MPHFPC ➵ The Hunger Games AU (DISCONTINUED)

Chapter One

.☆ POV- Hugh

I walked home from the town, somehow only half-satisfied with my trade of a few baskets of berries for a loaf of bread. Usually this would be grand; and it still was, in a way. It didn't feel awfully grand, though. Because the tributes of this year's Hunger Games would be announced in... how long was it now? At least less than an hour. I felt a sharp pang of anxiety and sped up my walking.

Soon enough, I was walking up to the house. I let out a breath of relief as a familiar 9-year-old girl sprinted over to me from inside, thrusting the door aside. "Hugh! You're back!" she said, excitement reflecting in her wide brown eyes.

"That I am," I answered with a grin. Olive and Claire reminded me why I was doing all this- the trading, the gathering, the back and forth, then and again, the signing for tesserae. For two healthy kids who would totally freaking dominate the Hunger Games if they had a chance. Which they wouldn't. Because no way in heck was I gonna let them put their names in more than they needed to.

She grabbed my arms and pushed up, peering into my hands to see the bakery goods. "Ooo! Bread!" Olive squeaked, her long mousy brown hair bouncing up and down.

I beckoned her down and led her inside the house where Claire was combining some things in a pot. Steam licked the ceiling of the wall above her. The small blonde-haired girl whipped her head around and scowled. "Olive! You weren't supposed to let him in yet!"

"Whoops!" Olive replied, throwing her hands up and putting on a defenseless my-bad look, though her smile never faded. "I thought you'd be done by now!"

"Ugh, now I can't surprise you with soup," Claire protested on, focusing her questions on me.

"It's perfectly fine," I insisted. "Thanks a load for thinking 'bout me, though!" I paused, looking from my bread to her half-cooked meal. "We can have a hearty bread-and-soup meal tonight!"

"Yeah!" Olive exclaimed, pumping a fist in the air energetically. "PROTEIN!"

Claire sighed as I laughed at Olive's reaction. "I suppose."

"It's decided then! In the meantime, you both should get on your dresses the Hunger Games pickings." My heart hung heavy in my chest as I forced a smile. I had to be strong for them. I was scared, though; that it would be me. That they would choose me. It was silly, and selfish, but if I had to go, who would care for Olive and Claire? I'd been raising them since their families perished in an attack 3 years ago. They were just two unrelated, dust-coated, scrawny little kids on the side of the walkway, using each other for warmth and begging passer-bys for food. Usually such behavior wouldn't go unnoticed in District 7, but the attack had taken something from everyone. Every year, I had to bear the fear that they would be left defenseless again.

Claire huffed, but reluctantly left her soup and started heading to her and Olive's room in our small home. "Watch my soup, will you? I don't want it to burn."

"'Course," I vowed, watching the two trail after each other and listening as the door slammed shut.

I turned away. The crowd would start gathering soon. I looked from the pot to my dirty clothes and back again before rushing into my room to change into a cleaner, slightly nicer-looking outfit. I returned to the main room in what could have been twenty seconds, and by then Olive and Claire were unlocking their door.

I realized the pot was boiling over and quickly fixed it before the pair came out.

Olive twirled in her white dress. "Do I look fantastic, or what?" she asked, though it wasn't really a question. Her smile was a mile wide, revealing the 9 gaps in her mouth where she'd knocked out teeth. And she looked adorable in the outfit, alright? Adorable.

"Fantastic," I agreed with a solemn head shake, then turned to Claire, who was wearing the same. Olive and I had curled her hair for the occasion just hours before and she now bore a long lace ribbon on her head. "And you don't look too shabby yourself."

Claire reached up and I bent down to allow her a noogie on my part. "Can we go now? Soon as this soup's done, the town'll be half gathered!"

She began to pour the hot liquid into a wooden bowl, and just as I'd begun to tell her we at least had a few minutes before we were called, Olive yelled over me.

"TIME TO GO!" she shrieked, ecstatic as she opened the door and saw people of all ages hurrying to gather in the center of District 7.

Claire yelped and nearly spilled supper before tucking the pot and stirring spoon away and leaving the soup on the counter. "Ready," she huffed.

.☆ 

Our announcer, a short young man named Nim who had half a beard, half a clean-shaven face, half a head of long-ish hair, and half a head of short hair, stepped up to the podium. "Greetings!" he called, triggering an uprising of applause. He coughed a bit and the noise cleared almost immediately. "Happy Hunger Games!" He stopped, letting the words sink in. "And may the odds be ever in your favor!"

He reached into the glass ball for girls' names and yelled out the first name. "Bronwyn Bruntley!" At first, I let out a sigh of relief that it wasn't one of Olive and Claire's twelve or thirteen year old friends, or a schoolmate of mine or something. But it must have been my mind working slowly that day, because moments later I remembered who had been called. Bronwyn. Bronwyn. The Bronwyn who had fed Claire and Olive before I took them in, and told me about them in the first place! She was kindhearted and pure, and worse yet we were friends! I felt horrible and wanted to just wake up from this stupid nightmare already.

But the world was spinning, and Bronwyn was suddenly next to Nim. Nim gave some brief speech. More useless blabber.

I swallowed, my emotions skyrocketing, haywire, all over, and then suddenly they were gone. I felt numb and tired.

And then Nim was reading the next name. When did he reach into that glass ball for the boys' names? I couldn't recall. But suddenly he said the name, and the name just so happened to be Hugh Apiston.

Hugh Apiston.

Hugh Apiston.

That was my name.

I stood there for a second, shock flooding through my bones and veins and brain and heart. Olive and Claire went from holding my hand to squeezing me in a tight hug.

Tears started running down their cheeks. 

"Don't go, Hugh!" Claire pleaded. "We need you so bad!"

"Don't let them take you!" Olive begged, sobbing into my shirt. "We can't get on without you!"

The crowd's attention was on us. I knew there were cameras filming our every move, but I felt no desire to hide my own tears at that point. Who cared if I didn't get some stupid sponsors? Not me. Because Claire and Olive needed me, and I needed them.

I embraced them and whispered into their hair. "Please, don't talk like that. I'll find someone to care for you, I promise. Here, come and speak to me as soon as you're given the chance. I... I'm not letting you guys off in the wrong hands."

Before I can say anything else, the crowd whisks me away and I find myself involuntarily moving towards the podium. Moments later I'm next to Bronwyn.

Nim rambles on, but his words are washed out by the raging river in my head.

The realization was anything but new, but I found myself pondering on it again.

I, Hugh Apiston, was about to die.