The shoot was a mansion on the remote Soldier Island off of the coast of Devon. The cast was ferried to the set and given a lavish meal. After dinner, we retired to the parlor, where we noticed ten little soldier figurines displayed on the table. How quaint! Over coffee, we gabbed and wondered at the whereabouts of our mysterious hosts. Suddenly, one cast member inadvertently knocked into the gramophone. There was a silence—a comfortable replete silence. Into that silence came The Voice. Without warning, inhuman, penetrating . . . “Ladies and gentlemen! Silence, please! . . . You are charged with the following indictments.” And we sat and listened to the mysterious Voice accuse us of murderous crimes most harrowing.
Terrified, each cast member attempted to call his or her agent, but there was NO CELL PHONE RECEPTION ON THE ISLAND! We attempted to leave; however, the only way on or off Soldier Island was on a single boat, which had stopped running due to inclement weather. We were paired up with another guest from our district and informed that we were to get ready for the tribute parade. Impressing the wealthy spectators was of utmost importance (as their support would be crucial to our survival during the shoot), so we were each assigned a stylist. My stylist did my hair, make-up, and wings of fire. The second AD then escorted us to the set, where we climbed into our chariots and paraded in front of the rich residents of the Panem Captiol. Post-parade, we returned to the parlor only to find one of the little soldier statues missing, and the body of one of the cast members slumped in a chair, a hypodermic needle mark in her neck. Also? There was a bee in there, for some reason? A BEEEEEE
It was at this point I realized that I couldn't take it any more. Yes an actor should be grateful for a paid job, but people were dying! And we weren't even at the part where we'd all get dropped in front of a tent full of weapons! There was NO WAY I was going to put up with this any longer. So I grabbed my bow and arrow set in one hand, my poisonous berries in another, and strode out the beach. I climbed upon the rocks, waves lapping at my feet. With a swift, proud gesture, I raised a fist into the air and signaled to my ocean-dwelling friend that we were FREEEEEEE! As the strains of Michael Jackson's "Will You Be There" played on all our heartstrings, the brave whale Willy leaped over the rocks, out of the cove and into the ocean. Then the director yelled "CUT" and the second AD said "That's a wrap!" and everyone clapped a lot.
Oh schnapkins, that might all be the combined plots of The Hunger Games, And Then There Were None, and Free Willy. Eh, whaddyagonnado.