It all started with a promise
Hey guys, this is my first story. If you could inform me on any mistakes I might make it would be greatly appreciated, Hope you enjoy my story… Please and thank you!
DISCLAIMER: I don't own ANYTHING except for my ideas, Suzzane Collins owns the Hunger Games.
Prologue Family History
The earliest recording was many years before Panem or districts existed; of a tribe, residing in the forest. This tribe learned to forage and survive without technology. They specialized in hand to hand combat, also developing their own technique known as 'Nerve Paralyses' puncturing certain points of the nerves on the victim's body with their fingers. The time that the paralyses can last depends on what points in the body they hit, the time spans range from minutes to hours.
The tribes name was known as Thornebrooke, it survived for decades until the numbers started to dwindle, the people began to separate and travel to the outside world, eventually adapting to the rest of societies customs. Fortunately their knowledge and skills were not lost, a single member, Jonathan Thornebrooke preserved their stories in a handmade, leather bound book that has been passed down for fifty generations in a well-known place that is now known for specializes in lumber, called District 7.
Chapter one Happy Hunger Games
I woke with a start, my ears perking up to the many sounds around me. Sadly not even the lovely music from the colourful birds outside my window or the rustling and bustling coming from down stairs could cheer me up on such an unfortunate occasion. Today District seven's reaping for the 74th annual Hunger Games will take place in our town square at noon. For the past four years I have been eligible for the games, every time I have tried to stay in bed for some extra sleep but to no avail. Instead I get out of bed, making it as I go, then take my morning shower. When I hop out and walk back into my bedroom, I pull up my black pants, put on my plain grey top, slip on my worn but comfy jacket and lace up my work boots. I walk over to my dresser and start to brush out the few knots in my long chocolate brown hair. Once I looked back at my reflection satisfied, deeming my appearance decent, I grab my small leather bag that holds my twin axes, hunting knife and a book that was passed down to me by my father. I opened my large window letting the air stream in, the faint smell of pine indulging my senses. I hike my rather long legs up and over proceeding to jump out of the two story window, landing with grace on the grass floor surrounding my back yard. Crossing the aged apple tree in the yard I picked three and stuck them in my bag, I open the wooden gate and make my way down the dirt path to my sanctuary.
I travelled down the familiar path lined with tall pines, oaks and many more, running my fingertips along the rich bark as I go. A blue bird passed in front of me, singing a happy tune as it went to a neighbouring tree. 'I wish I could be as care free today,' I thought with sorrow, staring at the forest longingly, as if I will never have enough time to take it all in, which is completely true.
'May the odds be ever in my favour.' I thought to myself dryly. I stopped in the middle of what looked to be a training ground; this blank patch of dusty earth surrounded by battered looking trees that had carved targets and a lot of deep chips where the bullseye should be. Right next to this 'training ground' was a calm river streaming in fresh clean water and all sorts of interesting creatures. I drop my bag carefully on a fallen log and sat down, reaching in and pulling out the contents. I picked up my medium sized twin axes and laughed quietly remembering how I had gotten them. The axes were a 5th birthday present from my father; originally my mother scolded my father and protested that a dangerous weapon was not a proper or a safe gift for a young lady, and a pair of axes no less.
I was so excited when I had received them, taking in the detail and effort my father put into carving the ancient designs of our tribe around the handle. I felt so special griping it in my little hands. My father saw the excitement on my face, and then he quickly explained to me that it was not a weapon of destruction, but used as a tool to build or to protect the safety of our loved ones. I have always thought of my father Garret as a wise man, he is a dark haired sturdy lumber jack with a scruffy beard and a small fetish with good scotch. At age fourteen I started accompanying him to work, he taught me many things but not just about being a lumber jack. On his breaks we would travel further through the forest, my father telling me stories about our families past and there many skills.
I place my axes beside me and picked up the old thick leather bound book. On my fifteenth birthday my father gave it to me and explained where it came from and how important it was; the book was filled with pictures, stories, information and instructions all to do with subjects from combat to every type of animal and plant there was. I had spent days on end reading through the book soaking up the pages, trying to memorise every bit of knowledge it had. After reading the book I wanted to keep my families' legacy and skill alive and not lost to the world, I then practice these skills, along with applying my axes in combat; I took it upon myself to find a proper training ground and went there every day for at least four hours. It has been two years now and I still train, these skills have become second nature to me and I have stopped relying on the book. But time to time I still read through its pages, never getting bored of the linked script of my great decedent Jonathan Thornebrooke.
