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[WilloweWolf]

What if Primrose's name was never drawn? What if Katniss never volunteered? What if, instead, Emile Farthing's name was drawn from the bowl on Reaping day? Emile is a seventeen-year-old girl in District 12. She's a rebel, stubborn as could be, and she's been hiding the secret pain of her past deep inside herself for five years. The question is, how long can she keep it up?

This is basically a re-write of the Hunger Games. I was bored the other day and started typing, and came up with this. I hope you like it!

Table of Contents:
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two

Links to more of my writing can be found here!

[WilloweWolf]

My name is Emile Farthing. I am 17 years old, I live in District 12. But I’m not from District 12. No, I’m from District 4. Yeah, way up there. How did I get here, you ask? Well, read on and you’ll find out.

“You’ll never catch me!” I ran down the beach, my brother chasing after me. “Is that the best you've got, slowpoke?” My brother’s eyes narrowed in mock anger and he sped up, slowly gaining on me. I sped up, and he started to fall behind. Suddenly I slowed, allowing him to catch up. As he charged past me, not realizing that I had stopped, surprise flickered across his face. He skidded to a stop and turned around, jogging back to me. Sweat dampened his black hair, and his gray eyes were somewhat envious. “When did you get so fast, Em? It used to be that I could catch you in a second!” I shrugged. My own jet black hair was pulled back into a messy pony-tail, and my silvery gray eyes sparkled in the sunlight. I wasn't even out of breath. “Dunno.” I sighed. “What should we do now?”
“We could collect shells.” Jason suggested. I gave him a ‘seriously? That’s lame’ look.
“We've done it a million times before, Jason! I think half the things in my room are shells.”
“Well, do you have a better idea?”
“We could go fishing. Ma says she wants a nice sea bass for dinner tonight.”

That got his attention. “Sure!” We raced back to the house to get our rods and tackle. Then we returned to the beach to fish.
Two hours later (we weren't very good at fishing, to be honest), we had two large sea bass. We went home, and I turned in the fish for Ma to fillet and cook with whatever recipe she had chosen. Whatever it was, I was eagerly awaiting it.

Two days later, my ten-year-old self took the biggest blow possible. I had been at my friend’s house the whole day. When I went home, there was a long, low black car parked in front. At least a dozen Peacekeepers stood around the car and by the door. Confused, I walked slowly up the steps and into my house. That was when I met President Snow.
“Ah, Emile.” The Snow stood from where he had taken a seat on the sofa. He smelled of blood and roses, a smell that made my stomach churn. “Please, sit.” I clenched my teeth and sat down. He may have been the President, but this was my house, not his. “Emile, I’m afraid I have sad news for you.” The grieved look on his face was clearly fake. “Your family has been in a… shall we say, unfortunate accident?” I tensed up. I knew where he was heading. “They did not survive, I am afraid. I’m truly sorry.”

No, you’re not, Snow. I thought bitterly. I kept it to myself, though. My head fell into my hands, and I began to tremble. My gray eyes overflowed with tears, and quiet sobs escaped my lips. You set it up, didn't you, Snow? You knew they were planning a rebellion. I kept my thoughts to myself again; I knew better than to anger President Snow. I bit my lip and drew my knees up to my chest, burying my face in them and wrapping my arms around myself. Why? Why? Why me? I hate you, Snow! I hate you, and always will until the day I die! I looked up at him. “What am I going to do now? I have nowhere to go.”

“You’re moving.” Snow said bluntly. “To District 12.”
“What?” I exclaimed. “But… Why? Why can’t I stay here in District Four?”
“Don’t ask questions!” Snow snapped. “You’re moving to District 12 whether you like it or not!” Fresh tears sprang to my eyes. I hated him even more now. He was tearing me away from everything I've ever known and dumping me in the poorest, smallest District in Panem. I hated him with all my heart. Curse you, Snow! Curse you! I stood. “I guess I’ll go pack, then.” I muttered, walking to my room with dragging feet. Once I had closed the door, I walked over to my wardrobe and slammed my fists against the wood, not caring if I bruised my hands. “Why? Why now, why me?” The tears flowed down my cheeks in a river of saltwater as I pushed some clothes and a book into my pack. I looked around, wishing I didn't have to leave. I clasped a thin chain with a trident charm dangling from it before heading back down the stairs.

As I left the house, I turned around. I would miss this house. All the good memories of winter nights spent sitting by the fire talking or reading, all the games of hide-and-seek, everything. Goodbye, Ma. Goodbye, Dad. Goodbye, Jason. I will always remember you. I turned to see President Snow gesturing for me to get in the car. I blinked. Ooo-kay…. I hopped in and closed the door, staring out the window as the car rolled through the streets. I had left a note on the table, telling Sally, my friend, what had happened. I knew, in that moment, that I would never come back. Ever.

