The Fire Games

One hundred years ago, there was a time known as the Dark Days, a war that began the Hunger Games. Twenty five years ago, a change happened. The Games turned around. Capitol children are Reaped now. There is now a new name for the Games. The Fire Games.


3. Last Words

     I walk into Capitol Hall, worried. A man in a bright green suit directs me into a small room with a couch, an armchair, and a window of Plexi-glass. No chance of breaking out, I think.

     Not even five seconds after I sit on the couch to await further instructions, Aunt Farrow runs in and hugs me, or should I say, squeezes me to death! Then she doubles over in big tears.

     "Aunt Farrow, I'll  be fine." I say, although its hard to breath considering the fact my lungs were just squished.

     "I don't have long. I just want you to know I love you. Good luck." She runs off. The last words my aunt has to say to me. 

     Then another surprise comes. In walks Zytka, the same girl who was saying that this was what I deserved. I have the slightest feeling she isn't here to pray for my safe return. And I am right.

     "Well, I can't say I was wrong when I told my friends you would be pulled out the bowl. You had way too many entries," she says with a sly grin.

     "What are you talking about? I was only entered once."

     "Or were you?" Zytka's grin turns into a grimace. "What if someone, like my friends, distracted Wira while someone else, like me, placed, I dunno, around a hundred sheets of paper reading, 'Ragi Myst , 10'?"

     "YOU!" I screamed. "Why?"

     "Simple. Boring make-up, simple clothes. You live with the richest lady in town aside from my household. Yet your clothes are that of an Avox. You aren't Capitol-worthy." And with that she leaves;  I am left alone to think about what she had said. 

     Boring make-up? I would rather have boring than ghastly. Everyone thinks modifications of their bodies are necessary for a happy life but I like the way I am.

     And my clothes? They belonged to Madge Undersee, my grandmother. She was my mother's mother. Madge may have been the daughter of the mayor of District 12 but what was considered elegant and expensive there is drab and cheap here.

     A man holding a gun appeared and says in a thick voice, "Let's get a move on. Time to leave." 

     As I stand up and walk out, he points his gun at me, as though I will sprout fangs and attack him. 

     What has Zytka done? I think. Then I realize it was my fault. I chose to act like I did. A new thought rises in my head. What have I done?

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