Swapping the book in my hands for my axes I stride over to the middle of the grounds surrounded by trees, stretching first, I start off slow continually throwing the axes at the bullseye on different trees. Roughly after an hour I stop for a break, I walk to the river side and scoop up a handful of water to drink. Back on the log I pull out my knife and an apple, I started to peel and slice, I do love apples. After I have had my snack I continue with my workout, moving onto combat I face a tree with a large dent in the side caused by multiple kicks levelled with my hip. Other large dents levelled with my face and torso caused by kicks and punches. I began to strike sever blows all over the tree with deadly accuracy until I thought was enough, when I look at the sky I noted that it was already eleven o'clock. I sighed heavily, walked back to the river and washed the sweat off my face, gathered my things, slung my bag over my shoulder and headed back up the path I came.
"It is the same thing every year Eve! My dear why must you vanish so early in the morning into the forest and come back a grubby mess?" my mother Brey questioned vehemently after I waked through the kitchen door. At the moment she was making what smelled like a delicious stew, my mouth watered a little.
"I am sorry mother; I just can't help it for some odd reason. It might be the last I ever see of it for all I know..." I trailed off. Her anger dissolved instantly, a hesitant smile replacing the frown that was once adorning her aged but beautiful face. My mother was a kind and intelligent woman, chocolate brown hair that I have inherited and clear forest green eyes. "Alright love, go on upstairs, get ready and come back down for a quick meal before the… reaping" she finished hesitantly. Opening the door to my bedroom I see the clothes she has laid out for me on my bed and smile, a vibrant scarlet dress falling five inches above the knee made from a soft material. It was one sleeved and where the other sleeve should be was a strap instead, leading to a low back line followed by other straps crossing at the back.
The ends of my full lips curled slightly 'my mother was never one for being subtle.' I thought sarcastically.
The sandals were a nice worn brown colour hooking up at the ankles, followed with a necklace holding a pendant with the crest of my family, a setting sun. 'This must be my token from my mother and father,' I thought gratefully but with great sorrow 'so very beautiful.' After showering, towel drying and getting dressed, I carefully place the necklace around my slender neck, sceptically taking in every detail as my hands ran over it. I descend down the stair case and back into the kitchen. My mother turned around, she looked at me adoringly, then embraced me and whispered in my ear "you look absolutely beautiful, my Eve." She then hurried me to sit and placed a white bowl in front of me with delicious steaming stew inside. Reality hit and I suddenly wasn't so hungry, I ate as best I could then swallowed a tall glass of water. My father walked into the kitchen fully dressed, his face showed great sadness along with my mother. I looked at the clock; we had fifteen minutes to get to the town square and sorted into age groups. "Shall we go?" a said softly, a weak smile on my face as I looked at my parents. "Very well." Father said grimly, leading us out the door, onto the ploughed path eight minutes walking distance from town.
I stepped up from the queue for a blood sample then pasted through to find my parents. I spotted them at once, walking over they indulged me in a hug each, whispered their goodbyes and good lucks and started to walk off. I uttered a few last words to them, and new they heard me. "Do not fret mother, father, I will come back to you, I promise" I gave them one last confident smile. They allowed themselves to smile back, my father gave a small wave and ushered my mother off to the allocated section.
I wave back knowing he did not see it and went to my own section, as I walked I saw the torn, frightened and tortured faces around me. All sorts of people were holding hands, hugging, crying, shaking and praying; it tore me apart inside, the suffering of my district weighing down on me. I swallowed hard and looked up at the stage, identifying the four people. First was Mayor Cornelius Chapman, a busy and rather stressed man. As he started his well-used speech I noted the three others on stage, the two remaining victor of district seven. The female tribute, Johanna mason, a small, dark haired, angry looking person sat impatiently looking like she wanted to move around. From my understanding she is an irritable and rude young woman, who won her games by deceiving and lying to her opponents and also her partner. I have disliked her ever since I was a child and viewed her games for the first time. I don't judge her for doing what she had to survive and I understand what she must be going through, the pain and loss she must feel, but I dislike her attitude and how she treats others around her. And the male tribute Blight Houston, a tall, strong built young man with dirty blonde hair. He sat straight hands in his lap. Blight always seemed polite and reserved and only talked to others when necessary, he didn't kill anyone in his games and in his interviews said he was against the thought on killing. He rarely smiled and only to Johanna, they must have a very deep relationship considering Johanna smirked back almost every time. The fourth and last person on stage was districts sevens escort Zelda Thompson, she was poised, graceful and sickeningly lady like. This year what she was wearing was shocking and not in a good way. Bright orange curled medium length hair and a puffy forest green dress with just as puffy sleeves, the dress ended at the knee, dark green stockings, gold heels and all covered in gold sparkles. Her makeup somehow matched her outfit, bright pink cheeks, golden lipstick and eyeliner, with some sort of little butterflies hanging of her lashes. It looked like her outfit was supposed to represent district seven as some sort of plant. In my opinion she resembled a puffy orange rose that a fairy had vomited on immensely. I will never for the life of me understand capitol fashion and hope that it never catches on in district seven.
