AN: Hi, this is my first story, so, don't be too harsh on me. Just to be clear this is from May's POV, she's from District Four in my story.
Chapter One
I sat on the couch watching the grainy images pass across the screen. The images were shaky do the howling wind outside. On the screen President Loki stood at in his white suit at the podium. His short black hair was swept nicely behind his ears… He looked to be in perfect health. Of course he would be, he lived in the Capital where nothing could go wrong. Here in district four we barely pulled by in the winter months.
"Good citizens of Panem, it has again come to that time of the year. The annual Hunger Games is once again upon us. As many of you are also aware, this year is a Quarter Quell," Loki announces looking straight at the camera. His unblinking eyes send shudders down my spine. My mother joins me on the couch. She looks at the television, her lip curls in disgust.
My mother is a victor of the Hunger Games. She was in the 72nd Annual Hunger she had been fourteen. I believe it had a drastic effect on the way that she raised me. I know seven different kinds of martial arts and can fight with pretty much any weapon you give me. It isn't like she wants me to win the Hunger Games, she just wants me to be able to survive if I ever got reaped.
"For this Quarter Quell, the male and female tributes will be chosen by two selected individuals of the same district," President Loki announced. There was a gasp edited into the audio. I only nodded and tried to comprehend what he had just said.
A selected individual… So that meant at the reaping, instead of reaping the tribute they would be reaping the person to select the tribute… How could you force someone to sentence another person to almost certain death? Dear God, I hoped I didn't get selected… I didn't know how I would ever choose.
"Melinda… Melinda, dear, you need start getting ready for the reaping," Her mother told her standing from the couch.
"Mom, what do I do if I get chosen?" I asked her, staring up at her. "Who do I choose? How do I sentence someone to death?" Mom looked at me, her eyes had sympathy buried within them.
"You won't get chosen. Your name is in there once," She told me comfortingly.
"I know, the odds are close to nothing. But still, what if I am?" I asked her again. She turns and walks towards my room.
"If you are chosen, you choose someone strong. You choose someone who can fight. You choose someone who can win. Don't prey on the weak and easy targets. Make a smart decision, Qiaolian… But you won't get chosen."
She then proceeded to pull out one of my nicer dresses. It was black around the top but turned white around the waist. It hugged my slight curves and stopped mid-thigh. She handed me the dress and I headed to the bathroom to change. After I changed I did my hair. I twisted it into a knot at the back of my neck.
Then, together me and mother walked to the center of the district and prepared for the reaping. Everyone seemed extra nervous, which was strange to me. They were more nervous to choose someone to fight in the games than they were to fight in the games. It might be strange, but at the same time I completely understood why they were so nervous.
Our district's escort was Jane Foster. A girl in her mid-twenties, she often dressed in some ridiculous clothing but she was alright. Mom had had her over for dinner on several occasions. Today, she had chosen to wear an orange gown that went to the ground, it had a plunging neckline that left nothing to be desired.
"Hello, District Four. How do you do? I hope you're all well," She said and sounded much more cheerful than I had ever heard her. She also sounded like she might have had a little something, something before she arrived. If I had her job I probably would've too. "Since, it's a Quarter Quell, let's mix things up… Gentlemen first."
She walked across the stages and plucked a paper from the bowl with the boys' names in them.
"Christian Ward," She called. I groaned. Chris was one of the meanest boys I knew. He was a brute, huge, he probably would have a good chance of winning the games. But he wasn't going to take his chances. He would choose someone weak or someone he hated. There was no way that he would think logically or fairly. I only hoped he wouldn't pick one of the younger boys. I turned to watch Christian walk up to the stage. He had just shrugged his shoulders, like picking someone to die was no big deal.
"So, Christian, who do you choose to be the male tribute of district four?" Jane asked Chris.
"I choose Glenn Talbot." He didn't even hesitate. He just said the first name that popped into his head. Him and Glenn had gotten into a fight around a week ago. Glenn had beaten Chris, so obviously, this was Christian's version of payback.
"Okay, Glenn, up you come," Jane pulled Glenn up onto the stage. Confirming my previous suspicions that she had drunk maybe a little bit much, as she tripped and grabbed onto Glenn as support. "Now, the girls…" Jane walked over to the bowl with the girls' names. She reached into the bowl and plucked out a name. Her face fell, and in that moment I knew the name written on that small piece of paper.
"Melinda May," She called… I now had to choose who would die. I would choose which of these girls would have to fight for their lives. I slowly walked to the stage, my head high and my arms swinging my sides. I climbed the stairs. Jane looked at me sympathetically before she pulled me over to the mic.
"Melinda, who do you choose for the Hunger Games?" She asked and put the mic under my mouth. I looked out into the crowd and saw my mom. I heard her voice in my head. If you are chosen, you pick someone strong. You choose someone who can fight. I thought about that… Who could win? Who had a fighting shot? That's when it came to me. I knew who to choose.
"Melinda, who do you choose to fight?" Jane asked me again. I squared my shoulders and began to speak.
"I- I choose me… I volunteer."
AN: Ahh, May volunteered... Who saw that coming? Next chapter is probably going to be Coulson. Send me your feed back as a review or a PM.
