Sixty Seven
Part I
The Reaping
It is a cold morning, and the dark tendrils of Fate have already crept into District Three's dreams, poisoning their hopes and fuelling their fears. There are no screaming children in the square today; no games of hide-and-seek, no tinkering with toys, no laughter, no fun. It seems as though the town is holding its breath, waiting for the inevitable plunge that will snatch two of their offspring away, perhaps and probably forever. For today is the day of the Reaping, and trepidation hangs in the air, waiting to suck all the happiness from people's lives. Today, two families will be saying goodbye to their children. Today, like this day last year, and the year before that, and twenty years ago, and fifty; today, everything will change.
I shiver in the cool light of dawn, breathing in the anticipation and dread that one always associates with the beginning of the Games. Along with this annual scent comes the aroma of technology, for this District always stinks of it. Ask anyone living here, and they will answer you that, though not one of them will be able to say why, or even what technology itself smells like. They just know. We all do.
District Three is like a sprawling machine, never stopping, always trundling ahead, bumbling our way past the poorer districts, but never quite able to reach the heights of One, Two and Four. Everybody living here is part of the giant mechanism, keeping the mechanics working at the right pace. We are all cogs, gears, spare parts, and we should all always be on hand for any malfunction or problem that arises, for that is who we are. That is who we were born to be.
And I hate it.
A light hand on my arm startles me out of my reverie, and I jump, struggling to keep my balance on the sloping roof where I am seated. I squint in the dimness, and my eyes can just make out a halo of golden curls and shining blue pupils. I relax, letting down my guard and reaching out for my companion's hand. Lucah.
He's been my best friend since before I even knew what the words meant. We grew up together, as our mothers were the closest of people, and his parents knew how to support mine when things got tough. Not that our 'tough' was anything compared to real 'tough'. I know we're lucky, but even so, I feel trapped.
I live in Victor's Village. My mother won her Games when she was eighteen. She alone killed half the arena, including her District partner. I can hardly remember her, only glimpses, fragments, of a grey-haired woman, strict in all practices. I don't think love was something she ever felt. After her Games, she married my father for his money, though then she had enough from winning to last several lifetimes. I don't know how my Mum became friends with Lucah's. His mother is warm and kind, with soft brown hair that's always escaping its net, and warm blue eyes. I feel safe when I'm with his Mum, when I'm with Mariette, in a way that I never feel safe anymore with only my broken father and baby brother for company.
My mother died when I was six. I suppose I should feel some sadness at the thought, should feel a pang of grief whenever I walk in on my father crying in the kitchen, holding one of her aprons to his chest. But I don't. All I feel is a great empty blackness, and I know its wrong, but I'm glad I didn't know my mother, for I have heard countless tales from the rest of District Three about how ruthless she was when I was an infant. Back then, no-one wanted to cross Yvette Valentine.
The pressure of Lucah's hand squeezing mine brings me back to the present once more. I'm surprised to see the sun winking brightly at me, just above the horizon. I must have been silent for a long time. But then, Lucah doesn't mind, for he knows me, and knows that it is what I do when my thoughts get too crowded for me to have space to breathe. I escape, but I always return, only because Lucah is my anchor, and stops me from drowning in the sea of my mind.
I smile at him, and he returns it, lighting up his whole countenance with the grin. I laugh, slip my hand from his and slap him lightly across the face. His smile fades, and I know he's thinking about what might happen today. What we may have to lose.
I swallow. Living in the Victor's Village, I have never felt the need to sign up for tesserae. But even though Lucah's mother works hard in the apothecary, and his father in the labs, he and his three sisters have been receiving the tokens since they all turned twelve. I feel an anxious knot in the pit of my stomach, for there is about twice the chance of Lucah being picked than me, and we both know it.
I have tried time and again to give him and his family some of our money. We have far too much for only three people in our household. But every time I offer, Mariette kindly turns me down with a firm smile, and says something inspiring about making her own way in the world. I never understood it. Surely the money would belong to her more than anybody, for it was my mother's, and Yvette's closest friend was Lucah's mother. But still, she refuses, and every Reaping, I feel a broil of guilt in my stomach that is far worse that any number of butterflies. But every year, Megara, Jolene, Constance and Lucah have made it through. Now the two eldest are nineteen, and they're safe. But right now, I'm sweating, thinking of the possibility of Lucah and Constance heading into the arena to kill or be killed. And the one thing I know about Lucah's family, about the Cartwrights, is the fact that not one of them would ever hurt another living thing. And spending so much time with them, growing up with them, I feel the same way. I shudder to think of any of us being picked for the Games.
But no, now is not to time for such morbid thoughts. With Lucah smiling at me, I have something to look forward to. I won't be picked for the Games. None of my friends and family will. It won't affect any of us in the slightest way.
I repeat these thoughts over and over in my head, and then aloud, and Lucah nods.
"I know, Eulalie. I know. You're safe, we're all safe. Nothing's ever going to happen again."
Again. I know what he means. He means my mother, and my elder brother. Both picked for their Games at eighteen; one survived, but the other was not so lucky. My heart pangs now when I think of Xavier. He was far, far older than me, but I worshipped him, and seeing him slaughtered, an axe ripping through skin, bone, muscle; it broke us all. It was not long after that that mother died.
Lucah pulls me to my feet, and almost absently brushes a strand of golden hair from my eyes. My heart starts to pound. We've only ever been friends, but now, now I see him truly for the first time, and oh, how I want him close. But he just smiles at me like normal, and I feel my heart sink, stop to race, realising that to him, I will always just be another sister to take care of.
Smiling, trying to hide my disappointment, we jump down together from the roof and land on the sodden ground. We see a crowd gathering, already prepared for today. I bite my lips so hard they bleed. I look at Lucah, see his fierce determination.
"May the odds be ever in your favour," he whispers, and I disappear into the shadows, towards Victor's Village, for the formal dress laid upon my bed for the formal 'celebration'. I shudder. The Districts are nothing more than docile sheep, and the Capitol are the wolves that will rip us to shreds should we ever stray from their plan.
The body heat emanated from the press of fifteen year old girls all around me takes away the cold that has dug itself deep into my bones. Our Capital representative, with a stupid name along the lines of Floral Holiday, is ranting on about the honour of being picked as tribute. I'm drifting away from her speech, until I hear a faint rustling and realise that she is delving into the girl's Reaping ball. I stand stock still, barely breathing, as I watch her turquoise taloned hands grasping around for a slip of paper. They all seem to slide past her saffron dyed fingers and I hold my breath as one life is saved, then another, and another. But finally, her claws grasp once card and she unfolds it, squinting heavily in the sunlight. I pray, pray, pray…
"Eulalie Valentine-Cook!"
My world stops. I feel the people all around me suddenly rear back, as though I've been tainted. I can taste bile in the back of my throat as I begin to pick my way through the crowd. I'm morbidly surprised by how easy it is. No-one seems to want to touch me now, as though by somehow being close to me, they'll be infected by the Games and have to become the other tribute. I roll my eyes at them, my mask of sarcasm hiding my utter dread. I mount the steps, taking them slowly, drawing out the pain I know my family and Lucah's will be feeling. When I reach Floral, she draws me into a quick hug and I stiffen, not comfortable with such intimacy.
