Author's Note: This is the first challenge I have written! I am hoping you will like it, but if you don't, can you at least tell me why, and what I can improve on?
Forum: Starvation
Prompt: Epic (A longer poem, of Heroics... I hope this applies!)
I had never thought.
I was not the type.
This was not my place.
I cannot do this.
But, I might be able to.
I have to.
I would fight for my life.
And I would win.
I would have to.
Or I would die.
Probably painfully at that.
This was not my kind of thing.
.
"Good luck," my mother had told me.
"Fight well," my father had said.
"Come back home," my sister had cried.
These may have been my last goodbyes.
The last time I would see my family.
But, I would fight.
Fight to see them again.
Fight for District Twelve.
Fight for myself.
This was not my kind of thing.
.
The train would have been boring.
Without Haymitch.
He would crack jokes.
He would speak of his girlfriend.
He would like we were not going to fight to the death.
He would make everything easier.
I would be surprised I did not know him.
But he was from the Seam.
And I was from the market.
This was not my kind of thing.
.
The Capitol would have been beautiful.
But, for some reason, I would not find it so.
The place is cruel.
The were the reason I would be there.
This was not my kind of thing.
.
The Chariot Rides would be interesting.
I would be dressed as a miner.
A miner in skimpy clothing and a hard hat.
Miners do not dress like that.
This was not my kind of thing.
.
Training would be hard.
I had never even tried anything close.
I would be best at easy things.
Easy things like plants, and camouflage.
This was not my kind of thing.
.
The interviews would be nice.
They would be my final chance to look pretty.
My last chance to get sponsors.
They would be my last chance to properly say good bye.
My last chance to tell my family I love them.
This was not my kind of thing.
.
I would stay with Haymitch.
We would be allies.
We would run from the cornucopia with a dart gun and some food.
We would go to the end of the arena.
It would be Haymitch's idea.
Haymitch would be smart.
Genius even.
This was not my kind of thing.
.
In my mind, I would have won.
I would have never broken the alliance with Haymitch.
We would stay together, until the end.
Until the last tribute came.
I would let her kill Haymitch.
I would then use Haymitch's idea.
I would let her throw the axe.
I would duck.
I would stay down.
Until the axe came back.
Until it hit the last tribute in the head.
This was not my kind of thing.
.
But that was not how it went.
I was stupid.
I left Haymitch.
I got myself killed.
My last though had been "Poor Marcy, she had to watch this."
Marcy was my sister.
When I died, her life was plagued with headaches.
I am Maysilee Donner.
I died in the fiftieth Hunger Games.
This was not my kind of thing