Part 1

74th Hunger Games, Day 2

I am Thresh. I am a survivor.

The plan could work. I'd need lots of focus and even more luck but then luck has been with me before.

I'm not going to play their game. I'm not going to give them the satisfaction. The girl from Twelve, 'the girl on fire' they called her, can have her act of rebellion. I'll have my own in my own way because I am Thresh. I am a survivor.

Sitting in the wheat field, waiting for the plan to unfold or the fates to take me I have lots of times to think, to remember. Rolling several heads of grain between my fingers the course familiarity is comforting. I crush them then pop the granules into my mouth.

This is a safe place, it's my place. Not even the Careers seem to want to come in here. They fear me. They should. There's only one in this arena that shouldn't be afraid. I'm not certain what would happen if it came to that…but it won't.

Yea, I have lots of time to think. While I'm alert, every sense alive to danger since threats are not restricted to Tributes, my mind naturally drifts back to how I got to this place and this opportunity to do things my own way.

I had a sense of dread the day of the Reaping. I wasn't quite sure why but I'd learned to trust my instincts. But then I had also been warned. I didn't want to believe the warning but my instincts said otherwise. They'd kept me alive so far. Once I'd thought I might age out and be past the possibility of being chosen for the Hunger Games then be able to live freely.

"Live freely?" I snort ironically to myself.

Live for what? To break my back toiling in the fields to provide food for the fat cats in the Capital? That's no life and that sure as heck ain't freedom. It had cost my dad his life dying in an accident and my mom worse…but I don't want to go there…maybe later. It was after that I learned to kill. So then I began to look at the Games differently. I wasn't eager to go. I was no bloodthirsty Career like some of those guys but I didn't fear it either.

Standing like cattle in the public square, we waited for the names to be called. Though irritated I'd been here before and had no fear. No, I would wait and see what the fates had for me but if an opportunity came, if THE opportunity came, well, I would grab it because I am Thresh. I am a survivor.

Then Rue was chosen as the female Tribute for District Eleven. Suddenly I hoped I wouldn't be picked. Even before the painted-up clown from the Capital who was to be our Escort pulled my name out of the grain basket used to pick (I guess they thought using something we toil with every day made it more special, fools) that sense of dread hit me like a storm flattening a field of wheat.

"The young man with the honor of representing District Eleven is Nguvu Dijambi," the idiot with the oily voice crooned.

It took a moment to register with the large crowd since I'd been known only as Thresh for as long as I can remember. It was a nickname given to me by my father when I'd first come to help him in the wheat fields even though I could barely walk. Despite my size and age I had actually been able to cut stalks with a small sickle and so as we left the field that day my dad had joked with the other men about his 'little thresher'. Eventually it had been shortened to Thresh and the name stuck. I guess the reputation for hard work and ability with the sickle reinforced it. I'm proud of the name and what it represents, as I'm proud of my father and how he lived his life. I always worked hard to bring honor to it.

If only people knew the whole story.

My sister groaned at the announcement and her shoulders dropped while my grandmother remained ramrod straight, not displaying her emotions. But I knew how she felt by the single tear that rolled down her tough features. I'd been not only provider for the family but protector and now…I don't have time to allow that to distract me. I have a plan and I need to stay focused.

The plan had been hatched a few months before the Reaping. Staarabu, who had been like a father to me after mine died, had talked about it. A way to beat the Games, to show the Capital didn't own us, he said. He carried the marks of rebellion with the whip scars on his back and the hand that had been chopped off. Still he worked, worked hard in the fields, producing more then other men his age despite his 'disability'. This was his act of continued defiance. But there was more to this hardened black man with a shaved head and penetrating eyes, there was wisdom. He'd been a friend of my father, had been there when he died and had helped shield me after the incident which defined me in many ways…

My body shudders involuntarily from the thought. I don't like to go there, to remember. It was something that had to be done and though I got away with it I didn't like it. I had nightmares about it right up until I came to this place.

Now I have new ones.

Like the scene at the Cornucopia at the start of my Hunger Games…what a title…Hunger Games. A time to remember and celebrate they tell us. It's a time to remember we're slaves to the excesses of the Capital. I don't know about what the other districts produce but we produce food and I know how much stays in our own area. We get enough, but just barely. The rest goes to the Capital to keep them happy. We have ways of making sure we get a bit more though. The Peacekeepers can't see everything and grain is a hard thing to count until it gets into the warehouses.

Cornucopia….horn of plenty. The word rolls around in my mind as I sit and involuntarily remember. We'd have a small one on our table at home in the fall before everything fell apart for us. It had been a good home, with laughter, singing and love. A place I felt safe and accepted. But that all changed in the span of a year and after that the laughter left and no one ever sang again. There was still love and acceptance from my grandmother and sister but I no longer felt safe. That was something I had to produce, like my plan to win the Hunger Games.

It could work.

No, the scene at the Cornucopia doesn't cause my shudder but it does make me sad. I killed to survive and get the things I needed for my plan but I didn't enjoy it. Kill or be killed. I hate it. That's why I never let any of the other Tributes get close to me except one. I had too, she was from home and I couldn't shut her out even if I wanted to.