"Wonderful!" She states, and I can feel a headache coming on through the crackling of the microphone. "Wonderful! Simply fabulous! Like mother, like brother!" I stand, stupefied, until I realise what she is referring to. Who she is referring to. My hands curl into fists, and I stare out at the darkening sky, over the heads of the crowd, determined not to show any emotion whatsoever. I can feel the cameras watching me, and so I pull myself together and flash a quick, confident smile in their direction. There, that'll throw them, I think savagely. It takes me a moment to realise that Floral is speaking again.
"And the male tribute is…" I feel a great surge of relief that my baby brother Sean is only eleven years old. I find his face in the crowd easily, his shock of white-blonde hair alerting me to his presence. He looks horror-struck, staring at me like I'm the Grim Reaper and have come knocking on his door asking for a cup of tea. I quickly avert my eyes, knowing I will break if I watch him any longer. I stare up at the clouds hiding the sun instead, and tune back in to the action.
"Royal Springton! Congratulations!"
I feel sick to my stomach as I watch the tiniest twelve year old naturally possible totter up onstage. His face is streaked with tears, and I feel a sudden urge to wrap my arms around him. He stands beside me, and I surreptitiously take his hand. I feel his shock, his terror, but he squeezes it ever so slightly and I smile again, valiantly this time, staring straight at the cameras and giving them my fakest grin.
Floral is speaking once more, but I no longer wish to hear it. A roaring has begun in my ears, and it is just getting louder and louder. I notice nothing else as I'm escorted offstage, towards the Justice Building. I felt empty before, but now all I can sense is hollowness inside of me. I cannot even feel my heartbeat. I wonder if I am even alive anymore.
There are no words to be spoken. My father is staring at me like a drowning man, sinking into the depths of his mind. I sniffle loudly, and curse myself at the sign of weakness. I lean forward, give him a hug, and then stand.
"You can go now," I whisper, even though every fibre of me is aching to be held by his big, strong arms and cradled gently, being soothed by a soft lullaby into sleep. He stands and staggers off, and only then do I smell the alcohol on him. I stifle back tears, and nod my head to allow the next visitor.
Sean enters, his head bowed, and then I am running towards him and enfolding him in my arms. I suddenly don't care about being strong anymore, and my tears soak the back of his shirt. His is sobbing also, but all I can do is hold him, hold him, and whisper nonsense into his ears.
A Peacekeeper breaks us apart, and I glare at him. He glares back.
"This one's time's up," he says in a gravely voice, and I swallow. I didn't know there were time limits at work here. Sean gives me a terrified look, and I bend down, kissing his forehead. In other circumstances, he would have squirmed away. Now, he clutches onto me, his eyes begging for another kiss. I give it to him, and stand.
"Be strong, Sean," I whispers, and watch him as he exits, looking over his shoulder, drinking in what he believes to be his last sight of me. I don't convince him that I'll win and return; he has seen too much death, too much destruction, to believe that.
The Peacekeeper announces my last visitor. I watch as Lucah enters the room. He seems to be having trouble breathing, and I smile softly, trying to calm him down, but I notice his eyes straying to the tearstains on my dress, and then looking up at my bloodshot eyes pointedly. I sigh.
"Mother wanted to come, and so did the girls," he begins. "But the Peacekeepers wouldn't allow you so many visitors." I nod stiffly, looking down at the ground so I can't see him. It is therefore a surprise, then, when his strong arms enfold me and draw me into an embrace. We have hugged before, but never like this, with my heart pounding against my ribcage. I know he can feel it. I sense him smile.
He pulls back, and I clamp my teeth together to stop myself from whimpering like a baby and reaching out to touch him, draw him closer. He pulls something out of his pocket.
It is a small copper necklace, with bits of barbed wire strung throughout, though it is all smoothly made with no protrusions. I touch it reverently. We made it together as children. I didn't know he still had it.
I let him fasten it around my neck. I hope against all odds that the Gamemakers will let me wear it into the arena. Lucah hugs me again, and this time, his lips brush mine, softly, gently. He pulls away once more, and I stare at him in shock.
The ghost of a smile is etched upon his face, but all he says before he leaves is, "You win for me." And then he is gone, without once looking back.
And I am left alone.
On the Tribute Train
I stare out the window for as long as I can, desperately training my eyes on the disappearing fences that surround my District. The enormity of the situation has finally sunken in, and I am faced with the possibility of never seeing home again. The thought makes me sick to my stomach.
I stagger away from the window, suddenly unable to breathe. I was shown where my quarters were the moment Royal and I alighted onto the train, but even so I am hopelessly lost for ten minutes or so before I remember my room was left, and not right. I veer in the correct direction and, sure enough, arrive at my door in moments. I shake my head, astounded at my stupidity. If I'm this bad on a train, how will I handle myself in the arena?
I open the door and shut it again behind me. There is no locking mechanism. I swear loudly.
On the bed is a mustard-yellow and pink spotted dress which I assume has been laid out for me to put on. I wrinkle my nose at it. I was never one for dresses, and the Capitol won't change that. The only I dress I own is the one on my back right now, reserved for such occasions like birthdays and the Reaping.
Peeling it off, the pink ruffled sleeves causing me annoyance, I stare in dismay at the watermarks and tearstains dried upon the chest and shoulders. I have no idea how they'll be removed, and I worry at my father's reaction when he sees the state of it, when I remind myself that I am never seeing him again. I bite my lips, the dried blood already on them moistening and dripping down onto my thin white slip, which is all I am wearing. I quickly wipe the red liquid away with the back of my hand, and see with a detached interest that it smudges just as if I've been stabbed through the palm.
I yank the yellow dress over my head. It is the perfect fit, and I am rather amazed, since it is very hard to find clothes my size. Lucah often says I look like a skinny little boy, with no curves whatsoever to speak of. I wonder how the Capitol knew.
I glance in the mirror. It seems foolish, but I want to make the best impression I can on Floral and the mentors. My hair is messy now, curling up at the edges so my head looks like a golden dandelion. I grimace, slip on some stockings and shoes, for it is cold inside the carriages, and leave the room.
I enter the dining carriage to find it already full. Royal is sitting at the head, shaking in his Reaping outfit, and the two mentors, Karin Westcliffe and Dimitri Crescent, are seated on either side of Floral. Everybody looks up as I enter, the door slamming shut behind me. Lucah's tribute token suddenly feels impossibly heavy against my neck. I clear my throat hesitantly and take the seat beside Royal, giving him a small smile. He doesn't respond, only stares at me with a glazed look on his face that lets me know his mind is thousands of miles away. I lower my gaze.
Dimitri sneezes, and I hide a smirk as Floral jumps and edges away. I'd heard Capitol residents were extremely wary of illnesses, but I hadn't really given the rumour much thought. It seems now, however, that it was true.
Dimitri smiles at me, a stiff gesture which I cannot return. We've been neighbours almost my whole life, and he was always the nicest adult, apart from Mariette Cartwright, that I knew. Karin glares at me. She's my other neighbour, and from the moment we could walk, she decided that Lucah and I were trouble alright. She's elderly, pushing fifty I'd say, but she always volunteers to be a mentor. I suppose it's because she's so bloodthirsty; she loves watching the Games unfold right before her eyes, instead of on a screen.
