The Hunger Pangs - A Parody

1

Part One: The Partygoers
Chapter One: District Twelve
I wake up and the other side of the bed is warm, my nose crinkling up but accepting the sweet aroma of a fresh toot. Yep, someone definitely farted.
My sister Lucifer (but we call her Prick) was there last night, and she must have snuck in, deposited a fresh toot upon me, and crawled back into the kitchen sink to keep trying to sleep. But who can? Today is April Twentieth. The day one male and female is chosen to go to some forest and kill people in order to get into some party in the Big Boy. Eh, I wasn't really listening.

I stand up and almost fall, the squiggle of a plastic thing making me trip over. I pick it up, and know immediately what it is. I throw it in the trash and then go to the kitchen to wash my hands. My mother has definitely been sleeping around again.

Once I turn on the faucet, chilly water shoots out at my sister Prick, who lunges at my throat and makes me beg for an apology.

"You shouldn't have farted on me this morning!" I explain, pushing her away from me as I continue to wash my hands. She eventually gives up and retires to one of our cabinets to try to rest there. In fact, she's so small she can actually fit, however I laugh when she yelps, her tiny finger caught in the cabinet door once she closes it.

Her devilish voice makes me shut my mouth instantly. "Don't laugh at me or else!"

"Or else what?" I taunt her all the time, but she never seems to catch on.

Prick is very self-righteous and cares only about herself. This began ever since she hit her time of the month, claiming now she must be eligible for the Fun Games. This makes me smile, as she hopes dearly she gets her name drawn. But I always remind her her name has only been in there once. They won't pick her.

I think she eventually falls asleep, and then I return to my room and pull out one of her Barbie dolls. I'm going to feed it to a deer in the woods today. That's when I hear a faint mew echo through my room, as the ugliest dog in the world walks into the room. "Get out, Butterfinger," I hoot at it, shooing it away.

Butterfinger isn't actually a dog. Prick claims he is a cat, but all anyone sees him as is a bar of chocolate. He is a rectangular cat with a brown coat, and written on his back is the word 'Butterfinger'. I lick my lips whenever I see him, remembering when my sister first unwrapped him from his yellow wrapper, and begged me so she could have it. Of course she called dibs, but I had to have it. I once stole him and bit off his tail, but she reclaimed him shortly after and scolded me for it. Even my best friend Dale Tallcorn saw him as food, and it only made me want the cat more.

Only a few months ago I realized if I couldn't have Butterfinger, no one could. So while Prick was out ditching school I tried to drown it in the kitchen sink, but she seemed to have teleported behind me and snapped my neck.

JK. I drowned the cat and left it there in the sink, but shortly after Prick got home she seemed to have resurrected the sad excuse of a candy ba--a cat. A cat.

Anyways. Butterfinger whines and crawls onto my bed, but I stuff a pillow over his head, stifling my urges to stuff him in my mouth. I swing my legs off the bed and slide into my Prada boots. They've been worn in over time from years of going to the woods, but they're cute so why not.

I pull on trousers, a revealing shirt, and braid my disgusting hair into a braid down my back. The lice in there I have grown to accept over the years, and I feel now the feeling has grown mutual. I also kick Butterfinger once more for good measure. "I'll still eat you someday," I promise, and grab some moldy cheese Prick likes to give me on April Twentieth to make me throw up. I figure if I am starving this is the only meal I'll have in weeks, so I disgustingly stuff it in my mouth on the way out.