Yelena Hart was once an orphan of District Eight, adopted by one of the factory managers and his wife as a babe. Unlike her peers, she seemed of the more fortunate, always having enough food, toys and adequate schooling. However, they could never be...
Six minutes. Six minutes of peace was all Yelena Hart would be allotted to have for the majority of her life. In death there was no panic, no chaos, no pain. Just quiet and calm and surprisingly a subtle warmth. The act of dying itself was more terrifying than death.
Life in Panem was even worse.
Her memories returned with her heartbeat. The way her name sounded through the microphone on the Reaping Day. Her mother's hysterical sobs and her father's solemn features, as if he knew this would happen despite the odds, being able to count how many times her name was in there on just one hand. Her training with Cecilia, her fittings with her stylist Greer, parading with her fellow District member Reed Twill like lambs to the slaughter. The way the Capitol people applauded her only to later cheer for her murder or the murders of the other children.
Then there was the arena. The screaming and the blood and the running. Watching her District member's throat being slit by the female tribute of District 1. Yelena then returning the favor a few hours later with her own dagger. Her ally from District 11, Dahlia, being eaten alive by giant crablike mutts the size of wolves in the Coves. Her other ally from District 12, Lenore, having an arrow go right through her chest. And then the final fight with her killer inside the volcano.
She remembers seeing his twisted up features, menacing and furious as he stabbed his final arrow into her body. She remembers the paralyzing fear that froze her bones to ice. She thought she was gone, and he had won.
But to her surprise, his body would succumb to his wounds before hers, slipping into the lava and sinking like an anchor below.
Yelena secretly hoped for some relief from it all. But the quiet contorted into obnoxious clamor, the darkness blurred into sheering white, and the deep aches returned. There was a loud and consistent beeping and shouting, panicked but determined faces hovering and working above her. Just like when her mother would wake her in the early hours of the morning for school, she wished she could roll back over in her deathbed and close her eyes for just a little longer.
"We've got a pulse!"
Just like her many others, that wish would not be granted.
The head doctor clasped his hands together loudly, letting out a breathless sigh of disbelief.
"Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you, the Victor of the 67th Hunger Games."
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Hi!! I hope you enjoyed! I rewrote my old prologue a bit to fit more of what I wanted to capture. I wanted to give you a peek of her games without directly writing from them if that makes sense!
I'm really excited for this story! I loved this idea years ago but lost motivation, and now I've revamped it and hopefully have added more depth. I'm still deciding if I want to do first or third person (I usually do first and enjoy it a lot, but we'll see). The hardest part will be building and getting past the first few chapters, but I'm excited for these characters, writing the Quarter Quell, and Yelena and Finnick's love story!
Please let me know what you think! Also, below is a rough map of what Yelena's arena looked like. Feel free to check out my Graphic Gallery for aesthetics, edits, and other fun stuff!
Word Count: 572
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