The Tragic Tale of Fatin Blackstone (A Hunger Games fan fiction)

I am no one important.

Not anymore.

Once, there was a time when the whole world watched me. Everyone knew who I was and where I was from and what I was doing and wearing and even eating. But now? Ha, no one cares now... I doubt they'd even remember. After all...

I died seventy-four years ago.

My name was Fatin Blackstone. I grew up in District Nine in the aftermath of the Dark Days. I was one of the twnety-four unlucky children to be dragged off to the Capitol to be publicly slaughtered in the guise of 'control'. I was thirteen years old.

Things were bad, back then. We'd just come out of the Dark Days. Our new home was District 9, and we were in charge of growing and processing grain for the Capitol and the thirteen Districts. All the Districts and the Capitol were compiled into one nation called Panem. We had no history, no legacy, we had nothing. All of that was stolen and obliterated by the Capitol. No one knows where we come from, what existed before Panem, even if there was something worth anything before the Dark Days. There had to be something in the beginning. After all, something can't be made from nothing. The government was oppressive... stifling... suffocating. Government-issued drones called Peacekeepers paraded around the District in their stark white uniforms... almost like angels, but not nearly as forgiving and gentle.

My father was beaten to death by one Peacekeeper.

I'll never forget him, ever.

He had long blond hair, reaching past his shoulders, and fierce grey-green eyes, like the color of a bruise. His skin was almost as white as his uniform, a sickly pallid color. His face was always twisted into something between a grimace and a scowl. His name was Theseus Hipswitch.

My family was small to begin with, just my father, mother, myself and my older brother. My parents worked in the fields and my brother Barley and I worked in the fields. One day about a year or two after my father's untimely death (and subsequent burial by bonfire), near summery like weather, the government forced us all to gather in front of the Justice Building, where the Mayor and the head of the Peacekeepers resided, along with their families.

The Mayor rambled on and on about the reform of the country in the aftermath of the Dark Days. Times were changing, people were changing, the world was changing... but we were not allowed to change with the world and the people and the things. We had to stay here and do as the government said. And that included playing their games.

One in particular.

A new game no one was familiar with.

The Hunger Games.

Two glass bowls were placed in front of a flashy Capitolite man with bright green hair and a sky-colored suit.

Barley grabbed my hand, his palm sweaty. No one knew what was going to happen, no one. For all we knew, whoever's name was on the slip of paper he pulled out of the glass bowl could've been selected to go live in the Capitol.

"Jeeves Salaman!!" the Capitolite bellowed.

A strange ripple went through the amassed District. A tall boy, probably around six- or seventeen, with bushy orange hair strode forward bravely, holding his head high as he walked up the massive stage that was set up in front of the crowds. Even though I was holding onto Barley with all my might, I felt so incredibly lonely.

"It's alright, Fatin," he assured me. His grip on my hand only tightened as excruciating, agonizing seconds dragged slowly on.

It felt like the world had slowed down. I watched as his hand, tinted yellow, reached into the second glass bowl. He fumbled around with the paper slips, struggling to find one to grab and pull out. His tongue flicked out over his lips, wetting the dark green lip color he painted on them and making them shine with a certain artificiality. Slowly, slowly, slowly, so slowly... he finally withdrew his hand from the bowl, a single folded strip of paper pinched between two of his yellowish fingers. He brought it in front of him and scanned the crowd. From where I was standing, somewhere in the middle, I could clearly see the brimming excitement he harbored. A lump rose in my throat, and I struggled to swallow and maintain my composure. He brought his yellow hands together and unfolded the slip of paper.