Never Feel a Thing (A Hunger Games Fanfic)

Prologue

Author's note: As my first story, due to the unlimited amount of fanfiction potiential The Hunger Games allows for, I have decided to write my own Hunger Games fanfic. Note: I do not own any rights to The Hunger Games and probably never will. All rights go to their respective owners.

Prologue 

Once again I wake up in the altogether unpleasant atmosphere of the District 4 gutter. My head thobbes powerfully and quickly, pain pulsating with every beat. What did I even do yesterday? It is about this time I realize I am laying in a puddle, and I brace myself for the strenous effort it will take to get up onto my feet. I roll over into the dirt road and onto my stomach, then I push myself up and slowly regain my balance by drunkenly wobling from left to right. The pain in my head is still there, but I push it to the back of my mind as I stumble around like an idiot. Passersby look at me, some with interest, some with confusion, others with high handed contempt. I ignore them as I steady myself on a concreate wall and promptly retch whatever the contents of my stomach happened to be today.

I stand there unmoving for a while, looking at my own vomit, trying to regain full feeling of my body and mind. Everything's a blur, what day is it? I ask the one question that even in my post drunken stupor I know the answer to. The words miraculously and tellingly, without effort, come to the forefront of my mind. It's reaping day. I really didn't think I could feel worse or hate my life more at present, but life always finds a way to surprise you, doesn't it? I run my wet hand through my even wetter sable black hair. I look at my clothes, the same tattered black and grey fishing garb I was clad it when I went out to work yesterday morning. My memories begin to return to me. The boys offered, no, scratched that, practically forced me to go drinking with them. I remember not really wanting to, and I guess the night got a little... crazy. It's a good thing I don't get paid till the end of the week, if I had fallen asleep in a gutter with an entire week's pay in my pocket, I would have deserved to have had it stolen.

"Note to self, never do that again." I say internally to myself. I pry myself of my wall and gather my bearings. I know this street, it's in the district outskirts, but both surprisingly and conviently, not far from my house. When I was growing up, I was on my own and had no real place to go. I'm really lucky the weather of District 4 is all and all pretty tropical, at least when compared to the rest of Panem. I had to live off these streets until I was old enough to get a job and take out some tesserae. Goodie, I wouldn't have to starve or sleep on the street again. Well, until now I guess. When I was a baby, well... I don't know, my memory just doesn't go back that far. As far back as I can remember, I've always been a lonely street rat with no one in the world. The crew of my fishing trolly is the closet thing to family I have, how sad is that?

This last thought made me wince. I'm starting to remember why I tried drinking out in the first place. Thing is, now I just have all the same problems as I did yesterday, only now I got one more, a mind crushing hangover. Oh, and the reaping, of course. I put my hand on my temple, pulsating like crazy, and whisper under my breath "My life..."

The journey back home was both relatively brief and relatively pleasant. The sun had come out of the clouds to shine and the puddles seemed to evaporate more and more swiftly as the sun rose further out above the horizon. And besides, I'm sure I've woken up in worse places, believe me. When I arrived back at my house, I admired how the sun rose just above the far right side of it's masonry. I looked at the beautiful tree on the right section of the frontyard, the one I planted myself when I moved in all those years ago. I am only fifteen and I already own my own house and don't go hungry, a fact which sadly, can not be said for every kid my age. I have a steady job aboard a fishing trolly, and the tesserae supplement my food stock. It didn't matter really how many times you put your name into the reaping ball, you're odds of being picked were still astromnomical to non-existent. District 4 was a career district, which means even if you did get picked out of a population in the tens of thousands, there was always someone willing to volunteer for the fame and glory.

Hah. Fame and glory. What a reason to get disembowled on live national television. While career district tributes did make it back more than most, there was still a very likely chance that you were going to be grotesquely murdered by other frenzied teenagers and or children. And anyway, this year was different. The favored male tribute for the games had been killed in a fishing accident, not uncommon, but you think all those advanced skills would have saved his life there. I shrugged to myself. Guess not.

So I guess it was up to the reaping ball this year. All my inner reflection on the games suddenly reminded me of the urgency of getting to the district square to watch the horror show live. Ought to be interesting. I walked up the decorative stone path of my front lawn and opened up the lock to my front door. Again, I got really lucky in that no one stole my key. Probably because keys are useless to thieves. What were they gonna do, wake me up and ask me what it went to? I doubt I even would have been able to tell them where I lived if I tried last night.

I shut the door behind me and lock it up again. Afterall, can't be too safe in the world we live in. I head up the stairs, made of dry, sturdy wood that creaks with my every step. I head into my smallish room and head towards a trunk I keep in the far corner. I open it up, dust is flung wildly into the air. It irrates my eyes, but with my head still throbbing, I don't really even notice. I look at my dusty suit, the one I've wore for the past two reapings after I outgrew the last one. I lay the clothes out on my bed, brush the dust that has collected on them off vigorously and meticulously. I did have to look my best. No, I mean it, I really have to. The last thing I need is the peacekeepers paying me a late night visit for a dress code voliation. Especially today.

I quickly undress and then redress just as quickly. I look at myself in a body length mirror I have nailed into my closet door. I look astonishingly handsome, at least for me, I had afterall woken up in a gutter not an hour ago. My short, curly black hair, after some intense brushing, looks as good as new, no gravel or pubbles or insects in it or anything. My bright blues eyes contrast my black hair and suit quite nicely. Years of working day after day on a fishing boat had hardened my muscles, but they were well enough hidden by my long sleeved shirt and jacket. In the end, I knew I could do alot worse, especially with what I had to work with.

Before I left for the square, I ate half a loaf of bread and saved the other half for when I got home. It tasted like salt and seaweed. Yeah, like I don't get enough of that going to work on a daily basis. I mean bread is of my favorite foods, by do you really need to make it taste salty? I recall with fondness the days I could treat myself to bakery bread. The way bread is supposed to be made, not this rough tessera garbage.

I lock my door behind me, in case anyone stupid enough to not attend the reaping tries to break in, and set about heading to the district square, all the while whistling a jovial tune. Afterall, what are really the chances of me being called for the games?