Okay, so I decided to delete all the chapters and upload them again after I check them. Because, after I read the first chapter again a few days ago, I realized I had an awful lot of mistakes. So, I'm going to try and get rid of all of my mistakes and upload the whole thing again.
Now, why do I have oh-so-many mistakes? That's probably because English is not my first language. Yep, that's sometimes a problem.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own The Hunger Games. Suzanne Collins does.
"Johanna, get up!"
I groaned and put my pillow over my face, blocking the noise that came from Sabrina Gold, an assistant here in the orphanage of District Seven. God, I hated her.
"Johanna, get the fuck up!"
"Go away, you brainless bitch," I swore silently, but got up nonetheless. I wasn't a morning person. Or a noon person or an evening person. Hell, I hated every second of the day. Spending time here in the orphanage, hearing some stupid stories from the brainless kids that lived here with me... that was one of the worst things that anyone could ever imagine.
"Johanna, did you get up?" I saw the door knob turn, but the door didn't open.
"God dammit Johanna, how many times did I tell you not to lock the door?" Sabrina shouted from the other side of the door.
"Oh, take a pill," I murmured and still didn't open the door; it was so entertaining to annoy her. That woman just tended to get on my nerves.
"Fine, be that way; just so you know, this attitude of yours will get you in trouble one day. No one likes an arrogant, loud bitch. You need to come and eat breakfast, and then clean yourself up. There's Reaping today." She told me this and walked away, thank god.
I exhaled loudly and walked to my closet. I took out the only dress I owned; a dress that once belonged to my mother. It was red and long, which combined pretty well with my brown short hair, brown-honey eyes and tanned skin.
The dress wasn't extraordinary or something; the red color started to fade, the fabric was stiff and there were some torn places next to my feet, but it was the best dress I could afford for such a 'special' occasion as the Reaping.
After I put the dress on me, I walked to the door and unlocked it. Oh, how much I hated mingling with the other kids in here. None of them was worthy of my time.
No one talked to me when I sat down alone next to a small table; they all feared me, of what I might do to them if they said one word to me. I just wasn't a people person.
I didn't mind the solitude though; I actually preferred it that way. I didn't have friends, and I didn't need friends; I was better off on my own.
When breakfast was over, one of the other assistant here, a guy named Tony Branch, cleared his throat and said, "All of you need to go to your rooms and get organized to the Reaping. We are supposed to head out to The Main Square in about half an hour, so you are expected to finish getting ready by then."
Most of the kids got to their feet and headed to their rooms. I didn't need to go, seeing that I was already ready, so I just sat there, looking absentmindedly at the small orange that was in front of me. I hated oranges, and everyone knew that. I guess that's why the assistants kept giving me oranges for every meal of the day.
When all of the kids were ready we started walking towards The Main Square. I really hated Reaping days; not only it was just a stupid, unbearable day, it also messed up with my day terribly; every day I went to school, growled at the teachers and went to the woods to let off some steam. On Reaping days and on some other stupid holidays I wasn't able to take my axe and swing it at the big, stable trees. I really missed it.
When we got to The Main Square I walked immediately to the sixteen year olds section. There were kids my age there that I think I saw once on the street, but never took much notice of them. I wasn't a talkative girl and I found it pretty insufferable to spend time with kids my age, or in any other age for that matter.
I guess my dislike for other human beings came from my family; my dad taught me to be indifferent and stand for my beliefs and principals. When he died by peacekeepers (he didn't take well orders and the peacekeepers didn't like that), all of the things he taught me just kind of mixed together, and now I was, like Sabrina always told me so kindly, an 'insufferable, arrogant, loud, bitchy, stupid girl who doesn't know when to shut up.' Yep, that's me.
I stared at the improvised stage with only mild-interest. There were several people on there; one was our mayor, Bradley Stimps, an old guy who was probably the richest person in whole District Seven. Then there was Jensen Flaive, who was District Seven's escort. His skin was green, and he looked grumpy. He looked like some kind of a weird, brainless, Capitol monster.
