Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games series characters or any other themes the only things I do own are the characters I have created for the purpose of this fanfiction
Hi this is my first Hunger Games fic so I'm extremly nervous about it; please post criticisms or things to make this fic better. Thank you for your time and enjoy!
My mother collapsed in her ragged old armchair in our front room, closing her eyes and rubbing her forehead. She was tired and she had every right to be. It was the end of a hard week of 12 hour shifts a day at the factory and she was drained of all energy. Dark circles were heavy under her eyes, lined with creases even though she is quite a young mum. She works hard, hardly getting any sleep providing for me and my brothers and sisters. It is hard to get by these days as well. We are among the poorest citizens in District 8, living in run down tenements with just enough food a day. We waste nothing.
You would think that my mother gets paid much more than she does at the factory, considering the factory she works in supplies most of the clothes for the people of Panem. But no she doesn't. Her and dad (who also works at the factory, that is how they met) can't possibly bring in enough to feed six kids. Sometimes they go hungry just so we won't and it breaks my heart, because they don't deserve it my parents.
Tonight is the worst for my mum. She is worried and tired, but won't let it show because no matter what she always remains strong for us, but I can tell she is sick with fear. Because it is the night before the Reaping. And 4 out of 6 of her children could be chosen. Me and my elder brother Joey have more of a chance of being selected, not just because we are older but because we signed up for the tessera. Mum and dad went crazy with us, but they give up so much for us, we had to do this for them. Joey and me made the other two, the twins Eddie and Jemima swear to not take the tessera, but that didn't make our parents less mad at us.
We're doing everything we can now, me and Joey. He's 18 I'm 16 we're the eldest so we try to be like mum and dad, strong working hard trying to make our parents and our younger siblings lives better. We're making sure that the food is ready for when dad gets home, ordering Eddie and Jemima around to make sure our home is as clean as it can be for when dad gets home. Mum keeps uttering how proud she is of us, but of course what we do is nothing compared to her and dad.
Joey tries to make light of what could be our last night with all of us doing this, by making jokes but no one is listening. Not even the two youngest Clem who is 11 and Flora who is 9, are listening, who usually roar with laughter at Joey's jokes and beg for more. Instead Flora crawls on to mum's lap and Clem starts following Eddie around, trying to help clean up.
"What is it little shadow?" Eddie asked smiling, always the kind one.
"I don't want any of you to go," she sniffles, "I want you to all stay here safe!"
That was it for mum, who buried her face in Flora's shoulder, trying to keep her sobs silent to hide them from us.
"We won't go!" Joey tried to reassure, "this Eddie and Jemima's third reaping, Lara's fifth and my seventh, we've done well so far its unlikely we'll get selected."
But we all know that isn't true.
There is that awful silence again, where all of our moods are pretty grim. The thought of losing each other is heart breaking for each and every one of us. As families go we are pretty close. None of us really pick up until dad comes home and like Joey he tries to make light of the times. We all adore our dad and we will do anything for him, so we pick up our mood for him and try to enjoy what could be our last night together.
The Reaping
My jet black hair is twisted into lazy bun, wisps of hair framing my face. Baby hair my mum calls it. I'm wearing her mother's dress which never fit my mum because she is so small and slight. Mum and Dad look at me a nearly burst in to tears when they see me. They call me their beautiful daughter and told me they couldn't be more proud of me.
"Stop cooing at her!" Joey exclaimed pulled me into a tight embrace, "she'll be fine!"
Mum swiped at Joey's head, but then pulled him into a loving embrace, calling him her handsome grown up son. Joey didn't tell her to stop being silly like he usually does, he just held onto her and looked like he would never let go.
But he did let go and soon enough we were at the Reaping. Before we go our parents hold us close and tell us how much they love us. And for the first time for me the fear kicks in. I feel close to tears. I would break if I didn't have my family and the thought of one of my siblings dying is such a way made me want to be sick. I wanted to be sick as I was forced away from my brothers and sisters, my parents. Stopping I tried to look at them see their faces one last time as a talisman in my mind. However, a Peacekeeper was giving me a long cold stare and I hurried along.
Before I knew it we were all quiet and the District 8 Escort from the Capitol pranced onto the stage. I despised all people from the Capitol. Their attitude towards the games, life and most of all the way they looked. Our escort was new this year a man, with bright orange hair slicked into a quiff, dark blue lips, shocking pink swirls all over his face and a ridiculously pink and orange tight suit. His shoes were black and as my eyes flashed towards them, they shined. Squeaky clean!
"Welcome to the Annual 68th Hunger Games!" he announced in his Capitol accent drawing my attention to his face away from his shoes, "and may the odds be ever in your favour."
The odds were not in my favour, not in Joey's, not in most of the kids who took the tessera that lived in my tenements. For a moment anger flared inside of me, at this man. This man who lived in the Capitol saw these games as fun. Never had the fear of being chosen for this sick event, will never have the fear of seeing his own child fighting or dying in the arena. I wanted to run up there shout in his face, make him understand.
Trying to control myself I looked around at the past victors sitting on the stage. The first I see is Woof the eldest victor in his 70's, who looked as repulsed with the escort as me. The next was Cecelia a women in her 30's. And finally the last the winner of the 66th Hunger Games was the 20 year old Cain Fleming, who I remember watching two years ago. Cain was 18 at the time strong but silent type. The other tributes nearly forgot about him because the arena at the time was woodland and he found plenty of places to hide, until he took out the Career Tributes one by one and on the last day of the Games he won a massive fight between two careers, in which he nearly died.
I always remembered Cain as quite good looking and I always used to like the shyness and awkwardness about him. I then suddenly realised I had missed the whole rubbish about the Dark Days, thinking about Cain Fleming.
"Ladies first!" I heard the escort (who I had missed the name of) screech.
He made a meal of searching around the bowl, selecting a slip then putting it down. He took such a long time that the nervousness of the selection had completely gone away and I was thinking what to do for an evening meal tonight. My mind wandered to what people in the Capitol ate. I wondered if any of them starved. What am I thinking of course n-
"Lara Henoak!"
I hear a wail in the distance that could only be my mother. The crowd parts in front of me and I can not quite believe it. It is me. I am District 8's Female Tribute.
