Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or The Hunger Games. I only own John Taylor.

Note: Sorry if this is a day or two late! Hope you enjoy it anyway. I'll post a list of the tributes in the next chapter. Keep reviewing and reading this; please and thank you.

Chapter 4

I am on the train that will take me and Lindsay to the Capitol. She seems to be keeping her cool. I, however, am a wreck. I do not cry in front of Effie or in front of John Taylor, a previous victor from District Ten who is to be our mentor. I save it all for when I am in my bedroom, late at night. I am ready for death, but yet, I am not ready for it at all. I am only sixteen, still a child, and now I have to become a man in less than two weeks' time. John has been telling me about the Games he was in. He is forty-nine by now, and was seventeen when he won. He tells me about the arena, how it was for him.

"Water," he says. "It was all water, more or less, with various islands scattered about. I was sure that the tributes from the fishing district would win it, but I managed to beat them at their own game."

"How?" I ask.

His eyes grow distant. I can tell that he is being called back to some of his darkest memories, the ones he's tried to forget. "Most of the people in those Games drowned. Very few were killed in a violent nature. The last one…I harpooned him."

I gasp. "Are you serious?"

"Yes," John says. "I'll never forget the moment the final cannon boomed, signifying my victory. It was such a relief, and yet…I knew that I was a killer. I had no hand in the ones who drowned. The only one I had a direct hand in…was that one. Victory had never tasted so bittersweet. It was nice to come out as the survivor, but at the same time…"

"You never expected to kill a man," I finish for him.

He slowly shakes his head. "I never considered myself a killer. But in the Games, no one can survive by being nice all the time. Being nice will get you murdered in a millisecond. Be careful about whom you form an alliance with, Damian. Be careful whom you confide in. Even Lindsay," he turns around to look at where she is chatting with Effie, "can stab you in the back at any moment. Trust no one but yourself."

"People go mad, don't they?" I ask him.

"They do," he affirms. "Especially when it comes down to the last four or five tributes. I've seen people brutally hacked to pieces by people they called 'friend', people from their own District, people they grew up with and went to school with."

"I just can't kill anyone," I put my chin on my knees, which are drawn to my chest.

"I said the same thing," John stares out the train window. "But things change now, don't they? In the arena, no one really knows what they are capable of."

Later, I go into one of the train cars that has nothing but couches and windows. It is dark, and I try to see the stars in the night sky, but I cannot. If I can see them, perhaps they will remind me of home.

Home, which I will never see again.

Lindsay, dressed in white and looking very much like a ghost, joins me by my side. "Hi."

"Hello," I try to be polite.

"Are you scared?"

I stare straight ahead. "Are you?"

She pauses, playing with the ends of her hair. "Yes," she finally admits.

"Of what?"

She folds her legs underneath her, sitting back on her heels. She pulls her hair back behind her ears. "Dying."

I am surprised. I turn my face towards her, but by now, she is also looking out the window. "You are afraid of death?"

"Yes. I am afraid that it will hurt. If I am to die, I want it to be painlessly. I do not want to feel it. Do you know what I mean?"

I clear my throat. "I do."

She faces me. "What are you afraid of the most?"

"The same as you. Mostly of my parents watching me die. I do not want them to see that, nor my brother and sister. I love them too much for them to see me…like that."

She is silent for several long moments, and her blue eyes meet my own. "Can I tell you a secret?"

I remember what John has told me. I should not be trusting her like this. And for that matter, she should not be trusting me. After all, I can use this against her later on. I could use this secret to get her killed.

But I cannot kill even her like that.

"Tell me," I say from my heart.

"It is more of an apology," she explains. I am confused, and she must see so in my face, for she continues on. "I am sorry if I ever got on your nerves when we were growing up. I just…I kind of just wanted to be your friend, and I didn't know how to approach you. I can tell, though, that you do not care much for me." She casts her eyes downwards. "I do not care for the fame that we will get all that much. I just said that to lighten the mood a little bit. Truth be told, I did not know how to react to, as you said, losing everything."

I nod. "I accept your apology. Yes, you did rather annoy me in our schooling years, but now I can see that you are not…entirely…bad." I do not understand something, though, and I tell her so. "Why are you telling me this now?"

She stands up. "If we are to die in less than two weeks, we will not have many chances—nor moments alone together—to have these types of conversations. I felt the need to clear the air before we depart from this world."

I look up at her. She looks otherworldly in her white nightgown and pale skin that contrasts so sharply with her raven hair. "All is forgiven, Lindsay."

She gives me a tiny smile. "Goodnight, Damian." She leans down and kisses my cheek softly, so light that I barely feel it, and then she is gone.

I lean my head against the window. My heart is heavy tonight. I do not want Lindsay to die. I do not want anyone in these Games to die.

Except for me. I deserve to die. I am afraid of it, but I want it to come.

It will not take us long to reach the Capitol, perhaps a day or two more at this point. That is where our real training begins, as well as our first public appearances on television. I don't quite wonder what it will look like, as I have seen it before on television, but I wonder how the crowds will react to me. I wonder if I will have any sponsors—people from the outside that send you gifts in the arena to help you survive longer. I wonder if anyone will cheer for me or place bets on my survival. I wonder if the committee will be impressed by me or regard me as a joke and send me on my way to death.

I have not slept for days. The beds here are plush and luxurious, much more luxurious than I have ever thought possible. But I do not sleep. Not with all of these thoughts keeping me awake at night.

I have not eaten much, either. I know I must, to get my strength up before the Games, perhaps gain a few pounds, but I cannot. The food here is rich and what I have eaten is delicious, but I do not have an appetite for any of it. None of it appeals to me at all.

Perhaps I will get weaker.

If I get weaker, I will be easier to kill.

I fall asleep on the couch, pretending I am sleeping under the stars.

To be continued…