Hello Fanfiction readers! I am a huge Hunger Games fan and have read the books and seen the movie! I hope you like the story of my own character, Meridina. Since I want to become a better author, I hope you will reveiw my story. Even If you don't see anything wrong, I would still appriciate it! I DON'T OWN THE HUNGER GAMES!
I find myself on my back in the dirt. My chest heaves as my lungs gasp for air, they try desperately to refill themselves. The sky is pitch black above me as if the moon and the stars have been turned off. But, that can't be right. Even if there was no moon how could the stars be gone? Besides, it's only mid-afternoon!
And with that startling revelation the world suddenly reveals itself in a blinding flash of light. My lungs finally fill with air again, and continue breathing. My head spins and as I try to sit up, my stomach heaves violently, making my lunch come up in an impressive display.
I lay there propped up on one elbow with my eyes closed until the nausea leaves. Besides the ringing in my head, my ears pick up another sound. Someone nearby is laughing. As I try to sit up, I am painfully aware of the pain coming from my protesting muscles.
The memory of what happens comes back to me in a rush. And as I look around, I see him standing behind me with a slightly relieved expression. The fact that he thought he had hurt me made me even angrier and more determined than ever to not show my pain.
My dad stands there with his arms crossed. I know what he'll say before he even opens his mouth. "You should have seen that punch coming and ducked. I purposely drew my arm back too far so you would have time to react. If we had been in the arena the other tribute would have killed you by now." He says. It's always the same story, I went easy on you; you should have done better; if this were real, you would have died.
I pick myself up and dust myself off trying not to show how much pain I'm in. Hand to hand combat has always been my least favorite practice. I'm actually pretty decent against anybody else except my dad. He's taller and bigger than me, but not by enough for me to dodge his blows easily, or for him to go too easy on me anymore. He is six feet two inches of solid muscle. That's only a four inch difference but it's still a difference. Not to mention that he's a lot broader than I am since I inherited my mother's slender figure.
"Let's call it quits for the day shall we?" He says.
At that moment Lucille calls us in to wash up for dinner. I let the hot water wash away the stiffness in my muscles. My growling stomach reminds me that it's empty so I reluctantly step out of the shower and towel dry. The bathroom opens into my bedroom so I don't bother with putting on my fluffy blue robe. I choose a simple blue/green shirt, the same color as my eyes. It hugs my newly apparent curves. I also pick a simple pair of black slacks. I decide to leave my hair down and quickly pulled on my clothes. These actions were aided by Lucille's call that dinner was ready.
Dinner usually involves friends, neighbors, or relatives visiting and tonight was no exception. Our neighbors Mags, Shell, Pearl, Hanson and Presslock were all seated at the table by the time I got there. I know Dad invited them so that they could discuss this year's games, but I'm still glad to see them. Their presence tonight reminds me that tomorrow will be the beginning of my least favorite time of the year. And this year, I'm eligible for the reaping.
Dinner remains a jovial affair, interrupted only when Lucille takes away the dirty dishes to be replaced by new ones for each course. Mother is very particular about my manners tonight, as we have so many guests. Tonight she can't seem to stop whispering commands in my ear, such as "Sit up straight", "Don't talk with your mouth full.", and my least favorite "For Pete's sake! A girl your age should act more lady-like!" Personally I couldn't care less about how I'm sitting as I try to follow the conversation.
"I wonder what the arena will be this year. I hope there's something edible this year or we'll dry up all of the sponsors!" Hanson said.
"Yes, but then again that was a Quarter Quell." Pearl reminds him. There was a collective shudder around the table as everyone's thoughts flashed back to last year. Nothing had been edible, and to make things worse, there were twice as many children. Mother hadn't wanted me to watch it, but it's illegal not to. Surprisingly a boy from district 12 won and he didn't have to kill anyone on purpose to do it either, it was a complete accident.
"Yes, that was particularly horrible, but then again, it was meant to be that way." Mags said. Her voice sounded strangled as if she were trying to speak around a large lump in her throat.
