Hunger Games Fanfiction
Chapter 1
These are the only two rules that I know, as I open my eyes, finding myself on top of a silver-colored platform. The first thing I notice is a blazing light. It’s so bright out that it takes at least ten seconds to adjust to. One; survive. Two; kill the others.
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome and let the 100th Hunger Games begin!" A voice that seems that is somewhat familiar to me booms out.
Sixty seconds, I automatically think, sixty seconds to take everything in. All the tributes, I notice, are spaced evenly around a large golden horn, its tail curled at the edge. The gaping mouth of the golden horn contains items holding what will give us life in this arena: food, medicine, garments, and water containers. I see weapons scattered around—swords, maces, bows and arrows, spears. The lesser the value of the supplies, the farther it is away from the golden horn, and the closer towards the tribute’s platforms.
Forty seconds.
My eyes swoop around, forgetting the other tributes. I see a huge lake a little off in the distance. It wouldn’t be the best place to hide out in, and it was certainly too close. Straight across from me looks like a grassy meadow. No trees. I can't go there either. Behind me appears to be sparse piney woods. This is where I have to go. And pray if I can find water.
Twenty seconds.
My eyes find the golden horn again, and my eyes land on a belt filled with different types of powders. It’s mine. I just know, that it was made for me. A finely crafted dagger also lies on top of it, but it was too far away for me to make out the details on it.
Should I run for it or not, and risk my life for it?
Ten seconds.
I’ll grab the black bag as I run for the powders and the dagger. I’m not the fastest runner, but with my long lean legs, I have an advantage towards the smaller tributes. The closest tribute to me is a tall blonde boy. Our eyes lock and I can see the hard determination in him. He wants to win this just as badly as anyone. There's more on the line for him than just living. I can see that, looking at him now. But there's something else in his eyes too, a sort of mocking amusement. His eyes seem to speak: You'll be dead in the first three days of the Games.
The gong rings out.
Chapter 1
These are the only two rules that I know, as I open my eyes, finding myself on top of a silver-colored platform. The first thing I notice is a blazing light. It’s so bright out that it takes at least ten seconds to adjust to. One; survive. Two; kill the others.
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome and let the 100th Hunger Games begin!" A voice that seems that is somewhat familiar to me booms out.
Sixty seconds, I automatically think, sixty seconds to take everything in. All the tributes, I notice, are spaced evenly around a large golden horn, its tail curled at the edge. The gaping mouth of the golden horn contains items holding what will give us life in this arena: food, medicine, garments, and water containers. I see weapons scattered around—swords, maces, bows and arrows, spears. The lesser the value of the supplies, the farther it is away from the golden horn, and the closer towards the tribute’s platforms.
Forty seconds.
My eyes swoop around, forgetting the other tributes. I see a huge lake a little off in the distance. It wouldn’t be the best place to hide out in, and it was certainly too close. Straight across from me looks like a grassy meadow. No trees. I can't go there either. Behind me appears to be sparse piney woods. This is where I have to go. And pray if I can find water.
Twenty seconds.
My eyes find the golden horn again, and my eyes land on a belt filled with different types of powders. It’s mine. I just know, that it was made for me. A finely crafted dagger also lies on top of it, but it was too far away for me to make out the details on it.
Should I run for it or not, and risk my life for it?
Ten seconds.
I’ll grab the black bag as I run for the powders and the dagger. I’m not the fastest runner, but with my long lean legs, I have an advantage towards the smaller tributes. The closest tribute to me is a tall blonde boy. Our eyes lock and I can see the hard determination in him. He wants to win this just as badly as anyone. There's more on the line for him than just living. I can see that, looking at him now. But there's something else in his eyes too, a sort of mocking amusement. His eyes seem to speak: You'll be dead in the first three days of the Games.
The gong rings out.