The trains were something I had never anticipated, hearing that they existed, but never knowing what they were like. There were so many wonderful, confusing contraptions and luxuries that it sent my head spinning. There were air conditioners all around me, the carpet squishing beneath my feet as I run my fingers over the soft curtains, but these were nothing compared to the books.
"Where is our mentor?" I ask our Escort.
"Oh, were you not informed?" "Your mentor isn't allowed back in the Capitol."He wa . . ."
"No mentor?" I exclaim incredulously. "We won't last five seconds out there! The other Tributes will destroy us!"
With a quizzical look, Ty appears behind our Escort.
"Ty, we have no Mentor. We are going to be by ourselves throughout the Games."
To my surprise, Ty seemes unresponsive to the fact. He simply shrugs it off and continues to walk through the train car to his room. I seemed to be the only one worried about the fact that our mentor wasn't going to be there. About to cry, I stop myself. I refused to let this woman see me cry already, just a few moments into our deadly trip. Before my dam of tears broke I ran down the hallway, hoping to make it to my own room before the tears burst to the surface. As I rush through the door, a marvelous spectacle presents itself to me. Books, maybe hundreds of books. They lined the walls with them. As soon as the door swishs closed I let my tears burglarize their way into the outside world. It has been some time since I last cried; the thought of crying made my hate suppurate. Although I did not posses the strength to hold them back anymore, I proceed with the aim of letting myself cry until nothing else would come but moans of pain.
It wasn't until I had quieted down that dinner started. Hillary, as Ty had just informed me, planned dinner around the replay of reaping day. First as always was District One.
Our beautiful boy tribute for this year's Hunger Games will be Jeremy Helms.
Before another word could be uttered the biggest boy I've ever seen steps forward out of the crowd.
(")I VOLUNTEER, he bellowes."
("Well what is your name, young man?" Without a moments hesitation the name Jars Etna follows, but with less keenness. "Ok, Jars, come up here and help me pick this year's District 1 girl."
Turning the massive sphere, Jars reaches in to retrieve one name, a name that could change an entire family or destroy 23 others. Reading the slip to himself, Jars then almost thrust the slip back into the sphere before the District 1 escort snatches the slip and yells out the name.
"Amble Horst is this year's Tribute."
A cry voices the name the slip provided and a commotion leads to a 12 year old girl approaching the platform; staunchly this 12 year old girl ascends the stairs with a smug smile, a smile that could light up an entire community, and enough confidence to supply an army, she speak) with a malevolent tone.
"I volunteer."
no the words spoken to the escort on stage make her ostensibly wince and she almost immediately looks to the crowd for another volunteer, but no single soul prepares a challenge to her volunteering. Chills surreptitiously invade my entire body, looking at Hillary, our escort, as the smile plastered upon her face whithers and dies, it becomes apparent that I alone know that this year's Games will be the worst to come.
"Well, sweetie, what's y . . . your . . . your name, sweetie?"
" the one and only Melanie Serding."
-DISTRICT 2-
Taking a deep breath I ready myself for a horrible experience, now that I wasn't so certain that I would make it back home. The foulest part yet was that only the first district reaping had ended now and I would see the other 20 tributes that desired to take my life. This is unbearable. The rest of my time is limited and I just now understand it. The District 2 escort had finally made his way to the podium.
?"All right, let's find our pair of tributes for this year Games."
The green teeth he smile with keep me distracted from almost anything he says. With a nonchalant attitude, he starts to turn the sphere which held the name of one girl or boy that possibly would take my life. During the course of his time turning the sphere I steal another look at Ty and the more I look at him, the more I saw his brother, Russell. I had never told anyone, not even Russell,
"Ok, let's get on with the girl tributes. For this year our female tribute will be . . . Emma Tafton."
After a minute, a slender girl steps forward from the mass. Emma looks to be about fifteen. She seems to be happy-happy, that is, because she doesn't have a care in the world. After a second or two more I begin to pick out details that startle me. Emma was about 5,6" flowing blonde hair that seemed to shimmer with every movement. Also her face has the look of a hawk, not the kind that are trained as pets but one that if given the chance would rip out your eyes and devour anything edible. She stood behind the District 2 escort.
"Ok, now let's pick the male tribute for this year. excuse me, darling would you help me pick the name? I will turn the ball and I want you to pick a name from it, ok?"
Silently she strides to the giant sphere full of slips. After a second of turning she opens the latch, letting an ocean of names spill out then gingerly she steps up into the ocean of slips and withdraws the only name inside. Plucking the name from Emma, the Escort reads the name to the viewers.
"The male tribute for District Two will be our very own, Maxis Merriam."
A fight broke out within the mass of males whose names had not been called. Several times the words I volunteer are uttered. It isn't until a stocky boy made it to the stage that you can see the one who will claim the honor. Quietly he ascends the stairs. Sporting a black eye and busted lip he smiles and makes his way to Emma. His stare gives the look of hunger, the type of hunger that could only be sated by blood.
End of Ch-2
A/N: tell me how much you liked it or what you feel is missing.
