Chapter Text
Sleepless nights were nothing new for Ceres, spending them outside on the cold winter ground, or in this case, at a friend’s.
Because her mother wouldn’t open the door for her past midnight, and she didn’t have a key, such situations were inevitable at times. Most of the time she hated it, the freezing air through her clothing, nothing but a leftover uniform to use as a pillow, but today she was glad she was away from home once more.
Being home meant putting her life in danger, as her mom was against everything she did, and if she made a mistake, there would be consequences.
Ceres didn’t know the girl she kissed that well, but she was a mutual friend once introduced to her at work. Still, the heat of their bodies against each other, the girl’s soft lips pressing against her’s, made Ceres feel ecstatic.
It had felt so special last night when they were spending time together, doing something most of district 9 deemed as forbidden, taboo, but just like always, Ceres had trouble showing her full identity. Yes, she liked girls, but boys as well.
But when you told such a thing to the girl you liked, she would be like:
‘That’s gross, you really have feelings for a man?’, and leave you immediately.
And the same went for her dates with boys, who would deem half she was as unnatural.
Sometimes she wondered why so many people around were so stuck in the past, instead of looking at the present. Labour conditions were horrible in district 9, but no one would reach out and do anything to help.
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Acting.
It had become a thing for Ceres to hide her real feelings at times, and pretend to be someone else instead. It was safer, and easier. She kept a straight face at work, pretended to focus at school, and at home, she was the best at telling lies to her mother, because the truth would be more dangerous.
‘Ceres, why were you out so late?’
She'd ask, and Ceres would answer that the peacekeepers made her work longer hours, in order to ship all the grain to nearby districts, as that would be more efficient.
Though this was far from the truth, her mother had been naive enough to believe, and Ceres was usually able to go to bed unpunished.
A rich boy named Saturn had taught her, having to use these techniques when he was chosen in Panem’s beauty pageant.
Tonight was different however, something Ceres noticed as she approached her house.
The lights were on, and the silhouette of her mother was visible from a distance. There was no point in sneaking in through the back, as her mother would question every sound she heard.
Sadly Ceres had nothing to protect herself with, her sickles safely stored at work.
But there was no point in hiding anymore, so she straightened her shoulders and knocked on the door…
‘Yes, who the fuck bothers to come around so late?’
Azalea Grist opened the door, her expression immediately changing as she saw her daughter.
‘Ah, it’s you again. And where were you that late at night? For Snow’s sake, it’s almost morning!’
Ceres opened her mouth to answer, but before she had the chance to properly explain the situation, her mother silenced her and started shouting at her;
‘No excuses can be made for such disgrace! Leaving your own mother to suffer in her silence one day before the reaping! You should be ashamed of yourself, I shouldn’t be allowed to call someone like you my daughter!’
Ceres bit her lip and mumbled: ‘As if you get to preach about healthy family bonds… You can’t really bring me down when you’re worse…’
Her mother grabbed her by the wrist, a face fueled with rage.
‘Don’t you dare disrespect me like that!’
A hand directed to her temple came closer and closer, until everything disappeared in a spiral of darkness.
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When Ceres woke up, it was on the kitchen floor. Her mother must’ve dragged her all the way there, and complained about it, but Ceres could only care about getting away from there, anywhere but at home.
Because was it really a home when there was no one worth coming back to, a place where hatred was more common than love? The reaping was today, and with a bit of luck…
No, she couldn’t think like that, she was just 17, a whole life in front of her.
She could fight, use a weapon, survive, she’d done it long enough.
But was it worth it to throw away her life like that? She wanted to be free, but were the games really her only option for it?
With that, she decided to not volunteer, at least not this year.
If she got reaped, it would be another story, but she wouldn’t get mad. She would try at least, though the draw was not in her favour. 100 sheets with her name written on them, and each year she added more.
If she got reaped, would it really be a surprise, or more of a self-fulfilling prophecy?
The girl that stared back at her in the mirror, had a large bruise on her face. It contrasted her already pale skin, making Ceres appear more ghost-like than ever.
