By now, I've almost succumbed to frostbite. I wrap my hands tighter around the body of what was once my ally. She's frozen solid, but I can't let go. I promised I would take her back. I promised. I know I'm going to die, that much is obvious. But will I die without having been the person I promised my mother I would be? Would I live up to my namesake? I hope so. But, only time will tell. And there isn't much of that left.
"Noble, what is that smell?" My mother snaps as she enters our kitchen, her eyes fixed on the pan on the stove top. I've been frying grain, just like my grandmother did. Mother loves the stuff, but I don't know why. When father was the mayor of District 2, we could afford servants to do our cooking, but now, he's been dead for a year. We have nothing, and are living in a tiny shack near the quarries my mother has been forced to go to work in. At fifteen, I'll be forced to leave school next year to find a job, but until then, the tessera helps us. But, being the only child in my family over 10, I've had to take on quite a load. My name has been entered to the reaping an extra seven times every year, and the odds are slowly pushing against me. My name has been called twice, but both times, someone stepped in, refusing to allow me to leave my family. But this year, my choice has been made. I will go to the Hunger Games, and I will win. My family will be wealthy again, like we always should've been. My siblings, all six of them, will never have to offer themselves so dangerously, and it will never be their responsibility. But, mother isn't home early for anything. Today is the day, when the citizens of Panem will bow to our fear, and present ourselves on a silver platter to be killed for the benefit of sport. These are the Hunger Games.
I hold my brother's hand as we walk to the town square, and the mayor mounts the stairs to the District government building. As always, our district liaison mounts the stairs, his neck stiff in his ridiculous high starched collar. The mayor, Lawson, gives his speech about how much of an honor it is to die for your country, and an even better one to kill for it. I often wonder if the Capitol instituted the games not because we rebelled, but because there is no one else to battle. So they, make us have our own. Finally, our surviving tributes, all nine of them, each say something. When they get to Elizabetta Sheldon, she mentions she'll be mentoring this year, and my heart skips a beat. I've been in love with her since I met her at a party when my father was still alive. She's the perfect specimen, and I can't take my eyes off of her, that is, until I am called back to earth by my little brother. The liaison, Edmund Nexson, has called up the female. Her name is Genevieve, and she is dirt poor. She lives on the streets, and only comes out when she's scrounging for food. No one will volunteer for her. Nexson clears his throat and turns to the boys container. He pulls a name, a little boy, aged twelve. But before the peacekeepers can move him, I raise my hands. "I volunteer as Male tribute for District 2." All eyes turn to me, and my mother's become flecked with tears, and she chokes on her words, and as the peacekeepers surround me, I can only watch as my neighbors help her back to her feet.
The train ride will take us four days, nonstop. I'm a little uneasy in the compartments they've given us, and I can't help but feel guilty. My mother didn't come to visit me in the District building, but she did send someone with a letter. My aunt Hattie is gaunt looking to begin with. Her husband died in the same epidemic that killed my father, and she caught it too. She lived, but just barely. And her soul was buried with him, so now she just sits at home, with four children, never moving from her seat in the corner of their tiny kitchen, her dark eyes showing only what reflects in them. She kissed my cheek, and spoke to me for the first time in nearly a year. "Noble, if you die, don't expect us to hail you as hero. Your mother sees you as a traitor, and so do I." She dropped the letter, and caressed my face, before bringing her hand back, and smacking me as hard as possible. My teeth rattled in my head as I cupped the red skin. Her bony hands had a lot more power than I expected. A lot more.
They serve us food, but I could barely touch it. I was too worried about my family, and how stupid I had been. If I died, which is highly probable, my family would have no choice but to collapse. Con, the next youngest, would be the next in line, and he would have to take tessera, and quit school at sixteen. I hate myself, a little more with each thought. The dinner table is awkwardly quiet, until our mentor enters the cabin. She smiles at the way Genevieve eats, and then, looking to me, it fades. "You have to eat kid. You're going to need the energy for tomorrow. Training. Then, the big day." The way she says it, she sounds as if she can't wait. "My name isn't kid." I snap, and she reels. "It's Noble." "She knows your name. She doesn't need the torment of remembering it." Echoes Nexon, who stares at us from behind a red folder, marked 2. I will never get over the shiver that goes down my spine when I see the one brown, starkly contrasting the pale blue eye, that no doubt is useless. He almost died in the games when he was my age, in the first ever hunger games. He's nearly forty, but looks far older than that. I watched his games in reruns, and, to be honest, they were horrifying. His arena was a bare, wide open space, where the weather changed at the whim of the gamemakers. Some tributes were killed by mountain sized hail, others fried by lightning. Somehow, he managed to survive until there were only a few tributes left, then, using a spear he fashioned from a tree branch and a rock, he killed six people before being declared victor. I've never seen Elizabettas. I don't think I'd be able to look at her if I did.
We finished dinner, and we all walked to all cabins in utter silence, and I locked my door and stripped down, and into the pajamas they provided. I know I won't sleep, so I crawl beneath the covers and stare at the ceiling, clapping to extinguish the light. After laying in the dark for nearly four hours, I hear a clicking at my door, and it flies open, Genevieve closing it behind her. "I'm sorry." She says, clapping her hands as a blinding light fills the cabin. "If I don't talk to someone I'll scream." I've never noticed before, but she has big green eyes, and long, orange curls. She's really very pretty. "It's alright. To be honest, I could use someone too." I smile back, and she traces her face with a pale, freckled finger. "Are you afraid? To die, I mean?" She sounds so casual, like she's just asked the time of day. "Not so much of death, but more of the way it'll happen. I can only guess how painful it will be." She smiles, and grabs my hand. "Allies?" She smiles. "Allies." I say, and we shake.
A whistle echoes, and we run to the window. We have just entered the capital.