Writing Code:
(Y/N) = Your Name
(E/C) = Your Eye Colour
(H/C) = Your Hair Colour
(S/C) = Your Skin Colour *
*Don't see enough of these in fanfiction. Not everyone can visibly blush. So I will say "Your cheeks felt warm".
WARNINGS: SWEARING AND IMPLICATIONS OF ABUSE.
Estimated Reading Time: Minutes
Finally, the Games begin. I have waited for far too long...
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Once the light of dawn hit my home, I fought to open my eyes. I lay there with a fox, the size of an adolescent lion cub, on my carpet and a Phoenix, the height of a small suitcase, my windowsill.
The silence ached as if it knew what today was. I got out of bed and looked at the calendar on my watch.
The 25th of July 2193.
Seven days before the anniversary Rebellion’s defeat 74 years ago.
Reaping Day.
I was anxious. It came as an electrical storm in my brain that, honestly, was painful. It’s different from a headache and it felt the same as intense sorrow, perhaps as a frozen panic with nowhere to go. But no regret. Not a sliver of cowardice.
I stepped into the shower, toes flinching as they touched the chilled ceramic floor. My mind was in shreds; I would never get those pictures out of my mind. I turned the dial, old and metallic, releasing thousands of lukewarm drops, beating on my shower cap/darkening my hair and trickled down my back.
I finished the shower and as I passed my mirror; I noted every whipping scar that bore itself on my back. It was hideous but admittedly having them gave me a sense of… defiance, almost. I remember how I got each one. How young I was, how painful it was. And how today's Tributes will be facing worse.
I had to go to stop this torture. The damage that not going will cause will break me forever, that I knew. And who knows? I could end up changing the world…
My animal friends had left the bedroom, their ruckus being heard downstairs.
The day Primrose told me that her name had been entered, I had my Reaping Day outfit refurbished, just in case. So, once I left the shower, I applied moisturiser then pulled out the suit. It was mandatory that the females wore dresses, and the males wore trousers. Talk about equality.
I lifted the skirt. It reached just below mid-thigh, a rich ebony colour and Capitol standard fabric. I grimaced. Bloody skirt. Hate ‘em.
The blouse was a shade of deep beige with a long neck tie that hung low. It was best I wore my boots (didn’t have many pairs, shoes are costly to make).
All dressed up, with my parents’ jewellery and Papa’s coat on; I was ready to go, but not ready to say goodbye. I reached the bottom of the staircase and saw my closest friends eating their breakfast.
“Do everything you can to live, (Y/n), don’t play hero.” Luna’s solemn voice advised. The poor creature refused look me in eye, in fear of never seeing them again.
YOU ARE READING
IGNITING STARLIGHT (CANCELLED)
Fantasy(Y/n) Carlys Pheoneye is an isolated member of the dystopian society of District 12. Orphaned at a young age, (Y/n) finds herself in a loney situation when she gives up all she has to save a child from being Reaped for the 74th Annual Hunger Games...
