[Author's Note:] Hello everybody! I don't know if you're one of my lovely readers of my other story, Deep in the Meadow, who I've left this to to read while I'm overseas for two weeks, or if you're just a bored random person trolling fanfics, or if you're a Millicent Bystander who loves The Hunger Games as much as I do (impossible!). It doesn't really matter to me - what does matter is that THIS STORY IS CURRENTLY NAMELESS! What I mean is that I haven't decided a proper name. It's quite a rough draft, actually. It was never originally going to go on Fanfiction but I had it on my iPod and I've been working on it and when this issue that I won't be able to work on my main story for a while came up, I thought, eh, what the heck, I'll just put it up. So here we are. This isn't all of it, and it hasn't been edited by my oh-so-clever beta. (Sorry, Lizzy!) Anyway, please let me know what you think of it, and if you don't like it, hey, that's fine, I'll take it off Fanfiction, work on it, and put it back on for you guys to check out again. Or maybe I won't put it back on. Maybe this is a bludge.
Eh, sorry, I'm rambling. Oh, just to let you know: the language in this is semi-old-fashioned. Since it's set in the Dark Days yet in the future from today, I wasn't sure. So, here ya go.
The Introduction of the Story that Has No Name and is About the Dark Days
It started out as just wishes, prayers; crumpled, half-formed hopes. It slowly, slowly grew to whispers among others, than others more, until the whispers grew to private chats and group talks. We had to keep it all under our hats, you see — couldn't have anyone find out or we'd all be killed. The talking grew into actual plans and schemes until somehow it became sweet reality. Well, not sweet. More like gruesome, bloodthirsty reality, but the idea was sweet nonetheless. At least that's what Mother and Father say. I think it's all a big mistake, a mess, a disaster. But all the adults say, "We're creating a better future for generations to come! It's a revolution!" I very strongly disagree. The day the Capitol elected its new president was the day of attack, while the government was on new, uneasy legs. At the start we were winning — the Capitol never saw it coming. But now it's a very different story.
I remember the day the war began. Mother was ushering us into the basement of the Yammas' house, along with the Yammases, the Dews, the Belladors and two other families I don't know. The fathers of the families were off fighting and so were Rustic Dew and another older boy from one of the other families. All together, there were 21 of us crammed into a tiny basement. My younger sister and brother were scared and confused and it was terribly noisy with all the people.
Nancy Bellador, a mother of four girls, stood up on a little stool and had to yell to get everyone's attention. She told us that the Rebellion had begun, and we were going to overthrow the Capitol so everyone could live peacefully with enough food to eat. That cheered us up and we listened for any noises of retaliation from the Capitol above. About half an hour passed in silence when there was an earsplitting bang and small pieces of the ceiling crumbled onto our heads. The younger kids screamed and began to cry and their mothers had to calm them down. "We're very safe down here," they said. "The bombs can't reach us."
There were volleys of bombs for days, shaking the ground we were in and sending shocks of fear through us. But we survived. For a week, by the end of which the bombings subsided. Moved onto another district, I suppose. There was barely any food, which was what we're used to, but there was very little water as well. We began to deteriorate inside our basement. We got sick of each other and fights broke out regularly. Mrs Dew, a much older woman with only two kids now that Rustic was gone, went insane from thirst and longing for her husband and eldest son. "They'll come back," she whimpered every few seconds. "I'll wait till they come. They have to."
Night and day blurred into endless time. The only toilet was a small bucket that was supposed to be empties regularly but everyone was too frightened to open the trap door so the room stank of our filth. It made us all sick. Someone opted for moving out, but the fear of Capitol soldiers above kept us down. When baby Corilda Yammas died, panic and grief set in. Mother decided to escape and so with Tommas and Delidah and me, she shoved open the trap door, and we snuck out. As soon as we got outside, she whispered to me, "Whatever you do, protect Tommas. He's the male and will carry our name as long as he sires sons, and his sons sire sons."
"Of course, Mother," I said. "Delidah and Tommas come first."
"Listen to me," Mother said urgently, taking my hand and clutching it between both of hers. "Listen to my words. Protect Tommas at all costs."
I was shocked as I came to grips with what she was saying. "Does Delidah's life not matter?" I hissed.
Mother said, "It's what your father wanted— wants." She took a deep breath in. "Wants. The last thing he said to me before he left was, 'Keep our family line alive.' That means protect the only one of us who can surely carry it for the rest of his life and pass it on to his children."
I didn't think this is entirely fair on Delidah, but I nodded tightly. "I promise, Mother."
It was on the wrong side of twilight, getting darker by the minute, which was good for cover. All around us was rubble and the stench of burning houses and bodies and the faint sound of distant gunfire and screaming and crying and the marching of Capitol soldiers and smoke creating a heavy fog that stung my eyes and hurt my throat. We stole into the night and the strangely subdued chaos.
Our legs were weak from being cramped in the basement, and we were ill and disorientated and weak from not seeing sunlight or breathing fresh air for the long week, which made our progress slow and perilous. An enemy soldier saw Tommas and turned to shoot, but Mother dove in front of him, shoved him down and took the fire. Before my eyes Mother was punched again and again with lead bullets, her body jerking and blood spitting out of the holes as the bullets went through her. She fell to the ash-covered ground, dead. I had to cover Deldiah's and Tommas' mouths to muffle their screams, and bite my tongue to stop my own. I couldn't stop staring at Mother's body, turning the white ash a dark crimson, black in the darkness. Her last instructions to me rang in my head like a siren, accompanied by a dull buzzing noise, growing louder in my ears. Whatever you do, protect Tommas. The soldier that murdered Mother had assumed that he had taken out the threat and moved on.
And the feeling of responsibility that had fallen upon Mother now came to rest on my shoulders. I knew I would be in charge from then on. I was thriteen and now caring for both of my younger siblings in a war-torn world. We ran through the night, escaping the cold glares of the soldier's guns.
Yes, yes. Very short. This is only a mere sample of it. This is the only part that is in past tense; I just needed it to set up the background story. And yes, Delidah is not a real name, and yes I do know the correct way to spell Thomas, trolls. But I think Tommas is a much cooler way to spell it. So, yes, please R&R, and either give me a name suggestion or suggest I take this right off yo Fanfiction website or imma slap yo face, dawg. *cough cough* Sorry. Been watching too much YouTube. May the Force be with you, and may your world be free of bunny-hopping, tea-bagging, rage-quitting, trolling, douchy n00blet derps.