The Quell (Hunger Games Fan Fic)

[Medusa72]

1

I make the final chop with my ax on a pine tree, listening to the satisfying ‘whoosh’ as the tree banged to the ground.
“Hey Charlie!” somebody calls my name. I turn around to see my crew manager looking at me, “We’re done for the day!” I nod my head as I swing my ax onto my shoulder. I walk through the planted rows of oaks and pines, heading for my house. I look at the sun, setting, my father and siblings should be home by now. Brin, my younger brother, and Citi, my younger sister, usually get off early because of their age, and because they attend school. I’m seventeen, and no longer go to school. Here, in District 7, life is focused around your work. It’s simple; no work, no money, and therefore no food. You start being trained lightly with an ax around five years old. Once you’re eight, you’re qualified to start cutting down tree’s along with all the other workers.
I walk in to our little house. Ten year old Citi rushes to me and gives me a tight hug, “Hey squirt,” I say with a smile. As I walk to a chair I ruffle Brin’s hair. I sit down. My father gives me a curt nod in greeting. I nod back. Ever since my mother died from giving birth to Citi, my father… well he hasn’t entirely gotten over it. “Mandatory announcement tonight,” my father say’s. I already knew this; people have been talking about it all day.
“Any idea what it’s about?” I ask. He gives a slight shake of his head.
“Twenty-five,” Brin suddenly say’s. I understand what he means. The twenty-fifth Hunger Games is this year. The first Quarter Quell. It was announced last week that this year’s Hunger Games were going to be different, special. I don’t think this has anything to do with it; the Hunger Games were about a month away.
The Hunger Games were established after what everybody calls the Dark Day’s. Because the Districts rebelled against the Capitol, President Snow obliterated District 13, and created our punishment. In the Games, one boy and one girl between the ages of twelve and eighteen from each of the remaining 12 districts are sent into an arena to fight to the death. The last remaining tribute is the champion of whichever district he or she comes from. It’s said that for every twenty-five years the Hunger Games will be… “Special” Those twenty-five years are called the Quarter Quells, and this year is the first.

Many people stood in the square, watching the television screens flicker to life. The lucky ones with a working TV stayed at their homes to watch the announcement, where Peacekeepers eyes can’t pry.
Peacekeeper’s are hired soldiers from the Capitol. They are in every district. They are the people who enforce the laws, and carry out punishments to those who don’t obey those laws.
I squeeze the hand that’s in mine. I look over to the left where, Gena the girl that I love stands. I’ve known Gena for as long as I remember. Best friends we were, best friends we are. When my mother died, it was Gena’s mother who helped raise Citi and Brin. Gena was my main comfort during that time. Even after ten years I still seek comfort in her. But Gena’s more that just a comfort. I have dreams of marrying her one day. Dreams where money, food, and any worrying thing seems to disappear from my mind.
Gena can tell that I’m lost in thought; she leans up on her tip toes and gives me a light kiss on the cheek. I give a quick smile as Citi, holding my right hand, giggles. For some reason I feel embarrassed, even though a giggle from a ten year old is normal for me to hear all day. I see Brin roll his eyes.
“What?” Gena demands. Brin smiles and I feel even more embarrassed from before.
After the advertisements on the large television, President Snow himself comes into view behind a desk with a small girl, holding a wooden box, standing next to him. After telling the story of the Dark Day’s and why he established The Hunger Games he say’s, “This year we honor our first Quarter Quell in the twenty-fifth Hunger Games.” The little girl steps forward as she opens the lid of the box, I see rows of yellow folders. The President grabs the very first one, opens it, and say’s, “As a reminder to the rebels that your children are dying because of your choice to initiate violence, every district will hold an election and vote on the tributes who will represent their district.”
Gasps and murmurs ripple through the crowd. I stare at the now black screen. Choose our tributes? I realize that this must not be real, must be a dream, but Citi is yanking on my arm so hard that I’m forced to come back into reality. I release my hold on Gena, pick up Citi, and motion that my family and Gena’s family to follow. I see that Brin’s shaking and I grab his hand. If this were any other day he would have pulled his hand away, thinking it was immature to hold hands. I’m about to walk out of the crowd when a peacekeeper in a white uniform blocks my way with a gun in his hand.
“Hold on,” the Mayor say’s, “Everybody is scheduled to be back in the square in three weeks.”
I’m still glaring at the peacekeeper as he moves aside to let us pass. I lead my little party to my house while running scenarios through my head. Citi won’t be going she’s only ten. Brin’s fourteen, but the odds are that they won’t choose him. Then I realize something, “They’ll want to send someone in who has the best chance of coming out.”
Everybody look’s at me. We all know that Bill Collins is the strongest eighteen year old boy in 7. The strongest girl is…
“They can’t send you in Gena!” She looks at me sadly.
We both know that the odds are not in our favor.

[Medusa72]

(This one is sort of just a draft.)

