AN: There's a blog up now! theclichegameshg . blogspot . com
Also, I need mentors! See the bottom AN for more details.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games. Buuuut I do own some chloroform, a car boot, and the Suzanne Collin's address, so…
Chapter 6: Fight me, fuck me, or both.
Goddessa Athens, 15, D2F
I run across the grass, a sword shining in my hand. Rain pours down from the sky, and lightning crashes. My hair flies out behind me, like I'm Ariel in a Disney movie or Pocahontas in a Disney movie or Rapunzel in a Disney movie. The final tribute stands there. Oh look, it's my BITCH SISTER Artemis.
I stride forward, brandishing my sword. She strides forward, brandishing her toothpick. I swing my sword and slice through her neck like a knife cutting through butter. Or, more accurately, a sword. And, more accurately, a neck. I slice through her neck like a sword cutting through a neck.
"Nooo," she cries, falling over like an IDIOT. "Goddessa, why you gotta be so much cooler than meeee?" she whimpers. "Ah I just pooped my pants because I am so lame! You are so awesome Goddessa! Ah there is blood everywhere! Also I broke that vase when I was seven and not you and mom blamed you for it!"
"This is for your own good Artemis," I say. "And mine. Well, mostly mine. Okay, all mine. STABBY STAB STAB!" I stab her in her STUPID FACE because she's such a STUPID HEAD. Then I bite into her throat with my teeth, because that's never been done before.
"Congratulations Goddessa!" the voices boom, "You win the Hunger Games! You are so cool! Much cooler than your BITCH SISTER Artemis!"
"Yes," I say, pulling a pair of Aviator sunglasses out of my pocket, putting them on, then taking them off again. "I know."
I wake up.
Yes, that was a dream. I don't know why you're surprised. It was in italics.
But it won't be a dream for long! Soon I will win the Hunger Games! My BITCH SISTER Artemis won them three years ago when she was sixteen. But guess what, Artemis! I'm fifteen! MATHS! And now I'll volunteer and win, and I'll be better than you! HAHA!
You may have noticed that my sister and I don't get along particularly well. Our relationship has always been somewhat abrasive, with her more materialist-centered personality and touch of arrogance contrasting with my determination and egoism. Also she is a TOTAL BITCH.
I get up out of my bed. Ah, three minutes of sleep, I feel very refreshed. It's more than I usually get, since I'm always training. Train, train, train. I like trains! I mean training!
I check my watch that I made out of the skull of a girl who beat me in training (it was only Monopoly, but I don't fuck around). Looks like I have time to narrate my appearance before I go training.
I'm fifteen, but I'm old for my age. I'm really skinny but I've also got them curves that make them boys go loco but I'm also super muscly because I'm a #StrongFemaleCharacter. I have long golden brown hair the colour of honey or a questionable stain that is in perfect ringlets. My eyes are ~striking~ because who's fucking aren't? They have a base of sapphire blue with streaks of emerald green and topaz gold that are in the shape of little triangles (Goddessa = Illuminati confirmed) My skin is as white and porcelain as a a Victorian wet dream. I'm long-limbed but also like short because I've got that arm-candy swag. Except no! I'm not arm candy! I'm also #Independent. Like, if your candy started talking to you. (that happened to me once, though it might have been the pain medication). I'm super gorg. Basically, my milkshake brings all the boys to the yard.
Wow, that was long even for a Sue. Anyway.
Quickly, I brush out my beautiful hair with a hundred flowing strokes. Then I put my sports bra and underwear on, put on leggings, grab a jacket, set the jacket on fire for warmth (survival skills!) make myself a sandwich, use the bathroom and apply some light makeup. Time to train!
"Darling!" comes a voice from downstairs, "are you coming down for breakfast?"
Urgh, that's my mom. She's such a TOTAL BITCH. She's all like "do your homework" "be nicer to your sister" "don't stab that guy" "no seriously Goddessa I don't care if you're TRAINING! you can't stab him". Worst mom ever. If she even is my mom. I'm still not entirely convinced I wasn't raised by a pack of wolves.
Artemis is already there, eating a bowl of cereal in a really bitchy way.
"Good morning Goddessa!" she says cheerily. Whatever, bitch.
"Are you volunteering today?" she asks, as if we hadn't already established this.
'YES!" I shout. "And there's nothing you can do to stop me!"
"Yeah, I know," she says, taking another bite of Coco Puffs, or as I like to call them, Bitch Fuel.
"What's the matter, Artemis? JEALOUS?! I'm fifteen you know! That means I'm going to be older than you were when you won! I'm BETTER THAN YOU!"
"Cool," Artemis says. She takes a sip of orange juice. "I think it's good for you to have goals."
You see what I have to deal with? What. A. Bitch.