When the mayor stoped his speech about how gracious Panem is Zelda stepped up starting to talk with utmost manners. "Welcome, welcome, to the reaping of the 74th annual Hunger Games," she shrilled on in her obnoxious capitol accent "know we bring you a film from the capitol." She smiled widely showing her too white teeth and bowed her head as it began. "War… terrible war…" a deep voice droned as the same film that I have watched for every reaping since I can remember went on and on, until, "know, it is time to select a brave young man and woman for the honour of representing district seven, as always lady first." She chimed, walking over to a big glass bowl on one of the two stands filled to the brim will little envelopes. She reached straight in and pulled out a name, saying it loud and clear "Rachel Lovell" a frail girl that looks about twelve walked up, gorgeous red hair and freckles dotting her face. She was shaking so badly, tears streaming down her face, I could hear a woman screaming to stop her clear as day and a mans tortured face trying to restrain his wife. I can't explain what came over me at that moment, the ache in my chest intensified, my throat burned with disgust and hatred, disgust and hatred for the capitol and what they have done. This girl does not deserve to suffer this fate, no one does. I started to walk out of my row my voice loud and clear, confidence in every word, "I volunteer as tribute." Walking down the aisle I pass Rachel and see the shock and gratitude in her face, this caught a lot of people's attention, especially the people on stage. "I believe we have a volunteer!" Zelda exclaimed with joy. "Come, come now dear!" she bellowed into the microphone enthusiastically. When I reach the stage I had an indifferent face but on the inside I was freaking out 'what have I done? What will my parents be thinking right now? Selfish, I'm so selfish' my parents gaze caught my eye and my heart broke. My mother looked like she was being tortured with fire and the tears would not stop. As for my father, it was the first time I had ever seen him cry, a look of immense pain in his face. They were clutching onto each other for dear life as Zelda spoke again. "Now what's your name my lovely young girl?" she beamed "Eve Thornebrooke" I spoke clearly showing no emotion, I didn't want to give the capitol the satisfaction of seeing my pain. I saw the little girl Rachel walk back to her spot being hugged by many other girls her age, know she had stop shaking and had a faint smile on her little face. I gave her a warm smile, when she saw, she gave a shy smile back, and this definitely did not go unnoticed by the cameras or anyone else. "I thought those eyes looked familiar!" she squeaked with excitement. Allow me to explain what she's talking about.
Mytus Thornebrooke, victor of the 31st hunger games is known for his extensive skill in combat and highly accurate strikes. It is for this reason that when he returned to the capitol their surgeons injected him with a serum that intensified his sensory system and reflexes; making him even more famous and well-known than he already was. But the main reason he stood out from any other tribute from the previous hunger games was because of his unearthly and extraordinary ember eyes, eyes that each and every Thornebrooke are born with.
I also possess his gift; the serum that ran through his blood also runs through mine and my fathers, it was passed down in Mytus's genetic code. Know the previous victors looked very interested, I could see their faces from my peripheral vision. "This will be a very interesting Hunger Games indeed!" she shrilled even louder. "Know honey I have to ask, why is it that you volunteered for little-" she looked down at the piece of paper in her hands "Rachel" she said dramatically, shoving the microphone in my face. 'Unbelievable' I thought with distaste. "It physically hurt me to see my district suffer, no one deserves this fate." I speak into the microphone, the tiniest bit sorrow showing in my voice. Tears started to well up in her face, 'wow she was really going to milk this for all its worth isn't she?' I thought scornfully. "And you wanted to lift this burden from their shoulders?" she shrieked with fake sadness, the microphone getting closer to my face. "I meant what I said and I stand by it." I said firmly, successfully ending the conversation. She sniffed pulled out a disgusting frilly pink handkerchief, blowed her nose and started talking again. "Know for the boys." She said try to regain herself, walking over to the other bowl and quickly pulling out a piece of paper. "Adam Ivy" oh no… a burly looking young man with black hair and emerald eyes slowly stepped up to the podium with sadness in his eyes, my chest constricted. Adam Ivy was an eighteen year old boy who worked with his dad as a lumber jack a long side my father, his family often came to our house for dinner and vice versa, over the two years they have been working together I was developing a deep friendship with Adam. Now we are both being thrown into a televised fight to the death. 'The odds aren't exactly in my favour' I thought to myself bitterly "Your tributes for the 74th annual hunger games!" Zelda shrieked in her nasty capitol accent. We shook hands, neither wanted to let good, desperate for comfort, for a friend. But we had to let go, best not to attract attention from unwanted cameras, a forced applause surrounded the town as Zelda concluded the ceremony with a shrill "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favour." She stretched the last few words as peace keepers escorted us into the justice building and into separate rooms, right before the door shut I could see Adam emerald eyes gazing at mine as desperately as I stared at him.
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