(c) midnightsnitch
Welcome to Ghosts of Tributes Past

Breaking Patterns

I always saw my life like a pattern. Correction: I saw life as a pattern. The same type of pattern I would print onto the vibrant colored fabric that would be sewed into a dress and worn by a stuck-up woman living in the Capitol. Because just like a pattern on a dress, the people of District Eight’s lives’ constantly repeated themselves. To grow up sewing clothes for your dolls, thinking it was just a game but eventually realizing that it was practice. Panicking every year that the Reaping may turn into your funeral. Then rotting away your life by drowning your mind in all things textiles, barely feeling the pricks of needles or the heat of an iron anymore. You have kids, and then repeat. Like a pattern. And I hated that I would follow the pattern too.

But it wasn’t until my fifth reaping that I realized there were two patterns of lives in District Eight.

I was sixteen. My family and I lived in the slums of the District for as long as I could remember. It was the same year Daddy died trying to fix a cotton picking machine. It wasn’t the slice taken out of him that killed him; It was the infection. It was also the year I started lining up with other women at the backdoor of one of the Peacekeeper’s house to sell the only thing I had left in order to help feed my brother and sister. It must have been the year my luck ran out because it was that year, the fifth year of my name being in the drawings, that the Reaping became my funeral. My life ended with a slip of paper with a name on it. Roosevelt Pype. And this was the second pattern of life I had always forgotten about. The life of a District Eight Tribute. And this was the life pattern that I had taken.

My Mother cried the entire time I was given with her, repeating the word no again and again. I don’t blame her; all District Eight tributes have died in the bloodbath. I held my little sister in my lap and kissed her forehead as my older brother stroked my hair and told me he was so sorry for not working harder because then maybe I wouldn’t have needed to also take tesserae and I would not be at my funeral. I wiped his tears away and told him to take care of Marcy.

I was dressed in maroon velvet for my interview. I wondered if my hands had ever touched the fabric before it became my dress. But I never dealt with velvet often, so the odds were slim.

My escort said “You look great in velvet Roosevelt!” and then as if in a eureka moment she gasped, “Roosevelvet! How cute is that?!” And she wouldn’t call me anything else after that, even when I demanded she called me Rosie.

My interview went so-so, and I bet waving to a nearby camera and mouthing the word goodbye at the end of it made me anything but likable. I got a training score of three with survival skills I picked up in training. My odds for the Games were grim.

While I stood on my metal plate, ready to rise into the arena, the Escort whose name I never learned came to wish me false luck.

“See you later, Roosevelvet!” was the last thing I heard before the plate started to rise. And I was horrified that the last thing I would hear would be a nickname I despised.

The arena was woods in the middle of a hard winter. The trees were bare and gray, the ground was covered in at least a foot of snow. No wonder we were given thick, insulated winter coasts and bulky boots with grooves on the soles. I searched for the District Four tributes and laughed out loud at their faces. Growing up by the always warm and sunny sea was no help to them today. I sighed, and thought of what a beautiful canvas the snow would be for all the red that would soon dye it. It would be like dying some fabric. Maybe even velvet.

And that was when a bell in my head went off, and I realized I was following the pattern of one of the patterns of life in District Eight. I would die in the bloodbath and be exactly like all other tributes of ours. I did not want to follow the pattern. I did not want my blood dying the snow.

So when the sixty seconds were up and the gong rang, I tried.

I ran for the barren woods, ran and ran in the bulky boots until my feet felt raw, and then I climbed as high as I could go without the branches breaking, and scanned the area. There was no concealment from the trees since they had no leaves, so I could see everything. I could even see a boy digging a hole into the frozen ground. I watched him dig for hours and then cover the hole with a some sort of flimsy fabric which he covered with a light layer of snow until the hole disappeared. And then he put his backpack between the hole and a tree in a way in which you would cross the hole to reach it. That is only if you didn’t know the hole was there. I climbed down the tree, nearly falling from it’s flimsy branches. Then I searched the snow for anything. A rock, a fallen branch. Something that I could use as a weapon. I found a rock, as big as my head, and heavy. I could barely hold it with one hand. I walked toward the hole, the rock sticking out of coat pocket that didn’t face the tree the boy was hiding behind. I made a big deal of being surprised when seeing the backpack and then I jumped over the where the hole was to get it. And I heard a frustrated grunt. The boy came out of hiding, a short knife in hand. He came towards me, jumped over the hole onto the small space I was on. And I was so scared and in a panic and I just pushed him really hard and he lost balance and fell into the hole. But that wasn’t before stabbing me. While he was on his back in the shallow hole, I jumped down and dropped the rock on his head. A cannon sounds. I pull the knife out of my side.

