Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games
There are two things in life that are inevitable. Paying taxes and death. Some way or another you will die. Whether by hell fire or high water we all meet our maker.
This is a sad fact of life. Unfortunately as much as we all wish, we don't all live to grow old.
This isn't one of life, or death this is somewhere in between. Strapping between this world and the next. This is why you must get over this one unsavory fact before you read any further. You will die. It's as simple as that.
This, my dear reader is where we begin the story.
Many years ago, fifteen to be exact, a young woman in the white of winter tended to her slowly dying rose garden. Now you must be thinking why would she have roses in a time of war or winter. Roses were reserved for the wealthy weren't they? Roses were such a frivolous thing to spend money on, money that could by bread to feed you.
Anyways the woman was tending the roses and she pricked her finger on a thorn. Three drops of blood fell onto the snow. At that moment the woman wished for a daughter with lips red as blood, skin white as snow, and hair black as night.
The kind woman "got" her wish. Well of course children don't appear out of thin air, so she probably got her act together with her husband because we know that kids just don't pop out of the snow like daisies. Sadly the new mother died in childbirth. Her husband, a man of few words had to raise his little daughter by himself.
The baby girl was named Channery Flynn. As she grew up she learned the hardships of life in District Three. And now reader if you're still with me the story I am telling is about me.
Yes, I am the main character of the story. I am Channery Flynn. This is the story of The Twenty-fifth Hunger Games. This is the story of 23 inevitable deaths.
An:/ If you've read any of my other stories, I will be giving this one a different take. I hope this will have an overall cleaner and better quality. ~Nightlock