Chapter 13: 150th Reaping

My eyes are bleary as Bannock and Sierra support me on either side. My eyes are glued to the TV, as the President makes the announcement for the (already?) Six Quarter Quell's Twist: "On the 150th anniversary, as future generations were destroyed by Rebellion, only 5 to 11 olds will be Reaped."

Almost as soon as the programming's over, my telephone rings, and I hear the croaking voice of my wife of 47 years.

"Worst. Quell. Ever." Johanna has her opinions, and she will make them known, whether you want to hear them or not. And she has some authority on the situation, having won a Quell herself. I feel lucky to be married to her. "Children before Reaping age competing? Let's hope it's short."

"I doubt that, Jo-Jo," I tell her. "You really think a 5-year-old is going to know how to pick up a weapon, much less use it? It will take so long because the tributes won't know how to fight. And some won't want to."

"I'll see you at the Capitol. I love you," she murmurs. She hangs up.

"Was that Johanna, Dad?" Sierra rubs my arm sympathetically.

I nod. "I'll see her for the Quell when I get there. Help me to bed, sweetheart."

After 76 years, I am still the only living Victor from District 12. People are starting to view me as a useless embarrassment. I wonder if this is how Cassiope felt, as she waited almost three and a half decades to produce a successor.

I have to produce one myself. Have to. At 92 years old, I'm not sure how long I'll live; my wife is 96 years old herself. With our marriage, we've created a friendly rivalry between Districts 7 and 12 that only we know about.

"Rosemary Thyme!" A girl of 11 takes the stage.

"Jonathan Darconic!" A boy just 5 years old needs the support of his mother to even take the stage. I want to groan, but I can't. Not here. I'll groan on the train.

The train ride is fairly quiet. I feel the babysitting part of my task more than I usually do. Jonathan leaves after dinner without another word, but Rosemary is more polite. She and I talk, and I am reminded of the lively conversations I would have with my daughter Sierra when she was a little girl. Maybe this Rosemary can win, even if the Quell is JV. District 12 has done quite well in Quells; with the exception of the Zebulons in the last one.

After the chariot rides, I meet up with Johanna in the elevators. We say nothing to one another because both sets of our tributes are with us, but as soon as I send Jonathan and Rosemary off to bed, I go down to my wife's quarters on the seventh floor and lie with her. There isn't much sex anymore, due to our age, but still tender caresses and kisses. Johanna refers to me as "my love" a lot. And there is plenty of pillow talk.

Training and interviews go by in a blur. Rosemary is one of the most dynamic children there; she earns a 10 in training, right up with the Careers. But I have to scoff at it. On what basis are the Gamemakers grading these tributes? Again, they're just children! At the interviews, Caesar tries his best with them, but I think he feels less like a game show host and more like an elementary school teacher. Most of the tributes skew towards the younger ages; both of Johanna's tributes are scared little seven-year-olds. How appropriate, since they are from District 7.

The arena takes place in a volcanic landscape. Right away, I know this Quell is going to be the shortest of all six Quells, if not the shortest of all Games. One boy steps off his pedestal like an idiot and blows himself up, but he takes six tributes with him before the Gamemakers can correct their mistake - all of them Careers.

The remainder run for the Cornucopia and pile of weapons once the gong goes off, but only pick them up. They mostly seem confused, as if unsure what to do with them. Did they just sit around for three days in training and do nothing?

Many hours later, while we Victors wait for something, anything to happen, the Gamemakers have had enough. The Capitol audience is literally booing this Quell twist; it is deeply unpopular. So the Gamemakers decide to end it quickly and on their own terms.

Fire rains down from the heavens. The children scream and try to dodge, but are mostly incinerated. Poor Jonathan is killed almost instantly. At last, only two children are left, and with a start I realize one of them is mine, Rosemary. The other is Johanna's boy. My wife and I look at each other. Our districts have never competed in a Top Two before, not since before we were married, but there is a first time for everything. At last, a fireball burns the District 7 boy, right in front of my tribute. Claudius Templesmith announces blandly, as I stare in shock:

"Ladies and gentlemen, may I present the winner of the 150th Annual Hunger Games: Rosemary Thyme of District 12!"

I did it. I finally produced a Victor: a hollow victory, perhaps, but a victory nonetheless.

The night that Rosemary conducts her final interview and the Victory Crown is placed on her head, I sleep with my wife. I leave for District 12 tomorrow, with a successor. A girl to mentor tributes into perpetuity.

Thank God. I am so... tired...

I hold Johanna close as I pass into a deeper unconsciousness than I have ever experienced in sleep.

Third Person POV

An Avox is the one who finds them: the Victor from District 12, and a Victor from District 7 asleep in her bed. Dead in her bed, holding each other the way husbands and wives would.

The rumor mills, about the nature of their relationship, fly, as Rosemary Thyme, District 12's fourth and new Victor, goes home. Without even having thanked her mentor for saving her life. But she is here now, and will carry on where Peeta Mellark failed. Just as he carried on where Cassiope Fletch and Haymitch Abernathy failed. And Johanna Mason will have plenty of predecessors and successors to replace her...

So is the love story between two Victors. Between a baker's son and a lumberjack's daughter.