"Yeah, well..." I say, "Um..."
I quickly shove the bottom of her glass so that orange juice sprays in her face. Haha! I'm so cool.
"Have fun at training!" Artemis says as I walk out of the room.
Just then, I bump into my Dad.
"Hello Goddessa," he says menacingly, grabbing my arm. "Off to train?"
My dad, Victor (huehuehue geddit?), won the Games when he was eighteen. Since then, he's been ruthlessly training me and Artemis to win the Games as well. My aunt Persephone, my dad, and my grandparents Zeus and Hera did too.
"No dad, I've decided to start up a shelter for LGBT kittens," I say sarcastically. "Of course I'm going to train!"
"Good," he says. "Anyone who doesn't win the Games is worthless. You don't want to end up like your brothers, do you?"
I gasp, remembering my brothers. Hermes and Apollo Athens (are y'all getting the naming schema yet?) both went into the Hunger Games in different years. Both of them made it into the final two, but both of them were killed by the tributes from District 7. WHAT a coincidence. Hermes was killed by the boy from Seven, who hit him with an axe, and Apollo was killed by the girl from Seven, who, I don't know, hit him over the head with a tree. So now I hate all tributes from District 7. Even if they're adorable little twelve year-olds.
(Leaf whimpering in the distance)
"Good morning Goddessa!" say my grandparents say, coming out of their rooms. I bare my teeth and hiss at them. Everyone thinks that they're such wonderful victors who knit blankets for orphans, but I know better. Those blankets they knit aren't even trendy!
"Goddessa," Father says sternly.
"Whatever Dad," I say, "I'm going training."
I walk into the training room.
"Time to train!" I say.
Hunter Hawke, 18, D2M
"Hunter, Hunter, wake up!"
My little sister Clove runs into the room.
"Hey, sport," I say, ruffling her hair.
"Look, I got you a present!" Clove drops a dead bird that she's impaled on her fangs into my hands.
"Aw, good Clove." I say, patting her head. "Tell you what. Once I come back from the Hunger Games, we can all go out for ice-creams and murder? Okay?"
""Yay!" Clove giggles, clapping her hands. I pick her up in my (toned, fab, muscular af) arms and give her a hug. Man, it's so great that my personality traits are kind and humble and nice, but I'm also squeeing with excitement at the thought of going into a game where I get to murder a bunch of children. What do you mean those are incompatible? Shut up, I need have a chance and get the reader to like me as well.
"Good morning Hunter!" My mom, Enobaria, walks into the room carrying a plate of cookies. Yeah, you read that right. Enobaria is my mom.
Backstory time, bitches.
Clove and I grew up in the mean streets of Compton, District 2 (not to be confused with Compton, California). We had to struggle to survive, especially as I kept donating our food and clothes and limbs to the less fortunate. We had to live with our alcoholic father and drug dealer mother (But I thought you said Enobaria was your mother! Yeah be quiet Tiffany I'm getting to that part). One day she threw us out, screaming that we were the devil's spawn. Just because Clove stabbed her! What a bitch. We wandered the streets for a gruelling thirty seconds before getting picked up by a bunch of spiders wearing a human skin suit. But Ted Cruz turned out to be an escaped serial killer! Gasp! He forced us to become his slaves, and brought us along on a high speed chase down the highway. Fortunately, Clove had the clever idea of stabbing him (which seems to be her go-to solution to most problems, but oh well) and we managed to escape.
We then wandered onto the set of Maury. We had some difficulty getting past the guards but luckily Clove managed to fix that problem by stabbing them! We went on the show and took a DNA test with Enobaria. Turns out she was not the father! She was the mother, obviously. Clove and I were her lovechildren. But ever since the stock market crashed and Enobaria's investments in toothpaste plummeted, we've been living in poverty. Since then I've been training for the Games so that I can help give my little sister the murderous education she deserves. Because everyone knows the first rule of training for the Games is that there are literally no other ways to make money, ever, than volunteering for a death match. NONE. So I've been training with Enobaria every day so that I can become as swift as the coursing river, with the force of a great typhoon, with all the strength of a raging fire, mysterious as the dark side of the moon.
And today's the day. I will run up, past the chosen volunteer and on to the stage to become the volunteer! And then I will win the Hunger Games and I can finally live out my secret dream of starting my own custom furniture business. And then Clove will volunteer. I bet that'll work out great for her!
(Thresh laughing in the distance)
And then we'll live as volunteer siblings in Victor's Village, in happiness and love, trying to dodge copyright infringement claims from Cashmere and Gloss.
"Good morning dear," mom says, kissing me on the head. She hands me my breakfast of bacon, eggs and the hearts of small children that she picked fresh that morning. I finish the food quickly and put on my training gear.
"Are you ready for training?" Enobaria says.
