Yay, my second Hunger Games FanFiction story! I'm probably going to be much slower in updating this one than my last story because I have school now.
Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games, Suzanne Collins is the author. I did, however, create the characters and plot of this FanFiction myself.
The image is from ~AlzirrSwanheartStock on DeviantArt.
The Weapon Against Us
"Freia, wake up," I hear a quiet voice whisper close to my ear, and I feel a soft shake of my shoulder. The house is pitch black as I open my eyes, and I shiver in the freezing cold, even under my blanket. But I know that I can't go back to sleep. My brother, Sam, is already wide awake, and will get impatient with me if I insist on a few more minutes of rest. Not that I have, ever; I know that the few hours before dawn are our only chance to get into the woods, which is our only somewhat reliable source of food.
I quietly slip on my clothes, worn-out shoes, and threadbare jacket, careful not to wake Grandpa and Grandma, who are still sleeping in the be next to the one Sam and I share. I hurry out the door, and Sam and I start walking down the street in the direction of the woods. The early morning air is cold and sharp on my face and in my throat, and my breath come out in white clouds. We walk close to the buildings, trying to stay in the shadows, out of the moonlight. The peacekeepers don't start patrolling the streets until 6 o'clock AM, when the first miners start trudging to work, but it's always good to be extra careful. Ever since the failed revolution almost a year ago, the Capitol has cracked down on the security, especially in District 12.
That's where I live—District 12—the farthest district from the Capitol, and the one most involved in the revolution. I have heard that the Capitol blames the uprising solely on us. I was born 14 years before the revolution, and my father named me Freia, which means "freedom." Even long before the districts rebelled, there was talk and plans of uprising, and my father was at the center of it all. The happiest I had ever seen him was in the evening, after he came back from the mines, discussing with Grandpa at the kitchen table possible ways to unite the districts. They would talk and talk, and the later they went, the more exaggerated my father's hand movements would get, the louder his voice would get. My mother wasn't really in on this, but I had seen her eyes light up when my father would tell her about his plans for life after the Capitol fell.
But neither of them would get to live these fantasies my father created. My parents were killed in a car accident when I was 10—a peacekeeper's van had skidded on some ice—and the rebellion had failed. Since then, the conditions in District 12 had gotten steadily worse. The food supplies dwindled because the Capitol kept sending less, public areas were blocked off, restricted, even bombed, curfews were set to keep rebels from plotting, until everyone looked like living skeletons. But the determination of the rebels was still going strong. Some District 12 citizens had figured out that the Capitol was using jabberjays—genetically engineered birds that can record and repeat human voices—to transport information from the rebels directly back to the Capitol. They formed a plan, and started to feed the Capitol lies. For a while, it looked like we would win and finally gain independence, but the districts lacked in the brute force the Capitol had, and eventually fell to an onslaught of guns, bombs, landmines, and other terrible things. At least we weren't completely destroyed like District 13, though.
It has been almost a year since the Capitol took total control again, and my life has never been the same. There is the rule that you aren't allowed to do anything that could possibly hint at a rebellion, and there is the unspoken rule that you basically aren't allowed to do anything at all. Most people visibly shake when they pass a peacekeeper in the streets, and abide by all the rules completely. And then there are the minority, like Sam and I, who break these new rules often, though we are very careful about it. Our morning trips to the woods are obviously illegal.
Please review! I want feedback to make me a better writer.