My Ranking Points
We know Katniss and Peeta’s story, but what about Johanna? Here is chapter one of my Hunger Games fanfic, Unpredictable. (Sorry it took so long!)
Seventy one years. Seventy one years of this torture the Capitol calls The Hunger Games.
I wake up and lazily pull myself out of this wooden monstrosity that can barely be called a bed. I made it myself. Yeah, a sixteen year old chopping wood and making herself a bed. How lovely.
I am Johanna Mason. What’s your name? I don’t care.
Today is the reaping. If you don’t know what that is, I’ll sum it up for you. Some idiot from the Capitol comes to each of the twelve districts and chooses who is going to die. Period.
Sometimes death doesn’t seem so bad, like when my sister Elm comes home. Always trying to put her stupid makeup on my face. Ugh. I swear, if she even touches my face, I’ll put my axe in hers.
I pull on whatever clothes are closest to me and drag myself to the kitchen. I groan when I have to stretch my arm to reach the apple sitting on the counter, and flop onto the kitchen floor. Why does the reaping have to be so early? It’s only, like, noon! They should know I need sleep.
A small note is tied to the apple with a green ribbon. It’s from my mom.
I rip off the note, throw it on the floor, and take a bite of the apple. I don’t even bother to read it. It probably says stuff like, ‘I’m going to miss you, Johanna!’ Or, ‘No matter what happens today, we’ll always love you!’
My parents work all day, so they won’t be at the reaping. It’s probably for the best.
Juice from the apple runs down my chin and lands on my shirt. I look down and wipe it off. Didn’t I wear this shirt yesterday? Whatever.
‘It’s the inside that counts.’ My mother would say.
‘Yeah, ‘cause I’m so approachable’ I respond in my head.
With my teeth gritted and my groans echoing in the room, I use my fingernails to drag myself across the kitchen and out the door.
“Uh… what are you doing Johanna?” A child’s voice says from behind me.
Halfway to the center of town, I am still on the ground, using all my upper body strength to drag myself there. I turn my head to see my sister’s best friend’s little brother, Joe. Such a strange name, Joe. I’ve never heard of that name before. He has tan skin and light brown hair, and he’s probably around seven or eight. His brown eyes stare at me in confusion.
“Well, if we’re going to stand there for hours, I want to have as much energy in my legs as possible.” I say with confidence, ignoring all the strange stares from the people around us. “Not so weird now, huh?”
“No, it’s still really weird.” He says. “Like, weirder than the day my sister brought cereal soup to your thirteenth birthday party.”
“Go away Joe.”
“Okay…” he says, and I watch him easily walk around me.
I continue to pull myself towards the Hall of Justice.
“Name.” The peacekeeper demands.
“Oh, nice to se you too. Yes, yes, my day has been great so far. Thanks for asking.” I say, standing again.
“Name.” He says, this time more forceful.
“Fine, fine. Johanna Mason.”
The peacekeeper takes my finger and pokes a small needle into it, then presses the finger onto a piece of paper, leaving a fingerprint of blood.
I’m pushed out of the way by a few more peacekeepers and led to the sixteen-year old section. We wait for hours for every child to be in their section. In District 7, there’s probably over six thousand children between the ages of twelve and eighteen. It always takes awhile.
After about three hours of standing, my legs begin to feel weak. It’s not nearly as bad as the others, though. They look ready to faint. I turn my head and see a young boy struggling to stay standing. He meets my eye and collapses a second later. Whether it was from the hours of standing nonstop or my stunning appearance—a stained gray shirt, messy brown hair, and shoes three sizes too big—we may never know.
Finally, after an eternity of waiting, the last child has arrived. Half of us lay on the floor, but I stay standing. Who looks stupid now?
Juniper Worth, the escort for the District 7 tributes, sashays onto the stage in her five inch heels and frilly yellow dress. The lemon curls on her head bounce with every step she takes. At the moment, not throwing up seems to be a very difficult task.
“Welcome, welcome, to this year’s Reaping!” Juniper’s squeaky voice fills the air as she speaks into the microphone. “I am here today to see who is lucky enough to represent District 7 in the 71st annual Hunger Ga-“
“Lucky enough?” I laugh. “Lucky enough to die? Lucky enough to be taken from our families? To be thrown into an arena and battle for your entertainment? Now, I don’t know if I missed something here, but none of this sounds lucky to me. Or maybe, because I’m from the Districts, I’m just too dense to know that being murdered is actually a wonderful thing.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, should I have said that a little more politely? Here, I’ll try again. Excuse me, but I was wondering if you could possibly not let children stab each other with knife over and over until they die. If you can’t, that’s fine, I was just wondering.”
The square is so silent I almost think everyone is dead. Oh Johanna. Don’t get your hopes up.
Finally, Juniper’s squeaky voice breaks the silence.
“Well, if that’s all you have to say, let’s choose our-“
“Can I have the last three minutes of my life back?” I interrupt.
Juniper sighs impatiently. “What exactly it is that you want from me?”
“I just told you, the last three minutes of my life.”
“Listen to me,” she begins, “you just stay quiet and we can get this over with quickly, then you can go ruin someone else’s life instead of-“
“You know, I’d rather be dead than be having this conversation right now.”
“Well, if you want to be dead so much,” she says, “why don’t you volunteer.”
I can feel the eyes of the crowd on me as I say one word.
All I can think about is seeing the shocked look on Juniper’s face, not aware of what I just got myself into.
As I walk onto the old, wooden stage, Juniper whispers, “I hope some time in the Capitol will help improve your manners.”
“Don’t hold your breath.” I reply.
She walks back to the microphone and says, “Our female tribute from District seven.”
She walks over to a glass bowl on the other side of the stage and pulls a paper from it.
“And the male tribute is,” she starts, her yellow curls bouncing with every word, “Grove Acacia.”
Oh no, I think. Not him. No, no no no.
Grove, a twelve year old boy who has the IQ of a Cheeto.
I see him walk onstage. He has dark, curly hair, and deep-set brown eyes. He puts his head into a weird position—like he’s confused—causing him to have a double chin.
Now I have to spend an entire week with this loser in the Capitol. He, of all people, is the person from home I would least like to see before I die.
Before I die.
It isn’t until I hear that sentence that what just happened finally sinks in.
“Our tributes from District 7! Grove Acacia, and…”
“Johanna Mason.” I whisper.
What have I done?
OMG I LOVE THIS! PLS TAG ME! Also this is random but I was Johanna mason for world book day lol.
Of course! And is it weird that Johanna is one of my favorite characters, despite her terrible perspective?
This is awesome!! Johanna is totally like Johanna!!! ( I know that makes no sense!)