"You betcha!" I say, jumping up and grabbing my bow and arrow (my name is Hunter, what did you expect) and heading out to the handy set up of targets that we just have in our backyard. Sure, we may have had to sell some of Clove's beloved childhood toys, but hey, I need to train.
I step out into our humble backyard, equipped with a fully-functioning gym, smoothie bar, Jacuzzi and wrestling ring. As I step into the sun, I sparkle like I'm made of diamonds or just spent last week at a strip club. (Try to guess which one of those is true. Spoiler alert: they both are!)
"Okay," Enobaria says. She wraps a blindfold around my eyes, and then sets the blindfold on fire for good measure.
I load my bow and shoot fifteen arrows into the air. They all land in the bulls-eye! Wow! Amazing! Who would have thought! I wonder…
I try to fire it so that it misses the target. Suddenly the arrow swerves in midair and impales itself on the target. Oh my god… I try again, and again, but the arrows just keep hitting the bull's eye! This Stu-dom may be more of a curse than a gift
Nah, just kidding, it's still a gift.
Goddessa Athens, 15, D2F
"So kids, this is a knife," the trainer explains, holding up the knife. The group of eighteen year-olds who have apparently been training all their lives for this nod thoughtfully in agreement. Lol, losers.
"Does anyone want to fight me?" I announce. A group of trainers quickly push one of their midst towards me as he protests.
"Nice," I say, going to the other side of the training mat.
"Ready, set, go!"
I rush towards him and grab him by the throat. We start a poorly-written fight scene. He kicks my legs out from under me and I'm pinned beneath him. Shit. Suddenly, I have a bright idea. I pull an AK-47 from my underwear and shoot him in the face. PEW PEW!
I check my watch. "Shit! I'm going to be late!" I say, somehow forgetting about the thing I've apparently been training my entire life for. "I'd better get going if I want to look hotter than my BITCH SISTER Artemis," I say. Oh, who am I kidding. I always look hotter than my sister.
"Why is she narrating her thoughts?" asks one little twelve year-old. In response, I shoot him in the face. Ha, I have the best comebacks.
Ooh look, dividers.
I survey myself critically in the mirror. My long golden brown hair shines like the light of a thousand suns as it falls down my back. I throw on the first thing I can grab out of my closet- a sexy low-cut black sparkly dress (because fifteen year-olds can be sexy too, MOM). I pick out a pair of nude pumps, very practical for running to the stage in. My eyes are ringed in dark shadows, like a raccoon. A sexy, sexy raccoon. Finished off with a touch of bright red lipstick around my perfect mouth that makes Kylie Jenner's look like the holocaust, the look is complete. I look like the Goddess of Death herself, risen from the fiery pits of hell to claim her crown. But like, in a cute way.
Hey, remember when I said I was running out of time? Yeah, we've totally forgotten about that.
Hmm, the look still seems to be missing something. I wonder...
Of course! I grab my machine gun and race to my sister's room.
"Hey bitchface!" I yell triumphantly. Artemis looks up from her computer screen where she's just finished donating to charity.
"Give me your victor's crown!" I shout.
"Huh?" she says. "Oh, yeah sure. It's on the top shelf over there," she says.
"You bitch Artemis! I deserve that crown more than you do!" I scream.
"Yeah- you can have it-" Artemis says, holding her hands up.
"How dare you deny it to me!" I screech. "It's mine, I tell you. MIIIINE!" Using my amazing fighting skills, I stealthily walk to the other side of her bedroom and quickly take the crown, put it on my head, and walk back.
But wait. What comes now? I furrow my eyebrows, trying to remember my training. Of course! I turn the doorknob and walk out. Victory!
"Come on Goddessa, we're going to the Games now!" my mom calls.
We all walk to the Games together with minimal description because the author wants to wrap this shit up.
I let the Peacekeeper prick my finger, but quickly take vial back while he's distracted with my fist in his face in case he tries to clone me. I take my place in the pens as the escort takes the stage.
As the escort speaks, I stare around menacingly at the other girls. None of them look like they're thinking of volunteering. I don't know if it's my menacing stare, the hitmen I have posted around the square or a combination of the two, but none of them are
I survey the square. As the escort finishes his speech, I see a girl in the eighteens start forward. I whistle and a red dot appears on her forehead. She steps down. Good girl.
"Okay," the escort says, "ladies first-"
"IVOLUNTEERASTRIBUTE!" I scream, rushing forward like those mutts that killed Finnick
("Too soon," the escort says, shaking his head)
and take my place at the stage.
"Goood morning ladies and gentlemen," I say, grabbing the microphone. "'Tis I, Goddessa Athens the first, the one, the only, the greatest, the best, future victor of the 69th Hunger Games!"
