A Piece in the Games


The scratching of fingernails across the steel,

The never-ending sorrows of screaming reels—

I call for help, but nothing comes.

I’m alone by myself. The darkness succumbs.

I hear them coming, the deadly pain,

And I know I’m finished, the blood pumping in my veins.

But I won’t fall without one last stand.

I’ll fight until death takes my hand.

I pull out my knife and stand in range

As the killers come like deadly mange.

In what seems like slow motion, they burst through the trees

And come straight at me with unstoppable ease.

But I remember my training and stand steady and strong.

The hours of labor; the days so long.

I raise my knife and as they come in for the kill.

I slash down and the first blood of battle spills.

A boy falls before me, grabbing his neck as he dies,

But I don’t notice, not falling for the lies.

The others are coming, their swords flying in deadly arks,

But my knife meets them all. They lay not even one mark.

I slice about as I remember what they’ve done,

Killing my sister, my brother, and my loved one.

And before I know it, they all lay down dead,

Lifeless eyes looking up from lifeless heads.

I look to the sky and scream in rage,

“Are you finished with me yet? Have I pleased your bloody sage?”

I hear four cannon shots and I know that it’s done.

I have beaten the odds. In the games I have won.

But I feel no glory as I look to the beyond.

They’ve forced me to kill, and to lose my loving bond.

“I’ll never forget you,” I look forward and say.

“I’ll avenge your death. I’ll make them pay.”

*(Note: This poem is written based on The Hunger Games, if you didn’t get that. I wrote it a long time ago, just before the first Hunger Games movie came out. I found a soundtrack that some fan put together and wrote this while listening to it. It’s got some weird punctuation and wording, but I still think it turned out pretty cool.)

Picture source: wattpad

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Two Evils

My brother used to tell me that I was being over-dramatic, that my hurting wasn’t legitimate, that I was faking it all for attention. He repeated it like a mantra. I tried to convince myself that what he said was true, but a part of me always knew it wasn’t.

Now, as I sit on the hard, unforgiving bed in the middle of that awful white room, my brother remains silent where he sits next to me. At this point, we already know that it isn’t asthma. It can’t be. Asthma doesn’t wake you up in the middle of the night screaming. Asthma doesn’t feel like an elephant sitting on your chest.

The door creaks open with a hollow sound, and I watch as the doctor enters my room, followed by my weeping mother and emotionless father.

I wish it was just asthma.

*Note: First off, Flash Fiction is basically a really short story that can vary in length, but never goes more than 1000 words. You may better know it by the names Micro Fiction or Short Short Fiction. This is my first attempt at Flash Fiction, and it’s based on this prompt from HubPages:

Write down the first word (or name) that comes to mind when you think each of the following letters: P L M E A. Write a scene or story that uses all five of the words/names you chose.

The first words I thought of were: Plasma, Legitimate, Mantra, Elephant, and Asthma.

My writing belongs to me. All writing under the category “Fiction by Me” is mine. Use of my writing without my permission is prohibited. If you wish to use any my work for any reason, ask me for permission first.