Dimitri winks at me. He won eight years ago, the Games after Xavier died, when he was seventeen. I'm surprised by how weary he looks. His wavy brown hair is streaked with grey, almost as if seeing all that death and destruction has taken away some of his will to live. I stare at Floral instead, not wanting to dwell upon what happened to Dimitri and what may happen to me.
Floral Holiday is truly one of the most hideous specimens of woman I have set eyes on. Her skin is dyed yellow, which gives her an unhealthy tinge, and her apple green hair doesn't help much with the impression either. She's always wearing outrageous three-piece suits, and today is no exception. The jacket and pressed pants are both stark white with splatters of red on them that I assume are meant to resemble blood. Her vest is the opposite. I smother a grin. At least seeing all the horrendous fashions in the Capitol will take my mind of the Games, if only for a short space of time.
We eat our meal in silence. Karin keeps shooting me these nasty looks, which aren't helped by the fact that Dimitri is pulling faces across the table and making me snort into the food. It's a lavish affair, with all kinds of curries, puddings, salads, soups, meats…you name it, and it's there. My appetite has all but disappeared, however, and I only pick at a strawberry and mint liquid concoction, accompanied by some red looking meat which I don't touch after the first bloody, juicy bite.
Royal is shovelling down the stuff like there's no tomorrow. I know him from around town, he and his family. They're among the poorer part of our District, but until now, when I see how skinny he is and how much food he's packing away, do I realise just how bad it is, and just how lucky I, and even Lucah, have been our whole lives. It makes my insides churn with guilt.
I push the hunk of raw meat away from me, feeling queasy. Floral opens her mouth to say something, but then spots some sort of thighbone dripping with grease in front of her, and quickly snatches it onto her plate to gobble it up. Once more, I suppress a grin. It really is quite vile how these people can live.
Karin starts asking questions, all related to the Games. How strong are you? Can you run fast? Are you skilled in any weaponry? Did your parents teach you anything?
I shrug at every enquiry, smirking as she becomes more and more frustrated. Finally, she snaps.
"I'd have thought, Eulalie, your father would've wanted you to live up to your mother's memory! What a disgrace he did not!"
"What a disgrace you must be to your family too, Karin," I say without being able to stop myself. "With a face like that, it's no wonder you won your Games. Everyone probably died at the sight of those huge, hairy moles." She looks outraged. Dimitri's hand has come up to cover his mouth, but his shoulders are shaking and his eyes are dancing with laughter.
"Well, I never." Karin is speaking stiffly, as though with enormous effort. "Did anyone ever teach you good manners, child?"
"Yes, they did, but with a neighbour like you, things just can't help but go downhill." I grin at her and then, excusing myself, make my way back towards my section of the train. Closing my door behind me, I wedge a chair beneath the handle to make sure no-one pops in when they're not wanted.
I fall back onto my bed, laughing. I shouldn't have said those things but, oh, was it worth it!
I'm awoken by the soft sound of crying. Sitting bolt upright in bed, I glance around me, terrified of some sort of sceptre lurking in my room. To my relief, I am alone. I flick on the light. The chair is still beside my door.
I can still hear the sobs. I slowly realise that they are coming from the other side of my wall. I edge the chair out from beneath the handle and slip out into a dimly lit passageway. Making my way along to where I know Royal should be, I open his door which, thankfully, he has not barricaded. Walking inside, I shuffle cautiously forward until my fingers find a downy quilt. I sit down uncomfortably, with a creaking of bedsprings. I sense Royal stiffening beneath the covers.
"Shush, Springton, it's me," I whisper, and I feel him relax. Carefully, I stretch out beside him, searching in the dark for his small hand and squeezing it.
"You'll make it through," I say, and I know right now that I will do anything to return this child home to his family. "I promise you that."
And with those words, we both fall asleep, side by side, sinking into dreams uninhabited by the Hunger Games and all its terrors.
Arrival to the Capitol
My hair is slowly drifting in the odd artificial breeze they install inside the train carriages. I rather like the sensation. My face is plastered up against the window, vying with Royal's for our first sight of the Capitol. It is an easy, fun game, and when the dazzling city space finally comes into view, I find myself unable to breathe.
Twirling spires of glass and towering structures of steel meet my eyes. The flashy lights glint wickedly, and I find myself squinting at the penetrating gleam. Never before have I seen something so huge, so enormous, so terrifying. I am enraptured by its beauty for a long minute, until it processes through the thick skull of mine that these Capitol citizens, who have lived in absolute luxury their whole lives, watch us die for their own enjoyment. It is then the novelty of the city lights wear off, and I begin to notice other, crucial details: the harsh landscape surrounding the oasis of riches, devoid of all life, just rocks and jagged stones littering the hard-packed earth. I notice, too, several clouds of toxic smoke hovering above the skyscrapers, and I wrinkle my nose, though I cannot smell or taste anything through the glistening window glass.
Beside me, Royal shivers. Almost unconsciously, I slide an arm around his waist and draw him in close to me. His head rests against my shoulder, and he sighs contentedly. I stare, fixated, at his mop of dark curls. So like Lucah's, and yet so different. I stifle the urge to run my hand through them, instead just giving the boy a comforting squeeze and setting my sights once again on the scene before me.
I cannot believe where I am right now, or what has happened in my life these past twenty-four hours. All I know now is, when I'm staring down the glitzy glam of the Capitol, I feel a deep-seated rage boil up inside of me. How dare these people look upon death, grief and destruction as something worthwhile? How dare they stare down all twenty-four tributes as if we were pieces of meat?
I can feel my face blazing in the morning sunlight, and out of the corners of my eyes I see my hair rise about me like a fluffy golden halo. I shiver, a cold blade of premonition sliding down my spine. It shouldn't bother me, as I know that I will most likely be dead before my next birthday, but still, I worry. For right now, instead of feeling a sense of protectiveness towards the twelve-year-old beside me, all I can register is the burning desire deep within me to win these Games and escape the claws of Fate that are slowly constricting my lungs, my head, my heart.
And I know it is selfish, I know it is wrong, but I want to slice open every one of the Capitol residents' heads for inflicting this pain upon me. I am becoming a monster, a bloodthirsty beast, and as its rage consumes me, the only logical thought I can muster up and process in my brain is 'What would Lucah think?'
On the Chariot
A powdered brush swoops towards me, smothering me in dust as it thwacks my cheeks vigorously. I cough, stifled in the red particles floating through the air. My stylist, Reyna, regards me with amusement. I am not used to this pampering, and she and everyone else knows it.
She steps backwards, staring at me with an artist's eye. I resist the urge to strike a pose. She twirls me around, taking in every inch of my bare body. I shiver. I thought I would be embarrassed, being naked in front of these strangers, but they look and act so differently to the people I know that I feel a sort of indifference to the subject. It's as if they're scientists, and I'm their experiment. The idea makes my eyelid twitch.
Reyna makes an approving sound in the back of her throat. This time, I cannot help but roll my eyes. She tuts at me, and then turns her back, rifling through a bursting wardrobe and pulling out a hideous concoction. I stare at it, wishing my District were anything but electronics.