Rue. The thought of her alone in this cursed place causes my anger to rise. I should be with her, helping her. But I can't, not if my plan is to succeed. In reality it means I won't help her since I have a choice. Anger boils at the injustice of the choices I've had to make already. To abandon one of my own…to kill…

I did what I had to do at the opening to survive, to win in my own way. I could kill all the other Tributes, even the mighty Cato, and win. Certainly the idiots in the Capital want me to, believe I can based on the score I received but I'm going to win in my own way. I won't give them the satisfaction.

After the names had been called during the Reaping Rue and I had been taken into the Justice Building to say goodbye. We were given fifteen minutes. How generous. My sister and grandmother came in. They didn't need fifteen minutes. What can you say at a time like that? The pain on their faces was evident despite their best efforts to hide it. That made my blood boil, it still does even now. But Staarabu had come in as well. The Peacekeepers made no attempt to stop him since everyone now thought of him as my father. What did it matter anyway? What could he do?

Plenty.

"Nguvu," he began, using my proper name again, but with a look of intensity I'd not seen in him. "Remember what we talked about in the fields last week. Remember the plan. You can do it. You are a survivor. Work with your Mentor, listen to him and really live."

He moved in and held me in a fatherly embrace but as he broke the clinch he whispered in my ear, "Find me."

I plan to.

Initially I'd thought of the plan as just some form of idle conversation on a break from working in the fields but then Staarabu had always been different. People said he knew when certain things were going to happen. They said he had 'the second sight'. I don't know, it sounded like superstition to me but then he did seem to know.

Just before the Reaping he had one of those strange looks as he maneuvered me away. "Nguvu, the Reaping is coming very soon," he stated matter of factly.

"I know," I answered, not really wanting to think about it. I'd not taken any Tesserae so the odds of me getting picked were low.

"The Arena is not an open-ended place, it has boundaries you know," he explained, with a forceful look in his eyes. "The boundary is like a fence. It's a force field really but not like a bubble. It has a top. Chaff has told me about this. He's seen it and he also knows it from another one of the Victors who used it to win his Games. Do you understand why I am telling you this Nguvu?"

Suddenly I remember getting a cold chill as his reasons for having this conversation became clear, why he was telling me about the memories of one of our previous District Hunger Games victors. Chaff didn't talk much about it. He spent a lot of time drinking, to forget Staarabu told me. I understand that now. To his credit, though Chaff didn't have to work being a champion, he was now rich, he often did anyway to continue to show defiance and stay connected to the people despite his lack of one hand. That might be why he got along so well with Staarabu. Anyway, he knew about the Arena.

If Staarabu was talking to me about the Games in this way, since we'd never talked about it before he knew something. He knew I was going to be picked. Suddenly this was no longer a theoretical exercise. "I'm beginning to understand," I replied to him. "Tell me what you mean by this."

"If there are boundaries and there is a fence then it can be crossed and someone could leave the Arena. Nguvu, the Games can be beaten."

We sat the rest of the break talking about this and every spare moment until the Reaping, coming up with a plan to win the Hunger Games our own way and beat the Capital. In the back of my mind I kept hoping he'd be wrong, that I wouldn't be picked, but I knew he was right. I told no one about it, secrecy was critical but by the time my name was called I was ready and from that moment on every effort and thought had been to winning the Games because I am Thresh, I am a survivor.

My Mentor turned out to be the very man Staarabu had mentioned to me: Chaff. Standing just over six feet tall he had dark skin like me. He was older, in his 40's, having won the Games nearly 30 years ago. There was still fire in his eyes but also deep sadness. Though everyone seemed to only notice the stump at the end of his arm there was more to this combative man. I liked him as I liked Staarabu.

Chaff worked me hard to prep me for the Games but at times when we knew we were alone and not being overheard he talked about finding the barrier by accident. He also mentioned a victor from another District who had used it to help him win his Hunger Games. Chaff prepared me well for this. Then, just as I walked into the tube to take me into the Arena from the Prep Room he took my hand, embraced me then looked into my eyes saying, "Win your way. Win for all of us."

Win. Win what? My freedom? Yes, I would be free if I can escape from this horrid place but I also know I'll be a hunted man. The Capital would never let me live. They couldn't since it would show weakness. I'd be hunted down and killed. No, my winning has a different purpose. This world we live in is sick and needs to change. I'm not just talking about disease and a lack of food but sick in that we find this kind of event entertaining. Reality television we call it. I'm just as bad as the others. I watched the Games in the past, cheered for our people, cursed when they were killed then went back to my existence, numbed a little bit more. I was like a robot. Life has value, not just my life but all life. We've forgotten that in the relentless pace of trying to get ahead, to have enough. Things have to change. Though few will likely hear of what I've done, if I get the chance, my hope is it'll create a ripple effect that will bring change. Then maybe, just maybe, things will change and the people of Panem can find their real purpose and live. I do need to win my way, win for all of us. God help us if we continue with this insanity.

So I sit in the wheat field and wait for the right moment. I bet it makes for lousy TV ratings. Good. I hope I bore them, infuriate them so then they know they don't own me.

Boom!

The cannon just went off meaning another poor sod has just died for the good of higher entertainment. I guess I'll find out tonight who it is when their picture is flashed up. I'll bet it's not the girl from Twelve. I wouldn't be surprised if she won it all. I hope it's not Rue. Regardless, this is one step closer to my plan. For now, I stay alive but it's only Day Two of the Hunger Games, a lot could still happen.