A/N: Training days, the old days of training...sentimentality. :D This one is a little short but I promise the next chapter will be longer.
I just realised I forgot to add in the tribute parade...whoops! If I can I will add that in Chapter 1. Sorry :D
Thanks for reading this, and again, I don't own the Hunger Games or anything in it.
When they announce lunch, we file out of the gym and I run to Soraya right away. Half the time during training I've been feeling Cade's gaze on me and while it's hard to tell how exactly he feels, I think he's still thinking about what happened in the morning, and the brief hint of my strategy he got in before he left. But I force myself to forget anything that might affect my appearance both physically and mentally, and just make small talk with Soraya. She's good company anyway, but I have to remind myself constantly that I shouldn't become too close to her. I've seen past victors who have watched their friends die, and they've been wrecked beyond repair ever since. If I'm going to survive this, I don't want to be scarred for life. But again, if I survive this, that means the death of Soraya, of Cade, of the boy from 10 who helped us with our fires...of all the other people I see around me right now. With a start I realise that maybe being a victor isn't so good after all. If I had gone around making friends here with every single person in this room (maybe minus the Careers) I would have to live with a scarred conscience and no peace of mind. Not for the first time, my mind drifts off to the typical victor's fate. Hunger Games. Tribute. Victor. Life, and death, is so interesting.
Absorbed in my thoughts, I absentmindedly spoon food from the large buffet onto my plate and some gravy drips down the front of my shirt. I try to smear it away, but some of it still stays on, staining my clothes. Well, I bet they have some supernatural dry-cleaning machine here that could scrub this off in a second. Shouldn't matter to them.
I select my food, being careful not to take too much, and then go and sit in a corner with Soraya. She adjusts her position, giving me a little more space in our small cramped corner. The room does have more than enough space for a few times 24 to lunch in plus the buffet tables, but we squeeze anyway. I guess we aren't that used to spacious rooms just yet. We exchange comments about the food and the inviting yet dark ambience, or otherwise sit in silence, unspoken words hanging in the air that neither of us can bear to say out. The Games, or rather our deaths, are approaching.
After lunch we return back to the gym and I try to focus on more survival skills than weapons, but do try to master throwing knives and a couple of other weapons in case I can't pick up any axes. The way I do this and still try to appear weak is quite simple. I try to handle the weapon right, then at the last moment veer off so it lands on the side of the target. It's somewhat satisfying, but I long to let all my power loose and hit the target dead centre.
Throughout training I make acquaintances with the other non-Career tributes, exchanging a few words or smiles here and there, especially when they hit near the target with a relatively new weapon to them. And I grow closer and closer to them however much I try to prevent it. How am I going to cope with that when I watch them die? I've always thought the Games' tragedy is to watch people die, which some part of it is, but it's more of watching your friendships and relationships die away as your loved ones are stolen from you for this brutal sport.
They start to pick us out a couple of days later for our private training sessions. We're called in district order, the boy before the girl, so as the girl from 7 I have to wait a while as people leave the room one by one. Needless to say, I've already gone through exactly what I should do to get a low score. I didn't even have to work it out with Blight. for both of us to know what I'm going to do. I think he actually likes me, since I've already got my strategy planned out for the entire Games. If anything, I've begun to enjoy his company, even if it is discussing how to portray yourself in front of your opponents and later kill them. The idea is rather morbid, but it can't be helped. I just hope I don't have to kill anyone I've taken a liking to.
I wait until they call Johanna Mason and then shuffle into the gym. The stations have been cleared, the weapons put to one side, other materials piled up neatly against the wall. The Gamemakers are sitting in plush chairs at the elevated platform built specially for them, drinking from wine glasses and picking distractedly at the platters of food left out for them. Only one or two are noticing me, and even then it's between sips or mouthfuls. I can't put in words how frustrated and mad I am at them, that they don't even bother to pay any attention to me, that they don't care whether I live or die, and I long to grab an axe and fling it straight at their heads, but of course it's a direct death sentence for me if I really do that.
Already a minute has passed and I'm just standing there, arms itching for the smallish axe on the rack of weapons, yet inclining towards the larger weapons - swords and spears - to show them how weak I am. Wait, I'll throw some knives first. I take one by the blade like what I did before, and aim at the 3 point mark. It hits between 3 and 4 as expected. I try to look disappointed while inside I'm filled with triumph, which is really not an easy thing for me to do. As if vying for another try, I take a smaller knife from the rack and go for the very corner of the target board. I do this for a couple more knives and eventually take a spear and dig it into the ground helplessly. I pretend to topple down with the weight of it, feel my legs sinking to the ground, then drop it and try lifting it up. It's not easy to pretend, but I try for my own sake. Then my fifteen minutes must be up because they tell me to leave. Good, I think. Really, the urge to run out is just so great but I force myself to walk instead. Looking from where I am to the exit, I estimate it's probably about...quite a number of metres away. It did strike me that this gym is huge, but now I gape slightly as if seeing it for the first time.
"Johanna Mason? You may leave," a Gamemaker repeats, shocking me out of my new discovery.
Unconsciously, I nod and smile slightly. Then I take my leave.