Disclaimer- I'm running out of creative ways to say that I do not own the Hunger Games.
Komondor Redett, District 10
I don't like it when people stare, their eyes full of pity. Yeah, I know, I'm in an unfortunate situation. But it was unfortunate for everyone that was reaped. Just because my leg is bad doesn't mean I won't survive.
But he knows that two good legs could certainly help him live.
He remembers when it happened. He was 4.
It is ironic his name is Komondor, actually. That very same breed of dog had been his favorite. He had always gone to pet them when he was very little.
He touches the doggy's long curls. They are soft and his hand gets lost in them.
He wonders if the doggy should go back to the cows. That's the only place he sees them.
"Hey, kid! Get away from there!"
Something cold and hard hits his leg. Again, and again. And again. He whimpers in pain.
Mommy…
They had been his favorite dogs.
Komondor supposes that knowing pain is a benefit in the arena. But he had never been hungry at home. His father wouldn't let it happen. He would not let harm come to his family.
Well, you didn't do such a good job of protecting me, Dad.
Now he was hungry. The backpack he took at the Cornucopia hadn't contained any food. He felt light-headed, dizzy. Disconnected from the world.
It had only contained poisons. And Komondor had killed a boy, back on the first day. It was small comfort.
He slowly rolled over on his blanket, until something razor-sharp pierced his side. Yelping, he sat up and took out a needle from his side.
But he had kept everything in the backpack!
As the poison seeped through his veins, so did realization. Someone had set a trap. To kill him.
And it worked.
A/N-Hello! How is everybody? Good? I hope so. Here's the next chapter. I really need to say thank you to everyone that has alerted, favorited, and especially reviewed. You all are amazing. I hope you liked this!
