Hunger Games POV Story Part 1
By Cadence Elflassy
Chapter 1
That morning, I wake up to the gentle pitter-patter of rain on my window. I glance to my left; my mother is coaxing my sister Meredith to sleep. I stand up and retrieve my bow and arrows. I duck out of our collapsing house into the rain, grimacing at the mud creeping into my boots. Just then, I hear a loud scream from behind me. It’s my sister.
“Clara!” She calls out. She hates it when I go out without telling her. She’s ten and always gets too scared to come into the woods, but she complains about it nonetheless. I turn on my heel, mud squelching against my sole. “I’m going out to scavenge materials, and you can come if you want.”
Meredith shakes her head, gesturing to the bump she got last time she went gathering with me, which was two years ago, mind you.
I roll my eyes and continue toward the forest, passing the other huts as I go by them. As I duck underneath the broken gate, my scavenging partner, Olive, comes out of a bush. I laugh. Olive may be the only person in the world that makes me laugh these days. I elbow her lightly in the gut, saying, “You shouldn’t be making so much noise, you’re scaring all of our prey away!’ She shrugs, flipping her auburn hair behind her in an act of nonchalance. Olive doesn’t have the District 12 look. With long, red hair and fair skin, Olive looks the exact opposite of everyone else here. She winks a twinkling green eye at me and pushes some bushes back until we arrive at our safe haven, The Field.
Clever name, I know. Olive and I stumbled across this one Monday afternoon when we were just twelve years old. We figured we should name it The Field because fields are supposed to be safe and bountiful, and that’s just what this place is. She plonks down on the grass peering around the flower field. “So, what did you bring?” I ask, sitting on the ground next to her. Olive and I go to The Field every Thursday and share all we have.
She grins, “Close your eyes.” I oblige, reaching out my hands. She hands me a big leathery object, and I open my eyes, confused. “What is this?” She rolls her eyes, and suddenly, I see it. It’s a bag! I open it gratefully, happy we will be able to have food this week. Inside is a loaf of bread and a cooked squirrel. “Wow,” I gasp. “This truly is a bounty!” She does a mock bow and breaks off a piece of bread.
I settle into the grass, picking a few huckleberries from the nearby bushes and throwing them at Olive. And even though our activities are meaninglessly fun, and we act without a care in the world, there is a growing dread underneath our happiness. Today is when they pick who will be in The Hunger Games.
Let me explain. My mother, Katniss Everdeen, formed a rebellion, and all was well. She and my father Peeta had two kids, and we all didn’t have a care in the world. That is, until my father died. He died when someone kidnapped him. My mother did not have anything to give his captors, so they killed him, just like that. I was six at the time, and it still haunts me. After my father died, all hell broke loose. The Capitol regained control, and my mother was too weak to stop it. The Hunger Games came back into power, more vicious and bloodthirsty than before. And every year, they pick two female and two male victors to compete. Only now, they don’t give out grain and oil for putting your name in, and they make you do it six times. And I am in the middle of it all, dreading I won’t get picked each year.
“What if there was a world with none of this? What would you do with your life?” Olive asks.
I furrow my brow, puzzled. “What do you mean, Olive?”
She shrugs, “I don’t know. I’m just sick of always living in fear of getting chosen.”
I stand up and brush the dirt off my leggings, suddenly frustrated with her. “Well, we can’t do anything about it, can we? It’s better to just keep going, and let life go on.”
She nods, “I know. I was just being hypothetical.”
“Well, don’t be.” I head towards the exit of The Field, not waiting to see if Olive follows. “It’s time for the choosing ceremony, anyway.”
She nods, following behind me.
When I get back to my house, I see a lovely green dress laid out on the bed, with a golden pin next to it. My mother moves out of the corner, her beautiful black hair tied up in her signature braid.
“My mother gave me this dress when I was your age. It kept me safe throughout the games.” She walks over to me and puts the pin in my hand. “Just in case.”