In the pack was bread, rope, a needle, a lighter, and a pair of gloves. So I decided to do what I did best, the thing the Capitol had forced my District to do; Sew. I unraveled a piece of string from my shirt, thread it through the needle, and put the tip of the needle in the flame from the lighter. I took off my jacket and pulled up my shirt, grateful for the cold to numb my skin. And I slowly sewed the gash from the knife up.

And I knew I already was out of the pattern. And I was proud. I knew I wouldn’t win, but I tried.

And when I did die, there were seven tributes left. A boy came after me with a branch he carved to have a deadly point, and even though I ran, he was faster. And the spear went through my shoulder, in a spot between my heart and neck. And I did what I did best, the thing the Capitol had forced my District to do; I dyed the fabric of snow maroon.

Submitted by “Dreamer

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Submission
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Past Tributes
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District 8
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Hunger Games
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submission

The Capitol is Your God, Now.

Moments before death, with a sharpened stone set deep in her belly, a small silver parachute descended upon Grey Redpath. She had killed no one, she had done a shit-poor job of keeping herself alive, and she wasn’t even that pretty. The idea that she might have a sponsor was more boggling than the fact that she was in a government sponsored coliseum.

She opened it, every movement exacerbating the pain that radiated through her abdomen. Medicine? Bandages? 

Rather, inside she found a small vial of wine, and a silver box. A note sat in the bottom of the container, and as her eyes flew over the words, she began to cry.

"Eat this, for it is my body and my blood. The blood of the new and everlasting covenant. Eat of this and your soul shall be healed."

Before the war, before the disease, before the hate, before these first games, a large church stood in the center of District 6’s main square. At age 7, Grey had walked down the center aisle in the prettiest, whitest dress she had ever seen, and promised the priest that she loved Jesus. She was assured that he loved her, too. 

She didn’t actually think so until the day she took a stone knife to the gut, but her new awakening was plenty to open the gates of a Heaven the Capitol claimed did not exist.

Wincing with pain, she pried open the box and placed the stale cracker on her tongue, chewing gingerly. She unscrewed the crystal bottle and let the cold, bitter wine wash over her mouth and into her aching belly. It tasted oddly like home, and briefly, Grey hoped that her grandmother was watching. ‘What a good Catholic, I’ve become,’ she thought, with a tinge of sarcasm coloring her inner monologue. She laughed, and then curled up as blood seeped from the corners of her mouth. She coughed.

"Forgive me Father, for I have sinned," she sighed, as she folded her hands together and died. The commentators described her face as "serene."

Submitted by larry-the-lobster

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hunger games
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Past Tributes
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District 6
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submission

Chaff walked up the stairs as steadily as an ox after they called his name. Six feet of toned muscle; 14-year-old Chaff seemed to have been bred for this Reaping. The shining Justice Building of District 11 loomed over him as he waved to the massive crowd of his people.

            “I will come back!” he yelled to them. The people roared their approval before he disappeared into the bowels of the Justice Building.

            During training, he used his massive frame to intimidate his fellow tributes, and used his humor to befriend allies. He would be walking into the arena with a band of five capable tributes for allies.

The Gamemakers awarded him with a 10, and nobody was able to match his score. In the interview, he used his natural charm, wit, and confidence to win the support of the Capitol. Now he would have strength, numbers, and sponsors on his side. Everything was adding up to an easy victory.

Two weeks and twenty-three dead later, the boy from District 11 was crowned the victor of the 45th Hunger Games. Only, he wasn’t Chaff any more. Not only did he loose a hand in the games, but he lost himself. He wasn’t the same confident and funny 14-year-old boy. He wasn’t the one who had shouted promises to the crowd at the day of the Reaping. Chaff had been left behind the moment he had felt the blood of his first kill on his fingers. Chaff didn’t keep his promise: he didn’t return.

