is so old that even the Capitol won’t take him out of District 3 anymore.
I fear my heart will stop beating when Torana finally speaks.
“Wiress Coils.”
The crowd looks around, unsure of who was chosen.
I catch myself searching for the other Wiress—who everyone calls Irey.
How are we supposed to know which of us got picked? Which one must go to the Capitol? Which one must enter the arena?
Torana repeats my name or Irey’s name and waits for someone to finally come forward.
But I don’t want to go. I don’t want to accept my fate if there is still a chance that I’m not the one she means. If there is still a chance that I don’t have to give up the little bit of future I dared to hope for.
I know the noble thing to do would be accepting than my name was drawn and not Irey's since I'm the older one but...
Wait...
No!
My head starts spinning i just remembered something:
Irey is only eleven.
It’s my stage.
Wiress Coils.
The name exists twice, but only I am old enough.
It wasn't our name, just mine.
Only I was part of the drawing.
Only I have won.
My legs move even though I don’t want them to. I push my way forward. The crowd parts. The stage grows larger. Higher. More final.
I see Torana, see her patterned skin, her bright pink lips, the hideous outfit.
She talks to me, but the blood rushes so loudly in my ears that I can’t hear what she’s saying.
I take my place to her left.
The place that has belonged to the female tribute for decades, the place that today belongs to me.
The place that I never wanted to take.
I know I can’t change my fate anymore and must simply accept what lies ahead.
But thinking like that is easier than actually feeling it.
Tears burn in my eyes, but I try to look strong.
I don’t want the world to see me cry.
Torana looks me up and down once and then continues with the program.
She goes on briefly about how important my role is and how crucial my duty will be.
I say nothing.
My mind is quiet and chaotic at the same time.
I know there are more important things I should be thinking about, but all my brain can focus on is how strange it feels to stand on the stage.
After all the years of standing before it.
After all the years of having bad dreams about exactly this situationm
It feels so surreal that I’m no longer sure if this is real, if I’m really standing here, if I even truly exist.
I curl my hands into fists, digging my nails into my palms.
I force myself back into reality, afraid I might faint if I don’t.
Though the darkness is tempting, I know it would only make things worse.
I look into the faces before me and see, alongside the relief, a hint of pity, but no one is sad that I’m up here.
Maybe that’s why it hurts even more when I hear the agonized screams.
For the boy’s family the world collapses.
Several people shout and cry and try to reach him, but Peacekeepers hold them back.
I watch the boy as he slowly makes his way to the stage and wonder what it must feel like to be loved.
I wonder if my parents are somewhere in the crowd too, if they perhaps have other children and will sleep soundly tonight, relieved that their children are safe at home because the orphan no one misses is on her way to the Capitol.
And then I realize what else I’m feeling:
I’m angry.
Angry because I’m already too old.
Angry because I have no future anymore.
Angry because no one has ever loved me.
Chapter Text
At some point, the ceremony is finally over.
I’ve retreated so deeply into myself that I barely noticed anything after the boy steps onto the stage.
He’s only fourteen, maybe fifteen. Not very tall, and he doesn’t look particularly strong.
I don’t like him, even though I know it’s unfair. He’s been given the same unjust fate, but I can’t help being angry at him. It’s ridiculous. I don’t like him because he has a family, because people will miss him, because he has what I always wanted.
The Peacekeepers lead me off the stage and into the Justice Building, which I’ve only ever seen from the outside. It almost feels forbidden to enter it, and it feels like I'm allowed to look behind the scenes.
I just follow blindly, because anything else would take strength I don’t have.
All the new impressions slowly become too much, and I long for my hiding place.
A little quiet in all this chaos.
A little false safety.
I just want to curl up and hide from the world, the way I always do when everything becomes too much.
But now I’m a tribute. I’m part of the show, and even my death won’t be quiet or hidden. It will be broadcast on every screen in this country.
I don’t want to die, but I know I have no chance of winning.
I’m not strong.
I’m not smart.
And I’m not charming.
