A/N: This is a The Hunger Games fic (Obviously) and Mockingjay never happened.
Summary:
In the nation of Panem, District 4, Carpa Moviere is your typical youth. But reaped to join the Hunger Games, a fight to the death on live TV, things take a turn for the worse. Never trained, never wanted, what will happen when she enters the outdoor Arena in a fight for love, life and death? Read and review please.
D: I do not own The Hunger Games, or District 4.
Carpa's POV:
I wake up to the smell of the ocean outside of my house in District 4, located in the nation of Panem. A nation that rose up from the ruins of North America, but you already new that.
"Carpa!" shouts my mom. "It is almost time for the reaping! Get your butt in here!" Her voice is harsh and rough as she called out.
Oh... the reaping. How could I forget one of the most important things? It's for the 200th Hunger Games, also known as a Quarter Quell. I wonder what trick they will whip up this year, you can't help but wonder. See, every 25th anniversary for the Games, they do something special. Sometimes you can't help but conjure up the most gruesome things. Will they force us to brutal deaths? Well, not like the deaths aren't already brutal. One year, they had to send in 4 tributes from each district. Another, they had to send in all previous living victors; that year they attempted to destroy the Arena.
I crawl out of bed, and look at my reaping outfit: My dad's leather jacket, my combat boots which have my name stitched into them. A pair of blue jeans, and my fishing shirt. I scurry over to the dresser and slip into them, and go downstairs. My boots bang against the stairs but I ignore the sound they make.
My mom, she is one of the nicest people I have ever met. Like, really nice. She hates the Games, something one of the typical people from the Career Districts, 1, 2, and 4 typically love the Games. She's like the oddball but that doesn't bother her at all. She brushes off insults as if they were feathers, falling from the sky and just happen to cross her way.
This year, they said that the special surprise for this Quarter Quell would be that all the Arena would be a Labyrinth, like the one from Greek Mythology, without the magic. (Though the game-makers might come up with some tricks, not surprising really.)
I walk past my mother and her eyes follow me. Hating the Games, the reaping clothes that I have to where always make her angry. The thought of me going is practically heart wrenching. Seeing me in the reaping clothes almost makes it official.
Well, I go to the pier, looking at all the fish down in the ocean. I kneel down, keeping on the balls of my feet to remain balance and quickly spot some Carp, the fish I am named after.
I stick my feet down in after taking off my boots, feeling the coolness sweep across my feet refreshes me, the one thing I may never feel again if I am reaped. Unless I live. But really, how unlikely is that?
I get up, and remove my clothing, to where I am only in my underclothes, and jump in the water.
"Whoaaaaaaaa..." I hiccupped, bubbles floating of my mouth, looking at all the colors. The light streams in through the water and dances across my vision. You don't see much like this, unless you are underwater in the ocean, like me. Or in the Capitol, with it's never-ending light. But the Capitol could never compare to under water.
When I start running out of air, I swim up, to be startled by my best friend, Hunter. If I wanted to ally with anyone in the Games, it would be him. I find myself praying if I am reaped, he is too.
"Hey Carp," he says, scaring me.
"Hunter!" I call out, my voice raising to a higher pitch, covering my chest with my arms. "You scared me!"
"I am good at that," says Hunter, chuckling and moving his brown bangs out of the way, revealing his green eyes. It's a habit of his that can get annoying.
"Ha ha," I mock laugh, and sweep my hand through the water, splashing it on him.
"I got you a towel. I know before reaping day, you always come down to the pier for a swim," he pulls out the towel, and I hop up on the pier next to him. I'm only twelve but the reaping always causes me to go to the water, even if I wasn't eligible. It became habit about three years ago. The reaping, not that I would admit, scared me. Even if I couldn't be reaped, I would go to the water. This year it was serious.
I dry myself off and quickly change while he looks away. My face is bright red, but I was hoping he wouldn't notice. My skin was already, however, flushed red from the coldness of the water.
"Ready?" he asks once I'm changed. I roll my eyes but nod. Of course I'm ready! Well, not really. No one really wants to be ready for a reaping, unless, of course, you're in the First or Second District.
