Chapter One: The Impulse
Disclaimer: I don't own Hunger Games, if I did, Mags, Finnick, Prim, Maysilee Donner, Rue, Boggs, and countless others would be alive! All is Suzanne Collins!
A/N: Hey, this is PhoenixOfIce! I haven't written anything in a while but I'm obsessed with hunger games so without further adieu...
Dawn lit up the sky, peeking out from its hideaway to bring forth something new, of hope, of joy, then again, of sure death.
Today was Reaping Day for the 82th Hunger Games, the day I'd been awaiting fora while. No, I wasn't a career, or even from them,
just a measly District 12 girl with a bony frame of 5'5 and dirty blonde hair with gray eyes.
Odd mixture, I know, but I got my gray eyes from my mom, who had stand-out red hair. Past tense usage?
She was murdered when I was 13, and for four years I've had to deal with my horrid "father".
I'm actually over her death by now, having practically no time for it, with my schedule of awaking at 6to see the sunrise,
then make 2 servings of whatever food we happened to have; usually bread and apples.
Next, school was up, which was the best part of the day obviously because I get to see my two best friends, Ericah and Caroline.
Last of all, at home awaited my father whose alibi for not going into the mines was being traumatized because he saw my mother die occur.
Really, he's a coward, a cheating, conniving, complaining coward.
When it comes down to it, I loathe my father. Not for some silly schoolgirl's reason of "Oh he doesn'tbuy me everything I want!"
Hah! Girl, no. Just no. Actually, I'm abused, not mentally, that gives little tono comfort to my physically "deprived" father.
Yes, that's right kiddies, I'm "taken advantage of" , except for days when he's on drugs that leave him in a brief comatose, which, luckily for me, was
often.
This is a result of something fancy from the medicine person in town, oh so super special. Plus, as if you didn't notice, Ienjoy talking to myself…
Once again here I am, its nearing 8am and I have yet to eat. Heading to our little fruit patch to find that we have two not-quite-ripe peaches,
so I instead grab a staple melon-like fruit and proceed to take a dulled kitchen knife and prod off the skin. I've been thinking about it lately, and
tentatively decided that I will volunteer to be a tribute because, if I'm going to escape this madness of my life ever this is my only
choice, as I'm not moving out. Really, where could I go? Aside from the streets, that is.
Staring at the knife I faintly think of using it, until I remember the fact that I wouldn't make it past the bloodbath, and
a fearful shiver runs through my spine as I imagine being killed by a Career. I'm scared out of my mind,
but I've already binded myself to do it, so there was no turning back, for all I knew I could do well,
maybe even so that I could get sponsors and then die the right way-painlessly- like that District 5 girl
tribute a few years back.
By now the melon was sliced into even cubes, so I took a few along with an end piece of some grainy bread.
Soon enough, I was out of the house and making my way down the main pathway, past the black market "Hob",
the butcher's, and into a small music shop. Not botheringto glance at the multiple used instruments adorned on the wall,
as I already knew of the tan guitar, viola with chipped wood on the bridge (holds the strings up), almost falling apart violin,
an ancient fiddle and one pristine little banjo.
I came here once a week, to the store of the Heinlem's to clean up a little and givethem some significant updates.
You see, their son, Max, was reaped last year. The first night, he had no cover, with the arena a desert.
Aside from the bloodbath, he was the first murdered, by the Careers. It was hideous, they sliced off his appendages and left him to
screech helplessly for an hour. After this hour of torturous punishment, they returned for his limbs and finally life.
I pitied them, and so I just started doing small things for them, pick up some bread here, dust a viola or something else there.
Today, I simply left a note with two words scrawled in my neat handwriting, "Reaping Day."
