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.


4. Part 4

For a few moments, Louis and I take in the scene of our mentor passed out on the floor.  Great.  Louis and I exchange a glance.  Obviously Zayn isn't much, but Katy Perry is right about one thing, once we're in the arena, he's all we've got.  As if by some unspoken agreement, Louis and I each take one if Zayn's arms and help him to his feet.  

"I tripped?" Zayn asks.  

"Let's get you back to your room," says Louis.  "Clean you up a bit."  

We half-lead half-carry Zayn back to his compartment.  Since we can't exactly set him down o nthe embroidered bedspread, we haul him into the bathtub and turn the water on.  He doesn't seem to even notice.  

"It's ok," Louis says to me.  "I'll take it from here."  

I can't help feeling a little greatful since the last thing I want to do is strip down Zayn, washing him and then tuck him into bed.  Possibly Louis is trying to make a good impression on him, to be his favorite once the Games begin.  But judging by the state he's in, Zayn will have no memory of this tomorrow.  

"All right," I say.  I leave and head to my own room.  


Gray light is leaking through the curtains when the rapping rouses me.  I hear Katy Perry's voice calling me to rise.  "Up, up, up!  It's going to be a big, big, big day!"  I put the same outfit I wore yesterday back on and try to tame my curly hair yet again.  Naturally, I fail and jsut make my way to the dinning car.  

As I enter, Katy Perry brushes by me with a cup of black coffee.  Zayn, his face puffy and red from the previous day, is chuckling.  Louis holds a roll and looks somewhat emarrassed.  

"Sit down!  Sit down!" says Zayn, waving me over.  The moment I slide into my chair I'm served an enormous platter of food.  Eggs, ham, pilies of fried potatoes.  The basket of rolls set before me would keep my family going for a week.  There's even an elegant glass of orange juice and a rich brown cup of something I've never seen.  

"They call it hot chocolate, " says Louis.  "It's good."  

I take a sip of the hot, sweet, creamy liquid and it is good.  I then turn my attention to the rest of the meal and stuff down every mouthful I can hold, being careful not to overdo it on the richest stuff.  

When my stomach feels liek it's about to split open, I lean back and take in my breakfast companions.  I then turn to Zayn who is busy knocking back a glass of red juice that he keeps thinning with a clar liquid from a bottle.  Judging by the fumes, it's some kind of spirit.  

"So, you're supposed to give us advice," I say to him.  

"Here's some advice.  Stay alive," says Zayn and then bursts out laughing.  I exchange a look with Louis.  

"That's very funny," says Louis.  Suddenly he lashes out at the glass in Zayn's hand and it shatters o nthe floor.  

Zayn considers this a moment, then punches Louis in the jaw, knocking him from his chair.  When he turns back to reach for the spirits, I drive my knife into the table between his hand and the bottle, barely missing his fingers.  

"Well, what's this?" says Zayn.  "Did I actually get a pair of fighters this year?"  

Louis rises from the floor and scoops up a handful of ice from under the fruit tureen.  He starts to raise it to the red mark on his jaw.  

"No," says Zayn, stopping him.  "Let the bruise show.  The audience will think you've mixed it up with another tribute before you've even made it to the arena." 

"That's against the rules," says Louis.  

"Only if they catch you.  That bruise will say you fought, you weren't caught, even better," says Louis.  He turns to me.  "Can you hit anything with that knife besides a table?" 

The bow and arrow is my weapson.  But I've spent a fair amount of time throwing knives as well.  I realize that if I want Zayn's attention, this is my moment to make an impression.  I yank the knife out of the talbe, get a grip on the blade, and then throw it into the wall across the room.  I was actually just hoping to get a good solid stick, but it lodges in the seam between two panels, making me look a lot better than I am.  

"Stand over here.  Both of you," says Zayn.  We obey and he circles us, prodding us, checking our muscles and examining our faces.  "Well, you're not entirely hopeless.  Seems fit enough."  He stops his examination.  

"All right, I'll make a deal with you.  You don't interfere with my drinking, and I'll stay sober enough to help you," Zayn says.  

"Fine," says Louis.  

"So help us," I say.  

"You'll be put int the hands of your stylists.  You're not going to like what they do to you.  But no matter what it is, don't resist," says Zayn.   "Got it?"  

We nod.  


When the train pulls into the Capitol, Louis and I can't hlep but run to the window to see what we've only seen on television.  The Capitol, the ruling city of Panem.  It's magnificence takes our breath away.  The people begin to point at us eagerly as they recognize a tribute train rolling into the city.  I step away from the window, sickened by their excitment, knowing they can't wait to watch us die.  But Louis holds his ground, actually waving and smiling at the gawking crowd.  He only stops when the train pulls into the station, blocking us from view.  

He seems me starting at him and shrugs.  "Who knows?" he says.  "One of them might be rich."  

I have misjudged him.  I think of his actions since the reaping began and all of the pieces are fitting together.  I sense he has a plan forming.  He hasn't accepted his death.  He is already fighting hard to stay alive.  Which also means that kind Louis Tomlinson is fighting to kill me.  


Author's Note:  Chapter 4 is done, hope you guys liked it!  Don't forget to fan, favorite and comment.  Thanks for reading:) 


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