It is a silvery dress than seems to be made out of some sort of tin foil, something like aluminium. The dress itself wouldn't be too bad, I suppose, if one didn't mind near blinding all their friends and family. No, what makes this dress a heinous crime are the strings of coloured bulbs that wrap around nearly every inch of it. Green, yellow, blue and red little lights wink at me from Reyna's outstretched arms, and I wrinkle my nose. I am going to look ridiculous.
With a heavy sigh, I take the dress from my stylist and pull it on over my head, after the cool silk underclothes. I don't worry about my hair, which is so short anyway it can't really be styled, Reyna having had to settle for curling it slightly. Reyna comes up behind me and zips me up. The silver foil is so tight I can barely breathe, but I'm guessing it makes me look Capitol-stick-thin. Reyna steps back to admire the effect of the dress.
Seemingly satisfied, she scrounges around again in her clothing cupboard and removes a pair of sparkling, sequined mirror leggings. I stare at her in disbelief as she motions for me to lift me leg up. I do automatically, and she whips on the tights, followed quickly by a snug pair of shiny black boots. I must be lit up like one of the Capitol's skyscrapers.
Reyna spins me around again, making sure everything is correctly in place, and then leads me over to the full-length mirror in the corner of the room. Something emerges from my mouth, crossed between a snort and a gasp. Because I don't look ridiculous at all. Well, maybe a little. But most of all, I think I look beautiful.
I reach out a hand to touch the girl in the looking glass. It seems impossible that I can be this stunning, even in such…interesting garments. The concertina door opens up beside me and I jump, only to see Royal emerge followed by his stylist, Soleil. The former is dressed exactly the same as me, except for the fact that my dress is his shirt and my leggings are his trousers. He gives me a wary smile when our eyes meet. I grin in return, gesturing for him to come over.
The chariot ride will begin in moments. We are both ushered out towards our vehicle. Dimitri and Karin are waiting by the door, Floral a little further off by the back of the carriage. I stifle an outburst of laughter at her pointy plum suit.
I slip my arm around Royal's shoulders and draw him in close to me. He hesitates for only a second, and then relaxes. Karin sniffs disapprovingly and speaks.
"You simply cannot walk out like that, Eulalie. Don't mother him, for goodness sakes."
I snap a harsh retort back at her, and she quails at the ferociousness in my voice before remembering who and what she is, and who and what I am. She rises up on the balls of her feet and is about to deliver my demise by words when Dimitri cuts in.
"Karin, that's enough. It's Eulalie and Royal's decision, not ours." He looks straight and hard into my eyes. I notice with wonder than his gaze is amber. "Eulalie, whatever you do, you just have to remember that from this moment onwards until you either win the Games or die, you are being watched. Observed. Studied. So make every moment count, okay?"
I nod and some of my anxiety must show in my eyes, my face, my stance, because Dimitri immediately steps forward and envelopes me and Royal in a quick hug. I inhale his scent of musk and leaves, totally at odds with Lucah's lemon and smoke smell. My eyes snap wide open. Why on earth did I just think that?
Dimitri pulls back and helps up me and Royal. I gaze down into his face for a moment longer, suddenly no longer entranced by his amber eyes and wishing they were Lucah's blue, and then look away quickly. I don't turn back once.
Lights are blazing down on me, coating my already sweaty skin with another layer of filthiness. Or maybe that's just what it feels like, because when I look up at the monitors, and see them showing District Three's chariot, I don't recognise any part of myself in the stunning female tribute who is smiling and waving, one arm around her District partner, pink-painted lips smiling widely.
I was sure our ensemble would blind all of the audience, but they seem to bathe in our brightness. I can hear some of them even calling my name, over and over, and in an odd, detached way I think of how odd this must look back at home. Lucah.
The name twists my heart around, and I force my thoughts away from his laughing eyes, his golden curls, freckled skin, soft, soft lips…
The camera shoots to me and Royal again and I see our faces displayed in a close-up on the big screen. We look like siblings, not in appearance, but in actions; my arm around his shoulders, his head leaning against my side comfortably. I celebrate in the fact that the Capitol and President Snow are probably kicking themselves in this gesture of solidarity in a place where selfishness is usually all that counts.
I'm watching the screen again when the camera suddenly cuts from District Four's hulking Careers to the pair of tributes from Seven. My stomach gives a flip, thought I'm not sure why.
The boy is not much to look at. Clothed in green, black and brown, his expression is angry and brooding, his muscles flexing beneath the taut fabric. The girl, however, is altogether different. With hair of brownish-black, average height, slim, the only thing that should be remarkable about her is her snapping eyes. But somehow, I feel drawn to her, and I watch the screen, mesmerised, until the camera cuts away again to Twelve's poor, poor tributes in their baggy miner getup.
I tear my gaze away from the monitors and blow a few kisses to the crowd. I don't know if it's the right thing to do, but I do it anyway. If it's not, at least it'll be worth the look on Karin's face when we finish up here.
And as we are concluding the chariot run, the camera finds my face again. And in it, I see not only a strange beauty, but a fierce determination, indicated in the glint of my hazel-green eyes and the firm set of my lips. A sense of euphoria bubbles up inside of me as I recognise the look of a wild animal, caged and ready to be let loose to rip, tear, kill. Because with this look on my face, I know that nothing will be able to stop me.
Training Centre
I awake in a cool, dimly lit room. It is more sumptuous than anything else I have ever set eyes on, and for a moment, even in the pale dawn, I am mesmerised by its beauty. But today is not the day for contemplation. Today, the real Games begin.
My eyes drift over to a set of clothes laid out for me for today. It consists of a simple cream blouse, black shorts and belt, and some ridiculous laced things which I cannot tell if they are impossibly high boots or just very strange leggings. I bite my lip, knowing that this is my outfit for the training centre. Sighing, I wriggle out of bed and out of my nightgown, padding my way over to the bathroom adjoining my bedroom. I hop under the showerhead and turn it on, pushing a couple of random buttons that, once I am finished, leave me smelling like citrus and chocolate. I'm dry in moments, thanks to another ingenious Capitol invention, and I quickly run back over to my bed and slip the outfit on. Once again, it fits snugly, and I wonder how on earth the Capitol knows what my size precisely is. Everyone else in my life seems to get it wrong.
I leave the room, not bothering to do anything with my hair. Last night, for some absurd reason, Reyna decided to give me some extensions, and hasn't yet had them removed. They actually don't look half bad, though I very much prefer short hair. But I don't have time to change, so I just leave my golden locks loose.
It's a short walk from my quarters to the breakfast area, and I'm down there in moments. Everybody else has already gathered, and with the exception of Karin, they are all greedily slurping some Capitol concoction. I smile at the expression of bliss upon Royal's face. He's clothed similar to me, though without the laced leggings, instead just wearing durable dark pants. He glances up as I enter and gives me a shy smile, which is a little repulsive given the fact he has food wedged in his teeth. But I ignore that.
Dimitri grins as I enter too, and he nods to a seat beside him, where the table setting already contains a bowl of some sort of broth, a glass of chocolate, and a platter of fruit. I slide into the seat, and he gives my hair a quizzical look. I roll my eyes. "Reyna." That's all he needs to know, and he nods.
