Omaigosh. Giant WIP Collection.

A Really Long Brain Fart Story From Forever Ago. [HG fail, hurr.]

Guesswut.

This is based on the roleplay I told you about in the beginning message of one of these WIPs! Ah-wow.

SO. It went like this. My friendeh in my roleplaying club made a topic called "Hunger Games RP" like a year ago. But no one in the club had read the book, including her. So we was like, let's look it up on Wikipedia! They're always trustworthy! ...They said nothing about reaping day. Because of that, we all assumed that they were all juvenile delinquents. Our logic; "They wouldn't be in some blurdy battle to the death for absolutely no reason! That'd be silly!" After coming to such a conclusion, we made them start out in cells, and for the whole length of the roleplay they were treated like criminals. From there, our moody criminals had pages and pages of adventures. Then, one day one of the people who was part of it was like "OMJEEZ. I just read the Hunger Games and and and---! gdsdfaasdadaasd!" So we figured out we were doing the whole thing wrong. But we were like "Cluck that junk!" and kept on going with our perfect little deleinquents who kept making the impossible happen [Yeah, they eascaped the arena, then got put back in, then died, then got brought back to life, then were told to kill eachother, etc...].

Where you have it. The inspiration for the junk below all summed up. Yes, I had the not so brilliant plan to turn it into a story around the time they were hiding out in the president's victor celebration gala. It starts out with the point of view of my awesome blond pretty boy gangster kid from the Hunger Games' district eleven, which is supposed to be a countryside containing only people who're african-americanish, but is magically turned into a city that is not racist by Sam's imagination.

And who is this dedicated to? Sara and Kitty for participating in this pwnage manipulation of a story we hadn't read at the time.

Enjoy. Or don't. I don't care.

[I'm beginning to think these beginning messages are more interesting than the actual writings below them...]

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“No! You can't take him away like this! He's only fifteen! Just a child!” my mother wailed in the same shaky voice I'd heard so many times before.  But the guards still gripped me tightly by each of my arms, slowly pulling me away from the enormous, seemingly endless fire that slowly ate up the huge building I'd called my apartment, my home.  I'd anticipated that the authorities would come for me eventually.  But I'd never imagined that it would happen like this.  I'd never considered that they'd light the whole building aflame just to get me, my mother, and my little sister out.  I'd never considered that a few hundred people would perish in their sleep, in the terrible, inescapable fire.  Even if they woke up, most of them were stuck. It was painful for me to think about, really.  Sure, I was a member of one of the largest, most radical gangs in the city, but I was soft, everyone knew that. Even the the Dictator himself knew that. 

   There had been a definite element of surprise in their arrival for my arrest.  But I didn't obey them like I should have.  I didn't obediently come out and turn myself in.  Of course I didn't.  I was one of the heads of the rebellion, I couldn't just turn myself in.  Teresa had put all her trust in me when she left to the political branch of the dictatorship, where she swore to us that she'd take the dictator's life, even if she surrendered hers in the process.

   She was my second mother, the one person who'd really cared for me.  I had full hope in her, she had full hope in me.  When she left, I had a certain feeling in my gut that she'd come back.  But it had been weeks, maybe even months since then.  Every day I'd pushed myself harder and harder, trying to keep the rebellion together, trying to hold on just a little longer until Teresa returned.  Every morning I had forced myself to sit on the tiny wooden doorstep of our meeting spot, the one in the tiny alley next to the bakery. But she never came back.  I never got to see her shiny green eyes, her rosy cheeks, her warm, comforting smile, her silky black hair hanging out from her signature brown hood.  She was the only person I'd ever put my heart and soul into, other than my father of course.  But it had been years since he'd passed away.  Years since we'd moved from the farm to the city.  Years since my mother had fallen through the cracks. Years since I'd began killing people for a living...