Disclaimer: Same as always, I do not own the Hunger Games.
A/N: Johanna's story of her Games. Unspecified year, I might make a poll for some things I can't decide.
It's reaping day again and I stand in a corner of the roped-off area, scowling. I don't care about keeping track of the number of times I'm entered in the reaping. Why should I care? If I'm chosen, I'm chosen. I only know I'm entered more than ten because of the tesserae I signed up for, but thankfully, my family doesn't have a lot of people. As others amble in, some hurrying as the reaping begins to start, I catch glimpses of their faces, some terrified, anxious, others who have their name in no more than seven are relaxed and nonchalant. Most of them tower over me, even those who are a year or two younger than me. I've never been very tall, so I'll be easily underestimated in the Games, but I figure I could use that to my advantage. All the years, ever since I've turned 12, I decided I had to come up with my own strategy that even my mentor shouldn't know about. I'll be a weakling from reaping to the end of the Games, because I'll win.
"Happy Hunger Games!" Our district escort, Velda, overly decorated in accessories and paint, announces to the multitude below, stirring up the attention of everyone in the crowd. This year, she's wearing a new addition to her outfit - a crown of fake decorative leaves that I suppose is for the trees in District 7. She shows us a video clip about the Games but I don't even bother to glance at it for a second. Instead I run through my strategy, how to react if I'm called, how to act when the silly Capitol people croon over me. I flex my fingers in uneasiness as the video ends. Relax, I think. But my thoughts are interrupted by Velda's shrill voice.
"And let us see the boy and the girl who will represent District 7 in the Hunger Games this year!" Really, her high-pitched voice drives me crazy. As she shakes her head sideways, her loose crown of plastic leaves falls slightly off and she flinches slightly while adjusting it back to perfection. She walks daintily over to the girls' names with a squeal of "Ladies first!" and excitedly draws out a slip the moment her fingers touch one. She undoes the seal on the back and practically screams, "Johanna Mason!"
Ok, take it easy. This is where my plan comes in. I remain where I am for as long as possible, trying to look bewildered and scared as the girls around me move away. Hunching my shoulders, I attempt to cry and sob as I shuffle my feet towards the stage. Only when Velda beckons for me to "come up quickly" do I actually walk. She asks for volunteers, and I awkwardly stand with my face to the ground, knowing no one will volunteer. Why would anyone volunteer for Johanna Mason?
I don't really pay attention to the boy's name. I don't know him anyway. He takes the stage and I think he's probably about seventeen. Velda announces, "Let's give it for the tributes of District Seven, Johanna and Cade!" So that's his name. I keep my gaze plastered to the ground as Valda takes my hand and raises it up. People start clapping halfheartedly. Then we shake hands but I wait for him to hold his out first before I extend my trembling one. We are ushered to the Justice Building right away after that and once I'm inside and safe from the cameras, I relax and resume my usual scowl. Someone once told me that I scowl too much and when I'm older I'll be forever scowling and won't be able to smile any more if I wanted to. There's not much reason for me to smile anyway, even if I win the Games. So forget it.
No one comes in to see me as expected and I impatiently wait until the Peacekeepers come in to collect me. Once I set foot out the door, I start crying again and look at Cade out of the corner of my eye. There's no emotion on his face at all and he stands up straight, making me look even smaller. Good. Let them think this way. We board the train and our mentor, Blight, comes in. From what I can remember, he has a rather carefree attitude and from the looks of it he'll be more like driving away potential sponsors than attracting them. He's the only victor left, but at least he's sober and alert, unlike other drunks or morphling addicts I've seen, like the District 12 mentor, for instance. Drunk off his head and so incoherent he's detestable, even on television. But I don't think Blight is going to help much even if his intent is to.
I quit my snivelling and straighten a little, occasionally whimpering. We have our lunch, a marvellous set of meals all laid out for us on a fairly large table, and I do what any scared tribute would do. I don't exactly know how to use the fork and knife I've been provided with, since at home we just eat with our hands. So I dip a tentative finger in the murky light brown soup in front of me and bring it to my mouth cautiously to taste it. A pleasant warmth fills my mouth and I thirst for more. Without looking up once, I lift the bowl to my mouth and down the entire bowl in a couple of seconds. When I set it down and look up for the first time, I find everyone staring at me. Remembering my "weakling" mask, I deliberately slow the rate I chew by quite a lot. There's some small talk and then Blight asks about our strengths and in a small voice I tell him I have none, which is a lie of course. But I don't want him to know anything, absolutely anything about me. That could well ruin my own strategy.
Despite my record timing with the soup, I am still the last to finish. Velda has to rush me to finish so we can watch the reapings in time. I nod, but still eat considerably slow compared to my normal rate, then scurry to the television where everyone is already watching. They have already announced District 1 by the time I get there and I only get to see the two shaking hands. As they turn back to face the crowd, you can't help but catch the intimidating glint in their eyes. The pair from 2 are sturdily built, at least seventeen years old and, well, killers. Districts 3, 4, 5, 6 I don't find so much of a threat. I watch as 7 comes up and Velda calls out "Johanna Mason". I quite like how I appeared. Scared, weak, afraid of the Games. It's actually working. The rest of the districts don't make any sort of impression on me and we retire to our rooms. According to Velda, we'll be reaching the Capitol in about an hour and a half.
My room is large, bigger than my house back in 7 but I have a feeling the Capitol will be much grander. This is, after all, a train. I sit on a chair in a corner of the large room and stare out the window. It's dark outside and occasionally I can make out the lights from another district in the distance. We pass endless plots of land that undoubtedly belong to the Capitol.
I find a tissue-box on a table and take a couple of sheets and stuff them in my pocket save for one. Then I ball that one up, wet it a little with tap water and hold it tightly in my hand. Perfect.
Soon the train starts to slow down and I start to stalk out of my room, but correct my steps to smaller ones in time before anyone sees. We're led out of the train and through the crowds of swarming cameramen and photographers, holding microphones out to us, or fans who have already taken a liking to Cade and frantically yell out his name for his attention. He's clearly trying to play friendly as he blows out kisses to them and smiles, waving. I scamper along behind him, occasionally straightening up fearfully when I hear my name, otherwise making it obvious that I hold a "tear-stained" tissue in my hand. I overhear someone saying, "Wow, she's still crying. Poor girl, she won't last for very long." This comment makes me mad inside, but it's not really surprising with the act I'm putting up.
We reach the Training Centre soon enough. It's what I would call an extremely luxurious prison. We retreat into our rooms, being told that it's almost midnight already, and I change into one of the tens of nightgowns in the drawers. I fish the stack of tissues out of my pocket and leave them on the table. I'll use them tomorrow, though it's not like there's no tissues in this enormous room. I'm just used to not wasting. Then I crawl under the thick white covers and absentmindedly trace the intricate silk pattern embroidered in the hem. Enveloped in the warmth and comfort of the bed, I drift off to sleep thinking about home and imagining the smell of the trees lingering in the air.