Picture Hunger Games Novels & Stories

That lady passed her a small smile when she found Jasmine looking at her with curious eyes. "Your food," the lady muttered gently. That's when Jasmine saw the plate and a glass of water in her hands. She scrutinized the plate and found two pieces of bread and a glass of milk. Jasmine was hungry would be an understatement. She was utterly starving but who would eat food from a murderer's house? It's all from the money he got by taking others' lives. How can he eat this food without even feeling guilty?. Even the thought of looking into the food made her stomach churn in pain.

Food, " the girl repeated, her eyes brightening. “What the actual fuck is this?" I cursed, shocked. The girl's face contorted, her teeth extending into fangs, her nails turning into razor-sharp claws. “I’m hungry, " she simply said. Her eyes locked onto me, and she lunged at me with an unnatural speed.

About hunger and cold and feeling unwanted. Damn it. "Fine. She can eat. Then she leaves." I gestured to Marcus. "Let her go." He released her warily. She stumbled, catching herself on shaking legs. Up close, she looked even worse. Bruises on her arms. A partially healed cut across her cheek. The hollow-eyed look of someone who'd been surviving rather than living. Nyx brought bread and stew. The girl ate like she was starving—which she clearly was—barely pausing to breathe.

The old man wants to play a game with him, but this time he'll play fairly, just like Don Hernandez did to him. ELLAH opened her eyes. She hadn't even realized she'd fallen asleep crying. She looked down at her clothes, relieved to see that she still had clothes on. She grabbed her stomach. She was starving, and it was as if time had betrayed her because she could smell the delicious, cooked food from where she was. Her stomach was churning from hunger. Later, the door suddenly opened, revealing the person she had been cursing in her mind. The aroma of the food on another tray he was carrying was mouthwatering.

A baby born screaming, born old, born gone. Balance. Seven impossible things fed at once. Storm. Fire. Earth. Hunger. Null. Containment. Me. The root that holds. The land paid to make us. Now we pay to keep it. “It wants a harvest,” I say. Tastes like blood. “Seven lives. One for each vessel. Or it takes from Duskbane. From the pack. Years off everyone. Pups born wrong.” Quiet. Then Moira laughs. “Oh. That’s all?” She stands. Stretches. The collar doesn’t matter. “Take me. I’m Hunger. I know empty.”

Jamica just stood there, totally poker-faced. She could literally win the mean girl of the century with that look. I paused just as I was about to eat. Should I eat this? It could have been poisoned. Well, Whatever. Hunger’s a hell of a drug, and I caved. The food tasted bland, but was still food anyway. I kept sneaking glances at Jamica, hoping she’d crack or, I don’t know, blink? She didn’t even flinch. She stood still, barely breathing to me or perhaps she was practicing for a statue challenge.

I snort and lean back against the headboard of the bed. "What movie is this?" "Hunger Games." "Never seen it." "I have. Fell in love with the Hemsworth brother and binged almost every movie he was in. Hated him after these movies though." He snorts and shakes his head. "Which one?" "Wait a minute and he'll pop up." We watch the movie and when the character pops up I point him out. "Damn..." "Yeah, I know. He's just a douche in this one though." He snorts and shakes his head. He eats until he clears two of the plates and then grabs the uneaten cake. He wipes a used fork with a napkin and grabs a spoon from one of the other plates and hands it to me placing the cake in between us.

The moment her bare feet touched the thick rug, something inside her snapped awake, feral with hunger. Her eyes—hollow, fever-bright—locked on the low table beside the chair. A bowl of fruit sat there: apples, pears, dark purple grapes, a few figs still glistening with dew. Fresh. Ripe. Real. She lunged. Scarlett moved before thought and scrambled forward, hands shaking as she grabbed fistfuls of fruit, apple first, then pear, then grapes by the fistful. She shoved them into her mouth without pause—skin, seeds, stems, all of it—chewing with frantic, desperate speed, juice running down her chin and dripping onto the torn shift. She crammed more in, barely breathing between bites, as though af

"Well, there are more shocking things in the world. What you have heard right now doesn't seem to be half of it." "I loved hunger games. Although I haven't really gotten around to reading the book. It was just intense and I loved it." "You should read the book." I urged him. He narrowed his eyes at me, wondering. "You sound like you've read it and you know what hunger games is about." "Of course I know what it is about, I have read the book. So the wildness of the story isn't strange to me." "Who the fuck are you?" I burst into laughter. "I mean, the way you sounded at first it was like you do not even know what I am talking about."

He looked up, expecting others to be equally as disgusted, but he was stunned to see the men digging in like they were having a gourmet meal, the moment the short prayer ended. Christ. What kind of hunger Games shit was this? Eli poked at the food with his fork. There was no way he was eating this. Thank God he’d packed like a dozen protein bars, a stash of chocolates, and one emergency sour gummy belt. He was set so he didn’t have to punish himself by eating this shit. He moved his fork around, faking it. Maybe if he stirred it enough, it’d look eaten. “Young man.” Eli’s heart thudded. Prior Dominic was looking directly at him.