A Hunger Games Fanfic

So I was walking up the stairs and I suddenly had this strong urge to write a HG fanfic.
So here it is!
Um... Hope you like it...

Chapter 1

The Reaping

What is it like to be reaped? To have the honor of representing your district in the Hunger Games? To stand in front of roaring crowds in the Capitol, repeatedly shouting your name?
It's not like I exactly like the idea of going into an arena to kill other children, but the adreniline and the excitement and the will of survival... It looks so... so... Interesting.
I wouldn't mind being a tribute I guess... But I've never been reaped and I've never been able to work up the courage to voulenteer. Ha, look at me, thinking I can survive the Hunger Games, when I'm not even brave enough to put my hand up and spare some other poor kid's life.
That's why, this year, as I stand in the the smooth, tar covered surface of the square in District 6, I tell myself to do it. Save someone's life. Live my dream.
Well, not really my dream, I'd like to do it I guess but... Here in District Six we don't think very highly of the Hunger Games. I never speak of my ambition to go into them. Our tributes are never considered for sponsorship. Districts 1, 2 and 4 are the Careers of course, and Districts 10, 11 and 12 are the underdogs. But we are never noticed, never watched on the television screen for more than a few seconds, we are no-one. It will come as a big shock to my friends and family, when I voulenteer, I think and for some weird reason I have a mad desire to laugh.
"Axel. Axel!"
I give a small start at the sound of my name. "What?" I say, sounding slightly more fierce than I meant to sound.
"Hey, calm down man, I mean we're all nervous but..."
It's Jocke, my best mate. I can tell by his tone that he dosen't care about me snapping at him.
"He just thinks I'm nervous" I think to myself.
And I am really, nervous about what he, and my sister, and my mother and father, will think of my voulenteering. They won't like it, I'm sure, but they'll get over it.
So I just smile at him and shove him playfully into one of the craggy houses that surround the square.
He's about to shove me back when we are interrupted by a little clicking sound coming from the stage.
We turn to see Amber Cottonsfield the District 6 escort smiling her big toothy grin as she waddles onto the stage.
Her clothes are almost comical, a fuzzy, zebra-striped jacket, a hideous frilled, lemon yellow blouse. Perched on top of her purple-streaked hair are a pair of jewel-studded sunglasses with orange tinted lenses.
"Welcome"she trills in her odd little accent. "Welcome"
"The time has come to select two children." She nods at us "To fight to the death in the sixty-seventh annual Hunger Games."
That's one thing I do like about Amber Cottonsfield, she doesnt dally, she goes straight to the point.
She introduces the mayor, Mayor Greese and he begins the incredibly dull, Treaty of Treason.
Jocke and I exchange yawning looks and glance around the square.
From here, I can see the familiar outline of the workshop where we make the cars. The square is covered in smooth tar so we can test the cars and wagons on it. I often drive my father's wagon here on weekends to help with the stall, sometimes he even lets me man it on my own.
I love working at the stall, selling all the lovely wooden things my father makes.
My father is a whiz with wood, he makes all sorts of little things for our store. Of course, he still works in our district's industry which is transportation, but somehow he still finds the time to make the little wooden dolls and spinning tops we sell at the market. I especially love the beautiful little bird whistles he sells. One in particular my father has never been able to sell, he asks too much for it, the people say. But I see reason in his price, it is too fine to sell for any old price. It's carved wings are stretched outward, giving the illusion of flight, and it's beautiful beak is stretched to the sky. Strange, lovely patterns cover it's entire body- swirls, curves and dots - that fit toghether in a slightly odd, mystifying pattern that makes my skin tingle. The whole thing is the natrual nut-brown of the wood that it's made of and it fits in the palm of my hand. And when it's blown... It's the most beautiful sound I've ever heard, a melody of chirps, tweets and whistles that could bring even the strongest man to his knees. Father would never let me have it though, it's worth too much. Suddenley I'm aware that Amber Cottonsfield is talking again so I clock back in to whats happening on stage.
Amber is standing by the girls' reaping ball, groping around for a name. '
When she again draws out her hand, her unnatrually slender fingers have snagged a piece of paper. She smoothes it out and clears her throat with an important "hmph"
"Asha Millridge" She announces grandly.
I watch, as a little girl, no older than 12, makes her way onto the stage, her ice-blue eyes wide and terrified.
And then it's my turn, I feel Jocke tense up beside me and I give him a reassuring shove. He nods at me and we both stare up at the stage, waiting.
This year I will do it, I will voulenteer,
This year, I'm going into the games.
~ End of Chapter 1~
(Please comment and tell me if you like it so I know if I should make more or tell me that I should give up because it sucks :P)

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