Prologue
The 53rd Hunger Games
Sweat and blood streamed down his forehead.
Wind and rain pelted his face.
The boy wiped his forehead with his left hand, mopping up water, blood and dirt.
Seconds ticked by.
This was it. It was finally time to end this...
He lunged.
A jolt of pain shot through his shoulder as his steel blade clashed against the girl's quarterstaff. The girl let out a primal battle cry and pushed out against him, knocking the boy backwards. His sword was knocked out of his hands as he fell to the ground. It skidded across the slippery earth and fell in a mud puddle. Surprised by the turn of events, the boy had little time to think of a plan before her next attack.
A flash of blonde hair was his only warning. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the girl raise her staff. Quickly, he kicked at the back of her knees with his feet. The girl let out a thrill shriek in surprise as she dropped the staff and fell to the ground. Pressing his advantage, the boy scrambled to his feet and ran for his sword. He hastily fished it out of the puddle and turned towards the girl. However, the girl was not on the ground where he had least seen her. His eyes flitted left and right, but she was nowhere to be seen. It was difficult to see anything in the rain at all. Suddenly, the girl's staff connected with his chest and knocked the breath out of him. Gasping for air, he swung blindly. The blade slashed through empty air. However, the swing had given him enough time to locate her. Surrounded by rain, the girl held a defensive position to his right. He turned to face her, holding his sword in front of him. Once again, they were at a standstill...
Blood and mud dripped into his eyes. Despite the pain, he refused to lose eye contact with the girl.
Exhaustion began to set in. The events of the past two weeks: the endless battles, wounds, emotional trials, lack of sleep, and poor nutrition were finally catching up to him. His sword hand began to quiver and the point dropped a couple of inches.
She lunged.
The attack surprised him, and he barely got his sword up in time to deflect the swing. The girl's metal staff bounced off the sword. The shock threw her off balance and she struggled to regain a footing in the wet mud. Seeing a moment of weakness, the boy took advantage of the situation. He thrust out, with all of his strength.
The blade slid through her flesh, like a scissor through paper. She let out a guttural cry and swung the staff around in reflex. The heavy pole struck him in the shoulder and threw him face first, into the ground. The wet earth muffled his cry of pain. Quickly, he tried to push himself to his feet. When he went to move his right arm, pain shot through his body and he collapsed back in the mud. Tears stung his cheeks and his mouth filled with blood. The boy had never felt more vulnerable than in that moment. There was nothing he could do but lay in the dirt and await his inevitable death.
It never came.
He felt destroyed. His tongue was cut and still bleeding from when he had bit it during his fall. His shoulder felt as if it had gone through a meat grinder, and his right arm was completely useless. The boy was destroyed, but he was still alive.
With a grunt he lifted his head, searching for his opponent.
The girl was on her knees, gasping for air. Her quarterstaff was discarded on the ground next to her. With eyes wide from shock, she looked down at the sword that was stuck firm in her stomach. Fingers visibly shaking, she touched the hilt of the sword in disbelief. Blood trickled out of her mouth and ran down her chin. She was too weak to move, but the wound wasn't fatal.
The boy collapsed back to the ground, sick and in pain. He closed his eyes and let the darkness wash over him.
Seconds, minutes, hours? There was no way to tell how long he had been unconscious in the mud.
The boy opened his eyes and accidently put pressure on his right arm. His head filled with white light as he screamed out in agony. When the pain subsided, the boy looked back towards the arm. A piece of bone was sticking out from the blue colored flesh. He had a feeling that he would never use that arm again.
Then he heard it.
Weak cries and gasps for air came from the girl. She was still kneeling on the wet earth trying to clasp her shaking fingers around the sword handle. Coppery blood flowed from the wound and pooled around her knees.
The sight made the boy retch and gag. His body convulsed, but there was nothing in his stomach to throw up. When the heaving stopped, the boy rose to his feet. Careful not to move his right arm, he limped over to the dying girl.
The gasps and moans coming from her lips halted as he approached. Visibly shaking, the girl turned her head to look at him. Her lips opened and she coughed out some blood.
Despite the gruesome scene, the boy could not look away from her eyes. He had done this to her. He had ended her life. He had subjected her to this torture and taken her entire future away from her. He was a killer.
Her coughing stopped and she opened her mouth once more.
Please.
The phrase was so quiet, the boy was unsure if she had managed to speak, or if it was just the wind in his ears. Regardless of what she said, the boy knew what he had to do.
Tears fell from his eyes as he wrapped his left hand around the hilt of the sword. The blade came lose with a wet, squelching sound that made the boy gag again.
He brought the shaking sword up to her neck, and pressed it against her flesh. The girl stared at him with half-open eyes. Her jaw closed and the muscles around her neck seemed to tighten. Her hands hung loosely by her side. She was helpless.
This was it. It was finally time to end this...
The boy slid the blade across her neck, watching the warm, red liquid pour out of her skin. When his cut was finished, the steel blade fell to the ground.
The girl stared at him as though she could see right through him. He reached out with his left hand and touched her pale cheek. She was so...cold...
"Ladies and Gentleman, may I present the winner of the 53rd annual Hunger Games. Alex Sypher!"
A cannon fired.
The rain stopped.
A large, metal claw grabbed his torso and lifted Alex up off the ground.
Fourteen days. Twenty Three dead.
The Arena grew smaller beneath him as he ascended. He had seen this so many times before. There was always a close up of the Victors face as they were pulled up towards the Hovercraft. He remembered seeing some crying in pain, screaming in victory, smiling in glory, or sighing in relief.
Alex didn't do anything. He felt...empty.
The Alex that had entered the arena was as dead as the girl he had just killed.
Children didn't leave the Arena. Victors left the Arena.
All children die in the Hunger Games.
A/N
Hey guys, hope you all enjoyed this chapter. If you have any qualms, criticism, or questions feel free to PM me! I will update frequently, so make sure to follow this story. Review, Review, Review!
About this Chapter: Before we get introduced to our characters and the main story line, we get a taste of the Hunger Games. I use the prologue as a way to set the tone for the story and introduce you to my writing (which is pretty terrible :P). Many readers will skip over a story if the first sentence is something like 'Ryan woke up on a bright, sunny day.' So, I made a hook chapter. Shameless, I know. However, the prologue explores the gritty reality of the Hunger Games. I feel like Collins' work has become romanticized by the movies and fans. Her books aren't about the archery or kissing in a cave. They're about the horrors of war and violence. There will be romance and silly alliances, because these are just kids. In the end, I hope to convey the same message that Collins conveyed by introducing a refreshingly, new story. Unlike Collins, I will introduce multiple character POVs and approach the story from multiple angles. There will probably be about 15 or so chapters devoted to character development before the games begin. I know many readers only want to read the games. However, I encourage all of you to follow this story and read all that I have to offer. And please, please, please give me feedback, so I can fix all of my stupid mistakes. I believe that I have a good story to share, and I don't want it to be ruined by my poor writing skills.
~Chase~