There was no such thing as make-up to cover it with, so she tried her best with the resources she had; if she cut the front pieces of her hair a bit shorter, they would fall in front of her face, hiding the bruise.
Wearing her earrings and black blouse would help too, covering the past scars and bruises with her long sleeves.
Wearing black during reapings was considered a bad omen in district 9, the colours indicating death and sorrow, but Ceres couldn’t care less.
If anything, it would show her mother that she felt dead inside because of her.
Ceres didn’t want to start a war, but small acts of rebellion to show that her mother didn’t own her, that she had her own life, made her miserable life slightly more bearable.
The train departed early, but before Ceres arrived at the station, she took 20 minutes to get there.
A stream of people from her village joined in, some of those kids also being reaping age.
But the house next to hers remained empty, their inhabitants nowhere to be seen. It had been like this for a year now, after the 65th hunger games took the life of the couple’s only daughter. Seia.
Ceres’ best friend in the entire world, someone who she trusted everything to, even the truth about her life at home, was long gone now.
Ceres remembered the reaping, the two-syllable name called out by the escort, and the aftermath, Seia’s neck bitten through by Capitol mutts. A grave in the city centre, and no one to hold her hand anymore.
Yes, she had other friends, other relationships to hide her feelings with, but nobody could ever compare to Seia.
On reaping days, the train was free, packed with everyone who was eligible, or bothered to come.
There was no point in trying to find a seat in the overly full train, so instead Ceres just leaned against a wall, looking outside the window.
The landscape flashed by, quickly, though not as quick as some of the high-speed trains for transport between the districts.
In all honesty, she wished she could’ve taken her guitar, the half-rotten instrument being the only thing her dad left behind. She’d play a tune, and probably sing one of the district’s folk songs, whispering so that the peacekeepers couldn’t hear. Now the words of the songs, stuck in her mind, was all she had.
Softly humming a song, the train ride passed by, and Ceres tried to prepare herself for what was to come.
Would this be the train taking her away from home forever, and more importantly, was there even a home to return to?
Nearing district 9’s city centre meant that buildings appeared more frequently, and fields started to disappear.
On the horizon, the sun sat high, indicating that it was almost noon.
1 o’clock, that was when the reaping would commence, in the dull reaping square surrounded by concrete warehouses. As the vehicle neared the train station, the coloured banners announcing the 67th annual reaping became visible, and Ceres rolled her eyes at the hypocrisy of it all, sending children to their death while celebrating it like a wedding.
Anyways, if she got reaped, at least she would go in willingly, with no one to mourn her. Sure, her friends wouldn’t like it, would visit her funeral, but their lives would go on. They’d get married, work, get kids, and die. Because that was how it always went, the way of life in the districts.
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The one kiss she shared with Saturn was bitter, filled with the taste of morning coffee and uncertainty.
It happened a year ago, when they were at his house, preparing a class project together.
Seia’s ghost lingered in between the two, and her loss was still fresh. She had been a friend of Saturn as well, and the three of them always had classes together.
Still, it wasn’t emptiness that filled the kiss, instead the feeling that there was something wrong.
Maybe it was the timing, maybe in a few years time she’d be able to enjoy the experience. That reaction they shared, and neither Saturn nor Ceres spoke about the ‘incident’ ever again.
They were just friends, nothing more, nothing less.
The blood coming from her fingertip contrasted Ceres’ pale skin, but she stayed with both feet on the ground as the peacekeeper took the sample of her blood.
She was used to it, and had endured much worse.
When the woman asked how she was feeling, she rolled her eyes and walked to the square. In all honesty, she didn’t know what to feel. About life, about the reaping, about anything.
For some reason, she felt that today was the ending of something, that something macabre was coming her way, but she couldn’t exactly spin her head around what it was.
When Ceres looked up to the stage, she noticed a new escort, a young lady, her cotton-candy-blue hair put up in a high bun.
As a seventeen-year-old, she stood almost in the front, only the heads of the eighteen-year-olds blocking her way to the stage.
