As I'm waiting there, underneath the ground with my stylist Arianelle, I'm only thinking of one thing.
In less than five minutes, I will be going into the 70th Hunger Games.
"Annie?" Arianelle's voice finds its way to my ears. I turn my head slightly towards her to let her know that I'm listening, but I don't open my mouth. I'm afraid that if I do open it, I'll turn into a sobbing, shaking wreck of a person, and that can not happen now. "It's, uhm, it's time," her voice sounds hoarse, and I make note of the tears in her eyes.
Huh.
I hadn't known that she liked me. Arianelle had been a good enough stylist, coming up with beautiful costumes (this year District 4 was under-the-sea creatures, wearing shiny blue and green outfits with fins on the back) and talking some strategy with my District partner, Kellan, and I, but she'd always seemed indifferent towards me. Almost as if it didn't matter to her that I was going to die in a few days.
Probably, it didn't matter to her. But still, it was nice to see that I did matter somewhat to her.
My blood runs cold as I realize what she's said, but I try not to let my fear show. Instead, I nod once and try to make my way over to the small circular platform that will lift me up into the Games, but Arianelle stops me. For a moment she just stands there with her hands on my shoulders, peering at me eyes. Then, she leans in and hugs me tightly. "You're going to do great!" she tries, and fails quite miserably, to sound happy and optimistic. I nod again, and continue on to the platform.
I want to say something to her. Something to let her know how much I appreciate the costumes and advice and the fact that she cares that I'm about to die, but I just can't get the words to come out. Thankfully, Arianelle seems to understand, and she waves goodbye to me as the platform raises.