I won’t get any sponsors.
Now I’m sitting here alone, after they brought me into a room without windows. The room doesn’t offer much at all. Just a few seats and a flag of Panem.
Nothing else.
The room doesn’t even have a door handle on this side of the door.
And even though my fate has been decided since my name was drawn, this room has a certain finality to it.
It’s the last stop before I leave District 3 forever and go to the Capitol to die with ten others so that this year's Games can claim another victor.
I wonder if the boy, whose name I still don’t know, has a better room or if he has to say goodbye to his family in a hole like this.
Is he even allowed to say goodbye?
Or does he have to leave his family without any last words?
I shouldn’t think about him. In the end, he’s my rival in this unfair game, and I’m still bitter that his death will be a tragedy, while mine would mean another tribute has a better chance of going home.
I shiver. I’m cold, even though the room isn’t cold.
The cold is inside me. It’s a strange feeling. My whole body feels unfamiliar, and every breath takes effort.
But every breath also means that I’m still alive.
For now. But not for long.
How many breaths do I have left before I leave this world?
I shouldn’t think about it, but my death is the only thing I can think about.
Will the rest of my life look like this?
I look around the small room and honestly wonder if I’ll ever see daylight again.
After all, I don’t know what happens after someone is chosen.
I only know how the Hunger Games work as a viewer.
We watch the reaping, a few days later the interviews, and a week after the tributes are picked, the Games begin.
You’re only shown what you’re supposed to see, so I actually know nothing about the Games, at least not what they’re like for the tributes.
I could ask Beetee, but I don’t know when or under which circumstances I’ll see him.
He’s my mentor, but what does that really mean?
He’s supposed to prepare us for the Games as good as possible and teach us the most important stuff.
But what is he supposed to teach me when I can’t do anything anyway?
Beetee won with an electric trap. I barely understand the basics of an electric circuit.
He’ll probably recognize me as a hopeless case right away and turn to other things.
Things more important than me.
Things with better chances.
I hear noises outside the door and think they’ve come to get me and take me to the Capitol, but nothing happens.
I have no idea what will happen next, and that scares me more than anything right now.
I don’t like not knowing what’s coming.
That’s the only good thing about my monotonous life.
Every day is the same day, and every week is the same week.
Nothing is new, and I always know what will happen.
But now I don’t.
I don’t even know how long I’ve been sitting here.
Since my name was drawn, nothing feels real anymore, especially time.
I could have been sitting here for a minute or for two hours. It wouldn’t make a difference.
None of this feels right. I shouldn’t be alone.
Someone should be with me. Someone should explain everything to me. Someone should tell me that I can win if I just give it everything.
But no one comes, and I stay alone.
Almost my entire life, I longed for moments of quiet and complete solitude. Now I wish I were back in the noise of the orphanage.
I close my eyes and try to imagine what the boy is doing right now. Is he crying? Begging the Peacekeepers to let him go home? Is his family with him?
I don’t know why I care. Maybe because I need something, so I don’t have to think about my own fear.
I pull my knees up to my chest and rest my forehead against them. It’s the closest thing to disappearing.
At home, no one ever noticed when I hid. Only when I had something to do, somewhere to go, or something I did had annoyed one of the caretakers, than they realize I wasn’t there and start looking for me.
Without that, I probably could have disappeared for days without anyone noticing.
It hits me again how little I mean to the people at the orphanag. Even though I’ve known some of them almost my whole life.
And yet, they’re all I have.
Well all I had.
Chapter Text
I stay curled up in my chair, my forehead pressed against my knees, breathing slowly so I don’t fall apart completely.
The sounds outside the room return.
This time, they’re closer.
Voices, footsteps, keys.
My body tenses before my mind can catch up.
I straighten a little, even though I don’t know why. It won’t change anything.
My life isn’t worth anything to them.
The door opens.
A Peacekeeper steps inside, his face empty, like this is just another task on a long list.
He doesn’t look at me for long.
“It’s time,” he says.
Time for what, I want to ask. But the words stay stuck in my throat.
