The 57th Hunger Games

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The Hunger Games. An annual monstrosity that takes twenty-four innocent boys and girls to slaughter. With only one survivor remaining.

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Long long ago, in the ruins of a place once called North America, war broke out amongst the humans to take control over what little of the land remained wiped out from floods, storms, and plagues. The result was the nation of Panem. A shining capitol surrounded by thirteen outlying districts, each manufacturing their own main export. Then, the Dark Days began. A rebellion led by the thirteen districts against the Capitol. The Capitol won. Twelve districts defeated, the thirteenth obliterated into absolute nothingness. And to remind the twelve remaining districts just how powerless they are against the Capitol, the Hunger Games were created.

The rules themselves are pretty simple. Each district is to provide a young boy and girl between the ages of twelve to eighteen. They are called tributes. The young boy and girl are selected during a public Reaping, in which someone from the Capitol, known as an escort, comes to a district and randomly selects the tributes by picking their name from a bowl. The tributes are then taken to the Capitol with their mentor. He or she is a past victor from the same district as the tributes. The tributes then go through opening ceremonies, training, and interviews. Then the Hunger Games really begin. The twenty-four tributes are then thrown into an outdoor arena that can contain anything from a scorching desert to a frozen tundra. Then over a period of several weeks, the tributes must fight to the death, with one left standing. The winning tribute is sent home with fame and fortune. Whereas, twenty-three other families across Panem will be mourning over the loss of a loved one.

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Twenty-four of us go into that arena. Only one comes out alive. How can anyone have the heart to kill someone else? I know I don't. But what would happen if the other tribute from your district was your best friend? What else would happen if you wanted to be more than friends?

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Chapter 1

Maria's POV

I am standing in the town square alongside my best friend Parker Hallaway and other kids my age for the reaping of the 57th Hunger Games.

My name is Mariposa Dulark. You can call me Maria. I am fourteen years old. And I'm just slightly afraid. Just slightly.

I know what you're thinking. What the heck?! You're only fourteen! You should feel like you're in mortal danger! Don't worry. You are completely right. But, I don't just feel like I'm in mortal danger. I am in mortal danger.

Why, you might ask? Because I'm going to volunteer as tribute.

You're now probably thinking that I'm crazy. Thinking that I'm a masochist. Thinking that I'm about to commit suicide.

So what if I am?

I have a good reason for it anyway. Three years ago, my brother was reaped and killed in the Hunger Games. Ever since then, I have despised the cruel Capitol for what they do. How could they be so heartless? How could they just sit down and watch people die, just for their own entertainment?

The people of the Capitol are cold. Very, very cold.

Ever since my brother, Mason, died, the only person I had left was Parker. Both of my parents died in a forest fire when I was six and Mason was ten. To this day, I still wake up screaming in the middle of the night for my parents to run, my throat filled with burning ash and smoke. Parker was, no scratch that. Parker is my only family. He's the only one I told about my planning to volunteer. His face remained blank, Stoic, completely emotionless. But you could see it in his eyes. He was entirely devastated.

I look around my town square. Well, depending on the name, it's a near perfect square, which most of the population of District 7 is crowded into. The it is one of the only parts of our district that's cleared out of trees besides the Justice Building and the Victor's Village. The houses are built within the forests, under the high canopies of the trees. I think I forgot to mention, District 7's exports are anything tree related. Namely, lumber and paper. Cameramen are perched high in the trees to capture every single moment on film to broadcast out to all of Panem. Banners are hanging up in festive colors, which made the town square look almost festive. Which I think is really stupid. Why should the Capitol make us treat the Hunger Games as a celebration? Watching people die isn't exactly the best form of entertainment in my opinion.

Then again, I don't live in the Capitol.

I look around at the children around me, restrained by the velvet ropes. The twelve-year-olds. All fretful and scared for their first reaping at the back of the crowd. Odds are, they're not going to get chosen. Very little people in our district take tesserae. Our job pays very well, at least to keep us fed and alive. I look over to the front of the crowd at the eighteen year-olds. They all have their name entered at least seven times. Give or take the tesserae. The ones most likely to end up being reaped. Just this last reaping, and then they're home free. Then all the kids in between, and they're all thinking the exact same thing. Don't let it be me, don't let it be me, don't let it be me. Well, they don't anything to worry about. Because it will be me.

We're all in our best clothes, which are hard to find since our regular working clothes have several cuts here and there. Parker is in a light brown button-down shirt and khaki pants. He's trying to avoid meeting eyes by sweeping his tan hair in front of his hazel eyes. I look away from him and reevaluate what I'm wearing myself. A pine green ruffle blouse that matches my eyes and a dark brown pencil skirt with matching shoes. My long hair is put up in a ponytail. Even with my hair up, the brown waves fall to my shoulder blades.

