The Forty-Third Annual Hunger Games: FanFic Chapter 1 *please please please read!!!!!!*
Posted November 22nd, 2012 by moonbeam
A/N: I know there is already a ton of these, but I am NOT copying! I came up with this idea a long time ago and didn't post it. I now post the edited version. CC is very much appriciated, but please let it be constructive. Thanksies!!!!!
I frown at the tears on my cheeks. No one is going to sponsor a crier. I scrunch my face up, allowing myself one more second of misery, then grudgingly force my expression into one of slightly detached fierceness. I am alone in a cold, white room, awaiting my signal from the Peacekeepers to step into the silent, clear tube that will bring me to the arena. To my death. Well, no, not for sure. But honestly, what chance do I have? There are twenty-three others. The odds are not in my favor.
I subconsciously finger my jacket. We tributes are lucky this year. The Gamemakers have bestowed upon us semi-thick jackets that, my stylist informs me, will deflect sun and ice, leaving us with our own body heat. We have coarse pants, with material that is similar to jeans in thickness, but much lighter. Everything is a muffled green-grey, which will be good camouflage in underbrush and greenery, but a dead giveaway in bland, open stretches of land. I have my long black hair pulled back into a ponytail.
My eyes close, and I wonder how this has been going on for forty-three years. The Forty-Third Annual Hunger Games. Years and years of destruction, death and hatred. How did our humane, united world turn into this monstrous life? Why must poverty fall upon us in the districts, and not those in the Capitol? Do any of them see this unfairness, or are they simply blind, see us as rats, worthy of the filth that we live in? I have only questions, not answers. I bite my lower lip, hard. I hate, I hate, I hate. Suddenly, the pristine white door swooshes open, I turn quickly to face the Peacekeepers. Even though I am no match, I have no fighting chance, I see one of them sporting a gun. Just in case, I suppose. No loathing can compare to mine at this moment, my hatred towards these people, who live with bloodlust in their veins. My face is dead, but my eyes reflect my true feelings.
The first Peacekeeper gestures towards the tube with his chin, jerking it the tube’s direction. This is it. My body shakes uncontrollably. Why? My god, we’re only kids! I’m only fifteen! How can these adults send children to bloody and brutal death? I try to breathe, but the air is suddenly toxic, and I feel nothing. I make a quiet choking sound. Sickness overcomes me. I am going to throw up. My heart beats rapidly. I’m not even in the arena yet, and I’m shaking with terror. The Peacekeeper takes a step forwards this time, forcing me to stumble backwards and towards the cold, unforgiving tube. In a daze, I find myself stepping onto the metal plate. I inhale sharply. My mind is racing. I could be dead in the next ten minutes. I silently pray to any soul, and being. Help. The tube encloses me, and I’m alone. Everything seems so delicate, so fragile right now. I shut my eyes, and the tube rises.
The first thing if feel is wind whipping through my hair. I keep my eyes closed, trying to calm myself. I hear Claudius Templesmith’s voice booming over the speakers. Something about mines underneath our feet, then the usual, “May the odds be ever in your favor.”. I clench my teeth together, and put on a brave face. I must look strong in front of the district and Capitol viewers. My only chance of a sponsor, supplies that may save my life. Suddenly, I hear dull thuds, and I realize the seconds are being counted down. I shake my head and listen.
“Fifty-two, fifty-one, fifty, forty-nine...” I need to collect my thoughts. I’m staring ahead at the Cornucopia, but I’m not really seeing. I focus, and take in my surroundings. Mountains. Mountains upon mountains. Trees dot the landscape, and the only thing I think is how lucky I am to have camouflaged clothes that match the arena. Straight in front of me are colossal hills. To my left are thousands of tall trees. I identify most of them to be pines, but a few oaks and soft, bendy willows are present. I turn quickly and see that the trees continue behind me, but then sharply give way to a huge lake fed by a roaring waterfall. I squint, and see that the waterfall is coming from a giant pile of rocks that connects the mountains. I nod. This is good. I will do better in this arena. It offers concealment, and although the lake will be heavily guarded by the careers, I can drink from the water that sits above the waterfall. It seems to continue into a stream that disappears into the trees.
“Thirty-six, thirty-five, thirty-four...” I gasp, and realize I’m running out of time. This time I turn my attention on the Cornucopia. Fifty feet out. Like the previous years of the Hunger Games, the good stuff is piled up at the mouth of the golden horn, and less useful things appear closer to the tributes. Just two feet in front of me is a meager, fist-sized bun of Capitol bread. But further forwards I can see a large tent that offers shelter, and knives, axes, bows and arrows.
My eyes search for my signature weapon. Relief floods me when I find a pile of spiked maces. District 9, my home, does not specialize in weapons, its main purpose is grain. But I found a mace in an old abandoned warehouse by the old, dried up lake three years ago. I’ve trained with it ever since, in case the impossible happened--The Hunger Games. I guess all that hard work will pay off. Convenient.
“Twenty-three, twenty-two, twenty-one, twenty...”
But I’m too small, too little to go that deep into the Cornucopia. I sigh. I will have to find another way to get myself a mace. So instead I think of supplies. Food. Water. I zone in on a small, dark green duffel bag about five feet to my left and twenty out. It is only about a foot and a half long, but it looks stuffed full. What could be in there? I nervously shift my weight from side to side, trying to decide. Should I go for it?
“Sixteen, fifteen, fourteen, thirteen...”
There’s not enough time. I have to decide now. What about weapons? I need a weapon. I search desperately. Near the duffel bag is a small knife, but it looks wicked. A short, studded hilt, and a long, sharp blade. My breath quickens.
“Eleven, ten, nine, eight, seven...”
Those are my targets. Duffel bag. Knife. Duffel bag. Knife.
“Five.” I feel like I’m going to explode. A quick look at my fellow tributes shows me they’re all trying to hide their fear as well. Except for the careers, of course.
“Four.” Death awaits twenty-three of us.
“Three.” Please, someone help me. I can’t die now. I can’t. Please.
“Two.” I pray my family will have the strength to get on without me.
“One.” Silence. Then, the world heaves a quick breath, and suddenly I’m reeling forwards, a crazy look in my eyes. My eyes lock in on the duffel bag and I sprint, faster than I ever have before. I hear an agonized scream, and I know the killing has begun. I am five feet away. I snatch the duffel bag, and heave it over my shoulder. I reach for the knife, when suddenly a limp body slams into me. I’m falling, falling. I hit the ground hard, and roll to the right. The world is spinning. I jump to my feet, and stare at the body on the ground. It’s a girl, a small girl, thirteen at the most. Her eyes are glassy. Her heart ceases to beat. Blood covers her face. I try to stop the tears, but they spill over my lashes. I ditch the knife and run as hard as I can for the trees. I feel empty without a weapon, helpless. But I have to go.
I reach the line of greenery, and duck behind a thick clump of pines, hiding in the bushes. I know I should go further, but I need to assess the damage at the Cornucopia. I am sickened by what I see. Bodies lay dead, and kids fight mercilessly. A seventeen year old boy with huge muscles and bloodlust in his eyes, one of my biggest competitors, already is lifeless. I should feel uplifted, but I’m mostly sad. I’m about to turn and go, when I hear a cry and a short, heavy knife skitters next to me. I jump up and look around wildly. I see a thick-bodied girl staring angrily in my direction. I scoop up the knife, relieved, and race into the never ending trees.
Thanks for all the support, guys!
See more stories by s