I nod instead and stand up on legs that feel too weak to hold me.
I take one last look at the room.
The empty seats. The flag. The gray walls. Then I follow him out.
The hallway is bright, too bright after the dim room. My eyes sting, and I blink a few times.
We walk in silence.
I wonder if this is how it’s going to be from now on. Being led from one place to the next, never asked, never told, just moved.
I think about District 3.
About the orphanage.
About my hiding spot.
I think about everything I leave behind.
A second Peacekeeper joins us.
He looks more annoyed than indifferent.
“Why isn’t she in cuffs?” he barks at the other one.
“She weighs like ninety pounds.” The first one chuckles.
“It’s protocol,” The other answers, pulling out the metal handcuffs that will soon be around my wrists.
“Lucian is scared of a girl,” the first Peacekeeper mocks him.
And it does something to me.
In a week, I will be in the arena.
I could kill people.
I could be far more dangerous than I look, but to this man I’m just a joke.
A weak girl who will die a weak death.
The Peacekeepers lead me through more hallways.
Hallways that, if you only saw them, would make you think we are all very wealthy.
There are lights embedded in the walls that look like circuits and change colors when you walk by.
I slow down a little to watch the lights, but the Peacekeeper pushes me forward.
“Go,” he says, and I do.
I stop paying attention to my surroundings after that. I just focus on the Peacekeeper’s back until all I see is white.
With a blank mind, I mirror his steps until we come to a halt.
The train is plain metal with a few cars.
Some have large windows, some have none.
They tell me to get inside, but I hesitate for just a second.
The train will bring me to the Capitol.
It will take me away from everything I’ve ever known.
It will bring me to my death.
I don’t want to go, but I know I don’t have a choice.
In all nineteen years of my life, I never really had one.
I hate the finality of this train ride.
It’s cruel to know that I will be transported through the country just to die at the Capitol.
I want to make a fuss, but I was never someone who stood up for herself.
So I step forward.
Because they ordered me to.
I follow their rules now.
Because I don’t want to risk my life yet.
I don’t want them to hurt me.
Because I know they would if I disobey.
I’m pathetic. I know.
I step onto the train.
The metal floor is cold beneath the thin soles of my shoes.
The door closes behind me with a heavy, final sound that echoes through the car. It seals my fate.
The inside of the train is quieter than I expected.
No engine roar. No voices.
I stand there for a moment, unsure what I’m supposed to do next, until one of the Peacekeepers gestures sharply toward a small passage.
“To the right.”
So I go.
There are two doors. One is closed shut with a lock and everything and one is open.
He gestures for me to go inside the room and of course I do.
“Your toilet, your bed. You will get one meal tonight.” He points first to a bucket, then to a thin mattress with a blanket.
I look around, not sure what I was expecting, but certainly not this.
“Hands.” He just barks, and I don’t react immediately.
Annoyed, he grabs my arms to unlock the cuffs.
He’s impatient and rough, but the first one to explain something to me today.
After the handcuffs are off, he warns me.
“Don’t be stupid and don’t be annoying.”
I just nod before he turns around and slams the door shut.
I hear the lock turning and after that it gets silent.
The walls and the floor are smooth and an ugly green color, designed to be easy to clean, not to be welcoming.
I hope the light stays on all night, because I hate the darkness.
I walk around the room, which only takes a couple of steps.
I sit down on the mattress, my hands placed on my lap.
I close my eyes, as if this might somehow make everything less real.
The train starts moving.
I don’t feel a jolt or a lurch, just a subtle shift.
It’s a reminder that District 3 is sliding away from me.
I wish I had a window.
I wish I could see the city lights one last time. The factories.
The high rises.
One last look at the only place I ever knew.
One last familiar sight before I enter a world I’ve never seen before, before I enter the place I never wanted to travel to.
I wonder if the boy is in the other room, the room whose door was already closed.
I wonder if he is crying or trying to be strong.
I wonder if he said goodbye.
If someone hugged him.
If someone told him they loved him.