Author's Note: Emile's outfit:

[WilloweWolf]

My name is Emile Farthing. I am 17 years old, I live in District 12. But I’m not from Twelve. No, I’m from District 4. And this is my story.

I stared into the mirror. My long black hair was pulled up into a messy bun. My feet were enclosed in my best shoes- leather ankle-boots that I had the shoemaker make from some hide from a deer I had shot outside the fence around District 12. They were in good condition; I didn’t wear them very much. A dark blue dress reached to just above my knees, a thin belt around my middle did nothing but decorate the dress. My old trident necklace hung around my neck, and I touched it briefly. Then I left my room.
“My, my, you look nice today, Emile.” Holly, the young woman who had taken me in when I first came to District 12, smiled up at me. Her long brown hair was pulled back into a messy bun, and her short frame was clothed in a simple homespun brown dress with tiny birds and flowers painstakingly embroidered around the bottom hem in yellow thread. It had been a birthday gift from Emile, and Holly wore it almost every day. Emile shrugged. “I never have understood why we have to dress up for the Reaping. I mean, two young people are being sent off quite possibly to their doom, and we dress up for it?”

“I know, I know, Emile,” Holly rested a hand on her adopted daughter’s shoulder. I was more than a head taller than Holly, but I still looked up to her, in a theoretical sense. “But sometimes we have to do what the Capitol says. I know you don’t like him, Em, but President Snow is right sometimes. Think of it as the best farewell we could possibly give to the tributes.” I nodded reluctantly and beckoned to Adrianne, Holly’s nice. “Come on, Anne. We need to get going.” Adrianne nodded, her long brown braid swinging behind her. Her dark brown eyes were sad as she followed me out of the door and into the filthy street. We walked quickly to where the Reaping would be held, in front of the Justice Building. We signed up and joined the crowd.

The woman up on the stage, her bright wig irritating the eye, gave the normal introduction before saying, “As always, ladies first.” She stepped over to a glass bowl full of slips of paper with the names of countless poor girls 12 to 18 years of age. “Adrianne Farthing.” The woman announced clearly. Adrianne slowly, reluctantly, walked away from me. No. No, no! “I volunteer!” I cry out in desperation. I can’t let Anne go into that arena. I can’t. I’ll do whatever I have to to keep her out. People stared at me. “I volunteer as tribute.” I stared up at the woman.
“Well, it seems we have our first volunteer tribute.” The woman was clearly surprised. Then again, who wasn’t? What I had done had never been done before. “No, Em, don’t!” Adrianne tugged at my skirt. She was too short to reach my short sleeves. “You don’t have to.”
“Yes I do, Anne.” I walked forward, ignoring the Peacekeepers that surrounded me. I walked proudly, with my chin up and my silvery eyes burning with emotion. I would not, could not, let Adrianne go into the arena. She wouldn’t stand a chance.

I walked up onto the stage and turned to face the crowd. I could see Holly, tears flowing down her cheeks. In gratitude, I thought, as well as sadness. “And what is your name, young lady?” The escort asked me. “Emile Farthing.” I replied bluntly. I didn’t bother with formalities. Especially not with Capitolies. I hated the lot of them. The lady nodded and walked over to the other glass bowl, which held the names of the guys there. “Peeta Mellark.” She announced. I sort of knew him. Not well, but sort of. I had seen him from time to time in the bakery, helping his dad bake, or cleaning up. He was amazing with those cookies. He stepped up onto the platform a tad hesitantly. I shook his hand before turning back to the crowd. The woman- I think her name was Effie- said something and Peeta and I were ushered into the Justice Building by a bunch of Peacekeepers.

I tried to keep a firm hand on myself while I said my good-byes, but the tears managed to flow forth. “I’ll see you when I come back the Victor.” I told Holly, my voice a tad shaky. I knew I sounded a lot more confident than I felt. Anyone would. I’m quite possibly going to my doom in the arena. No. I’ll come back to District 12 a survivor of the Games, not in a wooden coffin. I refuse to loose. I refuse to. Anne hears the shaky determination in my voice and manages to break away from the Peacekeepers long enough to give me a bear hug, before she’s dragged away. Then I sit there in silence, the tears flowing freely down my cheeks, dripping onto the floor. It’s like my parents dying all over again, but this time it’s different. This time, it might be me dying. But I couldn’t just let Anne go into the arena, she wouldn’t last five minutes! Katniss Everdeen, a good friend of mine, stepped into the room and closed the door. “Hey, it’ll be all right.” She squeezed my hand gently, comfortingly. “You’ll make it out of this alive, I know you will. You’re a strong girl, Emile. You can win these Games.”

