The Capitol Games
Summary: The rebels have won. Life in the Capitol is forever changed. 14-year-old Brier Sandalwood is thrust into the final Hunger Games, where he is forced to kill his own Capitol friends. With the training his District 12 mother has secretly given him, will he survive?
A/N: Congrats! You are reading my first fan fiction. I sincerely hope it will be a good one, and please review and comment on any things I need to change. If you have negative comments, I accept criticism, but not flames. It isn't a SYOT, but suggestions are always helpful. To the story!
Disclaimer: As much as I would love to own the Hunger Games, I have no way to claim it for myself. I begged but they won't answer my pleas.
Chapter 1: Brier Sandalwood
Blood splatters on the leaf strewn ground. I feel a sharp pain in my stomach and I realize it's my blood. I struggle against my killers arms wrapped around my shoulders, as more and more blood spurts out of my wound, dying my starch white shirt crimson. As I turn to see my killer, the pain is too much and, as I slip into the blissful darkness of death, my father's eyes fill with hatred and he flicks his wrist, plunging the knife through my abdomen, hilt and all.
I woke up with a cold sheen of sweat covering my skin. I tried to get the image of my father killing me out of my mind, but like a fly on flypaper, I couldn't forget about it. I quickly run my hands over my front, checking for knife wounds or any other gaping holes in my body. Happy to be whole and completely un-Swiss cheese like, I head to my bathroom. But, before I could cross the doorway, the fright of today hit me like one of the trains that carry supplies from the Districts. Today, I participate in the first reaping for the Capitol. Today, my name is raffled for a death call.
Once in the bathroom, I peeled the carpeting back and grabbed my most cherished possession, a short blade with a soft grip of foam. I looked up at the mirror as I carefully placed the knife on my bed made of downy feathers. I quickly checked the mirror, and I took stock of my slate-gray eyes, rimmed with shadows from my distressful night. My mom never let me change my hair or skin color, so I was left with a boring complexion and jet-black hair. I wish my mom were here, I thought. She could help me prepare for this day. Living in the Capitol, you'd think I'd be like all of my other 'friends', pompous and plump. Thankfully, when she was alive, my mom grounded me from being all the things I now hated. She herself was from District 12, and, for some reason, my dad fell in love. She wasn't initially attracted to his Capitol accent and his bubblegum hair, but, with the money of the Head Peacemaker, he went back to looking like he originally did before the Capitol ways took hold of him. Slowly, their relationship flourished and I was created. I am assuming you know how babies are made. I sincerely hope I won't have to go into gruesome detail.
Thinking of my mother like this hit me with a pang, and I quickly turned to the more pressing matter of my own possible death. I chose a boring outfit of the rattiest clothes I could that didn't remind me of my mom. I started to head downstairs towards breakfast when I hesitated. I walked backwards to my bed and grabbed my knife by the grip. I slipped the blade into my sleeve, and the feeling of the cool blade pressed against the skin of my arm comforted me. Satisfied, I headed down stairs and stepped into the glamorous kitchen. My dad was already sitting at the table, being served by an Avox. He didn't even care that I might be selected to die later today, or that his execution was scheduled for next week. I never cared for my father, who, after mom's death, reverted back to his pink, swirled hair. "You must fit in to be noticed in our world," I remembered bitterly, "or you will never be accepted." I thank the gods again I am normal.
"Are you worried about the reaping today, son?" My dad's metallic voice rumbled. After multiple plastic surgeries were used to make him look younger, his vocal cords were partially severed, and he had a metal contraption fitted to his throat. Talk about fitting in. I gave a noncommittal shrug, and continued to eat my modest amount of Mockingjay eggs. I always liked the specific brand of muttations, for they mimicked my mom's soft voice when she sang songs every time, out in the forest where we could get away from the world. In this forest, she taught me how to fight. With the short, steel blade she smuggled when she snuck away from District 12, she showed me every kill move in the book, if there was one.
"Always go for the kill, Brier, because if you need to use any knives, someone is trying to KILL you." My mother had said, as she swiped the knife through the air, as if she was being attacked.
"Don't even think about telling your father. He would execute us both in a heartbeat." She took a vicious slash at a tree, which left deep gorge marks in the tree. Every time I think of those words she had said, I remember with a stab of a gut wrenching loss that this is exactly what my father did do.
It all happened in the middle of night, when I was just 10-years-old. The marching of boots woke me, and they were coming towards our house. I blearily called for my mother, and she frantically walked up the stairs to my bedroom. She shushed me gently, and shut the door silently. She tiptoed down the stairs, and I could hear the front door frame shatter.
"Honey!" My dad's fake voice travelled up the stairs, dripping with false cheerfulness. "Some one is here to see you!" I heard a rushing sound, and the sound of feet stomping on the wooden slates of our floor rebounded through the house.
"You are under arrest!" I heard a harsh male voice scream. "For illegal immigration, and threats to rebel against the Capitol!" I heard my mother scream NO! And I could picture my mom, as she prepared to fight. She must have armed herself with kitchen knives, because the sound of painful shrieking ripped through the house. I rushed down the stairs to silently watch what was going on. More men rushed in, and in a flash, my dad had one of his shotguns ripped off the wall. In a blinding flash emitted from the barrel, my father shot a barrage of bullets towards my mom. Her red blood flowed through the holes ripped through her blouse, and I watched, transfixed, as my mom's life slipped away. Cackling, my father and his men left to go to a bar. I rushed to my mom, and I held her hand as tears poured down both of our faces.
"Br-i…" She moaned out, calling me by my nickname. " I, I want you t-t-t-t-to have this. Keep it and re, remember me-" She stopped for a raspy breath, as she thrust her blade hilt-first towards me. "Th-this is yours now, keep it, and always… survive… for…. me…" Her chest deflated and her eyelids fluttered shut, and my mother was no more.
The loud clash of the bells within the clock tower indicating 3 o'clock jarred me from my depressing thoughts. One Avox rushed me out the door, and pointed towards the central square. I swallowed the fear and bile that rose to my throat. And walked at a brisk pace towards the square. The reaping is finally here, I thought with fear in my heart, and I am ready for it.
A/N: How was it? Was it too long? Two short? Please review! Reviews are my blood, and I need a transfusion STAT!