The Hunger But Mainly Death Games: A Parody
Page 15
“Anything,” I say, my heart overflowing with gratitude. These people have saved me. Whatever they ask, I will do. I must do.
“Okay, great, great!” she replies. “Here’s the situation. As we’ve said, all of us are huge fans. But inside the group as a whole, we’re actually sort of split down the middle into two subgroups: one that thinks you should date Pita, and one that thinks you should date Greta. Call them Team Pita and Team Greta, I guess, but it’s not too important.”
“Uh-huh,” I say, and looking out over the crowd, I can see that they’re sort of standing in two distinct clusters. I have a feeling the one on the right is Team Greta, because there are fewer of them, but they seem to be a lot more dangerous and insane-looking. I’m beginning to realize where this might be going.
“So, before we leave, we want you to choose one of them to date! And then, of course, to eventually marry and have kids with. Sound good?” Coin asks.
“I don’t know how to put this…” I begin, “But not really.”
Horrified gasps sweep through the crowd.
“What do you mean?” the woman shouts in horror. Before I can answer, we’re all distracted by the sound of a man making his way through the crowd.
“Hey, hi, ’scuse me,” he says, as he squeezes by people. “Sorry I’m late, everybody! Pardon me, pardon me. Wow, totally overslept! Call me crazy, but I wonder if we might actually miss our evil dystopian government. Hard to be late for an early appointment when you’re woken up by painful shocks at four in the morning everyday. Ha, I’m only kidding!”
Finally, he makes it to the front of the crowd, only feet away from me.
“Carry on, little girl!” he says merrily, and then turns to the teenager next to him and says, in a low voice, “Now, which one of these guys is Jacob, and which is Edward?”
A swell of aggravated groans rises.
“Are you a complete moron?” replies the teenager. “You’re thinking of contestants from The Hunger But Mainly Boring Vampire Games. That was, like, a decade ago.”
The man smacks his forehead with his palm. “Ah, you’re right, you’re right. Brain fart much? Okay, carry on!”
“What I’m trying to say,” I begin, breaking it to them as gently as possible, “Is that I don’t really think it’s necessary for me to choose right now. The circumstances are too insane! And besides, you definitely don’t need to find the person you’re going to marry when you’re a teenager!”
Some of the people in the crowd begin to nod their heads as if what I’m saying is reaching them.
“Sorry to interrupt again,” says that man. “This may be a stupid question, but if you don’t find the person you’re going to marry in high school, how do you ever expect to have a vampire-baby that almost kills you?”
“Oh, come on!” comes an aggravated voice from the back. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”
A woman whacks the man on the back of the head with a stick. “Twi-hards die hard!” she shouts.
“Argh!” the man says, clutching the area that was hit, but doing his best to stay chipper. “I hear ya, folks, I hear ya! Say no more, my mistake!” He pauses, wiping away some blood. “Keep going, girl-character from The Night Circus.”
“All right, that’s the end of you,” says a huge biker, going up to the man and snapping his neck. “Now that that’s out of the way, continue teaching us a valuable lesson, Bratniss!”
“I think that’s it,” I say. “That’s all there is to it. I’m not ready to choose someone to date now. Does that make sense?”
“Yes!” says a woman wearing a shirt that says ‘Team Greta,’ “I think I speak for all of us when I say, that’s a very convincing argument for why you shouldn’t choose Pita!”
“Now hold on a sec!” says an old man in a Team Pita blouse, “That wasn’t her message at all! The message is that only Pita is right for her!”
“You’ve heard the people, Bratniss!” says Coin. “And now, it’s time for you to choose.”
I pause for a second. “And what if I decided not to choose either of them?”
“I think it’s obvious that we would kill you,” calls out a young mom.
“Yes,” says a teenage boy, not much older than me. “You would leave us no choice.”
“Hi, there,” says a small man in the back, “I’m actually one of the small group of people who want you to marry Mayor Undersee. But for this occasion we’ve allied ourselves with Team Pita, and we too agree that you must die if you don’t choose one or the other. Probably in some sort of death tournament. Perhaps held next year, with winners from previous Games.”
I glance over my shoulder at Pita and Greta. Pita has somehow gotten his hands on a stack of blueprint paper, and I can see him beginning to make detailed sketches under the heading “Ways to Use Evil Technology to Imprison Bratniss in an Even-Smaller Love Cave This Time.” Greta, meanwhile, has managed to tie the earthworms Coin gave him into a circle. “Holy circle of worms,” he mutters. “Prophecies have told of you. When placed on head, can man finally harness wormpower?” Well, that settles it.
“Can I have some time to think it over?” I ask.
“Of course you can, dear,” says Coin kindly. I walk over to the biker who killed that idiot who was all into The Night Circus.
“Do you mind if I sit on your bike’s seat for a second? I find I do my best thinking while sitting down.”
“Sure thing, baby,” he says. [Note to reader: isn’t that a cool way to show how a biker talks?]
Suckers, I think, a few moments later, as I toss the flaming motorcycle towards the crowd. In the confusion, I’m able to snag a different, nicer motorcycle. And with that, I speed away. I don’t really know how to ride a motorcycle, but I’m sure I’ll pick it up on the road. Yes, that’s what I’ll do, I think, during one of the many end-over-end crashes I keep making the bike have.
Suddenly, I hear a voice to my right. And, to my surprise, I see that the motorcycle has a sidecar I hadn’t noticed before—and that Hagridmitch is in it!
“Hermione!” he says joyfully. “I a’fear’d that I’da never get to see ye again! Why, I’ve been stuck in here fer the entire tournament! Hang on now, because this motorcycle kin flyyy-y-y-y-y,” he says, tumbling out of his seat from the gentle push my hands give him. I watch in the side mirror as he rolls to a stop in a patch of sunflowers.
“Why, if it isn’t Minerva McGonogall!” I hear him say to one of them, “Fancy meetin’ ye here! What’s that y’are askin’? Do I still recognize ye after all-a these years? O’ course I recognize ye! I’d recognize ye anywhere, on account ’a yar face bein’ made-a big black seeds n’ all!”
And after that, I decide not to look back anymore. Because, hey, there’s a whole post-apocalyptic world out there. And for once, I’m going to do exactly what I want. I’m not even sure what it will be, yet. Maybe I’ll take some time to go break into old military research centers and play with their cool weapons. Or maybe I’ll go start a war with some awesome new race of zombie-people. Maybe I’ll even head up north to Canada. It’s not the most exciting country, but at least they still have a functioning parliamentary democracy. Ah, who am I kidding, Canada would be way too lame. But the thing is, I don’t need to decide what I want to do yet. When I find it, I’ll know.
I smile to myself, and pat the shotgun I stole from Greta. And I’ll have this if anybody tries to make me do a sequel.
The End
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