Hunger Games: The Golden Melody (Name not final)
I wake early, my heart pumping from the wild dream I'd had. I was in an arena, standing on a circular plate facing twenty tributes armed and ready to kill me. Some of the faces are familiar; people I know and am even friends with, others are strangers to me. 20 yards away elevated from the ground stood a glistening gold cornucopia. The sun hit it and sent shards of light into the tributes faces. I avert my eyes as not to become blinded by the light. I see a silver bow hanging from a piece of he extended cornucopia, a few feet away on the ground sets a silver sheath of arrows. If I can get to them surely I'll have a chance at getting out of here. 60 seconds. That's how long I have to access my surroundings. Tree's, lots of them surrounded by deeps woods, a lake with water weeds protruding from it. Is this the only water supply? Around the cornucopia sets precious items that could mean your life or death in the arena. A book bag; containing who knows what, a sleeping bag, a sheet of plastic, swords, knifes and even a trident. Various packs of food litter the ground; crackers, strips of dried meat and other food in packages. A water canteen with a strap to carry it by lays at the very edge which tells me it's of the least amount of importance and probably contains no water. I look down at the ground which just under the surface holds enough explosives to blow my body parts sky high. I could imagine my blood smeared on the force field that keeps us locked in here like rabid dogs. Just off to my left, standing in a diagonal with me, is a boy. Dark hair and green eyes, broad shoulders a square jaw all catch my eye. I don't know who he is but he gives me the feeling as if I should. His eyes bore into mine. He shakes his head at me. Why? I don't understand. He doesn't know me. The announcer is on her countdown and I'm puzzled as why the boy was shaking his head at me. The announcer is on 5 so I put my thoughts aside and focus. I will not miss the gong. I will get out of here. I will go home to my parents. I will live.
Three.
Two.
One.
Gong.
I jump off my plate no longer worried about being blown to bits as I know the explosives have been disabled by the Gamemakers. My feet pound the soggy earth. My boots sling dirt behind me as they grip the earth and release with ease and spring me faster into the fight. I reach the arrows without any problem and sling them across my back. The bow is more difficult. I have to fight off one boy by pushing him off the cornucopia. He lands on the ground with a hard thud but I know he's not dead. I slide off the on the other side of the cornucopia, my body sliding against the gold doesn't give me away and I land in a crouch on the balls of my feet bow in hand. I find a black pack at my feet to the left and sling it across my back along with my sheath. I load an arrow to be ready if the situation arises for me to use it. I take off running into the woods planning to climb a tree for safety from the hunters. I think I should be safe until nightfall as all the other tributes are gathering themselves together, preparing their weapons to spill the blood of innocent children. I'm running and I've just reach the edge of the woods when a hand clamps my pack. I turn, pulling my bow string back, ready to fight of the attacker. My eyes widen. It's the dark haired boy who caught my eye. Sweat beads on his forehead as he stares at me. Is he debating on whether to kill me or not? He raises his arm knife in hand to kill me. Is this it? Will I die this quick? I have to get home to my parents, to my brother. I don't even have time to let the arrow fly. My attacker's eyes are focused on something behind me. I don't understand what's going on. Before I can analyze any further the boy jerks my body behind me and instead of the knife landing in my flesh it lands in a red headed boy's chest. His body falls limply to the ground in a heap. The boy takes my hand and drags me more deeply into the woods. We don't stop for a long time. I don't know why I'm following him. It's like we're connected, I trust him even though he is a complete stranger. He leads me to a base of a tree and instructs me to climb. I do and climb as high as I can without the limbs breaking. I pick a limb large and strong enough for the boy and me to both perch on. He climbs up behind me, taking longer because he is much larger than I. He climbs with ease though and I can tell he is an avid woodsman like me. He finally eases onto the same limb as I and sits staring at me. My eyes are wide and I'm out of breath from running and climbing. I breathe hard.
"Why did you help me," I ask him.
"That's what we do," he says simply then he looks at me and smiles.
"I have a lot to tell you Avery Hope Mellark."
That's when I woke up. I felt like I had been reading a great book and found out to late the end had been tore out. My mind tried to grasp the dream; to remember it, but it slipped like through the cracks like water in my hands. I braid my hair, slip on a pair of green cargo pants and a black shirt and my comfy leather boots I got for my 17th birthday. It's still cold outside so I slip on an old leather jacket my mom gave me. She says it was my grandfathers. I love wearing it because it makes me feel closer to him though I've never met him. It's molded to my body now and I can move with ease. I retrieve my bow and sheath of arrows from the hooks on the wall. Many say I'm just like my mom but many say I'm just like my dad too. I like to think I have the best of both of them in me. I have a ability with words like my dad and have a weakness to any kinds of cake. I can't paint worth a lick but I still like to help him decorate on rainy days. I can hunt like my mom and I've been in the words practically every day since my parents took me to the meadow when I was 5. I remember that day, Mom letting me climb a wild tree for the first time. I had always climbed in the atrium before that. It was my favorite place to be, still is. On short cold winter days I like to closet myself inside and read as many books as I can get my hands on. I like to write too. Unlike a lot of teens my age I've never dated anyone. This bothers me sometime but Mom always tells me not to waste my time with just any guy. I've begun to worry that I'll be alone my whole life and have 20 cats just like that old demented mangy Buttercup who still runs around here. I can't believe he's still alive. I spend a lot of time with my grandmother and aunt Prim and her children. They're around my brother's age but I don't mind. I like kids and they seem to gravitate around me like starved children. Today I need to think so I go to the only place I can truly be at peace. The woods. I move on silent feet, my bow loaded in my hands just in case the opportunity arises to shoot fresh game. I'm hoping for a deer or turkey but in the frigid cold I'm not sure they will be a willing to venture out as I am. I make the long trek to the lake. I haven't been here in a long time. I walk into the concrete house that is somehow still standing. Mom took my brother and me here once when we were little to learn how to swim but after that we didn't come here anymore. She doesn't know I remembered the trail and still come here. I light a fire with wood from the pile I left by an empty window. Sometime I sit with my back against the wall, knees drawn up and think about who lived here. Was there just one person, old and gray; or a young married couple just starting out, possibly with an infant to care for? I often like to wonder about the things in the house in the same manner; the old broom or the iron poker in the corner. I wonder if the person who left it here knew that someone would wander inside, pick it up and wonder whose fire it stoked in the winter or how it came to be where it was. Snowflakes fall in from the empty place where the windows used to be. I sit closer to the fire, place my chin on my knees and think about all my parents haven't told me, about the games, the war. I also sit and wonder about the dark haired boy.