52 Hunger Games
District 12
Kim Hill
In district 12 there is an uncomfortable number of tragedies that can befall a person. No matter how much money you have, or how pale your skin is, or even how blue your eyes are, District 12 gets to you in the end.
Slowly but surely all of District 12's inhabitance are dieing, the coal dust in the air is coating our lungs and making it harder to breathe with every breath. The lack of food even fills the rich with fear, loss is so easily, death is easy. If we aren't taken by the Games there are other causes, cave-ins, over-doses, poisoning, sickness, or starvation.
One day I'm sure that it is my sister's name will be called, and she will be marched away like a little solider. The truth is that she will slip, she will try morphine, alcohol, or even drink the poison under the sink, reserved for cleaning.
We are all expired food, waiting to the tossed out.
"Kim!"
I flinch.
"Sorry, I'll be down."
I'm not sorry, no, I am scared, angry, and nervous. I want to sit next to my mother's bed and run my hand through her golden hair and watch as her jean-blue eyes take in the sight of her room like she does every day. Her body permanently unmoving.
"Bye Ma," I lean down placing silent kiss on her cheek, and then standing.
My father is waiting at the door, dressed in his best clothes, his golden hair is slicked back and his shirt crisp, the white of it blinds me momentarily.
And I can't help but think that it's the same colour as the slips of paper in the Reaping bowls.
...
I haven't even stepped off the pedestal before the other kid is on top of me.
The golden wheat is soft and thick as I fall, and the boy is on top of me, his fist cracking like lightning into my face causing me to taste blood.
I scream, my nose isn't broken, but it hurts enough to blind me momentarily.
He hits me again, and I reach out blindly, I feel his face, my fingers trailing up his jaw and over his cheeks. He hits me again and my hands find his neck. I tighten them, the image of my mother, broken as the black-haired Seam man stands over her body, his grey eyes flashing in the moon light.
I scream, not with fear, no it's a battle cry, and I'm moving. The boy is off me in one second, and in the next I'm on top of him.
He struggles but I have the upper hand. Jabbing my finger into his eye, I force myself to ignore the sickening squelch and the scream that follows. He struggles, but my hands have once again closed tightly around his throat, I'm winning and he's getting weaker, until he stops moving completely.
I clamber off him, my foot catching on his body in my haste. I flee the scene, not stopping until I am alone.
The cannons go off, six.
One is my doing.
...
Out Come: District 12's female tribute, Kim Hill, lasted until the final three, where she was tortured to death the the remaining Career, and Victor, Moral Jackson.
