The Direction Games

This is is not what you'd expect from a Hunger Games fanfiction. And I like how my plot is diverse. This is pure rebellious, unusual action. districts you've never really heard of. The journey will be treacherous, I can tell you that much. It's simple. 24 tributes. 5 boys by the initals of z.m, h.s, l.t, n.h, and l.p. Don't assume this will be a regular Hunger Games this year. As for the Capitol, they are oblivious as of what is to come. Spys, new land, plot twists. This is the Direction Games.

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8. Chapter 3 Niall's POV

n.h.

District 11

Agriculture 

*~Gladebrier ~*

TRIGGER WARNING: SUICIDE. 

The thing that vexes is me is my absence of my family when they had their last chance to say farewell. I sat there, and sat there, until it became very, very, strange. There was a dictionary ajar on an exotic table in the middle of the overly elegant waiting room. The page folded itself on a word; something with a  V...Being I was the 22nd tribute to use this room, ( 11th district. The female went before me. Still two more to enter.) somebody probably flipped through the pages to ease the anxiety. I can smell saline tears on the carpet and feel the phantoms of embraces that I never received. What a mess they made. 

And, the window invites me, oddly. I'm shuffling over to it until I'm looking down on the veins of my town. In those veins, is where I belong. So much that I check to see if anybody is in ear-shot of me in the hallway. Vacant. Two feet standing on an idea; the window-ledge between here and there. I squint my eyes to find my house. I can practically see the grief radiating from it. If I could only leap and run back...

"Hey. Horan, is it? Time's up." 

My own bitter tears I didn't know I was shedding slope down my chin exactly as I turn around. His ashy brunette hair and that jarring scar swiping through his right eye enclosing it reminded my mind of a similar face. Since District 11's last mentor passed last winter, they had to grab some from District 1. They broadcasted the whole thing all across Panem. This boy was the one the Capitol chose. I overheard he had trained in Martial Arts and kick-boxing ever since as little as six. He was hopelessly young too. Maybe two years older then myself. It took some time for him to process what I was doing before shouting. His leg conks over a cushioned seat but eventually veils his arms underneath my armpits, pulling back to get me on the ground again.

"Let go...Let go of me. Let go of me!" I gasp out, my words binding between sobs and whispers. My balance starts getting jerky so I have no choice but fall into my mentor. A  Peacekeeper with his mainstream helmet off rushes in. I feel my hand cloak my eyes and a caressing on my back. My mentor soothes me but as I puff for air, a whooping bawl breaks out of my lips instead. The Peacekeeper with the chattering radio disappears behind me. 

"My name is Aspen, your mentor."

"Niall." is all I could manage. But, he already knew that.

"Could you count backwards from 10 for me, Niall?"

I removed my palm from my view and ogled at him. Probably to calm me down. As I hit number 6, I pinpointed an immerse ache from a side on my neck. The Peacekeeper detached the syringe from my skin after it's done its job. My limbs decided to do their own thing and complied with Aspen as he set me down on the carpet one inch at a time. Until my body has collided with the styled rug. It wasn't until my eyelids encased itself in the medicine that I coudln't sense anymore.

~

 I clamped on whatever was supporting me (flimsy bed sheets) when I heard a panicking chorus of shouts enter my ears. My allegedly small bed earned constant knocks from hurried, mismatched body parts. My head jumps up from it's pillow to find a horde of legitimate looking pediatrics forcing three gurneys to wedge in between each other. The hassling just causes the portable beds to fumble. Frustrated grunts come from both the medics and the trio of crippled kids. 

"Last names?",  an elder with pen a paper forced down on a drawer questions.

"Two of them are Gladebrier, not sure about the other kid."

"Brothers?"

"No, the female and the taller boy."

"Tributes?" A mellow sounding lady puts a wire straight into the girl's arm.

"Yes. Or they wouldn't be on the Capitol Train. We'll have to pick from the two boys."

What I understand is that somehow these adolescents got injured and the Capitol decided to pick them as tributes automatically. Why they didn't do an ordinary reaping; I have no clue. They'll have to decide from the two males who wil be in the Games. My guess is that they must of done some hardcore rebellion acts against their district.

And later, I would find out that I was correct.

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