A/N DISCLAIMER:
This is a Hunger Games AU. None of the events of Coronation Street have happened. No relationships between characters exist unless stated in the fic. All competing characters are in their teens, and age differences between characters may not necessarily be accurate. Both current and previous characters will be included. It may be worth looking up the plot of the Hunger Games if you are unfamiliar with the setting. This fic will have a different storyline but will be set in the same universe, so looking into it won't spoil the ending. I hope you enjoy. It's going to be a bumpy ride...
Carla woke with a start. The early morning rays shone through the grime covered window, casting patches of light across the wooden floor. There was an eery silence through the house. The sound of birds singing unknowingly from outside wafted into the room. If she didn't already know better, she'd think that this was the start of a perfect day.
She glanced across the room to where her brother was still asleep: brow furrowed and a firm frown set upon his face. It was clear he'd had about as good a nights sleep as she had.
Carefully, so as not to wake him, Carla climbed out of bed. She ran her fingers gently across the cotton fabric of the dress hanging over the wardrobe, ready to be worn later in the day, before making her way out of the room.
She slipped on a pair of boots that were sat by the front door, before pulling it open and quietly closing it behind her.
The district was quiet at this time of the morning. Shutters were locked and doors bolted tight. Carla kicked up dust as she walked, dragging her feet along the track. She often snuck out of the house before her family awoke, needing to get out and clear her head. Today was no different. In fact, today it felt more necessary than ever.
It was the day of the annual Reaping: a ceremony that selected one boy and one girl to represent their district as tributes in the Hunger Games; an annual fight to the death. It was a sick tradition organised by the Capitol in order to remind the twelve districts of the revolution that the Capitol had managed to crush.
Carla traipsed through the meadow, finally stopping to perch on the hillside, trying desperately not to think about the possible outcomes of the day ahead. From her position, she could see out across most of District 12. Row after row of rundown shacks
lay before her, each one falling into its own state of disrepair; walls, roofs and windows blackened by soot from the mines. It was a dump, but it was home.
Carla lay back, her head resting in the grass among the wild flowers. A light breeze tickled the bare skin of her arms while the sun cast dancing patterns across her closed eyelids. She wished she could stay here forever.
There would be hundreds of names in the pot. Hers was only in seven times. She kept this fact running through her head, desperate to remain positive. For her to be chosen would be wildly against the odds. Although, Carla had come to realise that the odds were almost never in her favour.
She lay still in the field for over an hour, praying that come tomorrow she would be able to do the same again. It was only when the bustle of the townspeople began to heighten that she sat up. She watched as, in the distance, the men of the district made their way towards the entrance of the mine. It was just like any normal morning.
The only exception was that, come lunchtime, they would all be leaving again; congregating in the town square as was compulsory. They would be forced to watch on as two of their own children received a death sentence.
It was times like these that Carla felt grateful her father wasn't around. It was hard enough trying to cope with one useless parent, who tried desperately to make up for years of neglect on the single morning before the Reaping. It was as if when she awoke on that yearly date she suddenly remembered she had children to lose. Carla often thought she and Rob would be better off without her.