I smile and walk towards the door, opening the wood gently, when I feel a hand on my shoulder.
“Listen,” my mother says. “In case the unthinkable happens….” She envelopes me in a hug. “I love you.”
I kiss her on the cheek. “I love you too, mom.”
Two years ago, my brother Charlie got chosen to go into the games. He was full of laughter and happiness, but still, he died. It wasn’t fair, but then again, most things aren’t.
I find my little sister standing outside the door, looking upset. “What is it, Mera?” I ask.
She looks up at me, and the frown leaves her face. “I was waiting for you, that’s all. You were taking so long!”
I laugh, and we walk together towards the town square.
The twelve to eighteen-year-olds stand around the edge of the crowd, and everyone’s faces slack with worry. Olive sticks out like a sore thumb, her auburn hair and pale skin so different from everyone else. Almost everyone in District 12 has straight, dark hair and olive skin. I got these traits from my mother, which massively helps me fit in. The only thing that differentiates me is my striking blue eyes.
At the left end of the square, I stand next to Olive and a boy I have never met before. There are four chairs on the stage at the front. In the first two, my mother, and the mayor of District 12, Elvin James, who was announced as mayor three years ago. In the corner of the stage, a drunk Esmeralda Edith walks up the stairs, sitting in the third chair. She is the mentor of District 12, and years of alcohol made her practically useless to the tributes. You could say she took a page out of the last mentor Haymitch’s book. In the fourth chair, a woman with golden curly hair, dark skin, and chemically altered freckled cheeks comes onto the stage. That woman is our announcer, Ellie Goldsmith.
After a few minutes of hushed silence, Ellie gets up from her seat and comes towards two glass balls with thousands of paper slips containing many, many names.
“Hello, everyone.” Ellie begins, “Well, I suppose… Ladies first!” She walks towards the first ball, and you can hear a pin drop.
She puts her hand in the opening of the container, pulling it out slowly for dramatic effect, no less. She pulls at one side of the paper, her long fingernails struggling to catch hold. She pulls at the other side until it opens, and finally, she says a name. It takes a second for my brain to catch on, but she repeats it, louder, this time. And then I hear it. “Clara Everdeen!”
Chapter 2
My mother bursts out of her seat, fast as lightning.
“Miss,” Ellie says, “Please, Ms Everdeen, we don’t want to cause a commotion-”
“I don’t care!” My mother shouts. “That’s my daughter, and I won’t let her die too!” She stumbles to the front of the stage, in front of the microphone. Seeing her like this drives me to my feet, and I walk swiftly to the stage.
Olive grabs my arm, coming out from the crowd of people. “Clara.” She starts, and I know what she is going to ask.
“No, please don’t volunteer,’ I say, fighting back the tears. My mother starts to sob as I walk closer to the stage, my hands balled into fists at my sides.
When I stand on the stage, Ellie grabs my hand and holds it up. “To one of our female tributes! I bet a million dollars that was your best friend down there, huh?”
I force myself to nod. I stare into the crowd of faces. Someone in the crowd yells something, then another person, until everyone in the crowd is yelling a word, and finally, it’s loud enough for me to hear. “Cla-ra! Cla-ra!” I force myself to stand still, not wanting to cry in front of the cameras.
Ellie smiles forcefully and walks to the female ball again. “Time for the next tribute!” She dips her hand into the jar, and I am lost in my mind, trying to figure out what just happened and what will happen to me.
She unfolds the paper, and the name uttered is the worst thing that could happen to me. “Olive Parianto!”
I sink to my knees. I hear someone yell, and realize it was me. Out of everyone, I will have to kill Olive. My best friend, my only friend. I look up from where I am on the floor and see Olive, her face slack with horror, and I know she has figured it out. There can only be one winner.
She climbs onto the stage, masking her emotions with her ostensibly calm expression. She holds out her hand, and we raise our united hands for everyone to see. I won’t let her die, no matter what I have to sacrifice.