At first, he was too young to mentor. He found solace in the laughter of children with full stomachs. He was able to cope with what he had done.

But four years and countless sleepless nights later, he turned to the only thing left to ease his pain: the bottle. Every time he was able to drown out the noise of his sins with liquor, he found a moment of peace. He was happiest when he had no memory of his past and no concern for his future.

The 50th Hunger Games passed, and a 16-year-old boy much like Chaff won. His name was Haymitch. Chaff met him during his victory tour, and they instantly clicked. Every year after that, Chaff looked forward to seeing Haymitch during the games. They slowly became more than friends: they became brothers.

They were brothers in the pain that they shared, and the bottles that they drank to kill that pain. They kept each other alive.

Twenty-four years after they first met, Haymitch had his first victor. In fact, he had two. Whenever Haymitch and Chaff met, all Haymitch could talk about were the two sixteen-year-olds that were about to change everything.

The 75th Hunger Games came and took Chaff back. Haymitch convinced him to help protect his two victors so that Panem could be free. Chaff could give only one response: yes.

Chaff was able to see Haymitch one last time before entering the Games. He knew that once he entered the arena, he would not come out. Haymitch knew it too.

During the climax of the Games, Chaff saw his opportunity to do one last thing for the brother that had saved his life. He fought off the man from District 2 in order to save the life of the boy from District 12. He saved the life of one boy who would go on to help the Mockingjay save Panem.

That was the last thing he ever did.

Here reads his gravestone:

CHAFF AMARANTH

DIED FOR A BROTHER,

DEAD TO SAVE US ALL.

Submitted by myshiphasrunaground

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The Hunger Games
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Past Tributes
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District 11
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submission

The 67th Games were hell in what seemed like heaven.

Kedai Lin came from District 3, with parents who came from two different sides of town. He was smarter than even an average District 3 citizen, and by 17 was working as an electrical engineer, creating complex circuitry all over Panem. No one could imagine he would be the one to be reaped. But when he was, he came in fighting. During training, he effectively used his time to somewhat master the use of a knife and the skill of identifying edible plants. He had already picked up useful survival skills from his time working around to help him as well.

In his Gamemaker session, he successfully created an electrically charged knife with a rubber handle. He was able to hook it up to a powerful battery he placed in the handle and in one throw, shut down all the lights and electricity in the training room. He received a 10 for it as the Gamemakers thought with the right sponsors, he would be unbeatable with his smarts and skills. His interview went well, with his wit adding a personality to his face.

The arena looked innocent. It was a meadow of sorts with a small forest and a lake with a little island where the cornucopia was. There was a surprising amount of rocks and rock formations everywhere as well as fruits.

The Games start, and Kedai picks up a backpack floating in the water and runs before the real bloodbath starts. He makes his way into the forest and finds himself slightly underground under a large slab of stone. 

That night is when the real hell begins. It rains. But not just any rain. It’s acid rain, undrinkable rain. Anyone who drinks from the lake or from the rain will die. The rain will burn tributes’ skin and eventually cripple them close to death. The rocks are not affected by the rain and therefore are the only method of shelter.

Kedai realizes this. He observes a girl attempt to eat one of the fruits from the trees, and though she can get it open, one bite poisons her and kills her. He squirts the juice onto the ground and figures out it’s just as, if not more acidic than the rain. 

The rain must be equivalent to battery acid. Suddenly, he gets an idea. He’s only seen it been done once. But in his bag, he finds some wire, metals, and clips and he attempts to make an electrocution device using the acid from the plant as energy. Before he tries it out, he goes to look at the cornucopia to find that the goods have been stashed and pressed up against…the metal horn. He works at night while the careers are out hunting or have fallen asleep with electrician’s gloves given to him by a sponsor and wires fifty or more of the deadly plants to the cornucopia.

Sure enough, the girl from district two goes to retrieve an axe and is fatally electrocuted. That night, when the acid rain falls, it only makes the wires spark more.

The problem is, after 5 fatalities by this method, people are catching on. And with 8 players still left in the game besides Kedai, he has to improvise. Luckily, with no one at the cornucopia, he disengages the fruit and is able to grab some food and water from the inside…as well as one knife. 

