RANT: Hunger Games

Hunger Games. Everybody loves it… and then there’s me.

I understand that this series is fictional. Dystopian novels have been written for ages, ranging from Radbury’s “Fahrenheit 451” to Orwell’s “1984.” I understand HG possesses loads of action, and the noble Katniss—the “girl on fire.” I read the first book, so I can say it was written relatively well.

I cannot say that I stand behind what exists at its core, because I cannot get beyond parental sacrificing. Maybe, in this mixed up world, parents sacrificing their children for a “game” is more than normal—acceptable, even. Not in my world. For this reason, I do not approve of HG.

An old saying goes “Art is best when it depicts real life.” My real life depiction involves parents who would never sacrifice me or any of my five siblings to a “game,” where only one kid is destined to come out alive. We might get on their nerves, but they would do as John Wayne, “I'm willing to die trying to keep 'em. The question is, are you willing to die trying to take 'em.”

John Wayne’s dead.

There aren’t any adults willing to fight for their kids.

Everyone’s ok with that. Except me.

Radical me.