The Hunger Games: It's Not Over

THG: It's Not Over Ch 1- The Train

Ch 1

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Serena Winters- district 7 pov.

    After being reaped, I have a brand new perspective on life. I used to be really optimistic. I could make the end of the world sound like a dream come true. Yeah. Not so much anymore. When you can count the number of days you have left, it’s hard to put a positive spin on it. Don’t get me wrong. I’ll fight to the end. It’s just difficult to think that I’ll have to fight against (and defeat) monstrous boys to win. My chances aren’t too good. Even my fellow district 7 tribute, William Forrester, (Ironic name, isn’t it), is built like some competitive wrestler. I’m just an ordinary District 7 girl. What chances do I have?

Zeke Kertez- District 4 pov.

“I’m gonna win this.” I said on the train.

“Of course you are.” Said my mentor, Finnick. “Especially cause I’m mentoring you!”

 I tries to prevent a snort from coming out. That guy is so full of himself. But I have so much respect for him. I mean, he’s a hunger games legend. Luring chicks in with his looks, and then impaling them with a trident, genius! I mean, player much? Every guy in district 4 idolizes him. If I could score half as many chicks as he can, I’d be in heaven. I don’t just respect him for his looks and strategy though. The guy’s a killing machine. He’s insane! But again, he’s a genius. Myself and my fellow district 4 tribute, Reyna Adams, practice throwing butter knives at the wall for practice! We have sparring matches with broomsticks! Finnick’s so smart, he came up with all this. Practicing outside of the training centre is technically illegal, but who cares? They can’t replace a tribute or a mentor at this point in the games. I can’t wait to get into the training centre and get my hands on some real weapons! My fingers are itching for a sword, or a trident.

    “Zeke!”

 Yelled Reyna, snapping me out of my thoughts.

“We have knife throwing in the dining room now!”

I walk over to the dining room, practicing my pretty boy swag walk. That’s my angle. Finnick and I agreed on it. The one thing he told me to work on was my swag walk. Yeah. It needed some work. Reyna winced as I walked into the room.

“You look like a disoriented chicken with an amputated right leg.”

“I do?”

“Yeah, chicken lacks some swagger,” Chimed in Finnick.

“Is it that bad?” I asked.

“Yeah. They both said at once, their voices melting into one.

“Ugh,” I grumbled. “Can we just get to the knife throwing?”

Finnick had drawn bulls eye targets from paper and marker.

“ Just land as many as you can, okay?” He said. “ GO!”

I grabbed hold of the handle of the first knife my fingers touched, got in the zone, and flicked my wrist.

     The knife landed dead center.

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