Floral clears her throat. "I'm very sorry, Eulalie, but you slept in, and I'm going to have to rush you. Training begins in five minutes." I don't react, apart from wolfing down my food faster than before. In seconds, it is gone, and I'm smiling slightly at our Capitol representative.
"All finished, Floral. Lead on."
I don't know why, but I'm excited for today. The prospect of seeing all my opponents in action should frighten me, but instead all I feel is anticipation at the coming day. My thoughts can't help but stray to the girl from Seven, to whom last night I felt inexplicably drawn to. Perhaps today that mystery will be solved.
Royal stands and I follow suit, along with the rest of the table. We walk in silence, following Floral to the elevator that will take us up to the training centre. She presses the up arrow and turns to face us. "You two will have to go up by yourselves I'm afraid. The mentors are occupied elsewhere today." I'm unperturbed by this statement. Floral ploughs on. "If there is anything you wish to say, do it now, for you will not see each other until the end of your training session." She looks at us expectantly.
Dimitri clears his throat. "Right, well, all I really have to say is that you should try as many things as you can. Get a feel for the arena. Learn some new skills. Practice old ones. Just…don't get on anyone's bad side, especially the Careers. Got it?"
Royal and I nod in understanding. Karin remains silent, staring at me with loathing. As the elevator doors open and we step inside, I flash my sweetest, most sickly smile towards her and, before she can respond, we are heading up, up, up, towards my fellow tributes and our first official dangerous day of the Games.
We are the last to arrive and in every way possible, it is disconcerting. Every head turns our way as we enter. I see several of the Careers openly grin at Royal's diminutive size, obviously picking him as an easy target. The male tribute from Two gives me a smirk, and in return I flip him the bird, an obscene gesture I learnt from Xavier before he died and have never had cause to use until now. He looks shocked, and I raise an eyebrow and turn away.
Slowly, the tributes return to their stations. We've missed the opening talk, but I get the general idea of the centre. I head straight over to the edible plants station, which is deserted. Nature skills are not my speciality, and I need to get them up to scratch. Royal follows behind me, his head hanging, reminded me somewhat of a disconsolate rag doll.
The woman manning the station looks delighted when we arrive, and delves right into explaining all plants and their properties, and what we might face in the arena. I soak up as much of the information as possible, because I know that without it, I'll probably be dead the first day.
We stay there for over an hour. I see some of the other tributes laughing outright at us for spending time here, but I know they'll regret it when the actual Hunger Games begin. Maybe I could poison their food today, and then we'll see who is laughing.
Finally, we finish up. I flash the instructor a small smile, which she returns. I then head over to the knife-throwing station, which is already occupied by the boy from Seven. He's a hulking figure, and I was right last night in my assumptions of his character: he really is angry, all the time.
I pick up a small dagger, testing its weight in my hands. I'm uncomfortable with any weapon, and this knife is no exception. I shrug, turn towards the target, line up my hand and throw. To my great surprise and delight, it lands dead centre in the small coloured circle which previously had been unblemished. I can't hide my grin. All those afternoons playing darts and skipping stones with Lucah have obviously paid off.
Royal has a turn and, as I suspected, he is abysmal, his dagger barely grazing the outer ring of the target. I give him a comforting squeeze, telling him it doesn't really matter, and that his strengths will lie elsewhere. Though we both know I am lying, this perks him up a little, and makes me wonder just how far your own deception can go.
Seven gives me a disgusted look, which I respond by inclining my head a centimetre or so and meeting his eyes. They are plain small stones set far back into his skull, and I wonder if he is really stupid or if he just looks that way.
Seeing as though I need no practice in this area, and knowing that Royal is never going to improve, we head over to archery. Here, it is me who is terrible. My arm just doesn't have enough strength in it to draw back the bow enough to meet the target. I sigh, flexing my fingers which are fast as lightning after so long working with cables and wires. If only archery required more than brute strength in your upper arm.
Royal's not a bad shot here, managing to hit the second ring of colour in the target. I give him an ecstatic smile, while he just stares dumbfounded at the embedded arrow. Before me have any more time to ponder, however, an arrow whirls past me, missing my skull by about an inch, and buries itself dead centre in the target. I turn, expecting to see some sort of hulking, hideous Career, but instead my eyes meet with the girl from District Seven. She quirks her lips in a small smile, and I grin back. She walks up to me.
"You're good," I say, expecting her to shrug and say that she's alright. Instead, she looks me right in the eye and nods, full of such confidence I falter for the first time. Here's a Games Victor, if I ever saw one.
She turns to walk away, but I grab her arm before she can make it more than several paces. She whirls back around, glaring. I plough onwards. "Wait. I'm Eulalie. You?"
She just stares at me for a long moment before clearing her throat. "Sienna." She then turns away again and this time, I let her go. It's clear she has no wish for an alliance. My small hope deflates in my chest as I watch her walk over to the knife-throwing booth and knock the two Careers there now out of the ball park with three straight and true throws.
I turn around to find Royal missing. I panic momentarily, and then reconsider. He's twelve, and old enough to look after himself…isn't he? I spot him hovering by the electronics station, elbow deep in a box of wires and cables. I grin to myself and head on over. The instructor seems delighted to have skilled people with him, and he shows us some more complicated things. I don't say so, but I already know everything he's telling us, that and more. I just smile and nod politely, knowing Royal will need to get up to scratch with some of these electrical snares and traps.
The instructor tells us to just go and do our own thing with the equipment, and that he'll return in a half hour to see our progress. I immediately delve into the box, sifting through its assorted wires, pulling out two dozen or so. Grabbing a few bulbs and other such things from my surrounds, I rig up a very simple contraption. Well, simple to me anyway.
I flick the switch once I'm done, and the various lights begin to flash all colours of the rainbow. A soft music emanates from one of the devices I've attached. I notice that the rest of the room has gone silent. I look up.
All the other tributes and even the other instructor are staring at me and my invention. I realise that to them, the circuit must just look like a messy tangle of cables with no start and no finish. I can feel my cheeks begin to heat, and I quickly dismantle the creation. I grab a dagger from behind me and rig up another maze of electronics, this one a dangerous snare.
Attaching the finishing touches only take moments. I take a small ball and carefully drop it onto a small disc, whipping my hand backwards as fast as possible. Just as well, for the moment the ball makes contact, the dagger is released and drops down to impale the sphere in its dead centre. I smile to myself and stand, not bothering to take apart my trap. The other tributes are still watching, but this time, on their faces is a suspicious wariness, and I realise that by showing my skills, they have all just targeted me as a dangerous opponent, and by extension, Royal as well. I groan internally, but keep the grin on my face. I can't show them weakness, not now, not ever.
The rest of the day passes by in a blur. I sample camouflage, but my usually so nimble fingers are hopeless when it comes to art. The agility station is a breeze. I've been taking dancing classes since I was an infant, a rare form of delicacy my mother enforced and which I have never given up. Sienna from Seven joins me again, and surprises me with her grace and speed too. We're pretty evenly matched, and I give her a smile which she doesn't return. Someone clearly doesn't know how to make friends.
