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crack_van2012-11-28 04:11 pm
stars-inthe-sky.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2012-11-28 04:11 pm
Entry tags:
in protest of this peace by hewhoistomriddle (M)
Fandom: THE HUNGER GAMES
Pairing: None
Length: ~1800 words
Author on LJ: Unknown
Author Website: FFN
Why this must be read: By the time the 74th Annual Hunger Games rolls around, the people of Panem are pretty well-adjusted to the existence and purpose of the Games. So it's easy to think that this may have always been the case. In this fic, the author bluntly presents a haunting overview of how that adjustment might have come about--and how much more blood was shed in the process. This is a story that will leave you frozen in your seat, and the endnote will make you rethink the entire book series.
Three.
Punishment came swift and bloody for the bloodbath perpetuated by the second batch of tributes. Military incursions was common and occassionally bloody. Food and medicine were seized and made scarce, hard labor imposed on men and women who grew less able-bodied with time. Illness ran rampant that entire populations dwindled, teetered over a razor edge into extinction. During the reapings, people from the Capitol wore biohazard masks over well-fed, healthy faces and distanced themselves from the District beggars in disgust and scorn, as though visibly seeing the disease that sang within their veins and poured out with each heaving breath. Tributes were emaciated before ever coming near the Arena, bags of skin and bones and debilitating need rather than humans. They ran away from escorts. Jumped off rooftops. Gorged themselves on food and drink and anything they found in their bathrooms: drugs or soap or bleach. Several had to be replaced and, even then, more died in the arena by their own hand than any other means.
~.~
Interlude: The Capitol announces tesserae and prizes and to the victors, belong the spoils.
~.~
Four.
Maybe the incentive proved effective, because in the next Games, a fifteen-year-old from District Two became the first tribute to intentionally kill his opponents. He was young, much too young – perhaps, much too sheltered – to remember the face of the true enemy. He won without much resistance, ended the first bloodbath in Games history, but made for a disappointing show. There were no fierce melees or epic showdowns or even a primitive trap to show working intelligence, only weak parrying with weaponless opponents, their eyes an eternal accusation: You sold out. You sold out. You sold out.
~.~
Interlude: In the Districts, parents stop naming their sons Victor. It was just tempting fate.
in protest of this peace
Pairing: None
Length: ~1800 words
Author on LJ: Unknown
Author Website: FFN
Why this must be read: By the time the 74th Annual Hunger Games rolls around, the people of Panem are pretty well-adjusted to the existence and purpose of the Games. So it's easy to think that this may have always been the case. In this fic, the author bluntly presents a haunting overview of how that adjustment might have come about--and how much more blood was shed in the process. This is a story that will leave you frozen in your seat, and the endnote will make you rethink the entire book series.
Three.
Punishment came swift and bloody for the bloodbath perpetuated by the second batch of tributes. Military incursions was common and occassionally bloody. Food and medicine were seized and made scarce, hard labor imposed on men and women who grew less able-bodied with time. Illness ran rampant that entire populations dwindled, teetered over a razor edge into extinction. During the reapings, people from the Capitol wore biohazard masks over well-fed, healthy faces and distanced themselves from the District beggars in disgust and scorn, as though visibly seeing the disease that sang within their veins and poured out with each heaving breath. Tributes were emaciated before ever coming near the Arena, bags of skin and bones and debilitating need rather than humans. They ran away from escorts. Jumped off rooftops. Gorged themselves on food and drink and anything they found in their bathrooms: drugs or soap or bleach. Several had to be replaced and, even then, more died in the arena by their own hand than any other means.
~.~
Interlude: The Capitol announces tesserae and prizes and to the victors, belong the spoils.
~.~
Four.
Maybe the incentive proved effective, because in the next Games, a fifteen-year-old from District Two became the first tribute to intentionally kill his opponents. He was young, much too young – perhaps, much too sheltered – to remember the face of the true enemy. He won without much resistance, ended the first bloodbath in Games history, but made for a disappointing show. There were no fierce melees or epic showdowns or even a primitive trap to show working intelligence, only weak parrying with weaponless opponents, their eyes an eternal accusation: You sold out. You sold out. You sold out.
~.~
Interlude: In the Districts, parents stop naming their sons Victor. It was just tempting fate.
in protest of this peace