Yes, this is it: Hungry for the Hunger Games!
I don't own The Hunger Games, but I own Katrina Van Evermean, Tramp Mellark, Tom Hawthorne, and Bethany Flatiron. I kind of own Haymitch Abernathy because (you'll see) I changed him a bit... I do not own Taylor Swift or I Knew You Were Trouble, either.
Katrina Van Evermean
When I wake up, the other side of the bed is cold. And I mean COLD. Like, FREEZING. Who cares that it's only fall? It's too cold. And someone stole my blankets.
"Tess, turn up the fucking heat!" I yell at my twelve-year old step sister, Tess Van Evermean. I hear her groan as she gets up. Typical Tess. My witty, outspoken, slightly overweight step sister. She cranks up the heat, but there's no chance that we're going back to sleep. By we, I mean our dog (who we didn't even bother naming) me, and Tess. That's right, we're orphans. What's it to you?
"Happy BestDayEver day," I mumble into my pillow. Tess somehow hears me.
"Thanks, Katrina. I can't wait. I really want to get drawn, so I can see the Capitol!" She pulls my pillow away from me. Her dark eyes are shining. One of her dark-skinned arms is pulling me out of bed. "Let's go to Tom's tattoo place!" That sure gets me out of bed.
"Sure," I say. "But don't call me Katrina. I like to be called Kat."
"Of course!" she says, hyper as usual. Maybe more.
"Damn, Tess," I say. "Are you on crack?"
"No! What's crack?" she asks. I roll my eyes.
"Never mind. Let me get dressed," I say. I stand up and gather my clothes. My usual pair of dark, ripped skinny jeans, a tight black shirt, and a pair of boots are all I need. When I'm dressed, I put on my usual makeup. Very dark makeup. Even though Tess calls it my "badass eyeliner" I still wear it. And I'm ready!
Hours later, I now have a tattoo of a fistful of arrows on my chest. I also have a barbed-wire tattoo on my left bicep. There. I look beautiful. All Tess got was a simple tattoo that said (what else) 'Tess' in cursive.
"Tess," I call. "Get over here." She falls for it and comes. I attack her with blush, eyeshadow, eyeliner...
"I look like a fudging raccoon," Tess says.
"If you want to cuss, cuss," I say through a mouthful of toothpaste.
"Hey, Kat," says Tom Hawthorne, my very best friend. He's the friendliest, sexiest guy in 12. He's so amazing. And he just gave me and Tess free tattoos, so even better! "Your hair looks great." I run my fingers through my long, straight dark blonde hair.
"Thanks! What's up with you, Tom?" I grin at him. He hugs me. He's a very affectionate person. Always nice and such.
"I can't wait for the BestDayEver day reaping!" Tom says. "I won a bet!" I laugh. He's always betting people stuff. He always wins. "You know who lost? Tramp Mellark."
"He knows what a bet is?" I snicker. Tramp Mellark is like, the poorest guy in 12. Hate him. He's strong, and he has adorable white-blond hair, but he's not that right in the head. Everyone says he talks to birds. Insane, much?
"Yeah, apparently," says Tom. "If I get drawn -since he lost- he has to volunteer for me."
"Well shit," I say. "Hope you get drawn, then." We enjoy a good laugh together before someone taps the microphone. We look up into the familiar face of Bethany Flatiron, the District Twelve escort for the Panemic Games. She has long, scarily straight royal blue hair, green lipstick, and twenty piercings all over her body. I can only see about twelve.
"Welcome!" she trills. "I'm so honored to be here, goodness, I might faint! I'm so glad to see you all here on BestDayEver day, even though attendance is mandatory! I bet you all really want to be tributes, but most of you are too old! Or too dumb! Or just too ugly! And there're only two tributes!" She takes a breath and sighs dramatically into the microphone, which sounds like a tornado.
"Wonder who'll get picked?" I say brightly to Tom. We burst out into laughter for no reason. Fortunately, we aren't alone. Our district is very funny. It's like a comedy, living here! We always start laughing for no reason in District Twelve.
Just then, Haymitch Abernathy, the only living victor of 12, staggers onto the stage. He pulls down Mayor Undersee's pants and walks away like he did nothing at all, which is so funny. Tom laughs so hard he pukes. None of us do anything about it. After all, in District Twelve, puking because we're laughing so hard is common. In fact, it happens so much we all carry around garbage bags.
"Hey everyone!" yells Haymitch. "Today's the BestDayEver! According to the Capitol... for me, it's the WorstDayEver."
Which makes Mayor Undersee laugh so hard he pukes too. Thankfully, he's equipped with a trash can.
"Let's draw the name!" calls Bethany Flatiron. She reaches into the reaping ball. The girls' one. "Men first!" she says, obliviously pulling out a slip of paper. She pauses and creates another tornado-like sigh. "KATRINA VAN EVERMEAN! Strange. Odd name for a boy..."
"That's me, bitch!" I yell. "And I'm not a boy!" I race to the stage and strike a sexy pose. "WOOHOO!"
I am met by a very awkward silence. In which several people puke.
"Erm, now for the boys!" trills Bethany Flatiron. "Let's see now... Tom Hawthorne!"
"I volunteer as tribute," says a quiet voice. Bethany hears.
"A VOLUNTEEEEEEER!" she shrieks. "Amazing, step right up!" He does. No surprise, it's Tramp Mellark, the guy that lost Tom's bet.
Immediately after stepping up, he vomits all over the stage. Ew, I'd hate to be in the front.
"Shake hands!" calls Bethany, not caring about the puke. Apparently she was educated in District Twelve traditions and culture.
"Hell no," I say. "His is covered in puke."
Bethany Flatiron pries open the window on the train. "Ahh," she says. "So now we'll assess your skills and-" She freezes with excitement. "Oh, look, a clockingjay!"
Clockingjays are mutated birds. They are cross-bred clocks and mockingbirds. No one knows how a clock and a mockingbird could have sex, or where the 'jay' part came from, but who cares anyway? Every five minutes, every clockingjay on planet Earth sings a pop song. It's different in the different cities and Districts and stuff.
"And it's singing," I say, bored. "What's new?"
And then it starts to sing... Ugh! Taylor Swift!
"Once upon a time, a few mistakes ago, I was in your sights, you got me alone. You fooooound me..."
This is disturbing, coming out of a bird's mouth.
"This is my favorite song!" yells Bethany Flatiron. She hangs her upper body out the window, sticking her ass in poor Tramp's face. We both stifle giggles. I hear a loud thump, and a shout of, "STOP THE TRAIN, STOP THE TRAIN!" in a Capitol accent.
"Is this what I think it is, or..." I dare to look out the window. Behind us, Bethany Flatiron is waving her arms like a windmill and yelling for the train to stop.
"Did she just fall out the window?" asks Tramp, grinning. Maybe he isn't so crazy.
"Yeah," I say. "And- oh, shit." The train stops, and a very disheveled Bethany Flatiron climbs back in through the window, sitting on our table between me and Tramp.
"That looks like it hurt," I say with sickening fake sweetness. Tramp tries not to laugh.
Bethany stands on the table, looking demented. "This is my LEAST favorite song."
It gets a lot more mature, so that's why it's rated M. So please be mature.
Review? I'd really appreciate it. :D