I love Hunger Games. I was pretty late to read it, but I did and it's awesome - as you all surely know. Thus I needed to write something about it and this is the result. It is actually Movieverse, because it is inspired by Cato's dying 'speech' at the end of the movie (which is also incredibly awesome!). This will possibly be one of the longest stories I'll ever post on fanfiction considering I mostly just post one-shots.

Another part of the 120 prompts challenge.

84. Out cold

Enjoy. Yours, satori

Chapter 1: Denial

You always believed that you were meant to be great and famous - or infamous rather. You had always been sure that you were destined to be better, stronger and harder, that you would triumph over everyone else looking down upon them, their lives at your mercy. There was simply no other way, because this was your path and prestige and honor waited at the end and you were nothing if not determined to reach the finish line. It was as clear as the early morning sky. You would not try to win, you would win, because "maybe" and "possibly" weren't part of your vocabulary. It was either do or don't and you weren't one to accept "no" for an answer. In fact you didn't accept anything you disagreed with, but only because you had every right to.

The problem with your argumentation lies deep, rooted in the very pillars of your being, written into the very fabric of your mind, so deep you were never able to clearly notice it, but brought to daylight the problem is blindingly obvious. Everything you thought you know about yourself and the workings of the world was a lie. A lie told so often it has easily become the truth. No one was trying to hurt you by lying so bluntly. They weren't even aware they were anything but honest after all. They believed it, too, even though they should have been able to know better.

Since the day you were born you were a tribute. Everyone around you only contributed to your fate. You were always meant to harshly volunteer for the 74th Hunger Games. You were always meant to be the vicious deadly boy who the audience feared and adored. You were always meant to do what they expected of you. It was perfectly alright. You had been aware of all this and accepted it without question, but there was one thing you didn't realize or refused to realize. You were always meant to die. You were just in denial.

You became the violent boy with the malicious grin, just like they had desired. Fighting was your second nature and you lived for the thrill of slashing your sword or the sound your spear made when thrown or the feeling of your knuckles as they connected with soft flesh. They were so proud of you, so proud to see you blossom under the strict hand of your trainer. 'You are better than them surely', they told you time after time, 'they stand no chance against you!' and you nodded, because what they said was true, wasn't it?

The forbidden training kept you on your track. You weren't once tempted to wish for something different, weren't once inclined to ask yourself "what if?" or imagine a whole other existence. You couldn't have stopped if you wanted to. Everything you needed to know you learned in training and not in the worthless school you were forced to visit. However there was one concept they purposefully decided not to teach you: Emotions.

It seemed like everyone you knew forgot they even existed when they were near you. Your parents never showed you what it means to love or care for anyone. You knew how to kill a person in countless ways and yet you had never experienced affection. Anger came over you like thunderstorms on hot and humid summer afternoons, cleansing away confusion and tension. You were used to feeling enraged, irritated or frustrated with yourself or others. Everything you couldn't completely grasp you turned into wrath. The tiny stab in your gut when you watched a mother warmly hug her son, the queasy sensation in your stomach when this pretty girl at school smiled at you, the undefined shivers when you were alone in the house and strange noises appeared out of nowhere. It took a while for you to name those emotions and an even longer time to distinguish them. Your effort was useless, though, feelings wouldn't help you accomplish your goal and so you worked hard at suppressing them.

It was surprisingly easy and nobody cared about your complete lack of empathy as long as you acted normally. This should have been another warning sign. A red light going off accompanied by a shrill siren alerting your family (or someone, just someone) that there was something wrong with you, that all this couldn't end well. Instead there was a tensed, but steady silence filled with your even breathing.

When finally the Games came you were as ready as one could be. You were glad and confident, amazingly trained, determined and above all willing. At reaping day you felt like you could overcome whatever difficulties were thrown in your way, you felt invincible like nothing could ever break you. How could you know that you had never been more wrong? How could you know that these Games, that should be your victory tour, would not only throw your carefully constructed reality into chaos, but also force you to acknowledge the truth that everybody else blissfully ignored? The only thing you were working for was your own gruesome death.

And this was it. It was the beginning of your end.

Next part is coming soon. Reviews are love!