When the Odds are not in Your Favor (hunger games fanfic)

my house

hey guys, so it's been a while huh? i didnt forget about you, i swear! i've just had this nasty little thing called writer's block for a very long time. sooo i figured i would try to write for you. so enjoy! "

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Jane's POV:

"Jane, honey, do you want anything? can i get you something dear?" my mother asks. i am laying in the dark on my bed, wrapped in a blanket. i haven't moved in approximatley three days. 

"no." i say weakly. my voice is broken from crying. 

"darling please, eat something!" 

"i said no!" i scream pulling the blanket off of me and standing up. my light blue nightgown is wrinkled and my hair is dirty, messy, and knotted. the coldness from the floor starts in my feet and travels upward. i shiver and grab my robe off the back of my door, shoving my parents away. "get out of my house, i want you out!" 

"jane, darl-" my mother begins

"i want you out!" i scream, pushing them out of my room and towards the stairs. 

"we are your parents, jane." my father says. 

"out! out out out out out!" i am guiding them down the stairs and toward the door, my royal blue robe and nightgown wooshing behind me. 

"jane" says my mother. 

i rush to the kitchen and pull out a big, shiny knife. 

" i will kill you! leave! leave now." i point my kife at them. "you think i wont? let me remind you that i am a murderer! i've killed people, that's why i'm here!!  that's why i have food, why i have a nice house and why i am stil alive instead of Charlie!" i begin to cry and cough, since i have pushed my voice too far. 

"honey, we want to help you!" my mother says, walking over to me and begining to pet my hair

"no! no you can't! i want you out of my house!" i yell, tensing up again and turning to point my knife around her. 

"fine. you want to live in the dark, you can." my father says as he leaves, slamming the door. 

"Jane.." i look at my mother with hard, unfeeling eyes. "take care of yourself, please." she kisses my forehead and goes to the door. she looks like me, a bit taller. we have the same brown hair and pale skin. we are from the seam, but we look like the richer merchant class because my mother isn't originally from the seam. we share the same delicate hands, the only difference is my nails are bitten to stumps.

she looks at me sympathetically, and says "i'll be back soon" and closes the door

"no you wont!" i scream. i throw the kife at the door, and it sticks in the thick wood. i crumple on the floor crying. 

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well then. i was not expecting to write that today. 

as always, make sure you vote, comment and follow if you're enjoying the story. 

until next time, 

~GingerTwinger