Not wishing to be under the shadow of sadness that lay dormant in there for any longer than necessary, I strode out, to register
early for the reaping. After all, the earlier you register the farther your name is from the surface and
usually more tesserae is readily available and fresh. I'm on auto pilot until I jump when they prick my
finger but then I just ask for 3 tesserae as I always do. They don't let you leave once you've registered,
so I just stand in the 17 year old female section, accompanied by a few other thin looking girls. They're
shaking, translucent skin covered in goosebumps as a result of fear. Of course, we haven't had victors
since the last rebellion, and we only have two left, Katniss and Peeta Mellark. Haymitch Abernathy was
executed publicly from the Capitol as the rebellion came to a halt. I tried to comfort them, that they
would never be picked from such a massive amount of slips. Of course, this failed to bate their worries,
"Trust me, you aren't going to the Capitol, you're safe. Just pretend you're listening during the
ceremony and you'll be back to your own lives soon enough. Forget the Games, you have a life ahead of
you, all of you do, and I sincerely wish you all the best." The girls watching me had a somewhat
reassured face, but also full of childish bewilderment.
Before I could say another word, my father stumbled into the square, unshaven and hardly awake.
"Wha-? Girl? Come here-" he commanded, tripping on his words. I ignored him, I would never be
subjected to do what he wished ever again. Eventually, he must've decided it wasn't me he was talking
to, so he left, probably back home, not bothering to see his daughter for the last time he probably could
in person. The "pens" filled up, and I was torn from my daydreams of the creamy clouds wafting above
us as Prudence Harrisburg, our Capitol representative person, welcomed and gave everyone a speech.
I paid attention for the last bit, which was the last rebellion, and almost laughed aloud. Prudence was
insisting how lucky we all were that the Capitol was so good to us. That was enough alone, but to top it
off, our victors, the Mellarks, rolled their eyes synchronized as if they rehearsed it. "And now, for the
female tribute." Prude said in her posh little accent, straightening the powdered white glove on her
hand, reaching into the bowl of horror. It was like a game of a fish swimming away from a cat, both
endings inevitable, one's fate rested in the balance, and it sure wasn't the cat's. "Posy Hawthorne."
A groan overcame the crowd, particularly in the younger sections, even the victors seemed shocked. It
wasn't till I realized it was a little twelve year old girl dragging herself up to the front, tears splaying
down from her rose red cheeks. She was shaking, swaying side to side, looking over the crowd with a
desperate glint in her eye. "Good, good!" She was pleased, a little girl assigned to her deathbed was
clearly all she wanted. "Do we have any volunteers for Miss. Hawthorne?" Well, this had to be it… My
gut screeched at me to stand back, but the death of me would be this movement. I stood still, then my
body gave in, and, of its own accord, stepped up. My voice was thin and scratchy, "I volunteer." I
walked up to the stage, the little girl glanced at me, and a shocked expression followed an uttered
thanks as she hurried back to her section. "Wonderful! What is your name?" Prudence trilled excitedly.
"Myrtle Lamado." I replied shortly, and then the boy tribute came up, a 16 year old boy named Tristan
Turner. He had been in my algebra class a year ago, but I couldn't say we were even much of
acquaintances. He was clearly taking it hard, eyes watering with tears that refused to be shed. We were
introduced together as the tributes before being escorted to the Justice Building. I was placed in a
yellow room containing 2 chairs. I didn't understand why it would be yellow, such a happy color, when
we had probably less than a week to live. First came Ericah, who dashed to give me a hug. "WHY did
you do that! Your so stupid!" I didn't even reply, just relished seeing one of my friends for the last
time. We didn't speak of my premature death, just of old times, of lost memories, and my last request
before she was sent away was she have a great life and ask out her long time crush, Jacob Gowes. Next
came Caroline, who sobbed into my shoulder for a minute. "You come home, you hear? You have to
marry and have kids like you always wanted. I know we made fun of you for it, but you're coming
home." She insisted over and over, but I just gave her a sad look. "Caroline, I've known you for years,
but sometimes we have to let go. Plus, you can't get rid of me that easily, I'll still be there, chastising
you when you don't do your homework, making some random joke when your upset over breakups… I
have no doubt that you all will remember me. After all, E.T always phones home, but can never go
home. (Inside joke Xamem :D) She was taken away seconds later, and I put on one last smile that I
couldn't really feel. My next visitor was the girl I saved, and she looked nervous, as if she had been told
to come and to thank me. "Thanks so much for saving me, I hope you do well!" I nodded my head a
little, "Thanks, but my plan isn't coming home. You're safe now though, sorry, whats your name?" I
asked, forgetful. "Posy Hawthorne" She replied, lowering her voice to a whisper,"My family actually
thinks it was planned this way, because we knew Katniss Everdeen before… Your really brave though,
but I don't think winning would be much fun, so I hope its alright, birdie…" Slight shock covered my
expression, but of course, anyone linked to the rebellion would be punished in one way or another.
