A Hunger Games FanFiction.

Dairy.

A/N:

I wrote this for a writing challenge my friend was running. She went onto (A Hunger Games simulator) and entered random OCs/characters (Some, like Jem and Harry, are published characters) and wrote down the results. Then she had us pick a character or OC and write their POV. And this is what I wrote.

The Reaping

I didn't think they'd call my name. I was just a good girl, went to school, got good grades, talked with my friends, sometimes I'd sit by myself and think: 'What would happen if I went into the arena, would I live?' I never thought they'd call my name. I never thought I'd have to struggle through the eerie silence that haunted the crowd. Did they know my fate? Did they know that I had no chance?

"Alice Hodges," the woman called, pronouncing it with a ridiculous flare. The Capitol. The one place I never wanted to see, and the one place I'd be headed.

I shook my head. The irony, he was me, in a district full of willing people, mind people, but not one of the was willing to save me from death and volunteer. People were staring. The lady, with a name I don't like, something like Effing Stupid, asked what the hold up was. And so I walked. Towards them, my fists clenched. No-one would care about me. After all, I was invisible. I was liked enough, but not much. I wasn't hated... much.

I eyed the crowd. I saw relief in their eyes, they didn't care that I was probably going to die. They were just glad it wasn't them. Yet.

Effing Stupid was... well, effing stupid. She treated it like it was a game. Like she was a host of some effing stupid chat show. The Effing Stupid Chat Show, it had a ring to it. It was also very true.

"Let's call up another kid for slaughter. How fun this is! And that kid is... A-drumroll please... Tristan Francis!"

Tristan? Tristan Francis? No! No! They couldn't, not my friend! No! That wasn't fair! They could take me, but they couldn't take Tristan too!

He walked forward, eyes locked on the ground. His brown hair covered his face as he angled it to the ground. He looked pitiful. He looked weak. He looked like my best friend. Tristan Francis was just like me, nothing out of the ordinary, not rebellious enough to slip out side the border, not stupid enough to go up against The Capitol. But he was smart, we both were. Academic, but survival? I read, or tried to read, a book about it. I got bored and gave it to someone else. It had no plot, to factual.

But here we were, against the odds. We'd joked about it, you know? About going into the arena. We thought it would never happen. But here we are. Dead men.

Day One

I stole fishing bait. That's right, fishing bait. A cornucopia full of weapons and survival tools, and I take the fishing bait. But then I got thinking: 'If there's bait, there's a fish. A river. Which means water. Which means fish. Which means food.' But I don't have a rod. And I don't know how to fish.

I also took this. A book. Full of blank pages. Good for burning. But then I thought: 'This could be useful. This book could survive, and maybe, just maybe, the winner would take it with them, give it to my family. Maybe'. But it would be good for fires.

I was seriously considering it, I really was. As the count went down, I could have walked straight off, I could have ended it. I wouldn't have to kill anyone, and no-one would have to kill me. I could have spared Tristan the pain of seeing me die. Spare me the pain of seeing him die. It would be over in less than a second. I wouldn't even have time to register the light or the heat. But something told me not to. So I didn't.

The arena. It wasn't so bad. There were trees, which meant more animals and wildlife. Which meant that they'd be food for those who could catch it. But I couldn't catch it. I found something while I was walking. A backpack. It was rubbish quality, not good for long term tramping, but it'd be useful. So I put my fish bait inside and noticed it had two apples and a blanket in it. Good.

I set up my camp. I'd had an idea that I'd keep moving throughout the arena, trying to make it hard to track and kill me, but I made a camp anyway. Under a bush. It was comfortable enough, dry and warm. I'll sleep now. Sleep.

Day Two

I made a mistake. I thought my stuff would be safe under the bush, while I scouted around and tracked down some prey. With a big branch. That I'd sharpened. With a rock.

And so I wandered around the forest, making subtle hints of a trial, leading back to camp, so I could pick up my gear and carry on. But some people had other ideas. I came back from a fairly unsuccessful hunt, finding only a scrap of carrion and a river (for fishing), only noticing what had happened when I went to get my stuff. Someone had taken it. That's right. They stole the little I have. The forest doesn't seem that big, but I haven't seen anyone yet. They saw me, obviously, but no careers yet.

Good thing I had this book on my person. I feel like this book is... Well, this will sound ridiculous, but I feel like this is a part of me now. I wonder how Tristan is. I haven't seen him, but he isn't dead. He didn't come up in the screen last night, so he's fine. I hope he wins. I need him to win for me. The thought of such a life wasted... Well, good night.

Day Three

I was raided again. Maybe I'm doing something wrong, but I don't know what. So now I have nothing.

I found someone. That's right, a real person. His name is Harry. I tried to sneak off, thinking such an older boy would try kill me, but he said he wouldn't. He talked to me, calming me down. He said that I was too young to die, he said he wouldn't hurt me. I hope he's a man of this word.

He told me about a girlfriend of his, the only one he'd cared for. Her name was Ginny. I knew he'd mentioned her from the interview the Caesar What-His-Face. I could tell he cared for her. The way he said her name and how his eyes glowed when he talked about her... well, it made me... almost jealous. We talked, and as it got darker, we started talking about more personal things, like friends and family and tales of our lives.

I told him about when Tristan and I decided to hack into the main computer. We wanted to know more about the district, everything about it.

I wished him the best, I hope he wins it, for his girlfriend. He wished me luck, and gave me some supplies. I didn't think to thank him. I might not see him again.

Later

I found another person. Well, a group of people. Four people. One of which I recognise.

"Tristan Francis!" I yelled, stepping away from the under growth. "You should have known better!" He look shocked, happy, but shocked.

"W-What?" He said.

"You stole my stuff!"

It's true. He stole my stuff. I can't believe it. I trusted him, and then I saw him with my backpack, about to eat one of myapples. I can't... I never thought Tristan would steal my stuff. I'm not happy. But I forgive him. We're too close for there to be a grudge between us.

Jem, Dylan and Ric, the three others, seem confused. Fair enough. They wouldn't get over thievery like me, especially here and now, in the arena. Jem and Dylan made their excuses and went hunting. Ric, Tristan and I got talking. Ric and I got into a debate. I hope it blows over, they seem nice enough.

Day Four

I'm going to take advantage of the time I have alone. I'm guarding the gear, okay, it's not much, but we'll survive. I hope. Hang on, there's someone... Where's my spear? Oh, jeez. It's Alec. And he's got a sickle.