All the players have migrated into the forest, and with a parachute left in his backpack, his final plan comes crashing down. He attaches the parachute in a tree to some food or goods he took, lets it fall down near a tribute, and while over top of them, drops a knife into their body.

This method of silent killing works until the last boy from District 9 sees him up attaching the parachute. They brawl, and Kedai kills him.

He’s alone, scared, and mentally destroyed, and when they announce him as victor, he’s curled up in a ball on a rock crying and convulsing. 

He has strong PTSD afterwards and can no longer eat citrus fruits anymore without being reminded of what he did and how he killed those children. He also hates the rain, and when there is a lighting storm, he will flashback badly.

During the rebellion, he was 25. He did electrical work and planning in District 13 but never made a strong impression on Katniss Everdeen or the others, due to his social anxiety formed after the games. But, just like his silent killings, he was a silent helper for the cause, retreating back to his home in District 3 after a new nation formed, having fallen in love with another victor from District 8 who was 22 at the time. They try to live their lives together as well as they can.

Submitted by Lovethroughthedarkdays

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The Hunger Games
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Past Tributes
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District 3
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submission

He knew he didn’t belong. He was a freak. He was from District 1. The Capitol’s favorite. He was genetically modified as a child to be the best tribute the Capital has ever seen. He was not aloud to play or even talk to other children and was trained to kill.

  So when he was 13, he volunteered to be tribute and took his place next to a fierce looking 18 year old girl. No one wished him goodbye because he had no family or any friends. He HAD to win so when he came back home everyone would love him and want to be his friend.

    He scored a 10 in training and talked to no one because that is all he had known. He entered the arena and it was a snow covered wasteland. This had never been done before and the boy had never seen snow and was not prepared. But once that gong rang he knew what he must do. He killed 5 children on his own and wounded another. Then took off into the woods with only a backpack and a knife. The whole time he told himself he had to win to have friends.

Then a blizzard came he had to take shelter. He found a small cave but he was not alone. A small boy form District 5 was there. He did not kill the boy because he thought the boy might be useful. They stayed in that cave for 3 days and the boy had finally made a friend. They worked together and helped one other survive. Then it was down to the two of them and the boy who had no friends had finally made one and killed himself to save other.

Submitted by hateu-loveu-withallmyheart

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The Hunger Games
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Past Tributes
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District 1
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submission

Anonymous asked: Why haven’t you been posting anything for a while?

I haven’t been receiving submissions!

This blog is still open, so everyone feel free to submit your stories!

The 60th Annual Hunger Games

District eight’s designer hated the Hunger Games. She would always get attached to her tributes only to see them die. So on the year of the 60th Annual Hunger Games she decided to show the Capitol what the games were really about… When District eight rolled out onto their chariot the people of Panem gasped in shock. The tributes were dressed in tattered, bloody clothes with makeup arranged on their bodies to resemble deep gashes and cuts. The male tribute’s head piece was a fake knife that was embedded in his head, while the young female tribute’s head appeared to have been half chopped off with the way she held it. They truly were what the games were about, horrible, bloody and disgusting. District Eight’s designer knew she had set herself a death sentence, but the people of The Capitol couldn’t undo what they had seen. So when Tigris was called to see President Snow, she simply smiled.

Submitted by gossipchicken

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The Hunger Games
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Past Tributes
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District 8
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submission

I run away from the Career camp, realizing that the pair from 2 are merciless killers, and that the boy could’ve saved Glimmer, but he didn’t. I reach a clearing and see a pair of tributes. The girl from 12. I know that if I want to win, she must die. I throw my spear but the small girl from 11, I think, steps in and gets nailed. I feel an arrow pierce my neck and say Glimmer’s name before I die.

Submitted by Joe M

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Past Tributes
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District 1

Home was the sea.

The warm water that ran along the coast of District Four had fed her when she was hungry, bathed her when she was dirty, and, in her moments of sadness, its warm waves had embraced her.

The sea had made her strong. A lifetime of battling the tides left her legs tan and powerful while a decade of hauling nets full of struggling fish had done the same for her arms.

Long and lean like an eel.

The sea had also made her deadly. She could throw a spear as well as any man, and could gut and clean a fish with less than a dozen cuts of her knife.

