Changing Reality

Disclaimer: I don't own The Hunger Games.

Chapter 1

I am cooking dinner for my family—cooking is all I seem to do these days, there's nothing else unless I want to hangout with my "friends", because I finished school about a year ago—a stir-fry with meat from a deer my father caught yesterday, bell peppers bought from a market in the Capitol—but I think they came from District 11—and a sauce that is both sweet and sour that I learned to make from a Capitol cookbook—when Norsla bursts in and makes her announcement.

My front door slams open. Norsla looks like she has been running, her face flushed and cheeks red, her hair flying all over the place. "Yell," she says; she's out of breath but I can tell she's excited, that maybe some of the color in her cheeks is from that excitement. "They're starting again!"

I barely look up from my cooking to address her. "What's starting again?" I ask, a little confused.

"The Hunger Games!"

That gets my full attention. I drop the spoon I am stirring with and whirl around to face her. "WHAT?" That is what I get out before I am immobilized as thoughts pour into my head. That is impossible. That cannot be possible. The rebellion. The Quarter Quell. Everything my grandparents worked for, everything they went through, for nothing?

"No, listen," Norsla continues, moving her hands everywhere to make sure I'm listening as she often does when she talks, "it's not like you're thinking." She walks around the counter that juts out and moves into the kitchen where I am working. She takes the liberty of turning off the burner I am making my new recipe on and grabs my arm, then drags me to the main room and sits me in front of the screen since I am incapable of doing any of this myself, since I am frozen in place. But was I not the one who was just thinking about how fun the Hunger Games sound? Forgetting about everything people like my grandparents went through to make sure we have the freedom we have now? The book, the ones who died, all that bloodshed...

I let Norsla sit me down in a chair as she turns the TV screen on. It is on every channel I assume, but we don't change it anyway. Straight from the Capitol. Kizer Flickerman, who is of some sort of relation to the old host of the Hunger Games, Caesar Flickerman, is talking to our current president Pallin, who was elected by us, the people, just like in the old days when Panem was North America.

"Perhaps we shouldn't call it 'The Hunger Games'," Pallin is saying. I am finally able to move, just barely, and I lean my body closer to the screen. "That might set people off. No, this is different from the Hunger Games. This will just be for entertainment, a televised event. We will have no reaping as in the old days. Special contestants—tributes sounds too sacrificial—have already been chosen and will be notified immediately. In the new version of the Games, there is no bloodshed between contestants. It will be televised at only a certain time at night, like a TV program in the old old days, so everyone in the districts and the Capitol can live life as normal during the day instead of wasting time sitting around a screen. No one is required to watch. There will be no punishment if the chosen contestants wish not to participate, but there will be a great reward for the victor: a lifetime of riches and anything else you may need. More details will come, but for now information on how to win and how the Games will be played will be disclosed only to the contestants. Thank you."

Kizer puts the mic back in his own face and starts talking about what a great idea this is, how it will be great entertainment of course but is immensely better than the original Hunger Games because no one has to die—just survive with no electricity, no provided food, etc. The screen goes black as Norsla hits the button on the remote.

"See?" Nors picks me up from the chair. "This will be so great! I wonder who they picked! We have to go out and see if anyone in Zero knows!"

This is what I wanted. A version of the Hunger Games minus the killing. I had even said it would be fun. Now I hope against hope I wasn't picked. Sure, if I had some great skill it might be fun to participate. But all I can do is sing and cook. Fat lot of good that does someone in the wild, with no electricity for burners or anything to even use for cooking. I can't hunt—though now I wish to myself I had asked to tag along with Dad at least once—I can't start a fire with my own hands. I can't do anything worthwhile, anything outside of my luxurious life.

Just as she starts leading me out by the hand, there is a knock on my front door. I glace at her and she gives me the same look. It's safe now, no one's living in any type of poverty, especially not in Zero, and crime is virtually unheard of because for now there is still peace. Most people just leave their doors unlocked; that's how Nors gets in my house whenever she wants. Knocking is just a courtesy. But no one ever knocks on my front door.

Norsla drops my hand and I pad to the door with her following closely behind. I look in the peephole. That gray and white uniform. I jump back a little. That is the standard dress of the Peacekeeper. Our Peacekeepers are not cruel like the ones during the rebellion days, but there still has to be some form of order and precautions just in case any individual tries to get out of hand. Although they are nice, a Peacekeeper at your door can mean nothing good.

I slowly open the door and Nors backs off just a tad.

"Is there a Ielletin Mellark here?" one of the three asks. He has a very deep voice and a dark goatee, but the hair on his head is sort of thinning. Still, he has wrinkles on his face around his eyes and in places that make him look tough and I would never want to cross him.

"I'm Ielletin," I say, moving out of the doorway and behind the door just a little. "Come on in." I give Nors a jab in the stomach with my elbow because she's literally right on my back and I need to move so they can get in.

The Peacekeepers walk in so formally they're practically marching. I try to keep a straight face. The one who spoke to me before turns to face me once they are inside. "We need to speak with you." He glances at Norsla, who for once in her life is looking down and not chatting his ear off. "Alone." These guys are much more tough than the usual conversational Peacekeepers. Well, the lead one is, anyway. I really don't see the point in sending three, when it's clear he is going to do all the talking.

"I get it," Norsla says. "I'll come by later and tell you what everyone is saying." I also get the hidden message in that: that she wants to know everything the Peacekeepers are saying to me. She squeezes my arm though as she walks out just to make sure I've got it. Gossip Queen.

I turn my attention back to the Peacekeepers. "Please, have a seat somewhere." They all move to the main room where we were just watching President Pallin's announcement on TV, but none of them sit.

"Can I get you anything?" I ask. "A drink maybe..." I hate that I'm acting nervous. I know for a fact I haven't done anything wrong, or at least nothing to warrant a visit from authorities. I just can't help it.

"No, we're not staying long. Please, Miss Mellark, you have a seat."

I silently obey and go to sit in the chair I just moved from. Finally I get my tongue back.

"What's going on here, Officers?" I see a hint of a smile on the youngest one's face, but he doesn't say a word.

"Congratulations, Miss Mellark," the same Peacekeeper says, and he loses a bit of his toughness as his eyes smile. "You have been chosen as a contestant in the Seventy-sixth Hunger Games."