The 73rd Hunger Games

I do not own The Hunger Games. All rights have been reserved to Suzanne Collins for creating one of the best stories I have ever read. Although I claim to own the characters in this fiction, I technically do not because had it not been for Suzanne Collins' creation, they would not exist. So in a way, she owns them as well. I have also taken the idea of this story from a fiction I have noticed posted by Shadowcaster4444. Sorry, Shadowcaster - I genuinely am - but you have inspired me to create my own attempt at your idea. Forgive me. Partial credit will go to you and reviews (if I get any) will also be expected in your direction.

Set pre-Hunger Games. I had this idea niggling at the back of my mind to make a spin on the 'star-crossed lovers' title bestowed on Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark. So I got a crazy idea to make my own 'star-crossed lovers' who were forced into the Hunger Games. Because I want to make this fiction as believable as possible, it will be set in District 12, just like in the book.

I'm sorry if I sound arrogant. I really don't intend to.

Thank you for reading.

Edit: This is the first draft of the first chapter, so it's shorter than what I initially planned, but it's still being fleshed out.

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01: Ever the Odds

"… and may the odds be ever in your favour!"

It takes all the moral fibre in my body to hold back a groan of contempt. Effie Trinket. The pink-haired diva who "graces us with her presence" every Reaping. Anyone with functioning eyes can tell that she's wearing a wig, though you need a lot more than good eyesight to guess what might be the reason exactly why she insists on wearing the magenta-hued monstrosity on her head. Perhaps she has something to hide? A terrible haircut, perhaps? A head covered in venomous snakes?

I smile to myself a little at my comparison between her and Medusa. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if she secretly were a demon from mythological legends because that would explain why we're being rounded up like helpless sheep about to be sacrificed to the Minotaur. Oh, no, wait. It has nothing to do with the Minotaur. It's the annual Hunger Games.

The Hunger Games is a televised 'game show' where contestants - they are often referred to as "tributes" to disguise their true identities; "sacrifices" - selected from all twelve Districts are thrown together in an arena, expected to fight to the death.

It was the Capitol's way of saying a big "fuck you" to the districts after their rebellion. As a result of this mutiny, District 13 had been obliterated and every year two individuals - one boy, one girl - from the remaining twelve districts between the ages of twelve to eighteen are drawn from two glass balls to "participate" in Hunger Games.

So now here we are again. Just like last year… and the year before that.

The crowd are suddenly silent when a female name has been drawn. Not that they could be more silent than they were before. Unlike everyone else here, I'm not too worried. I have no siblings who could be in danger of being selected for the Games. The only one who is in the line of any potential threat is me, but so far I have managed to go through five years of Reaping without having my name be the one taken out.

I suppose the odds were ever in my favour. But then again, considering the one who always makes this statement is Effie Trinket, I wouldn't hold my breath any time soon.

"Andromeda Heron."

I recognise that name. Andy. I've known her for the majority of my life. But by that I mean 'I've known of her' rather than know her personally. She's always been singled out by everyone at school because of her unusual name. No sane parent would call their daughter 'Andy'. The only other potential female Andy is Andrea Periwinkle, and even then Andy got picked on for being named after a separate galaxy rather than some other Earth-related name.

No one makes a sound as Andy steadily makes her way to the stage. I have never known Andy to talk much. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if the girl wasn't capable of talking at all considering all the communication she exchanges with other students involves lazy nods of her head.

Not that I've been watching or anything. You just notice these things.

Andy has quite a strange look about her, which is why I suppose the strange name rather suits. She has incredibly fair skin, white-blond hair and striking bright green eyes. She's not exactly overweight or stick-thin, as while being of a decent physique, it's visible that she's developed during puberty.

And now I'm immediately going to stop going on about Andy's body because I am currently at risk of being viewed as a potential pervert.

Despite the brave façade that Andy is trying so hard to uphold, I can still detect the trait of fear in her eyes. No one else has noticed - as far as I can tell - but then again, I suppose they're all currently preoccupied with dreading who the boy tribute may be.

Right on cue, Effie intones: "It's time to choose our boy tribu--."

"Andy!" a small voice shrieks from within the crowd. I don't care who it is, but I greatly like this person for being brave enough or stupid enough to interrupt Effie Trinket in the middle of a speech. "Andy!" a little boy, presumably about eight years old at best, whizzes out from the crowd and successfully latches himself onto Andy in a record-breaking time of ten seconds.

"Al," I can hear her murmur to him as she squeezes the boy for plausibly the last time. I didn't know Andy had a little brother. But then again, I suppose I would have known this if I had even talked to her once in a while. I try to keep my eyes on the glass ball where Effie is standing with impatience. It's known to everyone in District 12 that Effie hates us. She's only here because the Capitol haven't upped her to a far more wealthy district. Despite my best attempts to tune Andy's family crisis out, I can hear her mutter something incoherent to the boy which finally settles him down.

I hear Effie cough in discomfort but no one gives a damn. If we were to pick someone to sympathize with between Effie Trinket with her Capitol-bred lifestyle and a seventeen year old girl who is being sacrificed to entertain the bastards, we'd all pick Andy in a heartbeat. Sucks to be you, Effie.

To surprise myself, I'd like to know what she said. But I don't maul over it too much as I divert my attention to huddled group of pre-teen boys shivering together, like a pack of sheep trying to keep as far away as they can from the big bad wolf. Only the wolf is a ball where in which Effie Trinket has currently dipped her Capitol-manicured hand. I feel sorry for the young boys, I genuinely do. And I'm suddenly overwhelmed with a feeling that hopes it's not one of them who has to face twenty-two better trained adolescents, as well as Andy.

However, I don't make the rules. I don't choose the names. If I had any say or authority in the Hunger Games I would select twenty-four children from the Capitol and pit them against each other. See how they feel about watching their children fight to the death year after year, knowing that no matter how much you may hope for their survival, only one of them is going to leave that arena alive.

"Seth Grady."

I swear, whatever God is out there favours the Capitol. I merely think of putting them through what we've had to deal with for seventy-three years and suddenly I'm the unlucky bastard who gets picked for the Hunger Games.

Oh well, at least it wasn't one of those boys. The oldest they could have been was thirteen and something tells me a half-starved poverty-stricken twelve-year-old wouldn't fare in the Games nearly as well as a wealthy and well-fed eighteen-year-old. The boys obviously recognise my name as in unison, they all look at with me with their wide, fearful eyes. And it takes me a second to realise that they're not afraid of me, they're afraid for me.

And I have no either which is worse.