Lost by Magic

The sky darkens like the depressed and morbid. Spirals of passion grow ever so grand in the search of my prey. I have to win. I need to win. Had I had a choice at what my life would be like, I would've most definitely chose different. I apparently ended up in the wrong world. I had been waiting so long for my honor letter from Hogwarts the days had seem to meld together. Day by day I waited for that letter. Hoping I would be able to follow the footsteps of my parents.

My mum was a witch who was blind. She was considered among the most elite group of witches for her ability to strike a target down with any spell on the dot. People wondered how she was able to do such a courageous thing with her not having the most vital sense known to the wizarding world. My father was a professor at Hogwarts. He taught History of Magic and was not a bore like the previous one. The day never came.

I raced through the forest hoping I would be able to hide from my opponent. He thirst for blood. My blood. I thought back again to that day. The most horrific day I could ever imagine. I walked across the street to the local deli in my muggle neighborhood I lived in. My mum gave me enough to get myself a sandwich. Italian bread, turkey, blackforest ham, avocado, and cucumbers. It was my favorite. After I paid for my club I walked towards the park that laid in the distance. I sucked in my cheeks as the cold nipped at my nose.

I had found the rusty old silver bench that sat on the far west side of the park near a small pond filled with beautiful koi fish. I went to open my sandwich to begin to eat the deliciousness that laid so innocent before me when I felt the ground begin to shake. Wind darted past me furiously. I fell to the ground unable to summon the strength to get back up. It felt weird. It felt cold. It felt like magic.

This magic was different. This was old, ancient, and powerful. I begun to mutter spells and counter-curses but none of them seem to avail any safety. I grip the ground hard and pray for this to be over. My mind began to fall out of consciousness and into dream. I closed my eyes and then everything went dark.

I woke up on the ground in an unfamiliar place. People were scared and nervous. What was I to think? This was not where I was last. Nor was it anywhere remotely near my village. My mind had raced frantically. I turned to someone close and asked them where I was.

"Where are you? Have you lost your mind? District 12. Pathetic District 12," he muttered while giving me a snide gaze. District 12? I had thought. I grew nervous. Something isn't right. I thought to myself. I shook it off and begun to follow the group of people. They seem march the town square—although, I am not sure-- with a lady perched upon a balcony overshadowing everyone. I gazed up, unknowing of what exactly was going on. A woman with a very eclectic style began to announce.

“The time has come once again to select one courageous man and woman for the honor of representing District 12 in this years annual Hunger Games,” she spoke, the microphone giving some distortion to her voice. What's the hunger games? I thought to myself. The fright with in the people had begun to rise. I leaned over to someone—my age—standing next to me and asked the unbearable question I was wondering.

“ What are The Hunger Games?” my voice questioning. She looked at me with astonished eyes. I felt the pit of my stomach drop.

“How stupid of a question to be asking. People die. Only one survives. Only one will win,” she whispered, depression becoming infected by her words. People were going to die? What kind of sport is this? I grew nervous and gazed up shivering. Although I had no idea why I was—of all people—scared. I didn't belong here. I didn't want to be here. Her hand seemed to wave around a glass bowl that oddly represented the fish bowl from my bedroom.

“Now, we must chose our tributes,” she roared gracefully. Her hand gently dove into the bowl and she peered up and announced “Evangeline Gaelic,” to the audience. A woman much older than I am began to scream. Her voice calling out Angie, Angie. I frantically looked around and saw a girl so very young. So fragile. Her porcelain face was drenched in tears. I leaned over again.

“Is she going to die?” I whispered softly.

“Looking at her age she wont stand a chance. Unless someone volunteers to go in her place, she will die,” she whispered coldly. I felt around the back of my pocket and noticed I still had my wand. I knew what I must do. She was much to young, much to frail. I stood up.

"I volunteer in place of her," I cried out, not knowing what I had just agreed to.

"A volunteer," she announced in a silky calm voice. "And what is the volunteers name?"

"Katrina Lyons and I am 17," I shout out towards the odd eclectic lady.