The Wunder Games-A Hunger Games Fan Fic

PROLOGUE

For the first time in weeks, the smell of forest and ocean flood my nostrils.

Ah the sea! The beautiful sea, the symbol of my home by the coast which I miss so dearly. I stand in a cleanly cut field on the circumfrence of a dotted circle of anxious tributes, all about fifty yards from the center landmark. I refer to an enormous golden horn that reaches at least twenty feet into the sky. Supplies spill out out of it, flooding the slight hill on which it stands. I can see bags of fruit, bottles of medicine, rolled up blankets and coats, loaves of bread and the weapons! The selection is huge! Shining swords, pointed spears, sleek guns, lethal darts, glinting daggers. But my eyes are drawn to something particular.

Out of the entire pile, I only see two bows.

One lies about thirty yards in, made of maple wood, carefully crafted. Its matching quiver is placed to its right and contains only half a dozen maple arrows. You won't get much use out of that. If District 2 attacked, you might last three minutes before your quiver has emptied and you are weaponless. 

The other bow shimmers like the moon from where it is propped on a stand at the mouth of the golden horn. It is a short recurve bow made entirely of bright silver with a black leather grip and no arrow rest. The quiver is also black leather with a wide opening. That is what I call a collection of arrows! There must be at least thirty of them, silver as well, fletched with ravens' feathers.

Those are mine, I think.

The other tributes look just as determined as I know I am. I know I will be expected to join the alliance my fellow tribute, Garren, has made with the representatives from Districts One and Two. They are the strongest and most likely to hunt down the weaker men. I refuse to act so cowardly. 

When that recurved weapon is in my hands, Garren's friends will be sorry they hadn't convinced me to team up with them. They've started to call themselves the Careers.

I now have taken in my surroundings and viewed what I am up against. The Capitol has never held games like these but they have made their single rule clear.

"Kill or be killed."

Under normal circumstances, I would never murder innocent people so vigorously, but I have made a promise to my mother and I keep all my vows.

Now the announcer is counting down. He's at eight, now seven, now six. I prepare myself to shoot off my platform to the top of the hill. That silver bow is still sitting in the middle of everything as if to proclaim it's the most important tool of the lot.

"Let the first annual Hunger Games begin!" booms the announcer's voice. Somewhere, a gong calls out.

And now I'm sprinting.

The golden horn becomes closer and closer with every giant leap. My lifeline and my mother's depend on me wrapping my fingers around that leather grip and slinging that sheath of arrows on my back. I blaze up the small slope, nearing the hill's summit. My world is a blur. Voices cry out. I see my mother's weeping face.

Suddenly, I'm back home.