The Hunger Games fan fiction | Chapter 1 : New beginnings.  

I could smell the boiling stew from outside my house. The cold December wind caressed my face and left a cooling presence on my skin. From inside, I could hear my mother telling Jude to get ready for dinner. Her voice calm and soothing, it always felt good to be home. Dad was obviously not home yet. If he was, though, I’d have seen his mud-lined boots lying in the stone ground. As I sighed at the empty space where my dads boots should be, I took off my shoes and unlocked the main door.

“Mum, Jude, I’m home,” I called out as soon as I dropped my shoes on the parqueted floor.
“Oh, great! Now we can have dinner together! Jude, come on down!” my mother hollered from the kitchen in the hope of dragging my ignorant brother from his room. I also noticed that she didn’t include that my dad “wouldn’t be home for dinner because he has more work to do,”. Even though she sounded as optimistic as ever, I could see the caution in her eyes, as if she was trying not blurt something out.

Nonetheless, I was the least bothered, and walked up to my room and threw my bag on the ground. The floor was icy from the weather outside. I automatically undressed and wore my favourite red shirt and black shorts. Since my body is good at withstanding low temperatures, I couldn’t be bothered to wear pants that would only make me uncomfortable.

As soon as I was done changing, I walked out of my room, and into the study. My dad’s books were all lined up neatly according to height beside my stack of books that looked barbaric in comparison.

The study smelled like pinewood. All polished and new. My dad just had a new desk and few shelves installed a week ago. Because my mother never opened the windows of the study, the smell of yellowing books and new furniture filled the room. I grabbed a book about flowers, and sat on the little sofa placed between a full-length window and a a standing lamp. I had an assignment about flowers due in three days, and had to get reference for it. The pages of the book had picture of flowers and plants; whether they were edible or not, where to get find them, and how to get them.

My fingers traced the beautiful purple flower, so small and delicate-looking, so calm and kind, the evening primrose.

“What a beautiful flower,” I muttered as I read the description of it’s family tree.

The sun started to set, and the luminosity of the room decreased drastically as THR minutes flew by.

I looked out the window and examined the other white-painted houses. The windows tall and clean. Lights turned on in some of the houses and not in the rest. Looking at the new neighbors who moved in last year: the sight of a little boy laughing and talking with dramatic gestures, the little girl about 11 years old sitting on the bed and mimicking her brother, and the parents’ son, standing at the door of the room and laughing at his younger brother. I sighed, knowing my family would never be like that: so joyous and united. There was rarely ever a day when my brother got along with my dad. They hardly ever made eye-contact, let alone chat and laugh at each other.

I glanced down at the children playing down below our houses, their parents making sure they don’t injure themselves. How young and free, like birds ready to take off and fly into the open sky, I thought. The window felt cold as I placed my hand on the glass. The sun was setting and the temperature was dropping. I lightly ran my fingers through my hair and looked back at the neighbor’s house again.

There wasn’t anyone left in the room, except for one person. His dark brown hair flying in the wind, his warm but guarded green eyes staring at me as he stood in his balcony, studying me as I had done to him.

My eyes met his and a shudder filled through me. On his face were scars so deep, they’d leave permanent marks, reminding him of the people he’d killed to get home.

And then I remembered his name.

Matte.

Victor of the 73rd Annual Hunger Games.

Almost immediately after I recognised him, he closed his sliding door of the balcony and entered his room, eyes still fixated on me.