Alright, first fanfiction! This is the 67th Hunger Games, and I appreciate CONSTRUCTIVE criticism only. Any mean-ness will be blocked immediately :) If you haven't got something nice or constructive to say, don't say it! Simple as. Anyways, the chapters leading up to the Games won't be nearly as detailed as the actual Games- it's just to get a feel for the characters. They'll just be two districts at a time until the actual thing. Anyways, enjoy!
Brianna Robinson, D1 (18)
This is my year. OK, I've never killed anyone, but I've been picked to volunteer for the Games and you can bet your last hair tie that I'm gonna win. As I twirl around in the mirror, I check myself out. Black off-the-shoulder top, pastel blue jeans and black ankle boots topped off with my blonde hair in an elaborate jeweled bun. Oh yeah, Reaping, get ready. After all, blondes have more fun.
When I arrive at the Reaping, Millie Mannequin, our escort, is just saying what an honour it is to go up for the games, when Nathan Carrol, my super-cute crush as of two years ago, looks at me with his brooding brown eyes and black spiky hair and says "You look pretty. Win for me, yeah?"
Oh my actual Panem in a jumper (better not say that to him) he said I was pretty and he wanted me to win! He doesn't want me dead! That's a great start! "Not so bad yourself," I say with a flirty smile, "and I will. Count on it." Just as I say this, Millie says "Ladies first! Okay, so... Nadia-"
"I volunteer!" I shout. I confidently strut up to the platform, flashing a smile at the crowd. I don't really take in the rest until I hear the name of the boy tribute. As usual there's a volunteer, and his name is Henry Madderson. He's not very attractive, with greasy hair and a pasty complexion. But I don't care.
I'll be back, District One.
Dennis Brown, D12 (13)
My outfit is plain, simple and boring. I don't make a huge effort for these things. After all, we have no tessarae, no extra names in the bowl and I'm a geeky only child without any friends so I sure as hell won't be volunteering. Two names out of thousands in that bowl are mine. Statistically, there isn't a huge chance that I will be picked, so I don't really bother. As I make my way to the Reaping, I sit with the kids my age and wait for it. Kylie Mirror, the escort for our district, calls the female tribute up. She is called Anni Basset. Pretty but clearly nervous, fiddling with her hands despite the smile. Then it is time for the boys. Kylie digs around in the glass bowl and pulls out a name.
She reads it out.
It's mine.