Bartimaeus is a wonderful character created by Jonathan Stroud.

The Hunger Games is a fascinating story created by Suzanne Collins.

This travesty of a story is the product of late night pizza and too much redbull.

Enjoy.

ONE

It goes without saying that you fleshies are the most arrogant, self-serving, narcissistic and most benighted self-deluded, ignorant excuses for creations in the created universe. And I mean that in the nicest possible way.

Take what happened to me last week as an example. For eons and eons now I, the Great and Powerful Bartimaeus of Uruk, Builder of Jericho and all around loveable mascot have been recording my wondrous (and completely plausible) exploits for the sake of thrilling and sucking up the adulation of posterity. But not once, (not ONCE, mind you,) have any one of my millions of fan mail questions ever asked of any of my (wondrous (and completely plausible)) adventures in alternate mudballs.

It's almost as if every single stinky human (and I mean that in the nicest possible way) believes his pathetic little mudball is the only one in the universe and that he and all his little denizens occupy a special place in creation. (In all fairness, I will admit that no matter what plane of reality you humans are from, you hold the same reputation among higher beings (and no, I don't mean that in any sort of nice way.))

Now where was I? Oh, yes. Take last week as an example. Once again, I was floating around in the Other Place, licking my wounds from my last visit to the fleshy realm (or 'slumming' as it's referred to among higher beings such as imps.) I was still dog-tired from the whole unfortunate affair (that involved my essence getting locked into the 'body' of a wooden puppet for some old pedophile who wished he could have a 'real boy'. (It goes without saying that I ran away and joined show business, but that's a story for another time.)) It was then that I felt that annoying tug that I loath so much.

As usual, I did my best to shrug it off but the tug became more and more insistent to the point of actual discomfiture. I relented and sighed dispiritedly (which is a pretty impressive thing for a spirit to do) as I felt myself crammed and confined into the slimy limitations of four dimensional space-time. As I sped along I was suddenly pulled off course and I noticed that I was being drawn towards an alternate earth than what I had become accustomed.

(This doesn't happen as often as one would think simply because we d'jinn are only called upon when our names are known, and in some worlds they are known more than another. (For instance, there was this one world where I was called down quite frequently by this dorky kid named Nathaniel who, I am positive, had a flaming crush on me. Quite understandable, of course.))

Passing over the threshold of this strange new world I felt my essence shiver; something was terribly wrong with this place. I shrugged off this feeling and attributed it to a long standing bias that I had lovingly cultivated for centuries. (After all, you guys are the type one loves to hate.) I experimented with the lashing of the summoning and was pleasantly surprised to find them shaking and on the verge of buckling. It was almost as if the magician had been someone who was in a terrible hurry and had plopped down an altogether shoddy job. (Yes, I had already begun to think of this magician in the past tense.)

My confidence rose along with my appetite. It had been so long since I had properly gorged myself and I felt I deserved a treat. (After all, a great, noble, powerful, awesome, fourth-level djinn such as myself works hard.) I skimmed through the possibilities of how best to appear before my new fast-food meal- I mean 'master'. You don't really want to wast the really subtle manifestations on some amateur. Avant guard would go right over his head. (In the end, I decided to appear as a white sheet and yell 'BOO!' really loudly. (You can't go wrong with the classics.))

Walls began to form around me as I came to rest in a squiggly pentacle. The flames of the surrounding candles shook in my presence and the room grew icy cold and shrouded with shadows.

"Who dares summon the all powerful and all-knowing-"

"Oh, not now! None of that." The girl's voice was distracted and terrified. She panted, clearly out of breath and (if I was not mistaken) holding back tears.

My supernatural eyes peered through the gloominess at a completely blank and dank room. The walls were cemented ages before and were cracking and flaking all over while the floor was covered with rat dropping and a shaky and barely correct chalk pentacle. The girl stood before me, possibly twelve years old, her face shining with sweat and her eyes wide with terror.

"Demon," she said, pointing her little stub of chalk at me like a weapon. "I charge you to tell me your name."

On the other side of a closed door I heard footsteps running at full speed. "Bartimaeus," I said.

"Hey," a gruff boy's voice yelled from behind the door. "This way! She must have gone in here,"

The girl looked at the door with panic and turned back to me with renewed urgency. "Bartimaeus," she said, keeping the quake out of her voice. "I charge you with-"

BANG

The door shook with sudden impact causing the girl to jump with a squeal. "She must have bolted it," the gruff voice of the boy said. "You, slave, open it."

"I charge you," the girl had closed her eyes as though to block out the boy's voice.

BANG

Something heavy violently struck the door. The metal creased and bent as it screamed in protest and bits of cement and plaster rained down on the girl's head. "I charge you..."

The angry force crashed against the misshapen door one more time and it flew across the room to impact with the opposite wall.

"...To keep me safe," the girl finally got the words out just as the malevolent figure stepped through the doorway. And that is when the ship hit the spam.

to be continued...