*Disclaimer* Obviously I am not Suzanne Collins. This world was not created by me and none of what I write is canon.
This is the prologue to the 42nd annual Hunger Games. Please feel free to critisize, beeing an aspiring novelist I'm looking for input (negative or positive) on my writing style. So if it's good, let me know, if it's downright awful, feel free to shoot it full of holes.
Prologue
He never thought it would be possible to scream, shout, cry out with everything he had, every single fiber of his being, and not make a sound. He was so very wrong. He knew that now.
The pain had never been so real, so fundamental, so primal. A pain beyond any comprehension. A pain that tore into his being, a pain sharper than any knife could inflict. If there was a hell, he imagined it would be something like this. He briefly wondered if this was hell and the Game Makers were simply the demons, trapping them in, preventing any escape.
No.
You didn't have to run in hell. You wouldn't have to watch the life fade the eyes of a fellow human being by your own doing. You wouldn't have to feel thick warm blood of an old friend splatter across your face in hell. This was worse than hell. In hell at least you were already dead.
No. No, no no. You couldn't have hope in hell. You couldn't have love sustaining you in hell. In hell you would have no reason for fighting. A flash of brown eyes flitted through his mind. The glint of her wide smile. The smooth melody of her sweet precious voice echoed in his ears. He could fight. He would fight. He had hope. He had her. And damn them all, he would make it through this. He would see her again. There was no other option.
Damn the Games. Damn the Game Makers. Damn the Capitol. He was stronger than that. Bring your flames, bring your spears, bring your death, he found himself thinking. Tear my flesh open, shatter my bones, drain my blood, but you won't take my hope. You can't. You can't destroy love.A shout of oh-so-rare joy escaped his lips at the thought and warm tears began to drip down his face. He didn't bother to wipe them away, never mind all of Panem was watching in. He was not ashamed.
So wrapped up was he in his renewed hope that he didn't hear or see the approaching figure winding it's way through the trees, not a stone's throw away. He didn't see the arrow nock on the string, he didn't feel the danger of the sharp metal tip, and he certainly didn't hear the low sob of frustration that came from the wielder as the bow was drawn taut.
The arrow whistled menacingly as it sped through the air.
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*That's that. Chapter one to come sometime this week, hopefully within the next couple of days*
