Destroyed (A Hunger Games Fan-Fiction)

Chapter 1: Burned

The hunger games had destroyed my family. My father was killed in the 50th games, the quarter quell where any age could compete, at age 35 he was thrust into the games and killed off in the bloodbath on the first day. I remember my mom being glued to the television. She yelled at me to stay away but I walked in to get a drink of water and just as I glanced over at the screen, I watched him die a horrible bloody death and just like that, I was stripped of my innocence and my parents. My mother was never the same after that day. If that wasn’t enough a few years later tragedy struck my mother while she was down.

My older sister, Rae, had always been a motherly figure to me. She had taken care of my mother and practically raised me. When I looked at my mother, with her long bony arms and yellowing skin and always tear stained cheeks, I saw someone that was broken and weak. My sister was the opposite. She was the definition of beauty. With her long blonde hair that curled in long spiraling ringlets down her back and her crystal blue eyes with a dusting of freckles on her cheeks. She made me feel ordinary with my boring brown hair and faded green eyes. But she cared little about her looks or reputation. She spent her entire childhood caring for me. She was kind and protective and everything that my mother never was. She was what kept me sane.

When she was reaped last year, my mother practically lost it and I was barely holding on to my own sanity. As the announcer yelled out “Rae Lyte” I was in shock. I looked over at my mother, and her face had gone pale white. I yelled for someone to volunteer, anyone, to save my sister, but I was greeted with silence. I watched the girl who had always been there for me, taught me, helped me, and loved me, walk away not knowing if she would ever return. I knew she was strong. Way stronger than I am or ever will be. She always told me that I would never go into “those merciless games,” because she would volunteer for me without hesitation. It made me feel safe but I never thought that either of our names would ever be called. There were thousand of slips of paper in that bowl, why her? So I watched with my mother as my sister was thrown into the arena, a scorching desert climate, and forced to fight for her life.

She ran into the cornucopia first thing, just like my father had, just like my mother had told her not to, just like I had prayed that she wouldn’t, and miraculously ran away unscathed with her hands full of supplies and weapons. I was surprised that there were any left for the other tributes who watched with wide eyes as she disappeared into the distance. The bloodbath that year resulted in over half of the tributes deaths. It was probably due to the unforgiving climate and environment, there was no where to hide. The scorching heat and relentless career tributes took care of almost all of the other tributes while Rae sat and relaxed with an endless supply of food and weapons. She was very skilled at fighting, but being so far from the others; she didn’t have to. 

When it gone down to three, it was obvious that Rae would have to join the action. A huge fire started on the edges of the arena. It forced Rae and two other tributes, one the last remaining career, a large muscular boy named Pitt and a young girl named Skye. Rae had to sprint full out to escape the fire and as she tumbled into the center of the arena covered in a thick layer of sweat and breathing heavily, she was faced with Pitt and Skye fighting on top of the cornucopia. Pitt had the obvious advantage, in size and strength, so it was no surprise when he tackled Skye off of the cornucopia and she went tumbling down. She took off in the opposite direction, limping and bleeding, but there was no where to go. Flames surrounded the cornucopia, bringing the temperature to at least one hundred degrees.

Just then Pitt noticed Rae standing up on the edge of the flames. She looked serious and deadly. As the flames continued to grow she had no choice but to climb onto the hot metal surface of the cornucopia. Pitt stood there with a smirk on his face awaiting her arrival. Skye was also trying to climb, but with her small size she was unable to get back up and the cannon went off as the flames engulfed her. Rae stared Pitt straight in the eye. This was it. I remember watching my mother’s face, staring intently at the screen. She had believed from the beginning, without a doubt, that Rae would win. I was also glued to the screen, but at the same time I didn’t want to watch this. My sister would either kill someone or get killed; but that was the horrifying reality of the world we lived in. I continued to watch and cringed as Pitt pulled out a small knife and hurled it at Rae. She dodged it easily ducking and returned to her original stance. Then she pulled out a weapon of her own. She pulled out a large sword. When I looked in her eyes, I could see something that i’m sure no one else noticed, they just saw the anger, maybe even the hurt in her eyes. I saw something else; regret. She didn’t want to do it. But she had no other choice. So Rae hurled the sword at Pitt and he tried to dodge it but it impaled itself in his side. He was still alive and pulled the sword out without even flinching. 

Then in a split second, knowing it was his last chance, Pitt caught her completely off guard and charged. He ran full sprint straight into her, and before my sister could realize what was happening and move out of the way, she was hurled into the flames. I can still hear that cannon in my head every single day. It haunts me in my nightmares. My mother was hysterical. She smashed the television in a fit of rage. She hadn’t even considered the option of Rae not winning, and now, in a split second, it was all over. Rae was dead. Pitt had won. My mother was devastated.

Now, one year after my sister was reaped, I was walking into the reaping like a zombie. I was scared beyond belief. I had tried to convince myself that it was impossible, my sister was just reaped, I couldn’t be too. But this year everything was different. I didn’t have her to support me, reassure me, protect me. No, I had to be strong for myself and my mother. As I walked in with my mother, who had not spoken more than a few words to me over the past year, I started to get a bad feeling but brushed it off. I couldn’t worry my mother. She didn’t deserve this. She had lost everything. I was all that she had left; her one reason to exist. As we separated she looked at me and whispered “It can’t be you” through her tearing eyes before disappearing into the crowd.