"Great," the escort says, "that's just fab for you. Okay, time for the males." He reaches a hand into the bowl. "JOHN CENA!"
"I volunteer as tribute!" comes a voice from the eighteen year-section. A boy emerges wearing a colour-changing tuxedo, and- I gasp- a fedora. And he's actually pulling it off! I recognise him from the Academy. He's Hunter Hawke. He's so hot he could be me if I were a guy. Luckily I manage to pull myself together. He strides up to the stage.
"Your tributes," the escort says, in his most excited "they aren't paying me enough for this shit" voice. "Hunter Hawke and Goddessa Athens!"
Hunter Hawke, 18, D2M
The escort dips a hand in the sea of papers and pulls the boy's name from the bowl.
("I'm getting a distinct sense of déjà vu," Goddessa mutters)
"I volunteer as tribute!" I cry, running forward like the guy in every romance movie ever trying to catch his girlfriend before she leaves on her flight.
"No!" gasps Shovelface, the chosen volunteer for the Fighting and Shit Academy. He runs forward but trips and falls on his stupid face. The power of Stu strikes again! I dash up to the stage and grab the mike out of the escort's hands.
"Hunter Hawke, eighteen years old, tribute and future victor of the sixty-ninth Hunger Games." I announce proudly.
"Excuse you," Goddessa mutters.
"Hey, give me the mike back! Uh, I'd like to thank my mom for reminding me that no matter what people say about you, like that you're "insane" or "under arrest", don't let them get you down. I'd like to thank my sister Clove for always being there for me, my knives for always being by my side-"
Goddessa rolls her eyes as I continue my epic speech.
"- they're bringing crime," I continue, after the applause, "they're bringing drugs… they're rapists. And some, I assume, are good people…"
The escort checks his watch as the time ticks on.
"So Goddessa, Imma let you finish, but I'm gonna be the victor of the sixty-ninth Hunger Games…"
The crowd yawns and starts to shuffle away as the sun sets behind us.
"And I will fight the other tributes on the beaches, I will fight them on the mountains…"
The stars twinkle in the sky as night falls. Goddessa is asleep on the stage. The escort has already shot himself in the face.
"I have a dream!"
The weather changes from sunny, to windy, to snowy and to sunny again as a year passes behind us.
"And to conclude… the Hunger Games are really about man's relationship to nature. Global warming is happening, it is real, and that's why I'm very proud to be representing District Two in these Hunger Games!"
The crowd breaks into applause. They've all grown beards now, even the babies.
"Okay," the escort's young son, now grown into a man, says. "Congratulations to this year's two tributes!"
We're lead offstage by some Peacekeepers and I walk into the waiting room. The walls are lined with portraits of all the victors we've had. I trace their faces with my hand. There's Stabby McStabFace, Athena Athena, Ronda Rousey and every member of the Expendables. Then it goes onto the whole Athens family- her dad, her sister, her aunt and uncle, her grandma and grandpa and that one particularly talented hamster they had. One day my face will be on these walls. My sexy, sexy face.
Clove runs into the room and collides into me, hugging me.
"Hunter!" she squeals. "I'm so excited for you to win!"
"Yeah, yeah great," I say, patting her psychopathic little head. "Same, same. Look, the author's only done four of these and they're already getting repetitive. So, could you like, leave?"
"Oh Hunter," she cries, "it's okay, you don't need to be scared. We'll be thinking of you the whole time."
The time magically speeds up because Jesus Christ the author is getting bored at this point.
"You need to go," the Peacekeeper says. I kiss Clove and Enobaria goodbye and they leave me. I stare at the wall for the rest of the time. I'm ready
Les Spring Hamilton gets creds for the "old for her age", "mutts that killed Finnick" and "fifteen year olds can be sexy too" jokes. You should check out her SYOTs: Seasons of Pain and All That's Known (both closed but fab) #PippaIsHipper #RoanIsToned #TeamEsterford
Also you should check out:
-Proioxis: the 108th Hunger Games by chocolate chip homicide (creator of Shaniqua, Sophronia and Literally Jesus). She's a few characters in and updates slower than me (yes, it's possible), but it's honestly just a beautiful story. #TeamaAthena #PalaemonAin'tLameMan
-Is It Worth It by flowersnowgirl. I just submitted a character to that too #AmeliaIFeelYa #GoMonroe
If anyone wants me to rep their SYOT here, I'm happy to!
Also, it was my birthday a couple weeks ago. I'm sixteen, woo-hoo!
I'd like some mentors for this story and I'm, uh, lazy, so if you'd like to submit some feel free. The form is on my bio. I'll do two for each District, but some of the spots are filled because of canon mentors and tributes's family. Probably a limit of 2 per person.
Anyways, please review. Also a blog review would be lovely.
See you in District 10 y'all.