The escort looked confused as to what to do, and thus spent most time conversing with the mayor, who didn’t seem particularly pleased with that.
On the other side of the stage, the two living victors sat, Sylva and Veles, engaged in a serious conversation. Ceres could see a glimpse of an alcohol bottle in Sylva’s pocket, but she was too far away to confirm it.
She directed her attention to the rest of the crowd, which slowly but surely filled up completely.
After about 15 minutes had passed, the escort started talking, a long monologue representing the history of the hunger games, which was the same each year, and so boring that Ceres had trouble keeping her eyes open. That, and the summer heat on the dreadful July 4th, made the day almost unbearable.
When the escort wrapped up her speech, the mayor began to present a list of the past victors: ‘Farina Segal - 19th, Lupin Garner - 25th, Sylva Mayleaf - 39th and Veles Barton - 44th’
With the mentioning of the name ‘Sylva’ Ceres could hear some of the older people on the edge of the mumble, still bitter about what she had done to return in ‘39.
‘Idiots with their heads in the past, nothing better to do.’ She whispered to herself, concentrating on the stage again.
The usual Capitol-made introduction movie was shown on the screens, ‘the rise and glory of Panem’, ‘the honour of representing your district in the hunger games’, and all that stuff.
When the reaping finally began, Ceres straightened her back, standing up tall as the escort was picking out a name.
She held her grip firmly on the paper, opening it, and preparing to read it out loud to the microphone;
‘And district 9’s female tribute for the 67th hunger games is… Ceres Grist!’
By the sound of her name, the nearby crowd looked at her, and the escort lured her to the stage.
Ceres tried not to show any emotion on her face, which was easy as there were no tears to cry. She would’ve gone into these games sooner or later, no need to be sad about it.
Fast paced, she walked to the stage, all broad shoulders and fake confidence.
When she stood on the stage, she recognised her mother in the crowd, and even started to smile a little. After all, she would likely never have to face her again.
In the distance, the crowd echoed, the exact words she didn’t understand, but she had the feeling they were nowhere close to pleasant.
Well, her prediction was right then, nobody gave a fuck.
'Don’t cry, don’t cry,' she thought to herself.
Inside, she didn’t know what to feel.
She raised her chin up, waiting for the reaping to be over.
A seventeen year old boy with dirty blonde hair was picked, someone that Ceres didn’t recognise. It would’ve been weird if she did, with the insane amount of miles district 9 stretched for.
Still, she shook his hand when the escort asked them to, but judging at his half-starved body, she knew he wouldn’t make it far.
He looked her in the eyes, his warm brown eyes into hers, and it almost seemed like he was begging her to do something. She didn’t understand, and looked away from him, waiting for the reaping to be over.
Inside the building, Ceres was mentally preparing herself for no one to come. They’d come at her almost guaranteed funeral (because 1/24 is not an optimistic chance) anyways, so why bother seeing her alive?, so when the door opened, she was taken by surprise.
It was Saturn, whose charcoal curls she could recognise everywhere.
‘I know you don’t have all day, but you need to know that I’ll try my ultimate best to get you out,’ he spoke firmly.
‘Why bother?’ she asked.
‘There are others more deserving to win, others, who have entire families depending on them. And then there’s me. My mother doesn’t even love me, hell, I think she’d rather have me dead,’
Saturn held her hand, shaking his head. ‘I think you deserve to win, and among me many others. Seia would’ve wanted you to win. Don’t forget that.’
A tear ran down Ceres’ cheeks, and Saturn handed her a handkerchief as he spoke: ‘Listen, you’re going to come out as the victor, but we need to give you a story to root for,’
‘So you think my story isn’t interesting enough?’
He shook his head again.
‘To me it is, but to play into the minds of the Capitol, you need to give them something relatable. They don’t care about malnourishment, about the conditions in the districts. Because they simply don’t relate to it, you need to give them something they can understand instead,’
‘Like what?’ she asked, uncertain what was to come.
‘Like love. It doesn’t have to be true love, but everyone can relate to having a crush, to being a carefree teenager daydreaming about their true love every so often,’
Ceres shook her head.