A microphone static pierces the air, and our mayor comes up onto the stage. He's a really nice man who would actually let us keep the extra merchandise that we produce, if it weren't for the Peacekeepers. He reads the list of the past District 7 victors. We've had exactly fifteen victors. Eight of them are still alive. Some of them died from alcohol or drug addictions. Some of them from more natural causes like old age or heart attack. This year, our mentors will be Amber Hemlock and Ryder Albatross.

Amber won using her namesake. In her Hunger Games, it came down to her and a boy from District 1. Amber found hemlock plants in the arena, a deadly poisonous plant when consumed. She snuck some of the hemlock into District 1's water skin. He died in less than thirty seconds flat. Ryder, on the other hand, should owe his victory to his job. He took his strength from chopping wood all these years and hacked down the other tributes using nothing but a hatchet. He was a ruthless killing machine. I wonder what the families of all the other tributes that year thought of all the blood...

Amber and Ryder stand up from their chairs and wave to the crowd. As far as I know, Amber loves the attention she always gets during this time of year. She's always a people-pleaser, and you can't help but want to be her friend. She looks near perfect, as if it were her job to be pretty. Her sienna brown hair cascades down her back in glossy waves, framing her bright-green, calculating eyes. It was as if she had a hundred thoughts running through her mind at once. Ryder also has the same attitude towards large audiences. He's drinking up the applause as if his life depended on it. He tosses his close-cropped brown hair back. You can practically hear the girls from the Capitol swooning.

Then, the escort from the Capitol takes the microphone."Welcome everybody to the Reaping of the 57th annual Hunger Games!" pipes Viola Lorrae. All 20,000 heads of District 7 swerve her way. Viola, straight from the Capitol with her corkscrew curls dyed an artificial lavender color, her bright aqua dress, and her silly Capitol accent - I never understand why the people of the Capitol do so much to change their natural look. It's just so hideous. "And may the odds be ever in your favor!" I look back over to Parker and try to meet his eye. I cautiously put my hand on his shoulder.

"Parker," I whisper into his ear "Look at me," he turns his back on me.

"I'll just see you in the Justice Building. Okay?" Parker asks. I stare into his deep hazel eyes, and I painfully watch as a single tear rolls down his cheek.

"Okay," I whisper back. Parker shoves his hands deep into his pockets and walks away, fading away into the crowd.

Parker is the only person that I told about my planning to volunteer. He hated me for about a month. All I want to do is avenge my brother. "Are you crazy?!" he screamed at me. "You're going to get yourself killed!". I can still hear his voice, full of angst and agony, echoing through my mind.

I turn my attention back onto the stage. "Ladies first," Viola declares. She crosses over to the bowl containing the girls' names. Viola Lorrae plunges her hand and stirs it around. She snatches a slip of paper out and holds it up. The entire town square draws in a breath at once. Viola smooths the piece of paper out and walks over to the microphone. You can now hear a pin drop. "Seranda Vermillion," In a few minutes, I watch a girl with dirty-blonde hair make her way onto the stage in small, stiff steps. She looks maybe fifteen? Sixteen years of age? She's trying to cover up, but you can tell that she's close to breaking down."Any volunteers?" asks Viola. I turn to try to find Parker, but he's lost in the sea of people. If only I could just explain…

I slowly rise my hand into the air and choke the words out. "I volunteer!" I shout into the still air. All heads turn to find the source of the voice. The crowd of fourteen-year-olds around me stare with their mouths open in utter disbelief. They're probably thinking, Are you completely insane?!

"Well, that's the spirit!" Viola cheers. "Come on up, sweetheart!" I wince at her usage of the word 'sweetheart'. I make my way up the stage and try hard to mask my emotions. I hear people gasp as they see that the bold volunteer is no one but a mere fourteen-year-old. Some of them remember me as the orphan girl. The girl who has no family. The girl who only has one friend. To others, they only see me as dead meat. I finally get onto the stage and Viola waves me towards the microphone. "What's your name?" she asks into the microphone.

"Mariposa Dulark," I choke out.

"Dulark?" Viola questions me "You're brother was a tribute in the Hunger Games a few years ago, didn't he?". Is she really that heartless as to remind me of my brother's death in front of all of District 7, in front of all of Panem? In response to her thoughtless question, I numbly nod. "Well, how about that?" she addresses the audience in a cheery voice. "Well then, onto the boys!". Viola walks over to the large glass bowl and does the same protocol as before. Viola walks over to the microphone and everyone holds in a breath, yet again. Well, it's time to meet my fellow tribute, I think as Viola Lorrae reads off the name. While I was hoping for a name that sounded completely foreign to me, I got the exact opposite. "Parker Hallaway,"

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Hello people of the Internet! So, I just posted the first chapter, because I wasn't sure if it would be any good or not. If you enjoyed this or want me to continue this story, please tell me in the comments! I love you! 3