𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐒 | rini & jolivia oneshots

fucking teenage dream (1)

"In this world, love gets you murdered. There are no happily ever afters, just...death."

For @-kxrlmybeloved- BadBitchIsBack, Rubybluerites, @mynameisjudy, @K-girlieFanFicGeek, @HP_Always_THG,and any other Hunger Games/HSMTMTS fans.

Plot: Nini Salazar-Roberts is a seemingly normal girl, living in District 8 with her moms and making uniforms for the tributes and careers. She isn't complaining about her life, but she wants adventure and thrill. When she gets picked for the Hunger Games, those dreams may finally come true. However, this is far from the journey she thinks it is. Along the way, she befriends some tributes and possibly even falls in love...but the Games aren't about making friends, it's about killing them.

I haven't watched the Hunger Games or read the books yet, this is just some things that I learned from reading fanfics. If there are any errors, feel free to correct me.

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I'm Nini Salazar Roberts. Few things to note about me:

1) I'm 18, but I've never been to school. I guess you could say I'm homeschooled. But contrary to popular belief, I'm not a freak or super religious.
2) I live in District 8. My two moms make clothes for the Hunger Games and that jazz. I'm expected to take over the factory someday—if I don't get chosen, of course.
3) I've pretty much read every romance novel and thriller that is allowed in my house. It just makes me think of my dreary existence as a seamstress's daughter and how I desperately long for adventure in the great wide somewhere.

Of course, the time when I narrate this is right around when the Reaping occurs. If you want it described from my point of view, it's a step closer to your death. And the sad thing is, you end up dying alone on the arena, along with some other bloodied bodies whose souls are better off elsewhere. I'm surprised the arena doesn't have any reports of paranormal activity yet. I'd prefer if the tortured souls haunt the Capitol officials, driving them insane and when they can no longer take it, throw themselves off a tall building.

I may have a small problem from reading all of those Stephen King novels. You're probably thinking, I'm eighteen now, right? Then why haven't I been picked yet? I guess the odds are in my favor, but the officials haven't chosen my name yet, so that's sort of a bonus.

Yet, tomorrow is the day of the Reaping. Oh, joy. The thing that's sad about the Hunger Games is that everyone is so sure they're going to win, going into the games with wide smiles and an attitude ready to fight. And when they are murdered painfully, they die alone, and they don't even get to say one final goodbye to their families. There's just a cannon and the distant sobs of their relatives. Everyone that has entered was a daughter, a son, a sibling, a paramour, a sweetheart, maybe they're even married. And yet, the world has no mercy. To summarize, going into the Games is a death wish. It's like that song from Les Mis; look down, look down, you're standing in your grave.

The next morning, I wake up, eat some breakfast, then put a bunch of this white powder on my face that I look more ghost than human. My moms made me a dress that matched all the other girls, and when I arrive, it seems like I'm just one in a dozen other robots.

I squeeze the hand of the girl nearest to me, and she gives me a reluctant if not anxious smile. We all know that it is an honor to be chosen, but I can't help but feel that it's just a macabre form of entertainment, slaughtering innocent souls who have done no wrong just for the enjoyment of some dictators.

"Welcome to the eighty-fifth annual Hunger Games," the announcer, a ghostly-looking woman with cotton candy hair and extremely frivolous clothes said. "I am Effie Trinket, and I shall be your announcer and I have the honor of choosing the female and male to represent each district in this year's Hunger Games. First, for District 1..."

She walks over to the fishbowl filled with strips of paper containing the names of the many people standing here right now. "Ladies first, so..." she waits for a dramatic effect, "Liliana Buchanan!"

A blonde girl steps up from the crowd of people. Somehow, even in the drab dress, she still manages to look royal. Her face bears a smug expression, which looks like she thinks she's about to win. Why are you so happy to die? I can't help but think. The girl, who I now know as Liliana (or Lily), steps up to the platform, looking radiant and confident as ever. At least her parents didn't name her Pumpkin or Glitter.

"Our male tribute will be...Antoine DuPont!"

A French-looking dude steps up, looking a little more nervous than the girl. He holds out his hand for her to shake, and she reluctantly takes it.

The names keep coming.

District 2: Ashlyn Caswell and EJ Caswell. They're related and both got picked for the Hunger Games, so it can't be a coincidence, can it?
District 3: Kourtney Greene and Carlos Rodriguez.
District 4:  Gina Porter and Sebastian Matthew-Smith.
District 5: Anna Lysander and Big Red Redonovich
District 6: Cassie Chan and Howie Brown
District 7: Lisi Becker and Ronny Bowen

Ronny is reluctant to step up, as he is frozen to the floor. "I'm gonna die," he whispers. "I'm not ready to die."

"Come up, don't be shy!" Effie coaxes.

Another solid two minutes of waiting. "I volunteer!" a voice rings throughout the courtyard.

I look in the direction of the voice, and it belongs to a curly-haired boy about my age. I suspect that Ronny's his brother due to their similar features.

"I volunteer as tribute," he says.

I'm...surprised at his courage. The guards let him through, and a distinguishable look of awe dons Effie's face. Then finally, it's time for District 8's tributes. I squeeze my eyes shut and grip the girl's hand as if it was the only thing keeping me grounded.

"Ladies first," Effie grins, her fingers flittering over the bowl like a bird's, "Nina Salazar-Roberts!"

Well, you gotta love the Hunger Games.

"Any last-minute volunteers?" Effie Trinket asks. "Anyone?"

Nothing but dead silence.

God, it's brutal out here.

I step up to the platform, my hands shaking. I shake hands with the boy who got chosen, and he looks no more than twelve, yet he's going to die. We all have so much of our lives ahead of us, yet almost everyone will be deceased by the end of this.

I listen to the rest of the names and take a deep breath, prepared to get onto that bloody train and face my fate, no matter what it may be.

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I've had this idea for a while now, and there are going to be more chapters in the Brutal series. What'd y'all think? Also, CAN I BEHEAD LILY?! (Not you, any real-life Lilys, I'm just mad at a fictional character.) On a totally unrelated note, I won an editing competition!!! Fourth place, but still, wahoo!!

Keep reading. Keep writing. Keep dreaming.

-V

P.S. Oh, and 90th chapter, celebration!! Any requests?