Author's Note
I do not own the Hunger Games.
Thank you Professor R.J Lupin and goldie for the follows, and empressakura655 for the follow, favourite, and review!
Here's the first chapter, which is a better demonstration of how the story is written and structured.
d5f
Unthinkable.
At least with the reaping you knew it was happening.
At least with the preparation, you could speak to the mentors.
At least with the time before the Games, you could prepare.
But this—
You could be taken from your home at any time.
You could be dumped in the arena with nothing.
Clyde whispers her name, still staring at the screen. "What if—"
They didn't even know when they would come.
Would it be today, after the announcement?
In two months, when the reaping should have been?
When?
"I don't want to die."
"Clyde," she says, "help me grab mum's medical books."
(they read until its dark and their eyes hurt and the next day they do it again and again and again as the days pass)
d8m
He switches off the TV as his sister begins to cry.
"I don't want to die."
None of them did.
Their homes were meant to be places they could relax and be comfortable.
Their homes were meant to be safe.
But the Capitol had power over all.
They are going to be dragged from their homes.
They are going to be thrown into the arena.
He hugs his sister tight and tells himself not to cry.
d6f
Life went on.
School was dull, everyday life was duller.
She laughs with her friends, teases her sister, eats supper with her grandparents. She washes on a morning, combs her chestnut hair, smiles for her teachers and groans at her homework.
She thinks of the Hunger Games sometimes, of the poor unfortunate souls who are going to be torn from their homes and families and thrown into the arena.
But then something comes along to distract her, shiny and new, and, well, Trucker Johnson is pretty good looking.
(and he's even better when you're snogging him behind the bike shed your hands down his pants and his hands under your blouse)
d6m
He wonders when it will happen, and the question turns over and over and over in his head, echoing behind his ears.
No reaping.
No preparation.
No way of knowing when they would come.
When would it be?
In the morning, when families are about?
During school hours, when the children are all gathered at hubs?
In the evening, when everyone's tired?
When when when?
It weighed heavy on his shoulders, just as it weighed heavy on his sister's. She was twelve, only twelve, and terrified they would come for her.
He couldn't blame her.
Maybe they would.
d3m
He hasn't been reaped before.
He figures his odds are good.
So he goes about his day, studying during school hours and working the shop during his down time. He's one of the lucky ones; he has no tesserae.
(he worries sometimes in the dark of night laying awake and wondering hoping pleading that it wont be his name they pick)
The approaching Quarter Quell looms over them all, and District Three trembles at the knowledge two of their children are going to be snatched away without warning and sent to die without guidance.
He tells himself it won't be him, and yet he worries.
d10m
He's thirteen.
His name is in the bowl twice.
His brother is sixteen.
His name is in the bowl five times.
He's twice as likely to be selected.
He's never going to volunteer if it's not him they come for.
But he's thirteen.
His name is in the bowl twice.
It won't be him.
Jeremy Farmer is eighteen.
His name is in the bowl seven times.
Probably more, he probably has tesserae.
It might be him.
But it won't be him.
Positive thinking.
The trick is to keep smiling.
He's thirteen.
They almost never choose thirteen year olds.
Almost.
Almost.