Sharp and dangerous as a shark.

The sea had trained her for this moment her whole life.

So, when the call went out for volunteers during her last eligible reaping, she made sure she was the first to respond, elbowing her way to the front of the crowd, hard faced, daring anyone to dispute her claim. Blood pounded in her eyes like the surf against the shore, and the only sound came from the gulls overhead.


The Capitol loved her as they loved all beautiful things. She looked like a sea goddess wrapped in silks that flowed like water from her shoulders. Her hair was an ocean of brown waves cascading down her back. They threw rose petals at her feet as her chariot rolled through the city and called out Siren! and Mermaid! when she passed. To her it sounded like cheers blended together into one roar, and when she closed her eyes she heard only the sea, urging her on.

The Tributes feared her as they fear all powerful things. She was a sea storm in the Training Center, power and skill and deadly determination; washing over each station with the fury of a hurricane. They avoided her when she approached and whispered hushed alliances behind her back. To her it felt like she was adrift alone, and when she closed her eyes she dreamed about the sea, and she found courage.

Then came the day she rose into the Arena.

The sun was too hot, the air too dry; and all around her the landscape was filled with reds and browns and dusty oranges.

The desert caught her off guard, and she hesitated one second too long on her podium, missing her chance at the Cornucopia.

Instead she was forced to run and wonder how a girl from the sea could survive here.

She ran until she was exhausted, collapsing under a dead tree. Sweat rolled down her face, stinging her eyes and moistening her dry, cracked lips.

And, as she tasted the salt of her sweat, she remembered.

The sea is within me.

She would go on to win those Games, the mermaid from District Four who should have shriveled under the desert sun.

Over time, they told her that she would forget the faces of the children she killed, that time would wear away their blood and tears like the ocean on a rock. But she dreamed of them every night, their faces crashing over her again and again her in a typhoon of agony.

She was the Victor for only a year before she walked into the sea, longing for the last gift it could give her.

Submitted by Jedishywalker

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Past Tributes
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District 4
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submission

As Perfect as a Snowflake

It was something like a joke in District Nine, where snow was a story seen on TV, something that only happened in the Hunger Games. They would tell children that they were as perfect as a snowflake, and the children would smile and laugh at the joke.

Isa was never one of these children, but she was the smartest in her family. She always looked out of place, with her too-pale skin and dull eyes. The reason for her looks was simple, Isa was sick and no one knew why.

She had always been sickly, from the day she was born. Her skin lacked color, and her hair did too. her eyes were a dead red, dull and without shine. Words would follow her when she left her home, Freak, Disgrace, Albino. She never understood why they hated her so much.

The First Quarter Quell was the day of Isa’s birthday. Her fifteenth to be exact. They had to vote the Tributes in, and every single ballot had Isa’s name marked for female Tribute. Even her parents threw their freak of a daughter to the wolves.

Isa held her head high as she walked away from the one place she called home. These games would kill her, and that would be that. The amazement of the Capitol was unexpected.

They told her she was a rare beauty, and that she was perfect. For once, Isa was loved.

The Arena that year was an Arctic Forest. Isa blended in to the colorless land, and within two weeks it was her and the girl from Three left.

Isa walked right up to the girl, not a weapon in sight. The other girl stared at her, before reaching out a hesitant hand.

"Copper." That was the name the girl from Three whispered, before handing a small, poisoned knife to Isa.

That day was Copper’s birthday. Her fifteenth to be exact.

It was also the day a simple saying, As Perfect as a Snowflake, fell from grace. No one whispered the words as the colorless Victor walked by, instead they locked themselves up tight in tiny cottages near the grain fields.

Isa lost her family, but she did not lose her life. She met a nice boy, and started a nice family. Their daughter was named Copper, after the girl who gave her life for Isa.

She was Reaped for the games too. And, like her namesake, she died on her Birthday.

Her fifteenth to be exact.

Submitted by perfectrebel

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Past Tributes
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District 9
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submission

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Welcome to Ghosts of Tributes Past

HOME * SUBMIT
These are the stories of the dead, the respected, and the unknown. The stories of how they came to be Tributes, how they fought for their lives in past Hunger Games, and in some cases, the stories of their eventual deaths.