Author's Note: This is my first story! I am not a pro and my stories won't be brilliant. I hope you enjoy and review nonetheless! Remember that the more reviews I get, the quicker I update and the longer the chapters will be! 3
Chapter 1:
The remains of my last opponent flashed before my eyes. Lora of District 1, who was my most vicious adversary in the games, was dead. Her blank, once stunning face. The fear in her sapphire eyes. The boom of the cannon and blare of the trumpets. It was overwhelming. I had won the Hunger Games.
An electric surge shot through my body as I mounted the first rung of the ladder which took me up to the hovercraft. The second I entered the high-tech vehicle, a whole team of doctors, my escort (Effie Trinket) and my mentor (Haymitch Abernathy) pounced onto me. I heard my name called in those high-pitched, detestable Capitol accents before everything went black and I fell to the ground.
"Katniss? KATNISS? KATNISS!"
I shakily sat up in my bed and found myself staring into the tearful eyes of Prim. Warmth filled my body as my sister gave me a heartfelt hug. I had thought I would never see Prim again and here she was.
"Prim!" I cried. "Oh my goodness, Prim! I missed you so much!"
"So did I Katniss, so did I!"
"Are you alright? Did Gale bring you game? How is Mom?"
"I'm fine and so is Mom. Gale brought us plenty of food."
"How long have I been out for?"
"A couple of days."
A couple of days? That means I set out on the victory tour tomorrow!
My interview is tonight!
As if on cue, Cinna (my stylist) burst into the room.
"Oh Katniss! See, I knew you would win!" he said, with tears in his gold-lined eyes.
I was asked if I was OK then bustled out of the room to prepare for my interview. My prep team were overjoyed to see me and began to work on me instantly.
Two hours later, Cinna came into the room holding my dress. It was gorgeous with a flowing skirt and jewelled bodice and to top it all off, it was a radiant gold colour with matched my precious mocking jay pin. I looked spectacular in it.
I strutted out onto the stage where Caesar Flickerman had just introduced me.
"Katniss! What a pleasure it is to be talking to you again!"
"Thank you Caesar , I couldn't be happier to be out here!"
"So, Victor of the 74th Hunger Games! How does that feel?"
"It is an honour!" I lie, I can't express my actual feeling here though. I'd most likely be executed for treason or sparking a rebellion or something ridiculous like that. "I cannot believe that I have won and I am going home!"
"Who would of thought it? A young girl from District 12! It's been a while since 12 has had a victor!"
Under the many layers of my dress, I clenched my fists. I detested how 12 was always looked down upon when it isn't our fault we are the poorest district of the remaining 12. I didn't show this however and even managed a beaming grin.
"Yes, I believe it has been."
"So, how did you feel when Peeta died?"
My stomach tied into a knot as I remembered looking into his eyes as the life was slowly being drained out of them. He had tried to tell me something. Something in such a weak and pitiful voice it was inaudible. All I could hear was the single word 'remember'. Two minutes later, his cannon had fired. I cried and cried until it became impossible to produce a tear. I don't know why though. It was an act, the star-crossed lovers thing. Then why did it hurt so much?
I think that Caesar got his answer before I opened my mouth and I was sure that I wasn't imagining the genuine look of sadness on his face.
"It was…" I venture.
Depressing? Agonizing? Heart-Breaking?
"I just knew I would never forget him. He didn't deserve to die. I will always remember what a sweet, compassionate person he was." Was my final answer.
"So sweet. So sweet!" Caesar moans.
Many questions, a long train journey and an awkward visit to District 1, we were in District 2. I was dressed in my style of clothes for once. A tight top, leather jacket and ripped jeans. I could never afford these at home, but it was a style I would wear if possible. I wore minimal makeup, just a drop of foundation and eyeliner. When I stepped out onto the stage, I immediately caught the glares of the crowd. I had personally killed their female tribute, Zilla. The District 4 male, Dylan had seen to their male tribute, Alex. The bitter reality then hit me. I was a murderer. A murderer at the mere age of 16.
All my worries soon left me however, when I caught the gaze of icy blue eyes.