Story [Hunger Games] Vicarious--An OC tribute story--Angst

Discussion in 'Non Star Wars Fan Fiction' started by DarthIshtar, Nov 6, 2010.

Moderators: Mira_Jade, NYCitygurl
  1. DarthIshtar Chosen One

    Member Since:
    Mar 26, 2001
    star 9
    I have hated myself since the day of this year?s Reaping. It was better than my first time. On that night, I had barely made it to the event because the thought of being chosen as a tribute had made me violently ill. I had taken my twelve-year-old mind off of the wait by thinking that it wouldn?t do for me to puke on the broadcast, so I just couldn?t be chosen. The master weaver?s oldest daughter was chosen that year and I felt a different kind of sick with relief. The next year, I bore up well and didn?t vomit once until that year?s tribute, my resourceful cousin Angora, was killed in the first fight at the cornucopia. By the time I was fourteen, I had numbed myself to the process and barely remembered to feel relieved when I escaped for another year.

    We weren?t the most wealthy in the District, but we had enough to improve the odds of our escaping the Hunger Games. Mother had dared to run away from her home when she was not much older than I and fell in love with a District 8 boy whose family taught her to weave and dye. She must have been treated with curiosity as one of the rare outsiders, but Mother had found her niche in turning out silks and linens that were reserved for special occasions. On more than one occasion since I had been born, the District 8 tributes had been paraded around before the Games in her merchandise. We were not the most wealthy, but we rarely needed tesserae. The odds were good that I would never hear my name called.

    This year, they called out another familiar name. I?ve seen the broadcast of the Reapings that they air before the Games and I can?t get that image out of my head. My mother is white with shock and I with something like manic relief. I turned eighteen three weeks before the Reaping and next year, I will not have my name entered.

    The reason I have hated myself at the Reaping is that you can see my relief and my mother?s heartbreak behind another ashen face. My name was not called, but my twin sister?s was.

    If I had possessed an ounce of courage, I could have taken her place in an instant. No one would have known that she stayed behind unless they caught sight of the birthmark on my left shoulder blade. I have seen friends volunteer in each other?s places, older brothers step in. I should have bolted for the stage in response to the announcement that Silk Forsythe would be this year?s female tribute and let everyone mistake my sister for her sister Satin.

    But instead, all I could feel was a rush of adrenaline that it was anyone but me. I didn?t think to react until Mother fell to her knees in tears and clutched at Silk?s skirt as she passed by on the way to the stage. We were dressed in our namesakes, standing out proudly to represent our family, and Silk looked a bit like a war goddess of old that day. By the time she took the stage next to Felt Sanderson, the male tribute, there were comments from the crowd that she looked like this year?s champion.

    Mother didn?t think as much. Father spent the time between the Reaping and Silk?s departure teaching her fighting skills that he had reserved for my two older brothers. Silk looked sheepish at first, trying to throw punches at the man who had told her bedtime stories, but after a few days of intense work, she began to demonstrate some confidence. There were people who paid attention to her preparations and they added their voices to the minority who thought she would come out of the Arena alive. Father led that minority because the alternative would cripple him.

    Mother volunteered to do the tributes? costumes again and I kept the opinion that hand-sewing her own daughter?s burial shroud was more than a little morose to myself. I saw how she cried quietly while I was spinning and she was working on the embroidery for Silk?s gown. She even shed a few tears when she was stitching the fussy epaulets on Felt?s jacket.

    I didn?t let myself cry. I couldn?t. Much as I feared for my sister, I had a despicable, selfish part of me that still enjoyed the last year of having to cheat death. My friends di
  2. Raphire Jedi Grand Master

    Member Since:
    Dec 19, 2008
    star 4
    Wow. That felt like it belonged in the story. You got the feeling and emotions perfectly.

    Also kudos for the twist. I never saw it coming!

    Brava!
  3. PadmeSkywalkerSHM Jedi Master

    Member Since:
    Nov 25, 2010
    star 2
    I loved it!

    I am a big hunger games fan!