"Don't worry, if I'm going it'll be of my own accord." A small smirk formed on my face, "Birds are
untouchable, which is why she's still alive." Referring to Katniss, of course, as her dead would merely
serve as a martyr, me? I don't know yet, but that's for them to know and for me to never find out.
"Thanks, Birdie, stay strong for us, we can for you." I smiled, she then exited the room. Finally, my last
visitor came in, my father, who looked like he was here against his will, he probably was, in fact. "Come
to wish me well on my deathbed, father?" I know I shouldn't taunt him, but I couldn't help it.
"Ungrateful girl, don't give me that sass! Just like your mother you are! Useless brat!" he coughed out,
looking quite ill. "Such kind words, thanks for showing up. Oh? My mother, useless? I'd look in the
mirror if I were you, hypocrite. Leave, I don't want to call a Peacekeeper in, but I will…"
My eyes narrowed, glaring at my father who never should've been. "Ahh you pathetic little idiot!
You should be thankful you didn't follow her!" He threw himself at me, pinning my small frame to the
spotless carpet floor, pulling at the top of my dress. I screamed bloody murder, spinning like a child
rolling down a sloped hill to a bed of soft grass below. A Peacekeeper dashed in the room, and I've
never been more relieved to see them in my life, not even after the incident that took my mother's life.
As he is peeled off of me, he screeches oh-so-charmingly, "You KNOW it was me! Your bloody mother
deserved it just like you do! So I as soon as stabbed her heart out as I did yours. You bloody wenches
are all the same, I'll be awaiting your death, the music to my pained ears!" Finally, he was wrestled out,
leaving me shell-shocked, a bewildered but horrified look came to my face. What? My mother. My
mother who was so sweet and caring… stabbed and murdered by him, the very same who for all those
years raped me? I knew I loathed him for my own abuse, but thought it came from actually going
insane, but no, he was a born psychopath. A fiery inferno of hate burned through me, escaping me by
the only way I knew, I screamed for my poor mother, my own life that would never be, and
for my father of a different era that was courteous, gentle, kind and virtuous all those bitter years ago.
In a twisted way my father was right, my family life fell through the roof with my mother's death.
I wouldn't be standing here now, Posy Hawthorne would. A tricky game of cards, one man's insanity
gives one girl safety and sentences another to certain death. Lovely. Not that I'm regretting letting Posy
live, it was the fact that now, I had to die. Soon, a peacekeeper came in and escorted me to a train,
which would force us to stroke to our impending doom. Of course, it would play with us first, that sly
little cat. Too bad cats only have nine lives. Not with this time, maybe, but someday, somehow, this all
would be gone. I didn't worry over not being a part of it, people would eventually go on without me, but
the fire started all those years ago would never be extinguished or lay dormant. This would end.
A/N: Hey, please tell me what you think of this! I'd really appreciate it! Plus, if you like it I'll try and update soon, SUMMER 2012! :D I wrote a little poem for you...
Peeta bakes bread,
Katniss feels no dread,
but under this occurence,
I feel i'm surely dead.
Its no offense to you,
although its very true,
that Gale is gone and taken,
to be married to Miley Cyrus, no jking.
:D Please Review!