2

Gena’s father steps in, “So we try our best to protect her.”
We all know what he’s suggesting, vote for someone else, and find some way to encourage others to do so. But we all know that won’t work. Voting for Gena could mean survival for a tribute. Voting for somebody else would be like killing an innocent child.
“Maybe she won’t be elected,” Citi say’s, trying to lighten the mood. But the heavy cloud that hangs over everybody goes no where.
The three weeks come and go quickly. Everyday seems like a daze, just a figment of my imagination. When I’m in line to vote for the boy and girl tribute I feel tears come into my eyes. For the girl tribute I vote for Triv Lance, an equally strong, but very larger girl than Gena. I don’t even look as I write down the name for the boy tribute, but when I do look down; I see my name, Charles Mandon, in fine ink on a small piece of paper.
I see a woman being dragged out of her door by a peacekeeper, struggling, “I won’t do it!” she cries as she is taken to a whipping post. I cringe as the blood starts to splatter nearby people. Nobody bother’s to help the woman. If they did, they to would be punished.
People give me sympathetic looks as I walk down the street. They all know that I love Gena. An older woman grabs my wrist with an iron grip, “We’ll save her,” she say’s. They must mean that they’ll keep her alive in the arena. I nod at the woman wordlessly as she releases me.
A week later we are called to the reaping. Instead of the large glass balls that would’ve held names, there are two tall tables with a single folded piece of paper on each. Brin and I wear clean shirts that are tucked in to our pants. The mayor gives a long speech that I don’t have the energy to pay attention to. Then Astry, the woman who usually pulls the souls unlucky name out of the glass balls says, “Welcome to the annual twenty-fifth Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor!” Then she gives a silly speech about what an honor it was to be their with our mayor and our only mentor, the woman who’s job it will be to train, whoever is elected, to survive in the Games.
“Ladies first!” Astry rings out.
I feel the tears well up in my eyes again as I know what she’ll say, but am surprised when I hear, “Triv Lance is our most voted for female of District 7.” Triv walks shakily to the stage. Astry doesn’t ask for volunteers this year. Normally Astry would pull a name from the glass ball and when whoever is picked walks up to the small stage the she now stands on, Astry would ask if there are any volunteers to take that boy or girls place in the Hunger Games. But I assume that because people voted this year, the President enforced no volunteers.
I’m in shock. Mostly of relief I think. I become in more shock when I hear Astry say, “Charles Mandon is our most voted for male of District 7.”
I don’t believe it. I decide that this is a dream. A bad one. But Brin’s and Citi’s plea’s sound so real, as Astry beckons me onto the stage. I walk to the platform, trying to keep my knees from knocking together. As I turn to face the crowd I see my father’s and Gena’s face stare at me in horror. The crowd, who all voted on my life, is silent. Then I realize, this isn’t a dream. I’m going into the Hunger Games.
Triv and I shake hands as peacekeepers takes us into the Justice Building. A large brick building that was placed in 7 when it was established.

I stand in the Justice Building, refusing to sit on the couches that so many other tributes have sat on. I don’t get weak in the knee’s until my father and my siblings are escorted in by a peacekeeper.
Citi run’s into my arms right away. Brin rushes to me clinging on to my side. I’m hugging them as they both cry into each of my shoulders. My father, who is crying for the first time since my mother died, approaches me. I let go of Brin and Citi and stand up to look at him. We just stare for a moment. But I reach my arms out and embrace the man who raised me. I tell all three of them that I love them. I give Citi a kiss on the head as a group of peacekeepers herd them away.
Next, Gena comes in. She runs to me, and I run to her.
“Why did they pick me?” I whisper into her hair.
“You know why.”
I do know why. Bill Collins is the strongest, but he has some kind of… disfunction, with his brain. All of the other boy’s just don’t have the survival skills, I always told myself that they were better than me, but I guess that was proved wrong.
“Listen,” she tells me, “You have to survive, you have to come back.”
We’re both crying, “I know,” I say, “I’ll try.”
“No,” she say’s, “Trying isn’t good enough, promise, promise me that you’ll come back.”
I hesitate, “I will.”
“Good.”
A peacekeeper comes in and warns that it’s time to go as I press my lips against hers. A peacekeeper breaks us apart and Gena starts to struggle against him.
“It’s okay!” I call, “I’ll come back!”
“I love you!” she calls to me just as they shut the door on her.
“I love you to,” I whisper to the air.
I get no more visitors as I wipe my tears from my face.
“No tears,” I say to myself, “No pain, no weaknesses, and no mercy.”
More peacekeepers usher me to the train platform where I will be departing onto the train which will transport me to the Capitol.
I try to embrace the hands that are reaching out to me from the crowd. The peacekeepers are struggling to hold them back, when gunfire rings out. I start to panic. Who’s been shot? I try to go back but somebody shoves me into the train.
Triv Lance, with her dark hair and brown eyes, stares at me from a chair which she has seated herself in, as I am forced away from the door. I quit struggling as I look out the train’s window where District 7 slowly disappears.
For the first time I get a good look around the train. It isn’t the same kind that takes the wood that we’ve chopped. No, this is one from the Capitol. Very fancy, unlike anything that I’ve ever seen before.
I grab a nearby peacekeepers uniform, “Where’s my room?” I growl.
I let him go as he leads me to a compartment, “Are you hungry sir?”
“No,” I say, even though I’m starving.
The peacekeeper leaves with a smirk. I suspect because he knows I’ll die, and he’s getting me back for grabbing him. I lay on the bed, imagining what everyone’s doing back home. Then my thoughts turn to going back home, then what I have to do to get back home.

[king_bear]

I want more :3

[Medusa72]

Thank you! Working on more right now.