It had all happened so fast. Too fast for his liking. In fact, just now he had awoken with a start, shaking and confused as to why he was not in his own room back home. It had taken a few minutes for him to remember where he was and why he was here.
His name was Cole. He was from Disctrict 12, the world's Main source of coal. In fact that was why his mother had chosen his name, as if being from the poorest district wasn't embarrassing enough, his name screamed it out for the world to know. Of course that had never mattered before, because he was stuck in 12. The only things that left his home district were coal and tributes for the Hunger Games.
Oh yeah. That was why he was here. Here was a train rushing at the speed of light toward the Capitol, and he was this year's male tribute from 12 for the Hunger Games.
So much had happened yesterday that everything was one huge blurry mess in his mind. He and some random girl had been picked, their names drawn out of a huge bowl and read for the whole district to hear. He didn't know the girl on the train with him. He had never met her before. But that didn't really matter, did it? Only one person out of twenty-six would be alive when this was all over, and whether or not he was that person, he would never remember that girl's name.
He didn't really plan on winning either. That meant nothing to him. The winner would be the trophy of the Capitol, the only living child to walk away with nothing more than a worthless crown and the promise that they would never be called back into the arena. To be honest he would rather die in there than die out in the hostile coal mines of District 12.
But he hardly had a family to go back to if he won. His mother had died long ago of a disease so terrible he was not allowed to say goodbye or to hold her hand as she left him forever for fear of him catching the disease. And his father. Cole had no intention of returning to him. In the three minutes they had together before Cole and the nameless girl were herded onto the train, he and his father stood there in silence, the latter giving his son the usual stern look of disappointment that he'd worn for longer than Cole could remember. When they were given a thirty second warning, his father cleared his throat abruptly, gave Cole a rough pat on the shoulder, and grumbled something along the lines of "Don't let me down now, son." Cole had so many things he had wanted to say in response, but he was dragged away before he could decide which words to use.
And now he might never have the chance to say them. He supposed that was for the better. Soon enough none of this would matter anymore. Soon, he might see his mother again.