Starving the Games

by Raibla

Eva Haddocks is a normal 17 year old in District 6- That is, until she's reaped for the games. Through love, betrayal, friendship, join Eva through one game she will never forget.

1. Chapter 1

Starving the Games

A Hunger Games FanFiction

By: Raibla

DISCLAIMER: This is the only disclaimer I'm doing for the whole story because I might forget. Do I look around 30? Well you can't see me, but I assure you I am not. I am not Suzanne Collins, so I don't own the whole general gist of this "Hunger Games" stuff.

AN: This Takes Place in District 6, Outfit Link in Profile.

Chapter One

Reaping Day

I get ready for the Reaping; I take my time to perfect my outfit. It might even be my last. But the odds are more in my favor than others. My name was in only 10 times. Why would I, 17-year-old Eva Haddocks, be reaped?

I pass the second bedroom where my father lays, passed out drunk. Ever since my mom left us for someone else, he'd never been the same. I sigh, and make my way to the town square.

There are cameras all around me, and I feel extremely nervous. The woman pricks my finger and lets me pass by. It's to make sure everybody's there, and nobody bailed.

Everybody lined up in two sections and seven groups: Boys and girls from 12-18 years old. I line up with the girls from my class and wait.

"WELCOME, WELCOME EVERYONE TO THE 15TH ANNUAL HUNGER GAMES!" she practically shrieks with perkiness. Add a headache to my list of problems. "WE ARE SO EXCITED THAT YOU ARE HERE!" I snort. Like we had a choice. "MY NAME IS JEANINE (pun intended) BAKER AND THIS YEAR WE ARE STARTING WITH THE BOYS!"

She picks up a piece of paper from the already full fishbowl. "MICHAEL JOHNSON?" My heart feels like it was shot. That is my best friend. That is my first love.

I feel like screaming, I feel like crying. My body settles for large sobs. The girls nearby give me sympathetic looks. Everyone knew who we were; we were the comedy show, the best friends. Soon-to-be-lovers. Almost lovers.

"Don't write his obituary yet. He still has a chance of winning," some part of me says. "Be realistic. No, he doesn't."

"NOW FOR THE GIRLS!" she fishes for a piece of paper, and finally pulls one out. I am praying, I am wishing.

"EVA HADDOCKS?"

I am dying.

Inside, and soon out.