But despite her rudeness, I'm drawn to her, and it's with regret that I finish up at my last station, weights, without striking up a conversation. But, as I remind myself, there are still several days to go until the Games. Maybe, just maybe, I can get her onto my side, because if it comes to it, if it comes to just us two at the finish line, I know I will never be able to kill her, and I also think that I will never want to try.
Private Session with the Gamemakers
I never believed an atmosphere full of burly teenagers would be conducive to study a train of thought, and it seems I was right. Waiting in the prep room for our private sessions with the Gamemakers, constantly bombarded by the sights of hulking Careers arguing, certainly puts a damper on the fantasy I am playing out in my head. I sigh. Even though I'm in District Three, which means I'll only be sixth to present my wicked skills, it's still going to be a long wait. I feel awfully sorry for those in Eleven and Twelve; it's already been an hour, and we're only up to the female from One.
I sense a presence next to me, and I know it's not Royal, since I'm staring at him right now. I suppress a groan and swivel in my seat, coming face to face with a grinning brunette from Two. His face looks like someone decided to render a badly bricked building, but decided to stop halfway through because either way it would be hideous. I smile.
"What's a pretty girl like you doing with a little twerp like him, eh?" His voice is like sandpaper being rubbed against crumbling gravel. I shudder. "We could look after you, y'know, in the arena. Get to know each other. You and I both know you stand no chance alone, Three."
I take a deep breath, telling myself to calm my temper down, but it's no use. Words are building up inside my throat, and to be honest, I have no qualms about using them, especially on someone so vile. I stare Two right in the face.
"Firstly, my name is Eulalie, not Three. E-U-L-A-L-I-E, in case you didn't get that. And you probably didn't, because right now I'm getting the distinct impression that you don't speak English." I feel a strange sense of satisfaction at these words, and I still have more to say. "And I would never partner up with you; you know that, don't you? And not just because you're dumb. Me being seen with such a heinous example of humankind would just put a damper on my reputation, don't you think?"
I can see Two desperately trying to process my words through that thick skull of his, and after a long minute, my spiel finally seems to compute. He scowls threateningly, but all I notice is the fact that his teeth are disgustingly yellow and chipped. I grimace.
"You'll regret that, you know, Three. You're gonna die as soon as you get into that arena, I'll make sure of that." I probably would've felt moderately frightened, if not for the fact his eyelid is having a little seizure, jumping here, there and everywhere, and he doesn't notice any of it. It makes me smile, but unfortunately, he sees the grin.
"You think this is funny, don't you? You're gonna regret the day you were born, Three, starting right-" His knuckles are cracking menacingly, but at that moment, his name is announced for his private session. He gives me the evil eye as he stands, and instead of flipping him the bird as I had done the first day of training, I blow him a kiss. His piggy eyes widen in shock and I look away. He'll be on a warpath to murder me now, but I at least feel some strange satisfaction.
I can feel someone's eyes on me, and I swivel subtlety, trying to pinpoint the culprit. My gaze finds Sienna from Seven, and as soon as I meet her eyes, she looks away hurriedly. Honestly, these tributes seem to have no interpersonal skills whatsoever.
I decide to take action and I stand, making my way over to the empty seat beside her. I notice without comment that her district partner is sitting as far away from her as possible. I quirk a grin, which she doesn't return.
"So…" I begin, fishing around for the least incriminating subject I can think of. "What are you doing tonight?" Sienna gives me the oddest look, a sort of mix between incredulous, dubious, and the gaze someone might give to a very elderly, very deaf family pet. I'll admit, it wasn't the best ice-breaker I had, but honestly, what else could I use? And if she doesn't have a sense of humour, that certainly isn't my fault. But I planned to fix that latter part.
"Ah, I see. Busy, then, huh?" Again, she gives me 'the look'. My smile widens. "Pity. Would've loved to catch up some time, eh? I'll admit, I'm freakily drawn to the surly, serious type. You're just my cup of tea." I see her wrinkle her nose in distaste, and I sigh in exasperation. Has she even heard of the word sarcasm before?
I'm about to say something serious for a change, to see if she responds to that, at least, but my name is called out. I blink in surprise. They certainly moved quickly through both tributes from Two, and Royal as well. A cold blade of comprehension slides up my spine; that probably means Royal didn't do at all well.
I stand, make a salute with my right hand, and direct it towards Sienna. She looks thoroughly perplexed, and I just shrug, entering the training room.
It is eerily quiet in here, because even the Gamemakers seem to have stopped their activities. They're all watching me, tureens and platters and goblets of food and drink laid out before them. The sight is rather disgusting.
I wander over to the electronics station, purposely taking my time just to annoy them. Selecting a few choice wires and other odds and ends, I take them into the centre of the room and kneel down. The moment I touch the familiar texture of the cables, it's as if my brain lights up for the first time in days. I begin to construct a sort of snare, and within a minute, all is ready. I connect the last green wire to a metal fuse by my knee, and I stand.
The Gamemakers are leaning forward excitedly, and suddenly I want to hurt them, shock them, make them feel just how dangerous and wrong the Games are. I bend down again, change a few parts of my invention, and then rise. They still look like little children anticipating a show.
I place my foot above the switch, stare the head Gamemaker, Seneca Crane, right in the eye, and press down. With a loud bang, the trap sets off, and a throwing knife I had positioned in the snare is released, lit on fire, headed straight for the wall right above Crane's head. It embeds in the plaster, raining sparks down onto the Capitol residents. Some of them shriek, but the rest just stare at me, horrified.
I sketch an elaborate bow to them, my short hair flopping forward and reaching the ground, and then straighten. I gather the snare into my arms and dump it over by the electronics station. Giving the Gamemakers a little wave, I depart through the exit door.
The dagger is still smoking.
I am curled up on a blue leather couch, my arm around Royal, his head of dark curls comfortably resting against my shoulder. We're watching the television, as our training scores are about to be announced.
The Capitol logo flashes on screen, followed by a quick explanation of the private sessions. Then, the scores begin. The tributes from One both pull an eight, while – shock, horror! – the foul specimen from Two gains a ten. Then Royal's picture flashes up, one of the only times I have seen him actually smile. It is subtle, small, but a smile nonetheless.
The training score, however, is nothing to be proud of. Two. I tighten my arm around his shoulder and stare hard at the screen. My picture flashes up, me looking seriously at the camera, eyebrows raised. I stare at the score, relieved. The Gamemakers have given me a six. Not low enough to be noticeable, nor high enough to be targeted.
I hear Karin give an exasperated groan, and I fix my gaze on her. She returns it for a moment, then quails and looks away. Dimitri catches my eye, then, and smiles, mouthing the words, "I only got a five." The thought makes me feel a little better.
The Careers from Four get a ten and seven respectively, while Five and Six's scores are nothing too flash. When Seven pops up, however, I pay attention. Maybe this'll help me get to know Sienna a little better.
The male tribute pulls a six, same as me. I notice, unnecessarily, that his name is Alistair. Sienna's unsmiling face flashes onscreen then, with an eleven printed below. My jaw drops. What in the world did she do to get that one?
Eight, Nine, Ten and Eleven pass without incident, but both from Twelve get ones. I feel a stirring of pity in my chest, as I look at their sad, half-starved faces on the television. They deserve better, truly, they do. Everybody does.
