Fan Fiction (Shorts)

Snow’s Princess

This year was the start of a new kind of fear. And it was not the fear he was used to feeling.

Ever so often, Coriolanus would come face to face with his mortal enemy, the fear of losing. But every time the elections came around, he tramples on the very account of fear with his power statements accompanied by the cheers and applause from the people of Panem.

But this year, this was the least of his problems. He was the vice president of Panem, and he had nothing else to fear but the reaping.

The reaping, for those who lived in The Capitol, was a celebration, as the Hunger Games was commonly addressed to as an extreme sport of glory. Coriolanus grew up with that idea in mind. And when he was a boy, he always longed to be chosen for the games. Unfortunately for him, he was never chosen.

And though this year’s reaping may seem no different to many people, but it was different for him. Because this year, his princess comes of age. His princess was now old enough to have her name placed in the reaping.

Oh, to think he would be a proud father to have his daughter be chosen, you are wrong.

You see, Coriolanus’ daughter was special. She was a small, frail, petite girl, who had to live most of her life in her bedroom, inhaling from an oxygen tank. The moment she came into his world was the moment her lungs started failing. And as much as he wanted a strong beautiful baby, he was presented with a dying child, who had miraculously managed to live up to the age of 12.

Over all these years, Coriolanus became the protective father. Constantly paying for a chance of a real life for his daughter. But no matter what he did, there was barely any hope of her leaving her room.

This year, she might be forced to.

How on earth was his daughter going to survive the games when she could barely breath?

Coriolanus pleaded for the President’s exception on his daughter, but the no exception rule was hammered into his head, nearly jeopardizing his status.

“No exceptions! Do you see me pulling my son’s name out of the reaping?” the President said.

“But sir, my daughter can’t even leave her room.”

“Then she would be better off dead, wouldn’t she?”

With that, Coriolanus had to bear the streaming tears and demands of his wife in which he could never meet.

“You’re just going to let her die?”

“No exceptions! We do not have a choice!”

The both of them had to accept the rules sooner or later.

Still, the dilemma remains. If his princess is called to be a tribute, what would he do?

With his head throbbing, there he stood on the platform, next to the President. It was a late afternoon and the crowd that had filled the stadium were already cheering.

Coriolanus watched closely as the President dug his hand into a bowl of glass balls. The deafening sound of the crowd made it harder for him to concentrate as the President pulled out a ball and handed it to him.

As he stared blankly into the ball and the digital name hovering inside, Coriolanus slowly read, “Jasmine…”

The crowd went silent as they waited for him to continue.

“Jasmine Snow.”

It was a long and painful moment of silence. There were murmurs from the crowd, as nobody knew how to react.

“Ah, brilliant! That would be interesting!” the President so cold-heartedly spoke.

“Wouldn’t it be now Coriolanus?” The President turned to him, signalling him to respond.

“Yes, indeed. I am a proud father,” Coriolanus lied.

With distinct pain in his voice, the crowd’s oblivion led to an eruption of cheers.

Yes, the people loved him for his bravery at sacrificing his child. But he didn’t love himself.

When he came home that night, Coriolanus sat by his sleeping daughter’s bed side, weeping and begging for forgiveness.

What kind of a father was he?

As he held on to her small hand, Coriolanus’ only wish was for a chance to take her place, but that was impossible. It was then that her eyelids fluttered, and her lips began to softly mutter.

“What is it princess?”

“Daddy…”

“Yes princess?” Coriolanus fought back the tears as he leaned closer.

“I’ll make you proud.”

Her words penetrated his heart like a stake to his soul.

“I know princess. Rest now,” Coriolanus choked on his drying throat.

His worst fear had won. He now knew what he had to do.

Once his daughter had fallen back to sleep, Coriolanus headed to his office to retrieve from his safe a metal box, in which he kept a collection of untraceable poisons.

Picking up a green bottle, Coriolanus filled a syringe and hurried back to his daughter’s side.

