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...
I forced myself to stop thinking so much, to return to reality. The guards' grips were getting increasingly painful. I'd kept my gaze fixed on my brand new blue high tops, the ones that Teresa had given me before she left. I was being a coward again; I had to face it. The cracking of the flames rung in my ears. My mother's confused and desperate voice chimed in as well, along with my little sister's sobbing. I closed my eyes and imagined them both standing in front of the ruins, but didn't bother looking back at them; it was way too saddening and depressing. Depression was the last thing I needed at this point.
I kept stumbling in the direction the guards were pulling me, towards their large black government van. My tongue prodded the piercings at either side of my lower lip. Teresa had done them for me herself, she'd called them 'snake bites' or something, I think. She'd really given me everything I had. Food, some of my clothing, a way to keep food on the table for Mattie and mother. I'd promised her that I'd keep the gang stable, that I'd make sure the authorities didn't bust us. I'd failed her. I'd failed the gang. I'd failed Mattie, which was definitely the worst. She was only eleven years old, but she'd taken care of mother and me so many times. She had a certain way of pouring her heart into everything she did. It wasn't a surprise that she was sobbing. She always did, whenever she felt depressed. She'd let it all out, just sob for enormous amounts of time, not saying a thing. But even when she cried she looked soft and gentle. Somehow, her large blue eyes, her straight never messy hair, and her small button nose seemed to make up for her frowns and tears. I just wished I could have shared one more hug with her. I was way bigger than her, about six feet, and she was just five foot two. But there was something about hugging her that made you feel like everything was okay. Everyone she met seemed to love her the second they first talked to her. It was something I envied, actually. We had the same blonde hair and grayish blue eyes, but she had a kind principal to her face, something I just didn't have, I guess. She had the same face as our father. I must have looked nothing like either of my parents, though. They were both short and had small noses, small oval shaped faces, and large eyes. I, on the other hand, had a more heart shaped face, normal sized eyes, taller height and stature, pretty much larger everything, really. My father had been from Sector 14, the farming sector, and was built like most people there. In that neck of the woods, apparently they're all short and muscular, or at least that was what my mother used to tell me before she began to get messed up from her drug addictions. She never told me where she was from, but I was pretty sure she wasn't from the city. I guessed she was from the orchard sector, since she had the same gold eyes as most people from that area, but I was never sure. We used to live in the farming region when I was about five, shortly after my sister was born. I barely remember a small farm house with a black roof and green sides, a huge cornfield, but not much else. Father used to go out into the crops every morning with several others, then he'd return with a small amount of money, just enough to keep the family going. It seemed perfect, my mother told me once. But it ended swiftly and discreetly. My father was offered a job as a military soldier for five times as much money as he earned in the fields harvesting corn. He took the job, but it was an under-the-table kind of deal. He just disappeared one day, leaving my mother a note. And then, a week later, we got compensation for his death, completely unexplained. My mother wasn't allowed to tell anybody, and was forced to take me and my sister to live in the city, to get us away from the farm, so no one important would believe our story. The government almost never let anyone travel from sector to sector. All the boundaries were heavily guarded and the defenders had rights to shoot on sight unless you had special government permission. We had special permission, though, and moved into the apartment, where we lived for years, where we eventually got into school, where I met Teresa. And then life went on. I left mother and Mattie for the gang most of the time. By the time I was twelve, I was almost never home. When I was, I was usually disoriented and messed up from several drugs I sold and took myself. Mattie never seemed to care, and simply put me to bed on the couch, helped me through the hangovers, then waved good bye. She never asked questions, she never knew what I did wrong. Neither did mother. They had no idea I'd been I running an enormous rebellion, that I was part of all the 'disgraceful' stories on the news. Until now.
