The Hunger Games Trilogy: A Parody/Summary

The polished wood of my bow gleams in the sunlight, rubbing my fingers into red and blistery nubs, as I have been standing here for an hour, relishing in the present. And now, as I feel my hands slowly release the bowstring, my arrow flying forwards, soaring into the heart of the new president of Panem, I recall the chain of events that brought me to this very moment.

My name is Katy Everdeen. I’m the only one left alive in my family besides my mother, and it’s all my fault. I took the place of my sister in an annual fight to the death, a punishment by the Capital for rebelling a hundred years ago. It is evident to anyone who lives in Panem that the Capital is very skilled at holding grudges.

I wouldn’t have had to compete, but somehow they screwed up the blood tests, so that apparently my name was Primrode. Her real name is Primrose, but I catch a lot of colds, so that’s what I call her when I can’t breath through my nose, and I guess it stuck. I was led up to a stage by the announcer, Eifel Trucker, where they called the name of a local baker’s son, Peter. Don’t ask me where he got a name like that.

Before I knew what was happening, they plopped me into a room full of sobbing relatives, and it was up to yours truly to comfort them all. I probably didn’t comfort them very successfully, because every three minutes a Peacemaker, basically a brainwashed servant of the Capital who look like Storm Troopers, would come in with a new box of tissues. I am unable to recall how many boxes we went through. Boy, was I glad when they finally came and got me out. If I was going to die, all I wanted were a few moments of privacy and a desk to write a will.

I took a speed train to the Capital, where my stylist accidentally set me on fire with his cigarette lighter. I had to stand in a chariot for twenty minutes listening to the president give some heartfelt speech about machine guns and tradition, and hopeless attempts to make all of us victims feel better about our imminent death. When I finally took off that stupid costume, I felt like I’d been microwaved, though I hadn’t been burned, due to the the thick fabric I was clothed in.

I was interviewed by a local telivision star with so much plasic surgery he could hardly talk, then thrown into an arena with twenty-three people to kill. Turns out I didn’t have to kill any of them. I just sat in a fake sycamore while they killed each other off until it was just Peter and I.

I gave him some berries to eat, and ate some of my own, but I’d forgotten that they were poisonous. Since we both would have died otherwise, they sucked us up in a hovercraft and we spent a week in intensive care before we were allowed to go home.

I don’t know why the Capital was mad at me afterwards; I didn’t mean to nearly get us both killed. In my opinion, it’s not called suicide it you do it by accident. Either way, I got a strict lecture from the president as if it was my fault, and if I thought then that I’d gotten off scot-free, I was seriously dillusional.

I returned to the arena, again with Peter, and this time, there were a bunch of other winners to compete against. That year, even the survivors would die. Only about half of them did though, because it appeared that a group of rebels from decimated Division 13 thought I was soldier material.

They taught me how to fight, along with Peter, and before I could say “I want a moment of peace,” I was in the middle of a full-scale rebellion. My lucky sister got to remain in the rebuilt, underground tunnels of Division 13, while I was pointing a gun at purple-haired political figures in the Capital.

We were about to win when the idiot president of Division 13 decided to drop an army of nuclear weapons on the battlefield. Among the S.W.A.T. team released with the bombs was Primrode, who was promtly blown up.

We entered the home of the president in a daze, and took him hostage without much trouble. They told me I could shoot him.

But now, as I stare at the figure of the new president, the same person who decided to explode my sister, I shift my aim to her silhouette, and the arrow slides like rubber from its string to its target. She dies quickly, and the former president dies with her, due to his age and his newfound sickness.

I go home, I marry Peter, who I forgot to mention was hijacked by the Capital and still tries to murder me from time to time, and we all live happily ever after.

To a point, that is.