As he watched the heart rate monitor beep, careful not to have his eyes fall on his innocent, precious daughter, he slowly injected the poison into her system.The beeping monitor finally met its end after a few seconds. It was that easy. But bearing the crushing pain in his chest wasn’t.

She was gone. Her pain was gone. So were her worries and troubles. He was her father. And as much as it was killing him inside, he had to do what he had to do. He had to save her. And he did.

Fan Fiction (Shorts)

Haymitch’s Stunt

The 50th Hunger games marked the beginning of the end of his life.

Haymitch Abernathy, who was recently thrown into an arena where he had to fight for his life, celebrated his 16 birthday on top of a tree. Without candles to blow out this year, Haymitch thought of home. He briefly thought of his mother, his younger brother and his girlfriend, all watching him on television, praying that he will survive.

That night, the sky was empty and bare. There were no stars, and not even a moon. But at the sound of the canon, Maysilee Donner, his fellow District 12 tribute’s face was projected into the sky. She was dead now.

Earlier that day, they decided to break their alliance because they could not bring themselves to kill each other, but now Haymitch didn’t have to worry about that anymore.

Haymitch hugged himself as the night grew colder. He hoped that they wouldn’t throw in a blizzard as he wanted to get some sleep. There were only a few of them left so it wont be long till he would have to kill another, and without sleep, he’ll just be walking into death itself.

Haymitch shut his eyes and before his body could actually rest, he was forced to open them again as that early morning was as bright as noon and as hot as summer. Haymitch grunted as he jumped down the tree and landed into a mud pile.

The soil felt wet and slippery, as though it had just rained. But Haymitch knew better. What were the game masters up to now?

Haymitch quickly but carefully made his way through the jungle, but the mud did its job at slowing him down. He wished this was all they would do to him today, but he was wrong. The sky started turning dark and dark clouds started to form. Before he could make a sarcastic remark about the weather, it started raining cats and dogs.

The rain fell so heavily that Haymitch decided to climb up the nearest tree. It was then that the canon blasted again. The face of a young girl, barely above the age of 12, was projected into the sky. Death at such a young age; she barely lived her life, and Haymitch felt sorry for her.

But in the midst of it all, it suddenly dawned on him that the only tributes left was the red head girl from district 7 and him. It was time to end the game and the time was now when an arrow flew across him, narrowly missing his head.

Haymitch quickly jumped off the tree. And as he landed on the muddy grown, he began to run. He slipped and fell a couple of times, but he managed to pick himself up and kept going. Hot on his heels, was the red head girl, who was constantly shooting arrows at him.

Haymitch thought he could get away, but one wrong turn led him straight to a cliff with no where else to run. He had a crazy idea of jumping but when he looked down and saw only a thick mist, he decided not to.

The read head girl finally came out of the forest. She now held an axe in her hand as she slowly walked towards him. When Haymitch backed away from her, he slipped. Managing to catch a hold of a tree branch, Haymitch stumbled to regain footing. But as he did so, the pebbles he kicked down the cliff made zapping sounds, one of which came flying back up and knocking him in the head.

“What is down there?” Haymitch muttered to himself.

“Any last words?” the red head girl asked, drawing his attention back to her.

Haymitch gulped as she tightened her grip on the axe. And before he could blink, she threw it directly at him. Haymitch quickly dropped to his knees as the axe flew pass his head and down the cliff. And with a deafening zap, the axe came flying back, straight towards the red head girl.

Confused, she was too slow to dodge the axe as it flew right at her head and stucked itself in her skull. With her eyes wide open, blood gushed like a broken dam, making streams of blood all over her face. Just as she hit the grown, a canon was fired and the game was over.

“It’s over,”Haymitch said, trying to convince himself. But there was this sinking feeling that it never would be. Because the Hunger Games will never be over. And every year, only one will survive.

This year, he was just that lucky one.