No One Knows Who I Am

BY : Marblez
Category: G through L > The Hunger Games Trilogy
Dragon prints: 4174
Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games and I will make no profit from writing this story.

Disclaimer: I don’t own the Hunger Games or any of its characters. The many OC’s, however, are mine. :-) 

Summary: Adya knew the moment his name was picked out of the bowl that he would not be coming back from the 74th Hunger Games…




No One Knows Who I Am


District 8, Reaping Day


Making his way through the maze of alleys between the textile factories the teenage boy found himself shivering, not because he was cold but because it was so quiet. Normally by this time the factories were alive with noise, layers and layers of noise that overwhelmed his senses – big machines clunking and groaning, little machines whirring and clicking and the constant chatter of the workers.

But today it was completely silent and that could mean only one thing…

Today was Reaping Day.


Leaning against the wall he couldn’t help but let out a deep sigh as he ran his fingers through his knotted hair, pushing the shoulder length locks back from his face and revealing his scarred skin and his glassy eyes.

The Reaping was something which always featured heavily in his nightmares but then what child of Panem couldn’t say the same?

Of course, he thought bitterly, they didn’t have his disability did they?

If they were picked they stood a chance.

If he was picked he’d be dead in under a minute and he knew it.

“Attention! Attention! All candidates for the Reaping must report to the square immediately! Attention! Attention! All candidates for the Reaping must report to the square immediately! Attention! Attention! All candidates…”


Closing his eyes he leaned his head back against the rough bricks behind him and focused on the sounds that he could now hear around him – the sobbing of frightened children, the murmuring of their equally frightened parents and the tapping of their best shoes on the ground.

He needed to head to his left.

Using the tips of his fingertips he felt his way along the wall of the factory he’d been leaning against and soon found himself swept up in a group of children all heading towards the square.

Someone bumped into his side and he stumbled, in fact he would have fallen had someone not caught his arm and held him upright.

“Hey, you ok?”

That voice was familiar…

“Mikhail?” he asked hesitantly.

“Adya? Is that you?” the voice gasped out, one of the hands remaining on his arm to steady him while the other moved to his face, pushing his wayward hair back once more. “It is you. Where have you been? I haven’t seen you since…”

“Since the fire…” Adya murmured, nodding in understanding.

“Yeah…” Mikhail sighed, his fingers stroking the raised scars across the shorter boy’s cheeks. “I thought…I thought that you’d been taken in by someone but…but that’s not what happened is it?”

“No,” Adya answered with a shake of his head. “I’ve been living on the streets….begging, you know? I…I sing for money or food or…whatever.”

“But…your eyes…how have you managed to…” Mikhail’s voice shook as his fingers continued to trace each and every scar on his once beautiful face.

“I’ve managed…” Adya murmured.

“Next!” an unfamiliar voice barked out sharply.

“It’s you…your next…wait for me and…and we’ll stick together, ok?” Mikhail’s voice shook as he pulled the boy who he had once considered his best friend up to the little table. Adya nodded in agreement. “Sorry, he’s…um…he’s blind.”

“Give me your hand,” the unfamiliar voice ordered impatiently.


Of course.

He remembered how this worked from the four previous Reapings he’d had the “honour” of taking part in and obediently offered his right hand. A rough hand, presumably it belonged to the unfamiliar voice, took hold of his wrist.


The tight grip on his wrist pulled his hand down sharply and he flinched when his bloody fingertip came in contact with the smooth paper of the registration form. Pulling his hand in close to his body once his wrist was released he listened to the sound of a scanner beeping softly, logging his attendance with the Capitol.

“Adya Kaminski, sixteen.”

He nodded.


Someone grabbed him by his and shoved him in what he could only assume was the direction of the boys side of the square.

“Get a move on!” a gruff voice ordered sharply.

“I can’t–” he began but cut himself off with a startled yelp as a heavy hand connected with his back, propelling him forwards sharply. He stumbled, his bare feet catching on the cobbles of the square and fell to his knees with a cry of pain.



“That hurt…” he grunted as Mikhail helped him back to his feet, gripping his arm tightly as he helped him across to the group of sixteen year old boys all waiting nervously for the Reaping to begin. “So…how have you been?”

“Ok,” Mikhail answered softly. “School, you know? We’ve…um…begun learning all about the textile trade and…and what will be expected of us.”

“Sounds nice…” Adya murmured wistfully.

“Welcome! Welcome!”

Adya felt a trembling hand slip into his own and squeezed the strong fingers slightly, silently offering comfort to his old friend as the heavily accented voice of their Districts publicist echoed through the square.

“Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favour.”

Adya frowned.

How could the man be so cheerful?

And…how could his voice be so…high?

“Now, before we begin, we have a very special film brought to you all the way from the Capitol!”

“War, terrible war.

Widows, orphans, a motherless child.

This was the uprising that rocked our land. Thirteen districts rebelled against the country that fed them, loved them, protected them. Brother turned on brother until nothing remained.

And then came the peace, hard fought, sorely won.

The people rose up from the ashes and a new era was born.

But freedom has a cost and the traitors were defeated. We swore as a nation we would never know this treason again.

And so it was decreed, that each year, the various districts of Panem would offer up in tribute, one young man and woman, to fight to the death in a pageant of honour, courage and sacrifice.

The lone victor bathed in riches, would serve as a reminder of our generosity and our forgiveness.

This is how we remember our past.

This is how we safeguard our future.”

It was the same video that had been played at every Reaping for as long he could remember and even though he couldn’t see it any more he could clearly remember the images that here shown to accompany the Presidents speech.

He remembered giggling about the victor in the tight shorts back when he was a child of barely five years old, somehow managing to find something humorous in such a terrifying and horrific spectacle.

“Now the time has come for us to select one courageous young man and woman for the honour of representing District 8 in the 74th annual Hunger Games. As per usual we shall have ladies first.”

There was a long pause during which Adya heard dozens of barely contained sobs from the other side of the square.

“Una Butterworth!”

A hush fell over the square, broken only by the quiet sobs of the girl who he could only assume was Una Butterworth and the heavy footsteps of the Peacekeepers escorting her onto the stage.

“Congratulations, my dear. What an honour for you! And now, the boys.”

Adya felt his stomach clench with nerves as the second silence stretched on.

“Adya Kaminski!”

“No…” he gasped, his body beginning to tremble as the realisation sunk in.

He had been chosen as Tribute.

He was going to die.

“Adya…” Mikhail sobbed beside him. “I’ll…I’ll vol–”

“Don’t you dare!” Adya hissed sharply, turning to the boy who he’d played with all through his childhood, gripping the other boys hand painfully tight. “Better the cripple than someone who has a future, right?”


“Help me to the stage, Mikhail…please…”

Both boys were trembling uncontrollably as they made their way slowly towards the stage, murmurs of realisation and understanding spreading through the crowd as Mikhail led Adya by his hands.

“Come along, boy, we don’t have all day.”

“W-We’re at the steps…” Mikhail whispered tearfully. “Adya…”

“Goodbye, Mikhail…and thanks.”

Stepping away from the other boy he reached out with his toes, tentatively searching for the bottom step. Once he was sure where it was he slowly made his way up onto the stage, stumbling when he reached the top.

“Stop making such a spectacle of yourself!”

“I’m sorry, I can’t–”

“May I present our Tributes for the 74th Hunger Games – Una and Adya! Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favour!”

 A/N This story popped into my head whilst I was watching the film and WOULD NOT LEAVE ME ALONE UNTIL I STARTED WRITING IT! LOL! Let me know what you think!


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