ABIGAIL

"And at last we are gathered at the Training Hall for all the contestants, aren't we Mike?"

"Last I checked, Ike."

"And check it is what you should do, because at any moment we will be getting our first glimpses of this years contestants. Isn't that exciting, Mike?"

"It sure is, Ike. And look at the crowd that's shown up and surrounding the place. Even with all the rain coming down and this being the middle of a work day there still must be at least a thousand people behind the barricade. Isn't that right, Ike?"

"I haven't counted them, Mike."

"You sure haven't, Ike."

"And of course with their first appearance they'll be showing off their theme and costume that their assigned stylist has come up with. Those are always worth a hoot and a holler, aren't they Mike?"

"I'm hooting like mad, Ike."

"You sure are, Mike."

"And it looks like our first contestant is finally arriving. A gleaming stretched limo is just pulling up to the curb. All that luxury being thrown on those little dickens' it kind of makes the whole game worth it, doesn't it, Ike?"

"It sure does, Mike. The bobbies are pushing back the crowd now. They sure are having a hard time of it- Yipes! That looks like it will leave a scar. And the door is opening and... yes, we have our first contestant! And you can hear the crowd booing with delight, can't you Mike?"

"I sure can, Ike. And if I'm not mistaken, that is young miss Marla Amberdin, the fourteen year old girl from District six. And will you look at her costume! It's unbelievable, isn't it, Ike?"

"I'm not believing it, Mike."

"You sure aren't, Ike. It appears miss Amberdin's stylist has chosen the theme of 'cute native canibal girl'. It looks like they shaved the middle of her head for the traditional inverted mohawk, pierced her nose for an elegantly decorated bone and... I can't see it quite clearly but- Yes! they have indeed filed down her teeth into sharp points."

"Their obviously paying homage to the wise old Shaman of the east. The Witch Doctors who conjured ancient, all natural, organic demons. And what is that she's chanting? It sounds like 'hungadunga, hungadunga, hungadunga'."

"What a stroke of genius this is. Those stylist are the definition of real artists, aren't they, Ike?"

"The other contestants are going to have a tough time topping this one, Mike. Oh, wait! She's coming this way. Lets see if we can get a few words from- OH, MARLA! MISS MARLA! Do you have anything you want to say to our audience?"

"Yes. I will, uh, devour the flesh of my enemies and, um... what was it? Oh, yea! And imbibe deeply of their fluids."

"I'm sure you will, sweetie. Won't she, Mike?"

"Only time will tell, Ike. And their she goes into the Training Hall. Whoops! Looks like that tomato ruined her make up. And here comes our second contestant, Ike."

"I can plainly see that, Mike. And I'm sure all the tween girls at home and here are hoping it's that Jax boy from District Three."

"And it seems they'll be dissapointed because stepping out now is none other than twelve year old Abigail Plumb from District Twelve and if I had to guess I'd say she's already started her killing spree starting with her stylist. Am I right, Ike?"

"Ha, ha, ha. Well the killing and the fun doesn't start until tomorrow at noon, but I take your point very well, Mike. What have those morons done to her?"

"Evidently, they decided to dress her up as a bird. She's wearing a Burgundy gown and a cape made entirely of feathers. I mean, it's just plain dull, isn't it, Ike?"

"I'll say. For one thing her hair is in some kind of complicated bun. No inverted Mohawk to speak of whatsoever. Her dress doesn't even have any polkadots on it. And what's that thing she has pinned on her gown? Some kind of broach. If I didn't know any better I'd say that was a mockingjay. You know, that thing that was the insignia for the insurgents during the rebellion of fifteen years ago?"

"Look at it again, Ike."

"What do you mean- Oh. Oh, no. She wouldn't. Mike, tell me she isn't."

"She is, Ike. She's wearing the mockingjay. And it looks like the crowd has just figured it out to because they have subsided into stunned silence. I mean, you could hear a pindrop out here, couldn't you, Ike?"

"I wouldn't care to try, Mike. And there goes the little Mockingjay up the stairs and into the Training Hall. The crowd too stunned to so much as cast a rotten fruit at her or give her the finger. What a stunt to pull. I tell you, she hasn't done herself any favors with that display, has she Ike?"

"No, no, you're Ike and I'm Mike."

"You sure are, Mike."


The door slammed behind Abigail with resounding finality casting hollow echoes that ghosted around the hard surfaced room. It was partially lit by harsh florescent lights that lent the atmosphere a hospital-like quality.

On the far wall Abigail noticed a supply of camping materials and assorted wilderness books. (The Fishing Guide for the Fishless, Ants Worms and Beetles: The New White Meat and etc.) Off to the side was a shelf of tomes on demonology accompanied by diagrams of pentacles with chalk, candles and insense.

