Games Are Supposed to be Fun (A Hunger Games fan-fiction)

                                              Prologue

                         The first time the games ever affected my life was when I was just ten years old. It was the day of the reaping, which was celebrated anually in my family. Being from District one, I was raised to believe that being chosen for the games was an honor. That's what my sister still believed as she walked up to the stage after her name was called. She stood proud and tall, not looking the least bit frightened.

                     The representative from the capitol gave a big smile and said, "What a brave young lady! Proud until the end!" We all clapped for her like the idiots we were, thinking that she could possibly be the victor.

               When I went to visit her and say goodbye, she held me close and told me something I will never forget. "I'll never see you again, Coop. Promise me that you will never forget me," She sobbed. I had never seen her cry before, ever. Saying goodbye to her was the second hardest thing I had ever done.

         The  hardest thing that I ever had to do came two weeks later, when it appeared that the odds really were in my sister's favor. She had made it to the final twelve without having to kill a single person, which was a rarity in the games. My eyes were glued to the television screen as I watched her keep guard over the other careers as they slept.

                  I noticed that she looked filthy and exausted, as if she hadn't slept in days. She just stood there, standing completely still as to not attract any possible predators or tributes. Suddenly, her eyes opened wide. Her eyes (and the cameras) focused on her stomach, where a six-inch blade was embedded. She grasped her fingers around the handle and attempted to pull out the deadly piece of steel.

           When she finally got the knife out, the worst thing immaginable happened. The rest of the careers got up and walked over to her. While the rest of them were trying to help her, the leader grabbed his bow and put an arrow in each one of them, including my sister. The cannon boomed five times, signaling five deaths.

                The boy who won the games that year was none other than the one who killed my sister. Despite my mother's pleas, I never spoke to that killer, never congratualated him on his victory.  I didn't care that he was from my district. I didn't even care that he was my cousin. He was of no concern to me, at least not any more.  

                             However, my cousin, Ore, was only part of the problem. The other part was my own guilt. To this day I feel that I should have done something to save my sister, even though, deep down, I know it would have been impossible.