My first-ever fan fiction posted. This was originally written for a contest asking for a Hunger Games fic under a thousand words. Please read and enjoy!
Disclaimer: I don't own The Hunger Games. Duh doy.
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Sunshine filtered through the treetops and splashed gold upon everything below. The girl sat with her legs crossed, weaving the long grass in her fingers. Her lips were fixed in a smile of content. It was just as everything should always be. Warm. Peaceful. Perfect.
The man knelt to be level with his daughter. He showed her the roots nestled in his palm. The girl of course recognized the white petals attached to the stem.
"Do you know what this is?" His voice was full of love.
"That's katniss," she beamed.
"That's right. And this?" Now he held a bouquet of delicate blooms.
"Primrose," she giggled.
"What about these?"
The berries gave the girl some pause. "Nightlock?" she questioned. What would her father be doing with those?
"They are indeed. Try one." The man popped a berry into his mouth.
Her jaw dropped in shock. Not these. Never these. "Father, no! You'll be dead in seconds!"
The man tilted his head, perplexed. "But honey, I thought I already was."
The sunlight was gone. A frigid breeze had chased away the warmth. Overcast stretched into shadow.
Deafening explosions shattered the trees into splinters. The girl wrapped her arms over her head. Waves of roiling heat washed over her, singing her hair and setting the grass ablaze. She fell on her side and curled into a ball. Coal dust layered the scene in a blanket of screams and echoes.
Despite digging her palms into her eyes, she could still see the charred body before her melting into the ground.
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I startle awake. It was only a dream. Like always.
I'm sitting up in bed. A cold sweat soaks my face and chest. I turn to Prim, praying(to nobody who'd care) I hadn't woken her. She's still asleep, a smile playing on her lips. Awake or sleeping, she always looks like an angel. I almost smile myself, and tuck the thin blanket more around her shoulders.
When I was little, I'd always go to my mother and father when I had a nightmare. They'd hold me tight until I fell asleep again. But now, ever since⦠well, I'm too old anyway.
I swing my feet out of bed and start lacing up my boots. No one's going to hold me, so I may as well start early.
The victor from the seventy-third annual Games is passing though District 12 today. I figure I can bring in a few squirrels and start breakfast before we all have to go attend the 'celebration' at the town square.
But my hands are still shaking. I put my head down and try to calm my breathing. Then I can go.
I step into the little bathroom and splash cold water from the basin on my face. I can't shake the dream from my memory, but I have to stay in the here and now. I've got more important things to worry about. I need to take care of my mother and Prim for I long as I can.
The next Reaping isn't far off, after all.
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Good? Bad? Comments and criticism are welcome.