And even further along was a wall dedicated to a complete array of the most fiendish weapons. They gleamed evily on their stands while a strange girl with an inverted mohawk and a bone in her nose perused them. She eyed them critically, taking one down every now and then to test its weight and to slash experimentally at the air.

She suddenly looked up and met Abigail's eyes. She glared and pointed the dagger she was holding. "What are you looking at, birdie?"

"N-nothing," Abigail stuttered, lowering her head to allow her dark hair to cover most of her face. She slowly stepped into the room and made her way towards the demonology library.

No sooner had she done so than the door swung open and two teenage boys blustered into the room. "Can joo believe eet?" the shorter of the two, a tanned fifteen year old, exclaimed. "Can joo believe eet? Dey threw an egg at me! An egg! Can joo believe it?"

The tall boy next to him merely rolled his eyes. "Yea, well, watermelons are out of season."

The other boy gasped in indignation. "Joo cannot talk to me dat way!" the dark-skinned boy declared. "Do joo 'ave any idea ooh I am, Meester Jax? I em de angel of death. My demons 'ave keelled countless men and efen more leetle animals. I ken conjour tings dat weel make joo wet jou're leetle pantalonies. Joo weel chow me de proper reespect I deserve!"

The tall blond boy named Jax merely shrugged, clearly unimpressed. "Give it a rest, Clarence," he said. "I said you sound like a douche and I'm standing by that."

"Peeg!" Clarence shrieked. "When de games start, joo weel be de firts to die. Ugly! Joo weel die ugly- OOF! Joo stupeed feathered cow! Get out of de way!" The boy had collided with Abigail, briskly knocking her to the floor. She grunted painfully as her breath left her.

"Sorry," she mumbled, scrambling back to her feet. But the two boys had already walked on. As the doors opened once more for new arrivals Abigail made her way to the bookshelves. She found some light reading to distract her nerves while the room slowly filled up (Pentagram Lines Described as Non-Linear Differential Equations By Ellis Broadback) and began flipping through the pages. She couldn't bring herself to concentrate. Instead she found herself studying the competition that milled about around her.

She was struck by how large they all were. She must have been the only twelve year old in the games that year. Certainly nobody was as short as she was. They all seemed a rather tough lot, or at least they tried to act that way.

Most of them strutted about casually with their legs so spread apart it looked like they were about to mount a horse. Others flamboyantly messed about with the weapons, slashing at the air and licking the blades while laughing at some unknown joke. Others, still, simply stood up on a table and announced to anyone who would listen that he was their doom and that they would shortly all die gruesome deaths at his hands. (This earned Clarence another egg in the face.)

And then Abigail noticed a small blonde girl in the corner and was struck by her size. She actually appeared to be smaller than Abigail was. Her golden head would have only reahed up to Abigail's shoulder. Her blue eyes were wide and frightened and her tiny frame was curled up and wedged in a corner, despererate to not be noticed by all the swearing, aggressive giants that passed by.

Abigail felt a stab of pity go out for the tiny, shivering girl. She would most likely be dead by this time tomorrow. But, no! she couldn't think about that. There was nothing Abigail could do for her anyways. She clutched at the locket around her neck and tried to clear her mind. Focus! she told herself Focus! But she found she had a hard time focusing. Immanent death did that to a person.

A sudden burst of crackling a static cut through her thoughts. Her head swung up from her book and she, along with everyone else, locked upon the loudspeaker in the center of the ceiling. "HELLO, HELLO!" the metallic voice boomed. "Welcome all contestants to the latest instalment of the Hunting Games! Are we all having fun?" his expectant pause was met with dead-pan silence. "That's the spirit! Now, I know that you're all eager to start maiming and murdering but I'm afraid I must lay down some ground rules:

"One: There is to be no butchering while you are not on camera. Save it for the field, people. Any contestant caught engaging in lethal violence will be fed to a pack of horlas, so if you absolutely must kill someone before the Games, make sure you aren't caught.

"Two: Although you are permitted to practice magic techniques and sharpen your skills, anyone attempting to actually raise a demon before the Games without permission will be shot on sight. No questions asked. No exceptions.

"Presently, you will each be called, one by one, into the Assessing Room to raise a Spirit in a controlled environment. You will be assigned a score based on the skill and power you demonstrate rated one to twelve. While waiting for your turn I suggest you brush up on your survival skills or your mumbo-jumbo stuff. Or you may stand about picking your nose, (Clarence) it really makes no difference to me.

"And finally rule number three is: Have fun, man. Just let loose and go with it. After all, family fun and entertainment is what the Hunter Games are all about."