‘Not everyone can, and what’s a carefree teen life if you have to spend all day at work?’
‘Trust me, in my time in the Capitol I’ve gotten to know them quite well. They’re quite hollow people, those Capitolites, but that’s besides the point,’
He paused for a second, stroking a strand of hair behind Ceres’ ear.
‘Listen, when you get into the final 8, they’ll interview your relatives, and then I’ll exclaim the ‘massive crush’ I’ve had on you since childhood. They’ll love it, the winner of Panem’s beauty-pageant together with a tribute in the games, they’ll sponsor you for it,’
Ceres considered the proposal, and finally agreed.
‘I’m fine with it, but please tell me it doesn’t have to be genuine, that it can just be an act,’
Saturn nodded.
‘Of course, and I won't ever say things you’re uncomfortable with, even if it’s just an act. I just really hope we can still be friends if you win, I don’t want to ruin what we have,’
When the peacekeepers came to tell that it was time to say goodbye, the two embraced in a tight hug, with Ceres still unsure if she would have it in her to win.
Next came her mother, and all warmth Ceres had felt before, was long gone. She was ice cold inside, preparing for what was to come next.
It was her mother who spoke first, her words as cold as ice.
‘Well, I guess the day finally came. At least I don’t have another mouth to feed now. If you come back here, don’t ever bother asking me for help to handle stuff. In fact, I won’t shed a tear at your funeral, with all the misery you’ve caused me, you dreadful child,’
Ceres tried her best not to react, not to cry, not to let anger get the worst of her. She bit on her lips, and the bitter taste of her own blood filled her mouth.
‘Farewell then!,’
She screamed, shutting the door in front of her mother’s face.
‘All I hope now is that I can outlive you,’ she continued.
Falling down to the floor, she let herself cry for once, mourning her future and her past.
Knowing the peacekeepers could come any minute, Ceres tried her best to get herself together as quickly as possible.
In the mirror she fixed her face, making sure no traces of weakness were found. That was crucial, as she knew there would be camera’s everywhere she went in the Capitol. How else would they get so much ‘backstage footage’ in their broadcasts?
The train station was only a short five minutes away from the town hall, but the peacekeepers still made Ceres and her district partner Harvest use the car.
Ceres had never been in a genuine car before, only a crappy school van her class once used during an excursion. This car was far more luxurious, velvet seatings and all that. Still there was an uncomfortable silence between the two tributes, as no one dared to speak a word.
Harvest was still sobbing in silence, attempting to dry his face with his sleeves.
Ceres pitied him, knowing that he wouldn’t be spared by the games, and more specifically, the tributes that were in it.
When they finally arrived at the train station, the crowd surrounding the reaping had gone away, and in their place only stood a small camera crew and an army of peacekeepers.
‘Standard safety procedure,’
They said, but their communal frown gave Ceres the conclusion that they wouldn’t elaborate.
So she followed them, like a model citizen, to the train. For a moment the thought of running away, seeking refuge in a nearby building, crossed her mind, but she knew it was foolish.
They’d beat her up and throw her into that damn arena anyways, so what’s the point of rebellion? She’d rather hold on to the promise she made, to at least try to win. A flicker of hope, but not her own.
When looking at her reflection in the train’s window, she saw a dead girl walking.
Whilst leaning against the window, the scenic grainfields district 9 was famous for flashing by, minutes passed, yet there was no sight of the two mentors.
Harvest was having some small talk with the escort, whose name was apparently Aria.
'Quite a normal name for someone Capitol,' Ceres thought to herself, but she stayed in her own corner for a bit.
She wasn’t the biggest fan of useless words, though she filled her conversations with her mother with a web of lies;
Where was she?
‘At work, someone had an accident and she had to fill in.’
With whom? ‘Oh, just a few colleagues,’
What she said couldn’t have been farther from the truth, but anything to stay out of trouble.
Moments later the two victors walked into the carriage, neither looking particularly pleased about having to teach two practically already dead children to not die.
