Victory Is Mine - The 49th Hunger Games (fanfic)

Chapter One - My little sister's boyfriend

Soren's POV

Thursday

It was on Monday morning when he came to our door, asking if Lorelei would walk to school with him. Unfortunately for him, it was me who answered the door and not Lorelei.

“H-hello, I was w-wondering if, um, Lorelei would like to-...”

“Go away Haymitch.”

And I slammed the door in his face. Of course, as Lore met me at the gates outside the school that afternoon she was fuming. Lore has had a crush on Haymitch since she was 11 years old, and I’ve known all along. She knows that I know. As we walked down the middle of the dusty road through District 12, I noticed that the peacekeepers, dressed in the usual white uniforms and grey expressions, were wiring up a digital countdown clock that was positioned next to the steps of the Justice Building. It read ‘5 days 22 hours 38 minutes until the 49th Hunger Games reaping!’ As if anyone wants to be reminded. As Lore saw the clock the anger evaporated from her body and she inched closer to me, slipping her hand into mine, which I squeezed in reassurance.

“What If they pick me, Ren?” she whispered.

“They won’t Lore, trust me. Your name is only in there 5 times, and mine 7. The odds are huge!”

Lore fell silent and wiped away the tears before they escaped from her deep green eyes. I wrapped an arm around her shoulders and we hurried home.

Today is Thursday and its 1 am. And according to the clock – which is so bright I can see it from my window – it is 2 days and 11 hours to go. I live in the merchant village, and my family, the Blake family, runs the carpentry store. My father is the main carpenter, and he is quite a sympathetic man. He does free repairs on any seam family’s furniture, and any new piece is at a discount to them. They mayor and other merchant families are buying new furniture and upholstery so often they easily make up the costs that seam families do not have to pay. Other merchants think that dad is mad, helping the poor, but me and Lore think he’s a hero, as do most of my class mates. My mother helps out in the workshop, but more on the fabric side of things, sewing cushions and knitting blankets and such.

Lore is the spitting image of mother, with dark chestnut coloured wavy hair and green eyes, although Lore’s are a lot darker than mother’s. Dad has bright blonde hair and blue eyes, the same as Haymitch’s (unfortunately) even though they are in no way related (luckily). My hair colour is a strange mix of blonde and brown, either a dark blonde or very pale brown. My eyes are light brown with flecks of green, quite ‘intriguing’ as mother says. I have a pale tan and am quite tall, around 5’8”, whereas Lorelei is tiny, at 5’3”.

I have to say that we have quite a nice life in district 12, living in the merchant village. We have a decent sized house and the use of hot water and heating, and of course an infinite number of blankets. There are some parts of this district, such as the seam, where all the mining families live. They are very poor people, who can barely afford to put food on their plates. I’ve seen them sometimes in the square and at school, with their olive complexion and dark hair and eyes. A pang of guilt goes through me whenever I see some of the smallest ones, sitting quietly in the corner and not daring to meet anyone’s eye. If I was ever the President (though I doubt it, Snow has been in power since my granddad’s generation), I would make all the districts equal and give everybody the same rights, no matter who they are.

I have to admit, sometimes I think of volunteering to be a tribute in the Games. I am quite sporty and excel at a number of sports at school, and I think I would be quite handy with some weapons. Of course I am not a mad killing machine like most of the careers who volunteer, I would enter the Games to win, and after that I would simply disappear into the Capitol, plotting my next move. There has never been a victor from district 12 before. After 48 years, still nobody from our district has won. Although, I think it is disgusting when one of the seam children is picked, and are killed so easily by the much bigger and well fed and trained career kids. I expect they have some sort of special tribute school where 3 year olds are trained in the art of swinging a sword. I do not think that I will ever carry out my plans of world domination; I mean I am just a girl from district 12, as insignificant as an ant in a forest of plants and wildlife.