I press my lips together and swallow hard. Crying would be useless.
Tears won’t slow the train, won’t open the doors, won’t give me a way out.
I’ve learned that over the years.
I also know they are watching, and I don’t want them to see my tears.
I straighten my back a little.
Not because I feel strong, but because I refuse to let them see me completely broken. Not yet.
They will have my fear later, when I’m in the Games.
Than I won’t be able to hide it. But right now, I still have a little bit of control.
The hum of the train grows louder, and I think we are moving faster now. I can feel it in the subtle vibrations.
I wonder how it functions, what kind of energy source it uses, how the circuits are layered beneath the metal shell.
Even now, my mind reaches for understanding. Old habits don’t die easily.
Unlike me. I will be an easy target.
A few minutes later, I feel like the train has reached its top speed.
How long will this ride take? Hours? A day? More?
I shouldn’t be caring about how fast I’ll be at the Capitol, how fast in the arena, but part of me wants it all to happen quicker.
The quicker I’m in the Capitol, the quicker I’m in the arena, the quicker this is all over.
And even though I’ll be dead, I’ll also be free of all the rules and expectations.
I kind of know what to expect in the Games, but not what will happen to me in the Capitol. And once again, this is the part that occupies my brain the most.
The Capitol has always felt unreal to me, something that exists on screens and in speeches, not somewhere you can actually go. And yet I’m being carried straight toward it, unable to stop, unable to turn around.
I think about everything that could happen, everything a tribute might have hinted in their interviews in the last years that would give me an idea of what awaits me in the Capitol. But no matter how much I think about it, I won’t figure it out until I arrive there.
I just know whatever happens next, I won’t belong to myself anymore.
District 3 is pretty much in the east, so rather far away from the Capitol.
Once again, I wish for a window.
It would probably be pretty interesting to see the other districts.
But of course, we’re denied even this.
Again, I think about Beetee.
Is he on the same train?
He has definitely seen all the districts as part of his victory tour.
But I doubt we’ll have a nice chat about it.
I pull my legs up again. My head feels so heavy.
I want to hide, to disappear.
I spent so much of my life trying to disappear, trying to carve out a little space where no one could reach me.
And now I’ve been dragged into a place where hiding will be impossible.
In the arena, there will be nowhere to vanish to.
The idea settles heavy in my chest.
I don’t know how to fight.
I don’t know how to run fast or climb well or use weapons.
I know how to assemble components, how to follow instructions, how to notice patterns.
But I’m not a fighter.
I'm in no way material for a strong tribute.
Time goes by and I have no idea how much time has passed since this morning, since my name was pulled out of the bowl.
But I feel that it’s getting late already and when a small slit in the door opens and a bag is dropped in my room, I get my answer.
It's the promised meal I guess as the slit closes as quick as it open.
I get up and take the bag.
It contains some bread and cheese.
Also a small bottle of water.
I ask myself if we'll get something else in the morning or if this is all we get till we arrive at the Capitol.
Again my mind wanders.
Will we get special food in the Capitol?
What are there even eating there?
They have excess to every district, so it must be a lot of food.
In District 3 there was just enough food to keep us well fed but non of us would over eat.
I go back to the mattress and start munching on my bread.
It isn't to different the one I ate in the orphanage.
It's the cheapest kind you can get in District 3.
But since I'm used to it I'm not bothered.
I'm halfway through the second slice when the lights turn off.
I start to panic.
This is it, I think.
This is how it ends.
Only fear until I get killed or something kills me.
Only fear for the short remains of my life.
Only fear, nothing else.
Smutdiva on Chapter 1 Wed 10 Dec 2025 08:20PM UTC
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Lika24 on Chapter 1 Wed 10 Dec 2025 10:09PM UTC
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Smutdiva on Chapter 1 Thu 11 Dec 2025 04:54PM UTC
Last Edited Thu 11 Dec 2025 04:55PM UTC
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Angela (Guest) on Chapter 1 Thu 11 Dec 2025 10:40PM UTC
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