A/N: I'm so terribly sorry for the wait. :( Hopefully I've more chapter up soon to make up for the time lost, BUT…I'll be with limited access to free writing for the next three or so weeks, then I'll be on vacation for another two. With that announcement over…WE BEGIN!
(Yes I know I skipped the train ride.)
-Isabelle Madison-
High on a platform overlooking this year's Hunger Games arena, Isabelle Madison stood in a ready position. She had rehearsed what she would do now for all the time in the Capitol, waiting. Analyse, run, hide, survive. Analyse, run, hide, survive. Analyse, run, hide, survive.
The arena itself didn't matter, but she did. The other tributes did. Her mentor had given her a few tips about them—see through false acts, things of that sort. Isabelle had become a rather accomplished liar during this time as well.
She glanced around, feeling her thick hair swing in its ponytail. All the other tributes were exactly the same as her, anyone with hair past their ears in a ponytail, and every person wearing a black bodysuit. It had begun to get rather hot, in Isabelle's mind.
When is this going to begin? she though anxiously. It felt like forever that they'd be standing there, unable to move.
-Silver Ambrosia and Scarlet D'Anmoire-
Right next to each other the platforms, able to watch the others and send thoughts back with only their eyes. Thinking in short, calculating sentences. The mysterious and vague ones.
The District One victors felt oddly at home in the arena. There were stretches of hot desert sand in between everything, and the temperature slowly grew to unbearable. A rising sun gave sense of direction, though it was moving too quickly. To the north was a city like places, which provided many hiding spots. To the west were words, but howls were already sounding. The south held a giant ocean, but what seemed to be ice floating on it told not to drink the water for saltiness. The east provided an endless field. Well, endless until the barriers.
To be honest? Silver and Scarlet weren't too worried about this Hunger Games. They had already decided to be allies, and let's face it—who else would they need to survive? It would be easier to kill all the rest anyways.
Easier in theory, that is.
-Timbre Hale-
Timbre Hale had become accustomed to ignoring things that were unpleasant. It was a bit of a necessity, growing up with a father like hers.
But she couldn't ignore the fact that she was in the Hunger Games. It was near impossible! If she didn't die, she would hardly be able to survive with the guilt of knowing what she had to do to earn her spot. So Timbre kept her eyes locked onto the cornucopia, trying to block out the gruesome thoughts of her and others' demise.
An eerie silence had hung over the arena, and the victors still waiting on their platforms. There was no doubt about it now—they'd been waiting too long. Timbre closed her eyes, hoping someone wouldn't elect her to see if the mines were still active. They would have back at home.
But this isn't home. And that became clear as the person next to her, the male tribute from District 8, took a brave step off his platform. For a moment he stood on the ground, seemingly surprised that we was alive.
A siren sounded, and the ground in front of the cornucopia exploded, sending dirt into the air. A few seconds later when the debris had settled, nothing was left but a single charred shoe.
"Let the 152nd Hunger Games begin!" someone announced over a loud speaker. It had, as they said, begun.
