Um. So yeah, I saw the movie and was like "FUCK YES." This was indeed inspired by the movie, though I have read all three books. A few years ago. So it may not be the best of canon correct fanfics.
I haven't decided whether or not to continue this. Hunger Games, as I have now found, is an extremely easy franchise to write for. At least, for the Hunger Games. Not sure about the rebellion later on. Up to you gaiz if this stays a one shot or if it continues.
Here goes!
The Odds Changed to His Favor (A Hunger Games Fanfiction)
42. That was the number of slips I had deposited in the tesserae box. Combined with however many slips with my name were already in there, my odds of being picked were very high. Possibly the highest of all the district.
And what did I get? I got a real bread roll. Not burnt, not synthetic, not packed with the hormone grown ingredients of the cheap shit we call bread around here. For Catnip. No, Katniss. Why? Why would I do that? Why wouldn’t I use the money and food earned to support my family? To buy more food, more necessities, and more clothes?
Well, I don’t know really. I guess you’d call it love. Me, I call it a passing crush. Or, at least that’s how it was supposed to be.
The Peacekeeper pricks my finger, jolting me out of my thoughts, and he presses my finger down to the page. “Go on,” he says absent-mindedly, and I jerk my hand away. Like I don’t already know the process already. Like I haven’t already gone through this process for six damn years. No, I guess it’s eighteen years; I’ve only been eligible for six. But that doesn’t make it any better. It was all the same. The Capitol’s damn prime entertainment. To select two “tributes” from each district and have them all fight to the death.
It’s madness. Insanity, even. But it was life, and for seventy four years the cycle hadn’t been broken. All we could do was survive, and pray that we weren’t the ones chosen.
The glorified, Capitol whore steps delicately up to the stage set up, and I already hate her. Look at her, all prettied up, with expensive makeup covering every inch of her face, wearing clothing worth more than our lives. That doll-like smile on her face, stretched like pulled plastic as she surveys our district. She probably hates us too. District Twelve, the District with no winners. Except Haymitch. We’re poor, we’re dirty, and we have no chance of winning. We’re not gaudy and “trendy”. We can’t meet her expectations of human beings, and so we are only within her notice because it is her duty to do so.
She begins to speak; I don’t remember her name, and I sure as hell don’t remember what she says. All I remember is her saying it was an “honor” to participate in the Hunger Games, and my blood roils at the thought. When the video plays, I feel sick to my stomach. This is the Capitol’s game. Remind us for the actions of the districts, of leaders long gone, and then dangle this vague hope for us to scrabble for.
She’s walking to the box with the female names, and I can only think of Katniss. Katniss, being chosen as tribute. Katniss, going out with twenty-three others and dying in vain. Or even worse, coming back victorious, but broken. Just like Haymitch.
But the resulting name is even worse.
“Primrose Everdeen.”
Stillness. Silence. I turn to the younger children, and there’s already a space opening up, with the children staring, horrified, at the most unlucky girl in the universe. One slip. Katniss would never allow more than the minimum tesserae slips for Prim to pass into the box.
Prim’s already tearing up, nearing the edge of the crowd and entering the aisle. But she’s not the only one to emerge.
“Prim!” Katniss’s voice breaks, and I close my eyes. There’s nothing to be done. The choice is clear, and I dread hearing the answer to my darkest nightmares.
“I volunteer!” Her voice is broken, hoarse with desperation and fear. “I volunteer as tribute.” She’s proud, dignified, and silences the crowd more effectively than any riot tactic. She’s beautiful, more beautiful than I could ever imagine, standing there in the middle of the aisle and staring almost defiantly at the woman standing at the podium. I’m already moving, using my tall body to force my way through the crowd.
“No!” Prim shrieks, and she catapults herself onto Katniss, sobbing and screaming. As soon as I break free of the crowd, I’m already grabbing her and pulling her away from Katniss. At that moment, I hated myself. Hated myself more fiercely than I had even hated the Capitol. I was abandoning her, and I was tearing Prim away from her sister when she needed her most.
Prim screams one last time and buries her head in my chest, sobbing violently. All I can do is watch as Katniss climbs those steps, an empty shell of herself only just barely existing. She’s already resigned herself to her fate; I know her well enough to see that. It’s a sight no one should ever have to see; a girl not even finished with puberty walking blank-eyed to her death.
Prim’s mother takes Prim from my arms with a tiny, grateful smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. The Capitol woman reaches into the box for the males, and I wait with bated breath, half-expecting and half-hoping for my name to be called.
“Peeta Mellark.”
And something inside me changes. It overwhelms me, taking over any thoughts of supporting my family, supporting Catnip’s family. It quells all reason inside me, killing rational logic screaming at me that I must stay to help my family. Promises made are made meaningless, and even my free will is twisted.
I have to do this. It was something I just have to do. Fuck the consequences, I need to do this, or I’ll never live with myself. I feel myself stepping forward, even as all eyes are turning towards Peeta Mellark.
Now or never, Gale. Now or never.
“I volunteer as tribute. I volunteer.”
Dead silence yet again. I’m staring at Katniss as the words trail off in the silence, and there is fear and anger breaking out on her face. I’m sorry. I know we promised to stay behind if the other was reaped. I know life will be harsher for our families because of my decision. Part of me regrets the decision, and part of me revels in it. I can’t flat-out say why. I’ve just defied all logical reason by volunteering, and the whole district knows it.
“Wonderful! Another volunteer!” The Capitol woman recovers quickly and is even quicker to make my death wish sound like an honor. Again, she applauds, and again there is only dead silence.
My feet are like lead as I walk onto that stage. All eyes are on me, and I avert my eyes. I can’t look at my mother. I just can’t. I was already out of the firing zone when Peeta was called, and now I was back in it being ventilated. The Capitol woman tells us to shake hands, and I turn to Catnip.
She’s absolutely furious. I almost take a step back. I can see her anger, clear as day, and I know she is appalled at my decision. But it’s strange. I’m not guilty. At all. I can’t feel the guilt; I do my best to search for it, to find the knowledge that I had made the wrong decision.
I can’t feel it at all. Even as we clasp hands, eyes locked. Katniss is clenching my hand so hard I’m almost sure it will break in her grip. And yet I can’t shake the feeling that I had made the right decision. It was selfish, it was cruel, and it hurt so many others in different ways. But it felt right. Like an empty spot in my heart had been filled.
I am hopelessly in love with this girl. I can’t deny it now. I’ve just volunteered to accompany her on this journey to death, after all.
All I can do is hope that the odds will ever be in my favor.
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. My bad.