Then there were the two mentors; first there was the male mentor, a guy in his forty who won a long time ago. His name was Joshua Calvin, and he had brown hair and blue eyes. He wasn't handsome, but then again, he didn't win the games by being handsome; he won the games by killing off all the other tributes, including two of the six careers. I respected the man for that reason only.
The female mentor was thirty-something years old, and several wrinkles started to show on her face. She looked too old to be in her mid-thirty. Her name was Teresa Bain, and she won her games by just outlasting the others. She didn't even kill one tribute.
When the Square was finally filled with the whole District (which, admittedly, wasn't a lot), the mayor stood up and walked towards the microphone. He started lecturing us about some old, ancient history involving the Capitol and Panem and the Games and the districts. His voice was dull, the speech was boring and the whole thing was just plain tiresome.
He finally finished with his speech, and Jensen (who I decided to name Frankenstein, like this ancient brainless green creature that was invented so long ago) walked towards the microphone and said in a cheerful tone that sounded really fake, "Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor." Oh, what a stupid sentence. I guess the Capitol people thought it was clever. Well, that just showed how low their IQ really was.
"Girls first," Frankenstein said and moved to stand behind the girl's reaping bowl. I wasn't nervous; I didn't allow myself to think of a possibility where I'll be the one going to The Hunger Games.
Frankenstein picked a slip of paper from the bowl and said, "And the lucky girl is . . . Johanna Mason."
Of course it was me.
I was strong. I knew I was. But I was only strong with an axe. I wasn't skilled with other weapons, I didn't practice throwing spears or shooting arrows or stabbing people with knives. I was only good at chopping things off. If I wouldn't have an axe in the Games . . . well, then I'll be doomed, probably. Would I be able to run to the Cornucopia and grab an axe? Probably not, I'd die by one of the Careers. If they'll think I'm dangerous, then they'd kill me for sure before I'd be able to grab an axe.
So they'd had to think that I was not a threat. At all.
And with that on my mind, I put my hands on my face and started to sob loudly.
I knew that it would be a problem with the lack of tears in my eyes, so I poked my index fingers in them, which caused them to tear up and swell. At least I was dedicated to my act.
Some of the kids in the crowd looked at me with incredulous looks. They didn't believe that Johanna Mason, the girl that didn't care about anything, was crying her eyes out here. Others actually looked sympathetic.
I made my way to the stage and stood next to Frankenstein. He tapped me on the back annoyingly. "There there, everything will be okay," he said in a tone that he probably thought sounded fatherly-like. When he saw I wasn't going to stop with the crying, he walked to the boys' reaping bowl and said awkwardly, "I guess the excitement just got the better of her. And now for the boys." He tucked his hand inside the bowl and searched for a slip of paper that will content him. When his hand reached a piece of paper that he apparently liked, he took it and unfolded it.
"And the lucky boy is . . . Sebastian Wood."
Sebastian Wood was a fifteen year old boy, who looked like a tiny twig. Great. At least he won't be a competition in the arena.
When Sebastian walked on stage, I noticed that he was shaking terribly.
What a loser.
"Johanna and Sebastian, shake hands," Frankenstein said stiffly, and I, staying true to my act, sniffled and took Sebastian's hand shakily.
When the Reaping was over, I walked slowly with some Peacekeepers who led me to a small, comfortable room in the justice building. They told me I have an hour to see my loved ones. I knew no one would come to see me.
As I predicted, no one came. I just wasn't important to anyone, no one cared about me. And I didn't give a damn about it.
I spent the hour that was given to me thinking about what will happen in the game and planning ahead. I couldn't back out of my plan about appearing weak so the other tributes won't take any notice of me, and I didn't want to. It was a good plan, my only chance at winning the games. And it will definitely be pretty damn entertaining for the Capitol.
Not that I cared.
I decided not to tell my future mentor that the girl I was acting as wasn't the real me. Mostly to entertain myself. I needed to have my fun in there, as much fun as I could provide myself.
I looked at the mirror in the room; it looked like I cried, but calmed down since then.
I smiled at my reflection.
"I'm going to give them a fucking great show," I murmured to myself with a smirk.
Only after writing the story I realized Johanna's family died after the Games. But oh well. In this story, they died before she went to the Games.
Have a lovely day :)