The Hunger Games: Apocalypse

I Volunteer

Food is hard to get, everyone knows that. An average person in District 12 eats once a day, usually lunch. Our leaders have attempted to hide the fact that our economy, harvest, and contact with the outside world have all faltered, but we know the truth.

I try not to worry about anyone besides my family and close friends. In the mornings I wake before sunrise, making sure not to be loud while scrimmaging for my hunting gear. My bow and arrows I place under a loose board in my one room house after every hunt. Being silent as a mouse, I remove my belongings from the gutters of the floor and place the wooden board gently back in place.

Even inside I can feel autumn's cold breath, so I slip on my father's leather jacket before exiting my house. The houses are all exactly the same thirty by thirty cubic prisons, all squished together in rows. I detested the appearance of my District highly, it's dirty look only a reminder of our inescapable poverty.

No one is awake, besides Greasy Sae, the old woman who runs the District's main trading center called the Hub. She sits at the entrance of the outside market on a beaten rocking chair, swaying slow yet still groaning in pain. She is kind at heart, but as unhealthy as the rest of us. Her body is emaciated to a point that I always worry she may not get up from her sleep. I've helped her get out and in bed before, everyone has with how loved she is. As I pass by her she attempts at nodding her head at me as a greeting, but instead it results as an awkward strain of the neck. I wave nonetheless, but can't help but have her at the back of my mind.

The place of poaching was a forest that laid behind the only beauty of District 12, The Meadow. The Meadow birthed the only colorful flowers and grass for miles, the view astonishing for us locals if you never visit. The thriving nature is the only thing keeping our peacekeepers from turning The Meadow into another farm. Even in these desperate times I don't worry for this sacred place because it represents something to me as it does everyone else: hope.

By the edge of The Meadow, right before the woods, is where the District Gates border our society. I walk slowly through The Meadow, embracing its beauty before continuing into the hell known as Earth. At the fence there were three mutts already reaching their hands through the gaps, too inhuman to realize that they never would magically walk through. These mutts, or zombies if you must, usually don't arrive until seven or even eight. I guess it's my lucky day.

They shrieked and started running into the gate at the sight of me. They must be hungry. By the clothes they're wearing I'd say two of them were from District Four, in dusty sailor jackets. The other was from District 1, who else would have golden rings.

In three quick moments I shot each mutt through the head, each falling with an echoing moan. After removing the arrows from their heads and placing them back in my quiver, I climb over the fence at a patch where Gale and I managed to cut off a section of the barbed wire.

Gale is my best friend. We met when I was twelve and he was fourteen. At the time I never noticed how much Gale liked me, and I mean as more than a friend. For the last four years he's loved me unrequitedly, yet he has not given up. Every day a new young lady throws herself at him, but he never engages in anything with them. I never have thought of marrying Gale. I do have a love for him and do think he is handsome, but I admire his hunting skills and intelligence more than all that teenage drama. For now I'll enjoy his jokes rather than his kisses.

No more mutts roamed the vicinity, my initiative to start the hunt. After quickly examining the dead zombie remains for spare tools or bullets, pocketing the two rings, I loaded my bow and crept deeper into the woods. I only saw birds at first, ignoring them for now in case I ran into more valuable game. I saw one bunny, which I shot in the head, and added it to my pouch. Bunnies are not worth much, but are more uncommon than birds.