“Will you do me a favor, Katniss?” I croaked, raising my head to look at her.
“Of course. What?”
“Don’t let them starve.” I said simply. Simple words, with a big meaning. I knew she hunted regularly in the woods outside the fence around District 12, even though it was illegal. I hunted with her, sometimes. I knew she could keep Holly and Adrianne fed, with ease. In fact, they might even eat better than before. Katniss nodded, putting a hand on my shoulder. “I’ll keep them fed, Em. Don’t worry. At least a quarter of my catch will go to Holly and Adrianne, I promise.” I smiled gratefully at her, nobody could ask for a better friend than Katniss Everdeen. She was bold, stubborn, and a loyal friend, if rather confused sometimes (not to mention the times she’s been the biggest idiot in the district). She was like a sister to me, as much as Adrianne was, and maybe more. Some people joke that if Katniss had a brother, I might marry him just to be around Katniss more. It’s not true, of course. I couldn’t possibly be around Katniss more often.

I give the girl a bear hug, and we stay like that for a few minutes, me sobbing, tears running silently down her cheeks. Then her time is up, and she has to leave. I sit there, head in my hands, images flashing through my mind of that night when Snow came to visit.

“Your family has been in a… shall we say, unfortunate accident? They did not survive. I am, truly, sorry.”

Despicable liar! I yelled in my mind. He was the biggest, most shameless liar anywhere in all the districts. I hated him. Hated him! I clenched my fists, bit my lip, and squeezed my eyes tight shut. I got up from where I was sitting on a plain wooden stool in the corner of the room and slammed my fists against the wood-paneled wall. I was surprised to hear a loud crack. I looked at where I had hit, and saw that my fists had gone right through the wood to the concrete behind it. I laughed uneasily. “Soft wood.” I said quietly. A Peacekeeper stuck his head in. “What happened?” His voice pegged him at about twenty. He wasn’t angry, just curious. I laughed uneasily again. “I guess the stress is already getting to me.” I gestured to the cracks in the wood paneling. The young man looked at them and hurriedly jerked his head out of the room, quickly closing the door a bit more firmly than was strictly necessary. Yikes. I was scaring myself, now. I hoped this increased my chances of winning, knowing how strong I was. Yikes. Maybe I stand a chance after all…

Author's Note: Emile's Outfit:

[peachy keen-]

OOOOHHH, i LOVE this! keep writing! ♥
i do have some constructive criticism, though, if you would like to hear it. c:

[WilloweWolf]

'Ello, bliss! Thanks! And, I would love to hear what you have to say.

[IveGotAJarOfDirt]

It's really good can't wait for more!!!

[WilloweWolf]

Thanks!

[WilloweWolf]

I sat there, just sat there, head in my hands, trying to ignore the stabbing pain of wood splinters in my hands. Finally I got tired of it and set to work using my nails as tweezers. “What did you do?” Peeta was staring at the tiny pile if splinters I had started on the table before me. “I punched the wall.” I said simply. That, of course, wasn't even the half of it. “Tell me the truth, Emile.”
“Okay, fine, I broke the wood paneling on the wall in the Justice Building.” Peeta stared at me, jaw slack.
“How?” he said weakly. “How did you manage that?”
“No clue. Now shut up and close your mouth.” Peeta shut his mouth with a snap and went back to staring out the window. Effie had gone to find Haymitch, who, according to her, was probably as drunk as he could get in an hour. I honestly wasn't surprised. I had watched the Games every year on the television, and I guessed a lot of Victors turned to alcohol or morphling. The Capitol may see entertainment, but all I see is twenty-four people being sent to the slaughter house.

I pulled out the last splinter as Haymitch entered. I ignored him and scooped up the wood slivers and dumped them in a nearby dustbin. I heard Peeta ask something, and Haymitch threw up his hands. “Whoa, whoa, slow down. Most of you aren't that eager.”
“Well, you’re supposed to be mentoring us.” I said suddenly. I came to sit back down. “So, what wonderful words of advice do you have for us?” I almost said ‘drunken words’, but refrained. It probably would be a bad idea to get Haymitch mad, even if he couldn't hit the side of a barn with the knife he carried. “Embrace the high probability of your imminent death and know that there is truly nothing I can do to save you.” He said slowly, his words slurred. I rolled my eyes and got up, crossing to the other side of the car and staring out the window. “Anything useful for survival, Haymitch? ‘Cause I do intend to survive, you know.” I absently traced the outline of the trident necklace hanging from my neck. Who cared if I lived or died in that arena? I was just another seventeen-year-old playing piece on the Capitol’s chess board, right? Wrong. I wouldn't be used for the entertainment of the Capitol.