We are all silent for a long time after the announcements. We really should be working on our interview preparation, practicing what we'll be saying and how we will say it. But none of us, not even Karin, seem to be interested. Even Floral is sitting silently, staring down at her tightly interlocked fingers.
I wonder at this silence. It seems odd, a protest of sorts, but looking at them all, from little Royal beside me, to Floral and Karin and Dimitri; I feel the most curious sense of companionship, and for once I am glad to be here. Because back home, my only friend was Lucah. Here, there are so many more people to love.
And so many more to lose.
The Interviews
The sea of faces before me swims in the glaring light. I can barely make out Dimitri and Karin in the front row, let alone the thousands of others behind them. I am now certain that the butterflies in my stomach have started a riot; I wouldn't put it past them, and it sure as hell feels like it now.
It's the interviews, the night before the Games officially begin, and I'm next up. That brutish fellow from Two, whom I now know to be called Ontario, is successfully fending off all conversation from Caesar Flickerman. Really, I feel sorry for the presenter, whose hair and skin are both sickening shades of scarlet this year, as another one of his questions is deflecting by a well placed grunt. I see Flickerman's eyes dart over to one of the technicians of the Games, and the latter makes a slicing gesture with his finger across his throat. Too little, too late, I think, as Ontario's buzzer goes off.
"Well, now," Flickerman smiles, a little warily, I think. "Off you go Ontario…and good luck! And now, ladies and gentlemen, our lovely lady from District Three, Eulalie Valentine-Cook!"
My legs feel like jelly beneath my body and the added weight of my glittery dress. I'm insanely glad that Reyna didn't give me something floor-length and horrendous, instead opting for short and glitzy. I'll admit, I feel a little sleazy, but it's certainly better than what the female from Four is wearing, which is practically nothing at all.
I take the seat beside Flickerman, settling into the soft cushiony texture comfortably. He gives me a dazzling grin. "So, Eulalie, it must have come as a shock to for when you were picked, hmm? After both your mother and brother…well, let me speak for all the citizens of the Capitol when I say that the odds were astronomical!"
I give him a sage nod. "And yet, Caesar, here we stand." Dimitri and I debated how I would portray myself in the interviews, and after passing along happy-go-lucky, sexy, aggressive and insane, we settled on intelligent. To be honest, I'm not sure how well I can handle that responsibility, so I'm just trying to sound as mature as possible.
Flickerman gives me a surprised look, and his smile intensifies. I suppose nearly every tribute he's dealt with in the past has had either a very low level ability in the art of speaking English, or were too full of themselves to notice what he was saying. "Quite right," he says. "Quite right, Eulalie. And so just how do you feel? One family affected so much by the Games…it must be rather difficult for your father, I would say."
"Yes. Most people would." My family is off limits. No-one talks about them in front of me; everyone back home in Three knows that. But then I remember that I'm not in Three anymore; I'm in the Capitol, and here, anything goes. I take a deep breath. "It's devastating for us all, Caesar," I say conversationally, hoping my voice doesn't give away the tangled emotions running through my mind right now. "I mean, my mother was crushed after Xavier was slaughtered." I place particular emphasis on the last word, hoping to make it sound like a heinous crime. I see some of the audience smiling and nodding sadly. "We all were."
"But you can't have been more than a child, then."
"That's right. But even a child knows something's up when her big brother never comes home." I'm horrified and humiliated when my voice cracks on that last word, and my throat closes up. I close my eyes, count to three, take a deep breath, and open them to find Flickerman staring at me sympathetically. I continue. "And then, of course, mother died, from shock, I guess. Father was never the same after that." I give a shrug. "But we get along, I guess. We just…never anticipated this happening…again."
Flickerman sighs and the audience follow his lead. I feel a great rush of dislike for them; they wouldn't know the first thing about love and loss, and yet here they are, 'pitying' someone who's lost so much more than most!
I stop that train of thought immediately, however, since I hate self-pity. It's just plain degrading, and I hate attention seeking people, especially those who already get enough as it is.
"I can see how that would be painful for you, Eulalie. Is there anyone special waiting for you at home, then, exempting your family, of course?"
Lucah. His name rises to the tip of my tongue, but I hold it desperately. That information is just too…personal to share on live television across the entire country. I lift my chin. "Yes, Caesar, as it happens. There is."
"And perhaps...a clue? A name?"
"Well, I would, but you see, that's impossible." I look the presenter directly in the eyes. "There are so many, you know. Because every single person at home, at District Three, is someone special, and someone I love." I give a shrug. "Giving their names would take all night, Caesar."
I flash him my most dazzling smile, and he soaks it up like a sponge. "Well, you must have a wonderful personality to attract so many friends!" I just give a nonchalant half-shrug, half-smirk to the audience. "And now, one more question before we have to go, I'm afraid…" I hide a smile; it's almost over! Thank goodness. "How hard are you going to try and win, Eulalie? How hard are you willing to work to get home?"
I take a breath. This is the clincher, the one where I know there are only two answers; what I'm going to do, what I know deep down in my heart; and what everybody here and back home expects me to say. Lucah. He always told me to tell the truth, even if it hurts. And I trust him more than anyone. Forgive me, I silently plead to him. "I won't try at all, Caesar, because I'm not going home." I stare straight at the cameras as I say this, straight home, my eyes trying to find Lucah's over miles and miles, trying to tell him that I'm sorry. "Royal Springton is going to win these games, Caesar; I'll make sure of that."
The buzzer goes and I stand, without Flickerman asking me to. I can feel the burning eyes of every single citizen of Panem on me, and so I blow a kiss towards the camera, imagining it landing square on Lucah's lips.
Sitting back down on my seat, throughout all the hostile and horrified stares of the tributes, I feel another gaze, more penetrating than all others. I turn my head in that direction, and meet the eyes of Sienna from Seven. I wink at her and, to my immense surprise, I elicit the smallest smile possible.
Maybe there's something human in her after all.
On the Roof in the Capitol
A cool breeze whips across my face, slapping me into some semblance of waking. I'm shivering, not with cold, but instead with fear and anticipation, because tonight is the last night before the Games begin. Tonight is the last time I will be free.
The interviews were earlier this evening, and immediately after, we were shepherded into our rooms and urged to get a good night's rest. But insomnia has always been one of my fatal flaws, and after an hour of tossing, turning and counting tiny multicoloured sheep, I had to get up and out. Fresh air relaxes me, though up here, on the roof of the centre, the unfamiliar atmosphere threatens to suffocate me. I long for the acidic smoke of home, the buzz of sparks, the creaking of cogs turning. Here, it is almost too still, too perfect. It's like the deep breath before the plunge; at least for us tributes, at least.
I can see the telltale chink in the force field before me; I'm leaning against the railing, and that small silvery patch has just put a damper on my plans to launch myself right off the balcony. Don't get me wrong; I'll do everything I can to get Royal out alive, but faced with the prospect of blood, of knives…of murder, I cannot help but think I'll be useless in the arena. Certainly no-one will want to ally themselves with a girl who vomits at the immediate sight of a wound.
