A Deadly Game of Chance: A Hunger Games Fan Fiction

Chapter One: The Final Days

I hate to admit that I wasted away the final days before the Reaping. Mamma tried to keep  me busy with chores and work in the shop but my mind just kept drifting away. It was Deina's second year and I knew she had secretly taken out tessera after the few nights we couldn't eat; even with her and my tessera and the shop income combined, we barely survived the winter months with all our mouths to feed and the usually 'no bodies' that usually came to tea. Despite our dad being a Victor, our parents split after Crish died, so we don't get anything from him. I live with Mamma, Amelia, and Deina in the old house, and Dad lives with our old dog Mont in the Victor's Village. I want to live with Dad, not for the little luxury, but I fear that he will do something stupid and reckless just because he is alone. Being left alone with your thoughts too long is never a good thing.

It was Wednesday afternoon - two days before the Reaping - and I started to daydream again. I thought about a life without the Hunger Games, and I wonder what it would be like. Maybe life would be peaceful, but then again, maybe not. The Hunger Games are a reminder to keep us in line, after the Dark Days, but just maybe, just maybe, we were right to go against the government. No one in Eight  trusts the system, but we are just too afraid to say it.

 Sometimes, I need to stop daydreaming; that life is gone and there is no point living in the past. I shook away my thoughts and looked up; I blinked in the sudden brightness as I realised I had walked right out of the shop. I spun around and saw the gate to House Six in the Victor's Village. Dad's House. Without thinking, I ran forward and let myself in.

"Dad, Dad? Are you home?" I called out, closing the door slowly behind me. No-one answered me, not even Mont. I look around and almost sighed at the sight. Everything was covered in a fine layer of dust: the dried out floorboards, the matted curtains, the lamps, everything; nobody has visited him in a long time, not even Kendra Shaw, who won the Games four years after Dad and only lives next door. I coughed loudly as I breathed in a cloud of dust but still, no-one came. Dad was probably still asleep, I tell myself as I pushed away the horrid thoughts that were starting to surface. I strode over to the light turned the dial; the lamps on the wall immediately switched on and hummed loudly as they shinned bright. Coughing occasionally, I started to work, sweeping away the dust and dirt in the lounge and all the other rooms. It may not help me, but it would help Dad and at least it kept my mind of the Reaping.

As the sun started to set, I heard movement from upstairs. After a few moments, Mont came bundling down the stairs, followed by a bedraggled man who looked like he hadn't bathed in weeks. "Dad!" I yelled, revolted by his condition. He tried to smile at me once he realised who I was but it came out as a grimace. "Sophia," he slurred and I had to stand back as the stink of alcohol wavered over to me. "Dad, what have you done to yourself?!" I asked as I fanned my face to get rid of the smell. He shrugged and grabbed a bottle of liquor from a table. "I've been drinking. So what?" He stammered, taking a long, hard swig of drink. I batted the bottle away from him and it tumbled out of his hand and shattered on the floor. Mont barked loudly and scratched at the door. I moaned as Dad stared at me like I was mad for wasting some drink, and opened the door for Mont. He rushed out, barking merrily and ran down the street, without a care in the world. I slammed the door and turned back to Dad. "Dad, you can't go on like this, you know that." I told him but he said nothing. "You can't wash away memories and mopping won't help." He nodded and sighed. "My sister, my parents, my own son. All lost to the Games. And I went in there. I killed people." He started to gag and suddenly he threw up. It wasn't much, and I could tell that he hadn't been eating. He collapsed on the staircase and started to bawl like a little child. I hated seeing him like this, but what could I do? I swept the vomit up and cleaned the floor before sitting next to Dad and hugging him. "He wouldn't want you to kill yourself, Dad. Crish wanted to make you proud. Wanted you to be our Dad again. I'm sure- if you cleaned up - that Mamma would take you back. You could see Amelia and Deina again. You could be our father again." I kissed his temple before walking out of the front door and back home. I didn't turn back.