“Most people do, sweetheart.”
“I noticed.” I said wryly.
“Really? Good. Find water, then, first thing when you go into that arena.”
“And then?” I turned around to give Haymitch a somewhat scornful once-over, noting the bottle of wine in one hand. “Find shelter. A tree, a cave, anything. And move every day if you can. Easy as pie.” I snorted. “Somehow I doubt that.” I turned back around and only half-listened to Haymitch for the next ten minutes. Then he left, after running into the wall twice. “Well, that was useless.” I said, sitting back down again. “He was too drunk to give us any proper advice, anyway.” I fiddled with a lock of long black hair, twisting it and releasing it in boredom. “Give him a break, Emile. We've both watched the Games every year, we both know he has every right to be drunk. He can’t handle it any other way.”
“Really? He has every right to be drunk when he’s supposed to be preparing us for the arena? He has every right to throw that bottle out the window and focus on mentoring us like he’s supposed to!” I refrain from slamming my fist on the table, if I managed to crack that, too, Effie would have the biggest fit imaginable. I really didn't want to have to deal with Effie right now.

I got up and left, heading to my room. I collapsed on the soft bed and glared up at the ceiling. I hated the Capitol. I had hated it since I was ten, since Snow told me my parents had died in an ‘accident’. But this… This was worse. I was like Snow had made sure Adrianne was reaped, because he knew I would volunteer in her place. I hoped he realized that I wasn't willing to follow in my parent’s footsteps quiet yet. Somehow I doubted it. Sighing, I closed my eyes and tried to nap, but every time I drifted off to sleep, the nightmares would come. I quickly gave that up and pulled my journal out of my pack. I jotted down a few sentences about what happened that day, then shoved it back into the bag. I lay there for a bit, staring up at the ceiling, wondering if I was going to make it out of the arena. If I lasted the first ten minutes. Finally, bored, I got up and wandered around, goggling at the richness of it all. This was insane. And we weren't even in the Capitol yet…

I came across Peeta, who was also wandering around goggling at all the signs of wealth. “Oh, hi, Peeta.” I stopped, giving him a half-hearted smile. “Hi, Emile.”
“Call me Em.” My grin broadened when he protested. “No, really, just call me Em. Everyone calls me that. It’s a lot simpler than Emile, I suppose.” Peeta smiled.
“Okay… Em…” We flattened ourselves against the wall as three Peacekeepers passed by. When they had gone, I allowed my mouth to curl into a snarl of disgust and hatred. “Hate them.” I muttered. Peeta looked mildly confused. “Why?”
“I don’t want to about it.” I said, a little more sharply than I intended.
“Ooo-kay…” Peeta said slowly. “I’ll leave you to your thoughts, then.”
“Sorry, Peeta. I didn't mean to snap at you. It’s just… An old grudge, I suppose.” I gave him an apologetic smile. I really hadn’t meant to snap. I just couldn't forget the pain of that day, seven years ago; when Snow told me my parents were dead. No doubt he had staged the ‘accident’ because he had found out about their plans for rebellion. I later heard that everyone involved in the rebellion had been killed, in one way or another.

Peeta shrugged. “It’s okay. I probably deserved it.” I laughed.
“You probably did.”
“You weren't supposed to agree with me!” Peeta protested.
“Would you rather I lie?” I smirked. He was trapped, and he knew it. He had this annoyed look on his face that told me he was utterly confused at how I had trapped him so easily. “Girls…” he muttered. I smirked at him before turning and leaving. I strutted away, “See you, Peeta.”

For the next few days, I mostly wandered about the train or tried to get Haymitch to put the bottle down and mentor us. Peeta joined me in the latter often, though not always. Then, we came to the Capitol.

It was the one place I had never wanted to set foot in, and here I was, goggling at all the people with their weird, over-the-top clothes and make-up, all the richness, everything. It was a bit overwhelming, to say the least. Okay, that’s a huge understatement. People waved and cheered as the train rolled past. Peeta got up from where he was sitting and waved back. He turned to me. “Come on!” I folded my arms across my chest and deliberately sat down with my back to the window. “Oh, come on, Emile! It’s not like it’s a sin to wave at people!”
“I don’t care, Peeta!” I snapped. My next words were choked, I was close to tears. “You haven’t seen what I've seen.” Peeta looked confused, but I ignored it. I pulled the trident necklace hanging from a slender chain around my neck from under my shirt. “District Four, fishing. My home district; until President Snow had my parents killed and sent me off to 12.” I turned and hurried out of the room, not letting anyone see my tears.

I threw myself onto my bed and cried my bitter heart out.
The Capitol was the worst place I could possibly be.

[WilloweWolf]

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