A lovely friend of mine (Sittinginawheel) requested a Hunger Games-themed Lord of the Flies fanfiction from me on Tumblr and this is the end result!
Enjoy.
Simon raised a hand and gently pulled back lush green foliage and stepped into a clearing. Letting out a heavy sigh and wiping sweat from his forehead, he leant against a thick tree trunk in an attempt to catch his breath that came in short, laboured gasps. Simon looked towards where he had come from and brushed a hand through his coarse black hair, recalling the scene.
20 seconds.
He looked around at the others on the elevated podiums. 23 others all placed equidistant apart around a structure, known as the Cornucopia, in the middle sprawled across a small, flat expanse of grassland that, from what he could see, was slightly damp. That would be a problem.
15 seconds.
One tribute caught his eye and he smiled. He remembered him from the tribute parade. Fair, blonde hair and gentle blue eyes: an appearance that proclaimed no threat. That boy had scored an 8 on the ratings; due to what, Simon didn't know. All he did know was they called him "The Boy with the Shell" and that he hailed from District 4. Standing directly next to him was a rather portly-looking boy with round glasses; Simon passed no judgement.
10 seconds.
Streaks of red caught his eye this time. A boy directly opposite the District 4 tribute stood looking ready to pounce on the arsenal of weaponry the Cornucopia promised and radiated naught but malicious intent. A slightly shorter boy next to him was stood stoically still with his eyes, somewhat obscured by long black hair, staring at the nearest object to him: a frighteningly sharp spear basking in the bright rays of sunlight.
5 seconds.
There was a larger amount of younger tributes this year than Simon had ever seen. It hit him with an overwhelming tidal wave of sorrow when he realised that in mere seconds many of them would die a life barely lived.
He snapped out of his thoughts as he saw a rapid flurry of movement of tributes sprinting towards the Cornucopia. One already had a spear. A cannon boomed somewhere above him before Simon started moving. He spun on his heels towards the tree line and ran. He spotted the portly boy a slight distance ahead of him and veered to the left slightly to avoid him. He glanced behind and spotted a smaller one desperately trying to climb up a tree. He looked forward, took a deep breath, and continued. He gasped slightly as rapid blasts from the cannon resonated across the arena in quick succession to each other.
Resurfacing from his brief flashback Simon looked down at the ground and sighed in exasperation: footprints. He had left footprints. He knew the damp ground would be a problem, but he didn't think the footprints would be that obvious. He refrained from cursing and turned toward the opposite end of the clearing and continued onward.
He emerged from the dense thicket and quickly glanced around for any other tributes and was relieved to see that he was alone. The roar of a nearby waterfall drowned out his footsteps as he advanced towards the precipice and looked down. The precipitous drop was harsh and steep: the lines of the ravine that only went down were lined with jagged rocks and scattered boulders and directly through the middle flowed a deceivingly calm stream lined with iridescent flowers of teal and vermilion in pattern that exuded a powerful, but sweet, aroma. This aroma mixed with the damp smell of the wet earth to create a potent and natural fragrance.
A light sound carried over the roar of the stream caught Simon's attention and he turned his head towards the source, straining to hear it clearly. He stood and brushed himself down, still focusing on the sound, and headed in the direction of it. The raucous clamour of the stream faded to a muffled rush in the background and the sound became clearer. A shiver ran down the length of Simon's back and he straightened up; the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. Now that he could no longer hear the stream he could finally identify the sound: a gentle voice humming gently above the sounds of the forest.
He continued on towards the voice with cold sweat building on his forehead. He knew that voice. He had heard it before, back when he watched the tribute interviews. It had come from the most unexpected person and he remembered the ironic words of his mentor:
"You'll get blood from a stone before you learn anything about that one. Same thing goes for all the other careers." Mary had said, swilling the water around in her glass and taking an occasional small sip. She had looked so shocked when the boy revealed his hidden talent – so shocked she dropped her glass and spluttered incoherent nonsense. Even Caesar Flickerman looked shocked.
"Ladies and gentleman… I think I speak for us all when I say this: what a beautiful voice! And from such an unexpected person, too! I don't think I've ever heard a career sing so beautifully in my life. Ladies and gentleman, I give you… Jack Merridew!"
He had scored a 9.
Simon continued onward, swallowing deeply as he reached more foliage. The voice was loudest here, directly behind the lush greenery. He took a deep breath and reached for the foliage, pulling it back gently.
The boy was bent double. His eyes were on the ground examining footprints in the damp earth and his body was basked in shadows. His arms – visible through shredded tatters in his attire – bore freckles in varying amounts and his hair sat upon his head in waves of incandescent flames of crimson locks. The soft humming was coming from this boy who had his back to Simon; patches of vulnerable flesh peeking out under small tatters in his clothing. Simon glanced behind him on hearing the cracking of a twig and made his mind up: he stepped into the clearing and spoke up in a gentle tone, "Hello…"
The boy scrambled to his feet, a spear in hand, and spun around to face Simon with a fierce snarl etched onto his face. Simon held both his hands up and smiled despite the furious pounding of his heart, as if it were about to burst free from his rib cage. He swallowed nervously. The other boy stepped forward and raised his spear. The snarl slowly faded as the boy realised the situation and was instead replaced by a sadistic smile.
"You're in an awful hurry to die," it was a simple statement, but Simon couldn't help but shiver slightly at the cold spear now pressing into his chest. "I don't know why you chose to approach me – and I don't care – because you'll die here."
Simon smiled again. "I don't think that's true, Jack. I can help you, see." The boy, Jack, raised an eyebrow and took a step closer. The point of the spear was now digging painfully into Simon's chest, his heart beating against it frantically.
"You're batty." He spat. "Nothing you have to offer could help me. You're that useless idiot from that outer district who scored a three." A small drop of crimson spread out among Simon's outfit, staining the spear point. Jack's smile widened.
"I'm not batty, but I can help you." Simon reaffirmed with a smile still on his face. "You're Jack Merridew, the career from District 1."
"What of it?"
"I notice things others don't, see." The boy with flaming hair and a freckled face raised an eyebrow again. A small leaf fluttered in the wind and landed at Jack's feet. Simon pointed to it. "That leaf. It's from an evergreen, and the only evergreen here is that one." He gestured to a large bush next to Jack, who glanced towards it with a slight expression of shock. Simon continued. "District 2 doesn't have very many trees so one from that place wouldn't have much experience moving quietly in forests, see? Your career friend is in there, the boy from District 2 with black hair."
The boy emerged and stood next to Jack, glaring at Simon who was still pressed against the tree. Another drop of crimson spread across his clothes.
"See? I can help."
Jack and the other boy shared a glance before the tip of the point dug deeper into Simon's chest.
"You're batty," the point withdrew from his chest and Jack planted the spear into the ground. "But you could be useful. If you wander, we'll kill you." Simon sighed in relief as Jack and the other boy turned and began walking out of the clearing. Simon followed just as another cannon shot boomed across the arena.
Yes, this is and was intended as a one-off little thing. I may continue it, I may not. It depends entirely on the overall response to the story.
26/12/2013: Took into consideration the review and began jotting a plot line for this. May yet turn out to be a multi-chapter fic after all.