I'm making history today. Not just because I volunteered, or promised to win. But because I won't say goodbye.
I'm sitting in that empty room, where any family or friends can come visit me to say goodbye. No one comes. Not even in District twelve, where so many families are cut short by starvation, was there ever a tribute without a friend to talk to before they were forced to leave.
The male tribute this year is some blundering idiot, with all elbows and knees and an odd look in his eyes. Lance; that's his name. He has a parade of siblings and cousins to see him. He's from somewhere in the nicer parts of twelve. I know immediately I will not form an alliance with him. I wonder if I'll kill him.
I sit in an old creaking fold-up chair, arms crossed. I keep my gaze defiant, in case there are cameras in the supposedly private room. I'll be called out once Lance is finished, and I'm sure everyone will have realized no one has come for me. That no one wishes to bid be farewell. No family, no friends, no token; no one who will miss me.
I take this time to calm down, to try and get rid of the faint fogginess in my head, and I wonder if this is what the feeling of being possessed in ghost stories is like. My movements are forced, my expression tightly controlled.
I remember when I went to see her. I was the only person who went. We always had each other- and only each other. We only had each other left. Now, I have no one. No one but a faint memory to serve as a purpose.
"Remember, Autumn. A game can be an adventure. All you have to do is break the rules. There will not be rules in this adventure; and that's what I plan on having. I won't listen to them, not for a moment. There will be no rules. And we will win together, I promise. Don't you dare forget it."
Don't forget it. I won't. I will never forget it. We will win together. We are the victors. And though I have no one but myself to tell me that, I will be enough. I'm okay.
She was standing straight and confident and tall when I came in, and I managed to stay with her all the way until the peacekeepers forced me out. I stare at the corner of the room, at the door. I remember when I walked down the hall, alone. I remember never being able to see her again. I suddenly realize, there's something she didn't say; and I'm almost certain of it. She never said goodbye.
Never, until now, have I realized that. Though she did have a visitor, she never gave her farewell. She promised me she would return, and she promised me we would be victors. She never said goodbye. I guess I won't either.
I lick my chapped lips, thirst suddenly filling me. I don't know how long I've been here; every second in the empty room is another taunt on how full Lance's room must be.
Sick of waiting, I rise to my feet. I jerk open the old door, making a satisfying creaking noise. The peacekeepers at the door turn around immediately. They're not the usual peacekeepers, no doubt from the Capitol. Behind their masks I can make out overly pale faces with saggy skin from one face-lift too many.
"Look, if I stay in that room for even a second longer, I'm going to die and shrivel up. Can't have that, can we? Don't want to be losing the tribute before the game. Imagine the trouble you'd be in," I say sweetly to the peacekeepers, patting one of the on the arm, and watching with satisfaction as he stiffens. Perks of being a tribute; I can give them hell and they can't do much about it.
The peacekeepers exchange a glance, silently trying to decide what to do.
"I'm not running anywhere," I point out, clearly annoyed. "I'm already half-dead from whatever fumes you've set off in there."
I smirk in satisfaction as annoyance flicker over their faces, and watch them resist the temptation to roll their eyes as my eyes remain cold and indifferent.
"Miss Battles, the train is ready," Dalla's screech has returned once again, as she bubbles through the peacekeepers and grabs my arm. I make another show of twisting it out of her iron grip, but I follow her even after she casts me a look of offence. We walk through the justice building, and once again I'm filled with the image of what she must've felt like, one year ago, when she walked down to the very same train.
When we exit the old building, we are engulfed once again with people and cameras, and I see Lance. His back is hunched, and he's turned away from me, wiping away tears. He was reaped, he was forced. That's another part of my pride I get to keep. I will never be forced.
We enter the train silently, partially because I don't want to talk, but also because I like watching Dalla awkwardly debate with herself whether or not to start a conversation. Her mouth occasionally opens, before she suddenly closes it again, like a fish of sorts. The train is luxurious, beautiful and open. This is what we get now. Bring us starvation and hardship for our lives, and then pamper us with luxury before we're sent off to our deaths.
Welcome to the Capitol. Where everything is just a game.