This is a story I felt inspired to write. I think it's really good. I've been writing it for the past two weeks. I hope you like it as much as I do. :)

I don't own the Hunger Games!

P.S. You should read the story out loud for dramatic affect. XD

P.P.S. Plz plz plz REVIEW! I want to know what everyone thinks of my story! Leave an honest opinion and help me make my story more gooder!

P.P.P.S. Do nt send a flame because they are abusive.

P.P.P.P.S. I learned the word "abuse" recently.

I - My Parents are Abusive

I am Hope Destiny Brown. I am seventeen years old. I have abusive parents. I live in Capitol Panem. I have silky golden blonde hair that glows in the light. I have eyes that sparkle like diamonds, that are the color of an emerald. I am very smart, funny, athletic, and protective of the people that love me.

I am Hope. This is my story.

My mother is throwing her grandmother's urn at me again. She is abusive. It hurts when people throw urns at you.

I am crying because I'm upset because my parents are abusive. It's been like this all my life. Ever since I was born, my parents took it in turns to hit me, throw things at me, scream at me, and get so drunk that they collapse, and be abusive. But we have enough food to eat so I can be happy.

I think they called me Hope so that I would know that even though they abused me a lot, there was hope that I would escape.

I'm screaming in pain because I'm hurt by my great-grandmother's urn.

"AGGHHHHHHHHHHHH!" I scream. "PLEASE STOP! IT HURTS!"

"Shuddup!" my mother orders.

"NO IT REALLY HURTS!" I scream.

My mother suddenly seems worried. She stops throwing shards of urn at me and starts crying. Even though I look like a human porcupine with all the giant bits of clay sticking out of me, I put a hand on my mother's shoulder.

"What's wrong?" I ask her, but I'm still hurt.

"I'm a terrible person!" Mom sobbed. "I really hurt you!" She was very upset. I couldn't stand watching her be upset.

"It's alright," I tell her.

"I should send you away from me so I don't hurt you anymore!" Mother is very upset. She is crying because she is abusive. I am crying because Mother is abusive too, but i still love her.

There is a knock at that door. Me and Mom both turn to look at the door. The door opens and my dad walks in.

A word about my father before you meet him. His name is David, but I have to call him "Sir". My name is Hope, but he calls me "Rat". I think he calls me that because when I don't brush my hair it is very messy and ratty. Sir is abusive. Sir is even more abusive than Mom. He laughs when he throws his chair at me. He is mean. But I still love him. I know there is a good person inside him. He probably ate him on Tuesday.

Sir walks into the house. He is holding a gun that he found in the shed earlier today. Sir is drunk. He was at a Happy Hunger Games festival with his friends. Sir loves the Hunger Games. He records it and watches it every day of the year while he smashes beer bottles at my feet.

Today is different. He doesn't pull a bottle out of his pocket and throw it at me, or go and sit in the lounge room to watch TV. He glares at me and aims the rifle at my foot.

"I think it's time to clip your toenails Rat," Sir says. Why would he clip my toenails with a gun?

"NO!" Mom screams. She pushes me to the side as I hear a BANG! I am so scared by the noise that I poop my pants.

I can feel the poo running down my leg. Sir is smiling abusively at me with his teeth which are 2.5 centimeters wide, his white eyes which are bloodshot and coloured a shade of blue, with a little bit of green in them and small pupils, his eyebrows which are actually an abusive monobrow, his abusive nose which is 5.7 centimeters long and 3.1 centimeters wide, and his balding scalp dotted with abusive stumps of hair, and his face that makes him look about 54 and a half, when he is actually 55, while he flares his nostrils abusively. He then frowns because I'm not screaming in pain and pulls a beer bottle out of his pocket and throws it at me. The bottle smashes abusively next to me, but spills beer all over me.

"Oh well," I think, "at least I don't smell like poo anymore." I was right. I smelled like beer.

I lie on the floor with Mom sprawled on the ground in front of me. There is blood coming from her foot. She is dead and Sir killed her.

"MOM!" I cry.

"Mwah ha ha ha!" Sir chuckles. "She'll never wake up!"

"How could you?" I storm. Thuder rolls in the distance. "She's your wife!"

"Not anymore!" Sir laughs. "'Til death do us part! Now we have parted! Mwah ha ha ha!"

"NO!" I cry. "You're a monster!" Sir looks at me angrily. His eyes stare into mine abusively. His fists are clenched abusively. He wants to hit me. I know it. I only just regrew all my teeth!

"You haven't seen monsters until you been in the Hunger Games!" Sir squeals. His words are hammered into my skull abusively.

"You ain't calling me no monster," Sir growls. "'Til you been in the HUNGER GAMES!"

"You killed Mom!" I scream at him, "You're a monster!"

"She isn't a teenager! Monsters kill teenagers!"

"And you're going to kill me next aren't you!" I yell. He was. I see him twitch spasmically. He isn't going to kill me now that I told him he would.

Sir crouches next to me and spits at the ground, but his saliva hits Mom's face instead. "You're gon'a see monsters," he whispers evilly in my ear. His voice reminds me of my teacher Mr Growgerms.

Sir pulls a two-foot long rifle out of his pocket.

"You gon'a see monsters," Sir repeats evilly. "MWAH HA HA HA HA!" Thunder booms abusively in the distance. Sir was abusing his role as a parent by abusing me. I wasn't good. It was abusive.

"You can't do this," I tell Sir.

"Watch me!" Sir instructs.

"NO!" I hear my abusive boyfriend shout from the window. But he's too late.

Sir fires his gun. It goes BANG! But before the bullet hits me I fall unconscious from shock. Sir's abusive laughter echoes in my ears as I fall unconscious.