‘And there we have our mentors I’d assume,’ Aria exclaimed. ‘May I introduce you to Sylva and Veles, who will indeed be your mentors this year-’
‘Don’t worry about introductions, that’s not why we’re here,’ Veles interrupted. ‘We are your mentors after all, and if you seriously want to stand a chance this year, we better get started now,’
Ceres wondered why they were taking this whole mentoring experience so seriously, considering their last victory was 23 years ago. Surely she’d have given up any hope for another one already if she stood in their shoes.
But no, the man was stone cold sober, had even put in some effort in the way he dressed, which Ceres deemed rare for such a veteran victor.
She could see that Sylva had tried her best too, but her distressed and tired face suggested that it hadn’t been easy. Still she stood next to the other victor, her eyes fixated on the tributes.
‘First question, do either of you have a preference as for who your mentor should be? Or should we do the regular female mentor- female tribute and vice versa arrangement?’ Sylva asked.
To that, Harvest nodded. ‘Fine by me, what do you think Ceres?’
Ceres thought about it for a moment, but realised she didn’t necessarily have a preference. Both had survived the hunger games after all, and seemed capable of the job. ‘I'm fine with it too,’ she concluded, and by that the topic was closed off.
The escort then suggested that it would make sense for both of the tributes to go to their own rooms to converse with the mentors, and so they did.
Sylva sat next to her on the soft bed, and spoke first: ‘This might be the most important question of all, but do you really want to win?’
Ceres didn’t react.
‘Look, I know it might sound strange, but life after victory will most likely be worse than before. I don’t think anyone came out of that arena the same, and neither did I. I guess you could say the games really fucked me up somehow,’ The victor continued, going through her short hair with her hand.
‘But what if my life is already fucked up, what if it will get better after victory?’ Ceres interrupted.
‘What do you mean?,’ Sylva wondered, ‘Is there anything you need to talk about regarding that topic?’
The girl nodded. ‘Well, there actually is one thing,’ she sat up straight, ‘I’ve always wanted to be in the games, but not for entertainment sake. It’s just... I don’t really think life can get worse than it is now…’
Silently, a tear ran down her cheek, and she decided to reveal the whole truth, instinctively knowing Sylva was someone she could trust.
‘My mother… Well, she doesn’t really love me. She’s hit me multiple times, as punishment, even for unimportant stuff. But the words are the worst. She told me no one would ever love me, that I won’t be missed. That she regretted not getting rid of me when it was an option. And after hearing it so many times I guess I started believing it myself…’
‘But to answer your question, if I'm being honest death doesn't scare me, I mean, everyone will die, it doesn't matter much. It's the process of dying that does. What if I'm attacked from behind, what if I don't achieve what I want. That is why I want to survive, just for now…’
she managed to get it out, before completely breaking down.
Sylva put her arm around her, assuring her that she was safe now.
‘Hey, we’re going to do our best to help you, me and Veles. And if you ever feel the need to talk, it doesn't matter about what, you can just come to me. I’m your mentor after all, my job is to help you,’ The woman said.
‘Thank you,’ Ceres responded. ‘But I don’t want to bother you too much with my worries, I’ll be dead in a few weeks anyways.’
Sylva shook her head, and argued: ‘Oh, trust me, I can handle it. I've been through much myself, you’re not bothering me. But you’re not going to die, I’ll make sure of that.’
Aria came into her room, telling the two that it was time for dinner.
They decided to drop the subject for a while, and come back to it later.
Dinner was better than Ceres had anticipated, and she could really see that Sylva and Veles were trying their best to make the tributes more comfortable. So she just joined in, trying to remain as friendly as possible. The food itself was no doubt delicious, consisting of 7 different courses filled with exotic ingredients, and Ceres had never eaten that well before obviously, as the only food she’d eaten back home was the poorly made tesserae bread and the fruit she’d traded.
She knew her mother had tons of food back home that she kept away from her daughter, because Ceres saw her eating it, behind a presumably closed door. Was it really a famine if only a select few suffered?
After dinner Ceres joined Sylva in her room again, and this time she was the first to ask questions.