I lower myself to the ground, crossing my legs and playing with my spotted skirt. Looking up into the sky, I can see the moon and the stars, the former waxed to almost full, and the latter sprinkled all about me. It feels truly magical here, and I gain some comfort knowing that this is the same sky that watches over District Three, over Sean, my father, Lucah.
I want to lose myself in memories; I want to build up my last pieces of home so strongly I won't ever forget them, not even in the arena when faced with death. I close my eyes, taking a deep breath…
"Come on, Lillie! It's easy!"
My big brother Xavier is standing on the roof in front of me, his arms spread like an eagle as he takes in a long breath on District Three's air. I'm laughing, and crying, because I'm laughing so much. There's a swaying branch before Xavier; he launches himself off of the roof and catches onto it, swinging himself lightly onto his feet and balancing there. He turns then, and holds his arms out to me.
"Xavier! Mummy told us not to!" But I can't hide my grin.
"Mummy's not here, Lillie. Don't worry, I'll catch you." And he does. I run and jump, going as fast as my fat legs can carry me. I land square in his arms, and he squeezes me tight, sitting down on the branch. "See now, that wasn't so hard!"
"Again! Again!"
"Alright, off you go." His smile is infectious, but all of a sudden I'm serious.
"And you'll catch me?"
He stares right into my eyes, and I clutch a handful of his tumbling dark hair. "Course, Lillie. I'll always be around to save you…"
I hear a faint scuffling behind me, and my eyes snap open. I turn, and see a shadow approaching slowly. Standing quickly, I brush the tears out of my eyes – when did they get there? – and prepare to accost the stranger. "Haven't you heard of privacy?" I hiss at the shape, and am mortified when my voice cracks with grief. I clear my throat, about to speak again, when I recognise the shadow for who it is.
Sienna from Seven.
I really should learn her last name.
She gives a shrug, and steps into the pool of light cast by one of the hanging lamps. In this dim illumination I can see the circles beneath her beautiful eyes, the red lines throughout their whites. I look away. "Sorry," I say. "I wasn't expecting…well, I wasn't expecting you."
"It happens," Sienna says, and comes to stand next to me. She is looking out at the sky, and I sense her thought of movement before it happens; I fling an arm out before her. She gives me a strange look, and I feel illogically angry.
"Force field," I say. "Unless you want to be burnt to a crisp…but by all means, go ahead." She stares at me, and I can tell she is wondering why I'm so serious, so incensed, why I'm not joking around like usual. I feel a little mollified at that; that she knows me well enough to sense when my mood changes.
"Sorry. It's just…" I trail off, searching for the right word, but am unable to find it.
"I know."
I give her a nod, and we descend into silence. Surprisingly, it's not at all awkward, and I content myself with gazing up at the moon while surreptitiously sneaking glances at her with my peripherals. She's about a half head taller than me, and I'd put her at around seventeen. Two years older than me, then. Her hair is dark and wavy, and loose tonight, fluttering in the shifting wind. I can feel my own hair beginning to come free of its plait; Reyna has me in extensions again, and I find them so annoying I just had to get them out of my face. But I was never the most skilled at the art of tying hair, and now I'm sure mine looks less like a braid and more like a frayed snake of rope.
Surprisingly, it is she who breaks the silence.
"I thought I'd be the only one awake, here…I couldn't sleep, you see." I nod. Me too. "And I'm not overly fond of nightmares, myself."
I give another nod. "Sometimes dreams are the worst sort of tragedy, because we can't ever change them. We have to let them run their course, no matter if it's terrifying." I look up from the spot I had been staring at on the ground to find her gaze fixed on me, pleasantly astonished. I feel an urge to lighten the increasingly dampening mood. "That's right, in my past life I was an oracle. Or a slug; either one suits."
Sienna looks away.
"So…"I say. "We haven't really been properly introduced. I'm Eulalie Valentine-Cook. Lillie, to my friends. Well, some of them, anyway."
"Sienna Whishaw."
Trying to start a conversation with this girl I imagine being somewhat akin to pulling teeth.
"That's…great."
Sienna doesn't respond. I take that as an incentive to stay quiet, which is really rather difficult. I content myself with examining my nails, which are small half-moons bitten down to the quick. Interesting.
After a long minute passes without either of us speaking again, I begin to feel my eyelids start to close. My head feels like it's been stuffed full of old gears and wires; in other words, it's heavy. I stifle a yawn.
"Well, Sienna Whishaw…I'm off."
She looks at me, and her face is eerily lit up by the moon directly behind her.
Giving her a little two-fingered salute, I wink. She blinks, and her lips curve into a smile. A feeling of elation bubbles up inside of me; I've achieved something here, tonight, making her smile like that.
I'm walking away, then, and have just turned the handle on the door when her voice rings out behind me.
"May the odds be ever in your favour, Eulalie Valentine-Cook." And I can't help but envision an arrow flying from her bow directly through my chest. Maybe I'm looking too far into this, but her words could be taken as a threat. Or maybe they're just an encouragement, or a joke, but I seriously doubt the latter.
"You too, Sienna. Break a leg."
And I close the door.
Entering the Arena
Two minutes.
That's how much longer I will be free for. Two minutes. Only two.
Once upon a time, I had hours, days, years. But now, I have less than anyone I know, because my world will not end when I die. My world will end when the Games begin.
So much death ahead of me. I cannot fathom hurting another soul, but I have watched the Games for fifteen long years, and have seen enough to know that they can change a person in the worst ways, brutal ways, cruel.
One minute.
A smooth voice over the intercom crackles the time and advises all tributes to step inside their tubes. One minute.
I am alone. I know others would have their stylists waiting, watching, but Reyna means nothing to me, and I doubt that anyone cares what I look like in the arena.
The clothes they've given us are strange. A black blouse and jacket, loose and billowing and warm. It suggests cold days and nights ahead. White pants, sure to become stained. Sturdy brown boots, strong enough to weather anything, yet pretty enough to show that they were not meant for such hardship.
I am wearing Lucah's necklace. I can only think of it of his, even though we made it together as children. I reach up a finger and brush it along the ridged texture. It calms me, and when I step into the clear glass tube, I feel no fear.
A panel slides closed before me, enclosing the small space with me inside. I can still hear the intercom through the glass, however. Ten seconds, it says.
Ten more seconds of life.
I take a deep breath, trying to remember home.
The crackle of wires in the middle of the night. The creaking bedsprings beneath my mattress. The way sunlight bounced off Lucah's blonde curls, the way it caught in his blue, blue eyes.
Five seconds.
A hug, full of warmth, love. A fleeting kiss, desire deeply repressed beneath. The long look of someone seeing you for the last time.
I can feel myself rising through the tube, through the air. No longer am I suffocating; the glass panels are disappearing, and a wave of heat crashes through me, my eyes closing due to the harsh glare.
The arena. We are in the arena.
"Ladies and gentlemen, let the sixty-seventh annual Hunger Games begin!"
Author's Note: Wow. This is long. I hope you guys enjoyed it! Just a few things; the headings in bold were prompts for this Hunger Games Challenge. The character of Sienna Whishaw belongs entirely to rainbowpanda0; we collaborated on this together. She'll be publishing her story soon, too, but they will differ somewhat (our own character MUST survive). Please fave, alert, review; whatever suits!
