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Their Death is My Survival

September 6, 2009

This was my entry in the Hunger Games Writing Contest. My friends had been encouraging me to write one (mostly to ensure that they got to read it early), and I finally relented. When I got home from school, I realized that the last day to enter was the next day and hastily let my fingers run free atop my keyboard. Needless to say, this was a spurr-of-the-moment paper. The topic: How would you win the Hunger Games?


Their death is my survival.


That was the truth.


Their death is my family’s survival—an even greater truth.


This was what I had come to. I must resort to killing to sustain myself and my family. How was I to do it? I had felt no shame in admitting to myself the obvious—I was a snail when it came to the ability to use physical force to my advantage. The balance of advantages was constantly swaying to and fro. We were up against others with skills so different and foreign that we couldn’t even begin to plot against them. I had to assume that my many antagonists were withholding facts crucial to my survival.


Then again, could I blame them? Could I blame them for disguising the truth? No, that would make me a hypocrite. I had purposefully hidden my one useful and possibly fatal attribute.


I was clever.


I was a fox, while I was a human girl. I had my insignificant woes and follies, but, in all, I was a fox. I was sly, I was ingenious. I had within me the ability to deceive and mislead flawlessly. My red herrings were foolproof.


One of my many mentally-constructed strategies, however, surpassed all.


Mine would not be a plan of action. This was no longer The Hunger Games. This was The Battle Of The Wits. I would allow those fool-hardy, unjustifiably conceited brutes the satisfaction of murdering each other. They would be doing my dirty work without the slightest clue. I had no intention of killing more than one unlucky specimen of the desperate human race. I was not a murderer. I was not a cruel, cold-hearted killer as some of these idiots made themselves out to be. I would not shiver with fear and brutally murder a human being sharing my same goal—the privilege to go on living my life as I was meant to live it.


I would not act, I would watch. I would watch this bloody play from my lofty seat. I would observe from every angle with the eye of a merciless critic. I would be there to watch them dispose of our opponents. I would cringe and coil, and would try my hardest not to entertain the urge to scream– but I had a worthy goal. My family’s lives were of even greater value than mine.


I would observe every move and every twitch. I was certain that the one inarguable fact, when it came to my adversaries, was that they had weaknesses. Yes, weakness in the plural. We all have weaknesses. Perhaps I would be lucky enough to find that their weaknesses were greater than my own.


I would mentally catalogue said weaknesses and study as I had never studied before. I would plot out my victory flawlessly, leaving no defense to chance. I would watch as they killed, awaiting the last man standing.  


I would scheme deviously.


My turn to win.

One Comment leave one →
  1. juju permalink
    September 6, 2009 10:08 PM

    When you mentioned being like a fox, you know who you reminded me of? Foxface. I wish we knew more about her. I was really sad that she died. I liked her. Besides Rue, Thresh, and the obvious two, I wanted her to win (kill Cato!!!!!).

    I think you’d be a great murderer. In a strange way, that was a compliment. You wouldn’t choose that hockey mask. It’d be creepy: you, pondering what the quickest way to kill would be. Obviously, in real life you would probably choose sleeping pills (in a ice cream shake) or a freak “accident” (involving, electrical wires or plumbing!).

    You deserved that book.


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