The Hunger Games Larry Stylinson

In The ruins of a place once known as North American lies the nation of Panem, a shining Capitol surrounded by twelve outlaying districts. The Capitol is harsh and cruel and keeps the districts in line by forcing them all to send one boy and one girl between the ages of twelve and eighteen to participate in the annual Hunger Games, a fight to the death on live TV.

Sixteen-year-old Harry Styles, who lives alone with his mother and younger sister Gemma, regards it as a death sentence when he steps forward to take his sister's place in the Games. But Harry has been close to dead before — and survival, for him, is second nature. Without really meaning to, he becomes a contender, but if he is to win, he will have to start making choices that will weigh survival against humanity and life against love.

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2. Part 2

One time when I was in a tree, waiting motionless for game to wander by, I dozed off and fell ten feet to the ground, landing on my back.  It was as if the impact had knocked every wisp of air from my lungs, and I lay there struggling to inhale, exhale, to do anything.  

That's how I feel now.  There must have been a mistake.  This can't be happening.  Gemma was one slip of paper in thousands!  Her chances of being chosen so remote that I'd not even bothered to worry about her.  Hadn't I done everything?  Taken the tesserae, refused to let her do the same?  One slip.  One slip in thousands.  

I see her, the blood drained from her face, hands clenched in fists at her sides, walking with stiff, small steps up toward the stage, passing me, and I see the back of her blouse has become untucked again.  

"Gemma!"  The strangled cry comes out of my throat, and my muscles begin to move again.  "Gemma!"  I don't need to shove through the crowd.  The other kids make way immediately, allowing me a straight path to the stage.  I reach her, just as she is about to mount the steps.  With one sweep of my arm, I push her behind me.  

"I volunteer!" I gasp.  "I volunteer as tribute!"  

There's some confusion on stage.  District 12 hasn't had a volunter in decades and the protocol has become rusty.  Since the word tribute is pretty much synonymous with the word corpse, volunteers are all but extinct.  

"Lovely!" says Katy Perry.  

Gemma is screaming hysterically behind me.  She's wrapped her arms around me like a vice.  "No, Harry!  No!  You can't go!"  

"Gemma, let go," I say.  

I can feel someone pulling her from my back.  I turn and see Liam has lifted Gemma off the ground.  "Up you go, Hazza," he says, in a voice he's trying to keep steady, and then he carries Gemma off toward my mother.  I steel myself and climb the steps.  

"Well, bravo!" gushes Katy Perry.  "That's the spirit of the games!  What's your name?"  

I swallow hard.  "Harry Styles," I say.  

"I bet my buttons that was your sister.  Don't want her to steal all the glory, do we?  Come on, everybody!  Let's give a big round of applause to our newest tribute, Harry Styles!" trills Katy Perry.  

Not one person claps.  Not even the ones holding betting slips.  I stand there, unmoving while they take part in the boldest form of dissent they can manage.  Silence.  Which says we do not agree.  We do not condone.  All of this is wrong.  Then, at first one, then another, then almost every member of the crowd touches the three middle fingers of their left hand to their lips and holds it out to me.  It it an old and rarely used gesture of our district, occasionally seen at funerals.  It means thanks, it means admiration, it means good-bye to someone you love.  

Zayn chooses this time to come staggering across the stage to congratulate me.  "Look at him.  Look at this one!" he hollers, throwing an arm around my shoulders.  "I like him!"  His breath reeks of liquor and it's been a long time since he's bathed....Yuck.  

"Lots of..." He can't think of the word for a while.  "Spunk!" he says triumphantly.  "More than you!" he shouts, pointing directly into a camera.  He starts to walk forwards and just as he's about to open his mouth to continue, Zayn plummets off the stage and knocks himself unconscious.  

He's whisked away on a stretcher, and Katy Perry is trying to get the ball rolling again.  "What an exciting day!" she warbles.  "It's time to choose our.....um other boy tribute!"  She crosses to the ball that contains the boy's names and grabs the first slip she encounters.  She zips back to the podium, and I don't even have time to wish for Liam's safety when she's reading the name.  "Louis Tomlinson."  

Louis Tomlinson.  

Oh, no, I think.  Not him.  Because I recognize this name, although I have never spoken directly to it's owner.  Louis Tomlinson.  

I watch him, as he makes his way toward the stage.  Blue eyes and feather brown hair.  

Why him? I think.  Then I try to convience myself it doesn't matter.  Louis Tomlinson and I are not friends.  Not even neighbors.  We don't even speak!  

The mayor finishes the dreary Treaty of Treason and motions for Louis and me to shake hands.  Louis meets my green eyes with his blue ones and gives my hand what I think is meant to be a reassuring squeeze.  Maybe it's just a nervous spasm.  

We turn back to face the crowd as the anthem of Panem plays.  

Oh, well, I think.  There will be twenty-four of us.  Odds are someone else will kill him before I do.  

Of course, the odss have not been very dependable of late.  

 

 

 

Author's Note:  Hey guys, hope you liked the second chapter.  Don't forget to Favorite, Fan and Comment.  Thanks for reading:) x 

~Catnip 

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