    I loved it sooooooo much!!!!!
  4. NYCitygurl NSWFF Manager

    Manager
    Member Since:
    Jul 20, 2002
    star 9
    That is so creepy!! Poor girls :( And I haev a feeling that Satin won't survive the Games either :(
  5. DarthIshtar Chosen One

    Member Since:
    Mar 26, 2001
    star 9
    Author's note: I have been trying to find a way to update this for months. I wanted to tell the rest of Satin's story, but ideas came to me in a very scattered fashion. I finally came up with the rest of it and hope you enjoy what remains.
    *****
    There was only one person in that launch room who treated me as if I still stood a chance of surviving. The mentor and escort from District 8 weren?t allowed to come, so I had no idea what their last words of wisdom were to Silk. Instead, her stylist was the one who clutched my hand and muttered advice that I would forget as soon as the Games began. He fixed my hair and loosened the ribbon around my neck, maybe hoping that having my token hang a little more loosely would let him forget that my sister had worn a different choker the night before.

    And then, when the time finally came, he embraced me like a long-lost sister. I never even got to ask his name, but he pulled back and gave me one final order: ?Hold the high ground.?

    I nodded mutely and he held my hand all the way to the tube that would bring me to the surface. When I let go, he didn?t turn away, but paid as much attention to me as he would have paid to Silk. I kept my eyes turned towards him because I was sure that he was the only friend I would have since leaving District 8.

    And then the gong sounded. I instinctively bolted for the first thing within reach and found a vacuum-sealed pack. I had no time for a strategy, but I knew I had to get some kind of food and some kind of weapon and then I could worry about outrunning the rest of the competition.

    A cloth backpack was ten paces closer to the cornucopia and I only chased it because I saw an apple peeking out of it. That went clumsily over one arm and I stopped to adjust it so I could have that arm free.

    A weight slammed into me from behind and I rolled as I fell, letting the backpack slide off my arm so it was between me and the ground. My attacker rolled me over effortlessly so my prize was no longer covered and I kicked up in the only defense move that I really knew. My instep connected with his groin and he rocked back. It wouldn?t save me, but it would stall him and maybe that would make a difference.

    Five paces further in, I found the kind of knife that I had seen the fishmonger use for cleaning. I grabbed it and spun on my heel, at last ready to find cover.

    Instead, I was knocked to the ground once more. The weight was familiar and this time, the tall boy from District 3 wasn?t about to give me a chance to fight back. His hands locked around my throat, crushing inwards so that black spots began flickering across my vision within seconds. My neck muscles strained, trying to drive his hands away from my windpipe, but his grip didn?t slacken. My hands scrabbled at his arms, but I couldn?t scratch him hard enough to do any damage. My hands fell limp to my sides.

    My right hand landed on the knife that had fallen from my fingers as soon as I hit the ground a second time. I jammed it upwards into the underside of his arm. As soon as it drove in, I dragged the blade to the side, determined to do some damage even if I couldn?t fend him off.

    And then everything went black.
    *****
    The cannons woke me. One?Two?Three?

    Ten fired, but I wasn?t the reason for one of those shots. Sucking in great lungfuls of air seemed almost impossible, since I could still feel the crush of 3?s hands against my neck, but with each breath, it got a little easier. I coughed because my throat couldn?t handle what I was trying to do in order to survive. I took shallow, less irritating breaths and the coughs subsided. After maybe five more breaths, I opened my eyes.

    I immediately stopped breathing again.

    The hovercraft blocked out any sun that might have been shining overhead and the large metal claw was the one that always descended to carelessly pick up the corpses of the downed tributes.
    I wanted to bat it away, to scream at the Gamemakers that it wasn?t my time. I wasn?t out yet. I could still fight for their entertainment. I couldn?t even scream, m
  6. NYCitygurl NSWFF Manager

    Manager
    Member Since:
    Jul 20, 2002
    star 9
    That was actually very sweet! I hope to see more soon :)
Moderators: Mira_Jade, NYCitygurl