The Hunger Games-Foxface's Story

AN- THIS IS the first story on this account! Yay! It isn't my first story on Wattpad, I have another account which I don't use. It's basically The Hunger Games (and maybe I'll add Catching Fire and Mockingjay in her POV too, but I'll have to change it so she survives somehow, I have an idea)  but through Foxface's eyes. To me, Foxface was the best tribute. She stayed pure and didn't kill one tribute; she was clever, and she managed to keep away from the others. R.I.P Foxface/Finch :'( DISCLAIMER- Most characters belong to the awesome Suzanne Collins, but I own Foxface's brother Jon and i may invent more characters too.

CHAPTER 1.

‘FINCH, GET UP NOW! IT’S REAPING DAY AND WE’RE GOING TO BE LATE AGAIN!’

I opened my bleary eyes and saw Mom standing above me, a jug of freezing water in her hands, tipped slightly over my head as a threat.

‘Okay, okay, I’m getting up…’ I muttered, throwing myself out of bed and making my way to the bathroom for a shower. We in District 5 are lucky enough to have that luxury. I know the other districts don’t.

I quickly washed and slipped into a light turquoise dress that brings out my horrible pale complexion rather nicely. It’s a very plain silk dress but I love it. It’s my lucky dress; I’ve worn it to reaping all my life and have never been chosen. It’s like a talisman for me, like somehow it prevents my name being chosen from that dreaded bowl. I pulled it violently over my head-stupid thing, it’s getting too tight-and a second later, I heard a ripping noise. Oh, damn. I took the dress in my hands and saw a long rip down the torso. Great- goodbye lucky talisman. I couldn’t wear that now.

I found a new dress in my wardrobe and slipped it on. It didn’t feel the same as the old one. The old one made me feel confident and safe, but now I felt self-conscious and for the first time, anxiety crept into my mind. I pushed it away angrily and entered Mom’s room.

‘Ooh, Finch, you look lovely! But darling, why aren’t you wearing your lucky dress?’ she asked in surprise.

‘It ripped,’ I told her dully. 

‘Oh, okay! I’ll get you a new one at the market tomorrow, Finch honey. Right, come on, let’s get to the square.’

We got there on time, which was unusual for us as we are normally late for reaping. The whole of District 5 was assembled, girls on one side, boys at the other, oldest at the back and youngest at the front, all facing the temporary stage that is set up each year especially for the reaping. We took our places and held our breath.

‘Ladies first,’ said the man on stage, and headed over to the bowl. On each folded slip of paper in that glass bowl I could practically see Finch Sparks written across them, waiting to be selected. I shook that horrible idea from my head. My name on one of those little slips-one in thousands of others; there was a very slim chance of me getting picked.

He lifted a slip from the bowl, unfolded it, scanned the name, and paused for extra tension. The whole world stopped to listen.

‘The female tribute for District 5 is…Finch Sparks!’

No. No, no, no! This wasn’t happening. But it was. Capitol men, muscular and burly in white suits, were leading me to the stage. The man shook my hand warmly. ‘Well, Finch Sparks, the odds weren’t exactly in your favour today, were they?’ There was a ripple of laughter through the crowd-yes, LAUGHTER. I had to endure days with no food or water, avoid being killed, and they laughed?! I caught the eye of this boy I’ve always liked, Freddie, and he gave me a silent, brief salute that no one else noticed-he stuck up his last three fingers, a gesture of respect. I felt tears welling in my eyes, and I was made to stand at the side of the stage while the male tribute was reaped-I didn’t catch the name, I was too busy wondering if this was all a nightmare. 

I, ordinary 16-year-old Finch Sparks, had just been reaped into the Hunger Games! I glanced at Freddie, at Mom, at my older brother Jon, hoping in vain that by some miracle I wouldn’t have to do this. But no such luck-not without my lucky dress. Why’d I have to rip it, anyway? I curse bitterly in my head. I now know for certain the true luckiness of that dress. For years it had prevented that slip of paper with my name on from being drawn-but now, the first year not wearing that dress, I became a tribute. Typical.

Freddie hung his head to hide his tears. Mom’s lip was trembling and her face was white as a sheet; Jon had his arm round her and was rubbing her back comfortingly, but I saw the pain in his eyes. I’d never really got on with Jon, and neither of us would admit it, but we loved each other, deep down. This was a time when it hit home for me-he really cared for me. His eyes met mine and he gave me a watery, encouraging little smile. That smile was talking to me for him, in words no one else could hear. It’s all right, Finch. You’ll be fine. I mean, it’s only the arena, right? If you can cope with me every day, the Games will be a breeze, I heard him say in the back of my mind. I held back my tears as I smiled back at him while the man droned on about The Rules Of The Games. I hope Jon understood what my smile meant. Thank you, Jon. But you and I both know I won’t make it. Goodbye, brother.

AN- Soooo what did you thinkkk? Was it any good? Please tell me in the comments, and don't forget to fan and vote!