God I wish I'd grabbed my shoes before leaving. The cobblestones are smooth underneath my feet, but I see a strip of gravel up ahead. I can make that jump. I pump my arms, pushing myself to fly over the patch, but my foot catches on an uneven stone and I fall instead. Fuck. My hands and knees are raw, but I don't have time to take care of them right now. Instead, I push off from the ground and keep running. The streets are eerily quiet as I run through them, my panting breath drowning out bird chirps and the faint cheering of a crowd.
How did this happen? Why am I running to my own fucking reaping? I should be there, in the front with my trainers, ready to volunteer first, but here I am instead praying that they started the ceremony late. I blame all of them. And once I'm in the Capitol I plan on revealing exactly what they did. If I make it there on time.
The mile run is exhilarating, the most physical exertion I've gotten in over two months. It's exactly what I needed before I face him again. The thought of seeing him gives me butterflies, but not the good kind. No, these are definitely more of the Capitol engineered deadly sort of butterflies. I take a deep breath and burst into a sprint to vault over the barricade set up on the street. I don't need to think of him right now, I have more important things to worry about. Like how I'm going to get through the dense crowd of people in the Plaza.
Screens overhead show the face of Marigold, our Escort. People stare upwards, their faces rapt as she gives a flourish and peacekeepers bring the selection bowl forward. Shit shit shit. I look around, trying to find some kind of path to get to the stage. Nothing. If I don't start shoving people now I'm not going to make it.
"And now, as is tradition, we will select our female tribute first." I start pushing past people, getting vicious looks along the way. Well they won't really mind when I'm their victor, now will they? Sparing a glance up at the screen I see Marigold reach into the bowl, pulling a name from the bottom. I'm trying to get around a thick cluster of people when I hear her read, "District One, please congratulate your female tribute, Aurum Delacey!" I freeze. A timid girl steps forward. I don't think she's trained a day in her life. Seconds seem to take ages as she takes tiny steps to approach the stage. Unless I say something now, she's going into that arena, and she won't stand a chance.
"I volunteer!" I yell. "Over here, I volunteer!" It takes a moment for the cameras to find me. I'm not among my peers, which is already an oddity, but given my disheveled state, I understand why they might have trouble believing that I'm the eager volunteer. I'm a disaster. My hair is frizzy and tangled, and the blonde has grown out to reveal my dark roots. I'm only wearing thin shorts and a tank top, so I look like I rolled out of bed. My knees are raw, my wrist is in a brace, and I'm visibly out of breath. Worst of all is my face. Though healed, my nose curves off to the side looking completely deformed, and the scar that runs down my cheek is wide and bright red. To make things better, I'm not wearing any eyeliner, and it's clear that in my months of rehabilitation my brows have been neglected.
The peacekeepers clear a path for me, and I take my time walking to the stage, soaking up the stares and disbelief. Yeah that's right assholes, I'm back. The Capitol isn't ready for what's about to hit them.
Thanks for taking the time to read! Will be updating with a full length chapter tonight :)