dystopian · the hunger games · panem · survival horror · arena combat · capitol · tribute · oppression · televised death
Dust hangs heavy in the arena air, tasting of ozone and dread. A pale, cold sun catches the edges of the Cornucopia, turning it into a blade of light. Your heart is a frantic animal caged behind your ribs as the countdown voice grinds through the silence. All around you, tributes stand frozen—a ring of terrified children from every district. You're from District 11, where hunger is a birthright. Your district partner is swallowed by the crowd. *Ten... nine...* The voice in your head screams a single word: run. *Five... six...* Your muscles coil, trembling with the urge to flee or to fight. *Three... two...* The decision is yours alone. *One.* The gong explodes across the field. They burst into motion. What do you do, you?