At this, Mother turned her reprimands from me to the adults by reminding them that they had a twelve year old in their midst and could they please talk about something else. I ducked my head, earning me a hissed "Sit up straight!" from Mother.
The conversation quickly turned to the fish shortages and how we might not make our quota for the month. But the conversation doesn't stay away from the Hunger Games for long, and as Lucille brings in the main course (a roasted turkey), the conversation turns to this year's tributes.
"With all of the famine this year our tributes will likely need to gain a few pounds if they expect to have any weight advantages." Presslock said.
"Aye, but at least they won't have any extra fat on them, and they'll be more used to being hungry." Shell replied, "I almost collapsed from starvation after the supplies were washed away by that flood, and our tributes last year had a pretty good shot until that mudslide destroyed their only source of food."
"That reminds me, we must remember to advise them not to keep all of their supplies in one place. Keep an emergency amount on themselves at all times. Don't trust that the supplies will always be there." Dad added.
"Right, don't put all of your eggs in one basket." Pearl agreed nodding.
"I just hope whoever we get will be up to the task. The district really needs the gifts or we'll all be too hungry and weak to haul in nets!" Hanson said darkly.
The conversation went on to discuss strategies on how to win sponsors and what to advise the tributes when it came to earning sponsors and surviving. I've heard these strategies before from Dad so I allow my mind to drift. Mother has been telling me that there's no way my name will be picked since it is only in there once, compared to the 18 year olds who have been taking tessera ever since they were twelve.
Dad's been a bit more realistic, he believes the capitol will make sure I am chosen in order to torture him. He told me that a long time ago. Dad won the 8th Hunger Games when he was 17. He was afraid to openly admit his love for Mother, who was 14 at the time, in case the capitol picked her, in order to torture him. When I asked him why he thought they would do that he replied, "Because the Games are meant to hurt you by forcing you to watch helplessly as those you care about most fight for their lives. When I beat the capitol by winning the games, they wanted to hurt me in the most painful way possible. And the way to hurt me is by hurting my family, which is you."
He told me that shortly after he started training me. At first I thought we were doing it for fun. He had bought a bow and arrows on the black market and taught me how to shoot it, with an enormous amount of patience, perseverance, and caution on his part. I was only six at the time. We used to play wrestle and fence with sticks but that was the first time he had taught me how to use a weapon. He and mom got into a huge argument over how dangerous it was. I asked him why he wanted me to learn if it was so dangerous and that was when he told me that he thought I would be reaped. We haven't talked about it since then, but I never forgot what he said.
Whenever I feel scared that I might be reaped, I always think about all of my training and how much of an advantage I have over most of the other tributes. Districts 1 and 2 will pose a problem but I try not to think about them. But now, with the Reaping tomorrow, I start to worry. What if the tributes from 1 and 2 are bigger and better than I am? What if I freeze up and can't get any sponsors? What if I can't use the weapons that the Capitol has? Or worse, what if there are no weapons? If I have to rely on hand to hand combat alone I won't last five seconds against a large opponent. I'm fast enough that I might be able to outrun them, but I can't run forever.
The room feels too hot and stuffy. As hungry as I was, I have no appetite as Lucille sets out three types of pie, including my favorite kind – chocolate. I pick away at a teensy slice of chocolate pie, but by now I feel too nauseous to eat it. As more dark thoughts crowd my mind I find that I'm in serious danger of throwing up again. I quickly excuse myself from the table before anyone can see.
I somehow find myself sitting in one of our orange trees. The tangy scent fills my nose as a cool summer breeze makes my hair flutter almost as badly as my stomach. I'm sitting in my favorite spot. The leaves hide me from the unaware above the world. This particular tree is on hill that overlooks this part of District 4. I love sitting up here on warm days and watch the fleet go out every morning and return every evening. The Victor's Village is on the highest hill overlooking District 4, possibly designed so that if anyone were to look away from the ocean it would be impossible to miss.
