Summary: Forty-six times, The Hunger Games have been played. People have watched children fight to the death forty-six times. Now it is time for the Forty-Seventh Annual Hunger Games to begin. Twenty-Four will go in, but only one will come out. Who will be crowned the victor?
Skylar Downing District Six
Where's the morphling? My hands search for my stash of the drug as I sit by my bed. I don't want to remember anything, or maybe I just want to die. Either way I need my morphing.
The screams won't stop. Oh God, why won't she stop screaming? No matter how long it's been, I can still hear my Mum screaming, and yelling as she dies. These damn drugs aren't working like they're supposed to. I thought being high was going to make it all go away, but nothing is helping me.
"Skylar, Skylar hurry up! You're going to be late!" my father shouts.
Why can't he just leave me be? Just leave me to wallow in my drug induced misery. Maybe this time it'll be me who gets picked for the Reaping. I still can't tell if that would be a blessing or a curse. On one hand it would end my pain for good, but on the other…. On the other I'd probably die slowly and painfully. Is that any worse than what I have to go through now?
Taking one last dose of my favorite drug, I stand up. My steps are wobbly as I make my way down the stairs. I don't bother with a goodbye to my father. What's the point?
"Skylar Downing!" a voice calls from the stage. Crap, I'm already at the Reaping. How the Hell did I get here so fast? Maybe I was slow… how am I supposed to know?
"Skylar Downing!" Wait a minute, that's my name! Slowly I stagger down the aisle, trying to make my way to stage. I fall… twice. Finally I manage to stand up next to the escort, who looks at me in disgust. I guess it's time to find out if this will be a blessing or a curse.
Andy Armador District Six
I smile as I hand the kids some bread and apples. We have an understanding: I steal and give them food and they don't turn me in. So far it has worked pretty darn well.
"Ye' bettur be getting' to de Reapin', Miss Andeh," the smallest kid, Caleb, says with a grim look on his face.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I nod my head, "I s'pose you're right, ain't ye'? Don't ye' worry yer pretty little 'eads 'bout it, I'll be back by supper!"
The only problem was I knew that I might not be back in time for supper. There was a fairly good sized chance I wouldn't ever be back to feed these kids again. What would happen to them if I don't come back? What if they starve? No, I can't let that happen to them!
Turning on my heals I walk briskly away. Within minutes I am standing amongst the other fourteen year old girls. Everyone in the crowd looks nervous, everyone is scared out of their minds. Thankfully I've only got myself to worry about, but others aren't so lucky. Some people are looking out for more than five siblings!
The boy's name is called, he's honestly laughable. He went stumbling every which way. Was he drunk? No, by the looks of him he was one of those morphling addicts… I'm sure he'll fit in splendidly with our mentors. At least a third of our district was addicted to something; it was humiliating to say the least.
Once the boy finally got a hold of himself, the escort made her way over to the other bowl. There was no way every slip of paper fit into that tiny container, which, of course, meant it was rigged. Rigged for whom? Maybe the Mayor's daughter? Or one of the victor's kids? Perhaps my years of stealing have finally caught up to me?
A plump hand fumbles around two slips. Taking a moment she drops one of them, while the second remains in her hand. This is it. Who's going to die this year?
"Andy Armador!" The name rings in my ears. It all finally caught up to me; I'm going to die this year.