I was looking outside the train's window but I saw nothing at all. My vision was blurred, my head heavy. The last weeks of my life were mostly like a dream, a horrific nightmare, and less like reality.
My reality was the sea. The vast ocean of District 4. The shores with the golden sand, the port with the old fishing boats. Weaving firm nets and diving in search of shells and oysters. A reality that embraced me, and tucked me in every night. Made me feel safe as the sea's lullaby shaped my most beautiful dreams.
And now every single one of these dreams became a goddamn nightmare. I was a tribute. A fucking tribute to a sick Capitol game. I was on my way to participate in the Hunger Games. I don't really remember how things got this far. The only thing I can vividly remember hearing my named called during the Reaping.
"Mia Pearl".
As simple as that. I froze still, unable to walk, or by any means get on the platform. I had to be pushed by the people around me. Pushed and get shoulder-pats out of sympathy... Sympathy because for them, I was already dead. Not that I minded. I myself thought the same. I still do.
Probably the only person that doesn't is Finnick. The famous Finnick Odair. My mentor.
"Hey Mia. Are you ok?" he asked me, concern imminent in his voice, as he walked into my personal wagon.
"Nothing. I am just motion-sick." poor excuse. I don't even know how motion-sickness feels. I've been on a fishing boat every day since I was 4 years old and able to help. If a boat cought up in a storm couldn't make me motion-sick, this train didn't really stand a chance.
"We need to talk for a while." he sat next to me. I really didn't feel like talking. Damn, I didn't even feel like breathing.
"Ok." I mumbled, hoping I could help him realize I wanted to be left alone.
"I know how you feel. I might have been a Career, but I didn't volunteer. I was reaped too young to be ready for it. Just like you." he started.
"Finnick I don't wanna talk about it." I was a bit more straight forward now.
"It doesn't matter what you want. Because whether you like it or not, you are getting out of these games ALIVE. You are gonna be the 67th Hunger Games victor." he said, skipping introductions, his voice full of determination.
"Why me? Why not Michael?" I asked, honestly full of questions. My mentor, a well-known and talented victor had picked me. The other tribute from my District was a 17-year-old Career. How the hell could a 16-year-old fisher-girl be any match for him?
"Because you have the ocean in your eyes." he answered simply, and I took sometime to ponder what he meant. By "you have the ocean in your eyes" in District 4 we mean that someone is full of strength and determination. But I was only full of fear and doubts. And will to live. His words made me realize it. The only reason I was so confused, buffled and scared was that I didn't want to die. I sure as hell didn't.
"I want to live." I admitted after some moments of silence, looking at him deep within his green eyes.
"I know you do. And this is why I picked you, Mia." those words were enough to fill me up with newborn hope. The odds are never in our favor, but at least right now, for the first time in weeks, it didn't really feel like they were totally against me either. "Tonight we start training. I'll teach how to use a knife, a sword, a trident and even your bare hands as lethal weapons. You are fit and strong for a girl your age, so you'll have no problem." he added. At least I wasn't going to the Games totally unprepared. It was something.