I stand in the sweltering heat of my district, District 11. Old Maggie Fisher, a freakish woman who tries to look young by over-exaggerating her makeup and hair, looks horrifying in a skinny outfit that basically showed every bone in her body and was a clear-goldish color. Her face looked like a freakish pumpkin woman with bright green spots on her cheeks, flushed over with gold. Her wig stands a foot tall in a metallic blue color. She must be close to 80 years old, but even without her cane, she looks like a clown who just turned 120. As she takes the podium, I notice it has two giant bowls on it, but instead of being filled like usual, they are empty.
What's going on? What happened to the reaping?
Then I remember. The Quarter Quell. Everyone votes, and whoever has the most votes gets put to fight to the death. Well, I know who I'm voting for. My eyes peer over the crowd until I see him. Bruce, the most handsome, charming, intelligent, popular guy in the whole district. He always beats me at everything, art, school, sports, anything that comes around. It'd be nice for him to be gone. We stand in the district square, about a quarter mile from the mayor's house, from my house. Dad is up there with a worried expression. I begin to wonder why when a voice catches my attention. I turn around to see who is to my side. Brutus, a ruthless boy from the inner part of town, stands next to me with a pained expression. It must be his scars on his back, from where he was publicly whipped. It's not a rare occurrence. It's what he gets for trying to steal the fruit from the orchard.
"Well, look who it is. Zac Brennon. Mayors boy. So, now that anyone can get chosen, you got something to worry about, don't you? I mean, while you sat in daddy's house, everyone around here got close ties to each other. And besides, nobody likes you, never needing tesserae, always getting what you want. If I were you, I'd be extremely worried."
What if he's right? What if I'm the one who's not coming back this year? It explains Dad's worried expression. But there's nothing to do now, because old Maggie has reached the podium.
"Welcome! And happy Hunger Games! Well, folks, looks like this years quite a shock! Now, everyone knows what they are required to do, correct? If not, let me recap. The Peacekeepers will hand out slips of paper. On it, if you are a boy, you will vote for a boy to go in the arena, if you are a girl, you vote for a girl. We'll tally them up afterwards to find our tributes. So, isn't this exciting? Peacekeepers, begin to hand out the voting slips."
The white-uniformed Peacekeepers file down the aisles, handing out slips. My palms begin to sweat. What if I am chosen? I am handed a slip. All it is is a blank piece of paper with the words: 'Write your vote'. My hands don't hesitate to write in scribbly writing the name Bruce. I put my vote into the collection box as it comes down. My heart threatens to burst through my chest. Everyone out here is really good friends, what if Brutus is right? How many of those slips say Zac Brennon on it? The box goes to the mayor, who counts up the slips and then, after he's done, looks like he's ready to cry. Why? What's wrong? I must be mistaken. But before I can get a good look, he disappears into the Justice Building. My hands begin to sweat more, my heart begins to pound harder. Maggie grabs a sheet of paper with the tributes on it and goes to the podium.
"Oh my Lord, this is heartbreaking...." Maggie sighs. I begin to relax. It must be a couple going in. But my heart still hammers on my chest, threatening to break my ribs. If I was to go in the arena, what are my chances of coming out? Very slim. I'm not amazingly strong, although I am a little over average. I've never used anything but a knife before. I can cook, but what's that? I'm very smart, but none of this will help me in a fight to the death. I begin to panic. I want to scream. If my name is on that paper, I am guaranteed my death.
"Well, let's start with the gentlemen tribute. I am sorry to say this, but our boy tribute is...." My heart's hammering, palms are sweating, I have a headache, and I'm one step from going crazy. Just say the name!
The next part goes through one ear and out the other. I heard what she said, but I can't believe it. I've never had to worry about this, and this is my punishment. She repeats it again.
"Is Zac Brennon there?"
I hear Crystal crying. And then I really do go crazy. That's why Dad had to leave, his son got picked for the games. So I scream, and I don't recognize my voice. I run for the stage, screaming, crying, and then think, I'll never get sponsors like this. But I don't care anymore. I run into a Peacekeepers arms, and they drag me onto stage while I shout, scream, curse, kick, hit, bite, anything to get me away. They strap me to a chair, and when they release me, I find I can't move anything but my head. I look into the eyes of thousands through my blonde hair and brown eyes, my hair spiked up like it always is. I find Crystal, in the arms of Mom, sobbing. Then Maggie continues.
"OK, now for the girl tribute!" I can hear the pained tone behind her voice. She's about to cry, and she never cries. I expect for the worse, but I am never prepared for this.
"Our girl tribute is, Crystal Brennon!" And that's when she begins to sob.
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The 25th Hunger Games (fanfic)
FanfictionThe 25th Hunger Games have begun, and thanks to the Quarter Quell, the unbelievable has happened for 17 year old Zac Brennon, as he is thrust into the Games along with his 13 year old sister, Crystal. The tributes are bigger, stronger, and crueler t...
