Child's Play: The Forty-Third Hunger Games

Chapter 12

Splinter Ironwood- 18

"Heads up!"

In most of Panem, that might have meant someone was about to toss a ball at you or tell you when a class would start. In Seven, it meant you better look out or your head would be off. I folded my arms over my head and jumped back as I tried to see where the warning was coming from. I quickly discovered it wasn't me, but that wasn't the end of it. Someone else might still be in trouble, and the chaotic shouting told me that was exactly the case.

"Nobody move!" I heard Twiggy yell. I followed her voice and soon caught sight of the crowd clustered around a half-fallen tree. It was readily apparent what had gone wrong, mostly because of the partly-crushed vehicle underneath the tree. The blades were designed to tip the tree forward so it fell away from the machine, but this tree had other ideas.

"He has to get out!" someone yelled.

"Nobody get closer! You might shift it!" Twiggy said.

I peered between the branches to inside the warped vehicle and saw a relieving sight. Carver had been driving. It was not a relief because I hated him, but because he was an especially small and weaselly man. It wasn't as bad as it could have been.

"Don't worry. I have an idea," I said to Twiggy. I moved closer to the vehicle and waved at Carver.

"Hey, Carver! Are you hurt?" I asked.

"Just get me out of here!" he wailed. "I'm gonna be a pancake!"

"I'm going to get you out," I said.

"I can't open the door! The tree's too heavy!" he said.

"You don't have to," I said. "Roll down the window."

"What? It's too small!" Carver said.

"Maybe for anyone else. Not for you. Or me, I guess," I said. People liked to joke that a tree fell on my head once and squashed a few inches out of me.

"What if I get stuck?" he asked.

"You won't be any more dead than before," I said. I heard squeaks as Carver laboriously rolled the manual-cranked window down. The branches rustled as he pushed his way out, and we all held our breath. I had horrible visions of the tree shifting when he was halfway out and tearing him in half. He thumped as he shifted his balance forward and fell out of the window. It was a few feet down, so it was a big noise.

"I'm okay," he said. The branches rustled more as he crawled out from under the tree. He reached the outside and ran a few feet away from the disaster scene.

"Piece of cake," he said. "Not a scratch."

"You're still a pancake, though," I said.

Maple Wilda- 17.5

It was always a struggle to keep my temper under control. Usually I gave it my best shot. Just because I was short-tempered didn't mean everyone else should have to deal with me. At least not the innocent people. Anyone who asked for it had no one to blame but themselves. But the Reapings were taking it too far. It wasn't enough the Capitol wiped out half the country and fenced us all in? They weren't happy enough sitting in their ivory castles swimming in pools of gold coins? Nope, it wasn't. They had to drag us to the Reapings and drag kids from their parents for their entertainment. And they had the gall to say it was to teach us a lesson. They were nothing but thugs, and it burned me up that someone hadn't done something about it yet.

Minerva wasn't as bad as the last escory. She was quiet and jumpy as a cat. I only wish she didn't have such an accent. I was already allergic to pollen, ragweed, cats, and dandelions. I didn't know it was possible to be allergic to a voice. She was the only person who could possibly have been less suited to District Seven.

"Let's have a boy, shall we?" she asked. She jumped when her nails clinked against the glass bowl. "This year's male Tribute is Splinter Ironwood!"

She picked a bad name. It would have been a good name, but the prize was the Hunger Games. Splinter was a great guy. He was hardworking and responsible. Or at least the little bit I saw of him was. I didn't work in the lumber industry like he did. Sneezing and holding a chainsaw was not a good combination. The image was so irreverently funny I almost distracted myself from how mad I was.

"Let's have a girl now," Minerva said. "Our female Tribute is Maple Wilda," she practically whispered.

"What was that? Did you say Maple?" I yelled. I wasn't trying to be rude. I just honestly didn't hear her mousy announcement.

"Yes, Maple Wilda," she said. The edges of my vision started to go red, and my heartbeat did that funny thumping thing it did when I was really mad. I stomped to the stage with clenched fists and a horrible snarl. I'd always been ashamed of Panem for buckling so easily. I didn't expect any mercy when I looked at the crowd. We only cared about ourselves, never the unlucky victim. I'd been the same way when Splinter was Reaped.

"This isn't fair!" I yelled, shaking my fist at the crowd. Minerva squeaked and jumped away, even though I hadn't been aiming it particularly at her. I was more aiming it at everyone. "You sentence us to die without a chance. You stand there thinking 'thank God it's me and not someone who really matters in this District'."

"Peacekeepers!" Minerva wailed as she fled across the stage. I kept railing until they came for me. I didn't have anything to lose. My family was dead and there was no one I cared about in Seven. They could kill me if they wanted. They were going to try either way.

Splinter is very short for a man and is muscular. His hair and eyes are brown and he has a big scar all down his face. Maple has curly, frizzy long brown hair and a heart-shaped face. Her hair is often tied up or in a french braid. She has those green eyes that look different in different light and she's tall and skinny with a runner's build. She goes by May.

SUPER IMPORTANT NOTE!

My little sister SilverflowerxRavenpaw has her first SYOT up. It's under Trapped: The 18th Hunger Games SYOT and it need some Tributes! I am serving as consultant so I can ensure that it won't take forever to add new chapters or go AWOL, as well as acting as quality control.