The 72nd Hunger Games

(The Year of the Illegal Tributes)

The small forest stood still, hiding the danger within their beautiful paradise. All seemed quiet but for the birds chirping and frogs croaking far off in the distance.

The silence suddenly broke as an overweight teenager quickly ran through the thick of the trees, trying to make his way somewhere, anywhere, away from Faux.

He wore a heavy dark sweater with white strings from where to tighten his hood around his face, thick white laces that gave him away when he was trying to hide from the Career tribute. A ferocious and raven haired teenager, with dark eyes, and a slender build. He remembered Faux at practice and not just because of the Mohawk she sported atop of her head but because of her dead on lethatl fighting moves and almost impossible jaguar-like speed.

Cordero was the odd one out in this year of the competition. He was heavyset, had a gentle demeaner, and wore glasses with a thick dark black frame, making him look that much more of an easy prey.

The leaves and plants rustled beneath his feet and at his sides as he made his way through them. Faux was close behind, made that much more apparent by her repeatedly calling out "Cordero!" in a taunting way. She knew that only in a matter of seconds he'd be her next kill.

Cordero kept running as he thought to himself, "I'm not gonna be that easy of a kill" when the ground seemed to disappear from right under him.

"Oh shoot!" he yelled out as he flew through the air, realizing that he had just ran right off the edge of a giant waterfall, the one near where the 72nd games had started only days ago.

He yelled in horror as his arms and legs flung about, looking for anything to grab. He managed to look back at where he had fallen from and noticed that Faux had stopped herself just in time to not fall right after him.

He braced himself for the water underneath him, the fall was long enough and he suspected that the impact with the water wouldn't kill him, but it will hurt. And it did.

He landed into the freezing water, feeling as if he'd been slammed through a wooden door. He came up struggling to breath. The fall had knocked the air out of him and he started to feel himself drowning. He called out in pure fear as he took in not air, but more water. He could imagine the gamemakers already saying "Get the canon ready"

Weeks Earlier

"What?"

"You're serious; you thought it had to do with food"

"Yeah" said a seemingly embarrassed Cordero.

"You've never even bothered to turn on the tv and watch?" asked a dumbfounded 15 year old girl named Kessara.

Both she and Cordero were the tributes for district 7. Kesara was chosen at the reaping, but as Cordero put it, he had volunteered for a complete stranger because he thought the reaping and the hunger games had something to do with food. Having already said their goodbyes to their loved ones Cordero and Kessara were now on their way to the capitol by way of train.

Kessara was a beautiful dark haired, tanned skin youth of what appeared to be Latin decent and although Cordero had known about Kessara he had never actually met her within their district. She was slender, yet a physically fit girl who already at the age of 15 had the curves of an hourglass. She had homey-brown eyes and full lips, but it was her hair that stood out.

There were few luxuries in district seven, so Kessara chose to spoil herself in the way of how she cared for her hair. Long and full, with waves that cascaded down and under just under the arch of her back. Her thick and luscious hair was a dead giveaway, even from afar that it was Kessara you were looking at.

Kessara eyed him with suspicion, could this 17 year old boy really be that dumb. There's no way he didn't know that the hunger games isn't about food but about a televised fight to the finish of children between the ages of 12 to 18, one boy, and one girl, from each of the 12 districts. Chosen, or in Cordero's case volunteered, as tributes.

Tributes who were now on their way to prepare and train themselves for that very battle in chich there could only be one victor.

Kessara chose to keep her thoughts to herself, "very well then" she thought, if he didn't want to tell her why he volunteered for a complete stranger than fine, but it's his head on the chopping block and from the looks of it, or so she thought, it wouldn't be his for long.