I don't know how long I was sitting here watching the waves roll across the beach and the boats rocking at their posts, when I realized I was being watched. I looked down to see Lucille looking up at me. "I don't feel like talking Lucille." I said flatly hoping that that would be the end of it.
"You're worried, any child facin' a reapin' would be. But you go' an advantage o'er 'em and don't you forget it now, no matter what happens." Lucille said. Lucille had four children of her own to worry about and yet she still had room in her heart to worry about me too. She had been our house keeper since before I was born, and had helped raise me. I loved her and there was no argument about the fact that she was part of our family. Sometimes I even preferred her to my own mother, though I would never admit that to either of them.
"But what if I get chosen and the Careers are better than I am?" I ask. Lucille is the only person that I could ever voice these doubts to.
"Sure, strength and weapons are important, but you go' a head on your shoulders. Most of 'em rely on their strength but if you can't outfight 'em you'll outsmart 'em. Of that, I have no doubts!" She said. Her eyes shined with the quite reassurance of one who knows. Her words filled me with new hope. She winked knowingly and then she turned and started walking home. I watched her as she walked along the winding path in the growing twilight. She was carrying a bundle under one arm. Aside from her salary, Mother lets her take home any leftovers she wants since we'll never eat it. We even gave her some of my old dresses and clothes for her daughter Tess. I'm bigger than Tess even though she's two years older than me so Lucille has to take in the garments wherever it's needed to make them fit Tess.
I pull myself together and climb down. I enter through the backdoor to avoid my parents and neighbors who have retreated into the living room. I quietly shut the door and tiptoe across the kitchen tiles to the basement door. I sneak down the steps and flick on the harsh fluorescent lights. I can't hear them talking upstairs because Dad had the basement soundproofed. The White walls and gray concrete floor aren't very decorative like the rest of the house, but they serve the purpose of the room. I step out into my favorite room in the house, my personal training gym. There are human shaped targets along the wall, fighting mats in the center and climbing ropes across the ceiling, there's even a fancy set of weights. There are no windows because this room is supposed to be hidden since training for the games is illegal.
I cross to the armory, which is really nothing more than a closet full of weapons and armor, and grab the bow my father bought for me when I was six. I use it more for familiarity than anything else, since I have long outgrown it. The bow is made out of some type of dark wood that I don't recognize. It's slightly too small for me and it has no added features. After having used fancier bows as I grew, I realized just how incompetent this bow really was. The balance is slightly off. I never would have noticed that if I had never used a Capitol bow. The bowstring is hard to pull back on mine. The Capitol models have extra pulleys at the ends to make it easier. My Capitol model even includes a little hook so that I don't have to hold the arrow in place while I aim. The hook is dead center so the shot is almost always straight. I've even seen bows with sights to help you aim but I've never used one. In a way, It was better that I learned to shoot on such a basic bow. I can draw back the bowstring on the Capitol model farther than I've ever seen a Tribute do, and with my strength it is almost effortless. I learned how to hold a bow straight on a bow that was top-heavy. I can even aim straight without using the hook. This will come in handy if I have to make my own bow. I've never tried to make a bow but I think I know enough about them that I probably could.
Tonight I put my energy into complicated shots. I climb onto the ropes and shoot at dummies while hanging in various positions. I quickly tire of that and start trying to fire at targets while I'm falling. After about an hour, I'm able to hit the target and land on my feet every time. I put the bow away and practice doing the same thing throwing knives. I whip through my sword exercises and finish with my weights. Just as I'm finishing the fancy weighted curl-ups I invented (the ones where I'm hanging upside down from the ropes and clutching and iron barbell), Mother calls "I know you're down there but you need to be well rested for tomorrow!"
That night I can't get to sleep. I keep thinking about how tomorrow, I will most certainly be chosen because of Dad. I don't want to die, and with my training I might just have a shot at winning. I have to win, for me, for my family, but most importantly, for my district. Hansen was right, we do need a victor or we'll starve without the Capitol's gifts. "I will win the Hunger Games" I promise myself. And for the first time since dinner, my mind goes blank and I immediately fall asleep.