When we walk into the square, Hunter unexpectedly grabs my hand. "Look," he says and with his free hand, he shows me where to stand. Since I am twelve, I am just eligible for being reaped, while he has been for a year, being 13.
"That's where I stand?" I ask, looking at him.
"Yeah. G'bye now." He releases me, then unexpectedly kisses my cheek.
"Bye..." I say, blushing about as red as before, perhaps even redder.
As I file into the 12 year old section, I catch a glimpse of Mayor Poseidon's daughter, Amphorae, standing a row in-front of me.
The Mayor of District 4 walks up to the podium and begins to recite the dull and boring Treaty of Treason, about how the Hunger Games were established, the nation once known as North America rising out of the ashes as the nation of Panem, a gleaming Capitol surrounded by thirteen lesser Districts. How they had a rebellion and District 13 got destroyed, and the Capitol established the Hunger Games, a fight to the death on live TV.
"Happy Hunger Games!" She cheers happily, moving her green and blue hair out of her eyes. "And may the odds be ever in your favor!" These Capitol people sicken me. They think the games are funny to watch. Idiots. They know it pains the parents, the families, the friends; it's all for amusement for them. How could the odds be in our favor? Why should they?
"The time has come to select one courageous young man and woman... for the honor of representing District 4 in the 200th Annual Hunger Games. Now, as usual, ladies first." says Fiona Marluoy
My throat clenches as Fiona Marluoy walks up to the bowl that holds thousands of slips of paper, one of them with Carpa Movire written in delicate handwriting.
She rummages her hand through the paper.
"Carpa Movire!" she says, overly-peppy, and my throat clenches tighter, threatening to close off my oxygen. Well, I think, it would be a better end than being murdered on live TV, my friends and family forced to watch.
I stand, petrified, as I look at my mom and dad, holding my 3 brothers, and little sister. "No!" My little sister shouts.
I walk up to the stage, and blink my tears out of my eyes.
"Any volunteers?" Silence. Of course not. They value their lives more than they do mine. It's understandable. I would too.
Without waiting for an answer, probably knowing no one would volunteer, she scuttles over to the glass ball that holds the boys of District 4's name in it.
Please be him... please...
"Zale Henskins."
Oh no. Not him.
I spot him in the crowd instantly, seeing the grin on his face, as if he was already devising my death. It would be understandable, seeing as I dumped him like a sack of fish at the door.
As he begins to make his way to the stage confidently, I catch the glimpse of Hunter.
Please, I mouth to him, already knowing what will happen next.
He begins to run through the crowd, Peacekeepers pushing him back.
"I volunteer!" he shouts, even though he doesn't know Zale personally.
Zale turns around, as if horrified by Hunter's actions.
I've never seen this side of Zale. "I want to be in the Arena!" I'm aware people have fought over going into the Arena, mainly Careers that get volunteered for. "And no one will get in my way." he snarls at Hunter.
"Fiona, do something." I hear the mayor whisper loudly to her.
"We- uh, we seem to have a volunteer!" she shouts into the microphone, sending loud feedback through the Square.
Zale puts hate in his eyes, and stalks back to the male section. Hunter is escorted by Peacekeepers up to the stage, and takes his place next to me.
"What is your name?" says Fiona, putting the microphone to his mouth.
"Hunter Malfor," he chokes out, and I can see the pain in his eyes. He has just volunteered to go into the Arena, the place of death, nightmares, and much worse to keep me alive. And I can already see that one of us will not make it out alive.
"How about a big round of applause for our tributes, Carpa Movire and Hunter Malfor!" says Fiona, clapping her hands lightly. Silence. "Now shake hands you two."
I grab Hunters hand and he gives it a reassuring squeeze.
We're shuffled - or should I say shoved, to be honest - into the doors of the Justice Building, the center for the officials that reeks of seaweed and salt water.
The only thought I can process is Hunter has just saved my life, and also committed suicide doing so.
So should I continue this? This was a continued version of the last story of mine, The 200th Hunger Games. I decided that if I just replaced it, I wouldn't get many reviews, so I re-published it. Read and Review!
~PerseusSlayerOfMedusa