‘How do I win the hunger games then?’
‘It depends, but if you have the skills and the will to do so, you’ll come far. That is, if you don’t act like an absolute fool there. Don’t let hubris get the best of you.’ Sylva responded.
‘What is hubris?’ Ceres asked, confused.
‘Excessive pride. You need to trust in your abilities, which, if you don’t mind me asking, what are they?, but not show off too much. The ones who go high are more likely to fall down,’
Ceres just sat back and nodded at that.
‘I’m good with a sickle. I’ve used them for more than half my life, and I’m quite confident in my abilities with them. I can handle a scythe, though the heaviness is not ideal. I’m fucked if the arena has a hot climate, but I can handle the cold quite well, I slept outside in the winter sometimes when my mother was-’
‘Hold on,’ Sylva interrupted,
‘Your mother forced you to sleep outside while it was freezing out there. She shouldn’t be allowed to call herself a mother, abandoning her own child like that!’
Ceres simply nodded at that. 'All kids deserve parents, but not all parents deserve kids,' it rang through her head.
Just in time for the reaping recap, Ceres and Sylva had made up a plan;
She’d try to make some allies, but nothing too outrageous. Trust was key, they decided. But it all came down to the initial selection of the tributes, the results of which she could now see on the screen in front of her;
District 1 delivered strong, older volunteers, while two on the other hand started off strong with a muscular girl, but when the boy got reaped no one took his place. He looked trained though, and Ceres knew she shouldn’t rule him out as a threat.
District 3’s tributes were on the younger side, and looked equally as miserable.
In district 4, a boy who must’ve been at least 6’5 volunteered, and though the girl seemed his polar opposite, being on the smaller side, and having light skin and hair, she didn’t seem weak either.
‘Yeah, you should definitely stay away from district 4, you’d be foolish to underestimate them,’ Sylva mumbled.
District 5 and 6 delivered their average tributes; not that strong, not the weakest, though Ceres was surprised to see no morphling addicts among them. They appeared regularly among the tributes of the more urban districts, such as 6 and 8, where the addiction seemed to be more of a problem. Scared to death they were either way, and Ceres didn’t blame it on them.
When district 7’s girl was picked, Ceres saw Veles’ face saddening.
‘Poor Arbores,’ the man said, and she figured the victor’s daughter was probably picked.
‘His oldest daughter, I just hope she doesn’t have to suffer too much,’ Sylva nodded, holding Veles’ hand.
Impulsively, Ceres wanted to make a sarcastic remark about the two being quite intimate, but the sadness in both their faces showed that that would not be appreciated.
District 8 flashed by without any standout tributes, and then her own face appeared on the screen. She was relieved to see that the bruise on her temple wasn’t visible, and that her face revealed little emotion.
She was not going to show her weaknesses to the others, no matter what. She would stay strong.
District 10’s canyon filled the screen, and among the dusty air, the girl was reaped.
She appeared to be quite strong, but nothing compared to the tributes they had the year before.
And when the boy walked on stage, she heard a lamenting scream calling out his name. The camera was redirected to the crowd, where a tall 18-year-old fell down to his knees.
Was he his cousin? Friend? Lover? Ceres didn’t know.
All she could tell was that he cared for him deeply, and that if there was someone deserving the victory, it might just be him.
Finally, district 11 and 12 flashed by without anything significant, and Ceres figured it would be easier that way.
The less she knew about anyone she was supposed to kill, the better.
After the recap, both tributes were sent to their rooms by their mentors, to rest for tomorrow.
Ceres couldn’t sleep, turning around and around in her bed. There was too much on her mind, the reaping, the other tributes, her mother’s screams at her.
And her own feelings, still uncertain if she deserved the victory. If she deserved to go home again.
'And what was her home anyway?,' she wondered.
A home would be a place where one could return to after work, or school, and relax. Home was supposed to be a loving and caring environment, with people that she could rely on and trust.
But her home meant hatred, fear, disgust, sorrow. Would ‘coming home’ really change anything? Did she have a home to begin with?
hiraeth; a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past.