The Hunger Lames

District 3 - male tribute - Anders

Hah, that idiot girl from district 8 stepped off the platform too early. One down, twenty- two to go. The blood and guts were a bit disturbing, the way they landed on other tributes, the blood freckling their faces. It didn't affect me as much as it probably should've, my dad had taken care of that. He forced me to mutilate animals at a young age. At first I had cried but now I'm barely fazed. In other circumstances I might have considered that sad, but this is the Hunger Games. The rules are different here.

At least that's what I tell myself.

The female from district nine, Dixie, I believe, was standing the closest and started to cry. She had blood in her otherwise perfect black hair and a grotesque finger had landed on her shirt.  She couldn't have been more than thirteen.

"Stop feeling bad for the competition," I reminded myself. I spent fifteen years of my life training for this and was not going to waste it because I simply felt bad for my competitors.

Petra's, the girl who exploded, token was lying a couple feet away from her charred stump of a hand. It was a swath of cloth. It didn't look like it was worth anything of value so it was probably sentimental to her. I wish I had a token, but the only tokens I got to bring were bruises from where my dad was trying to "motivate me."

I hardened my heart and looked away, my eyes set on a throwing knife just on the outskirts of the giant pile of orange backpacks and shiny weapons.

"Five." The career tributes, most of them volunteers like myself, bent over to a running start position. Oddly, there had not been an alliance between the careers this year. It was predicted to be the most gruesome Hunger Games yet, and no one wanted to get stabbed in the back, quite literally.

"Four." The younger tributes started to look sick.

"Three." The boy across from me swallowed sharply.

"Two." Dixie wiped her tears and looked around frantically.

"One." I sprinted off the pedestal, my eyes only looking at the throwing knife. I would grab it and then I would be out of here, I already saw a place in the woods I would go.

Leaning down, I picked up the knife without stopping my run and turned back around. I bolted towards the woods and looked down to admire my new weapon. It was only for a second but a second was all it took. I tripped over a rock and I watched in slow motion as my knife, the one I picked up to kill people with, became my demise. The silver tipped knife plunged into my lower stomach and the last thing I heard was my father's angry screams inside my head.