Never Too Late by Three Days Grace
This world will never be
What I expected
And if I don't belong
Who would have guessed it
Jax Cutrialy, 17, District One
Xavier straightens the tie around my neck for what must be the hundredth time since he had first outfitted me in the grey suit. Blue makes up the second color of my suit, with the cuffs, the buttons, and of course the tie all being the same dark shade of the color. My hair is spiked slightly and held in place by a sticky gel that I was told not to touch or the effect would be lost. Really, I couldn't care less about whether or not my hair held shape or not. I just want to get on the stage and get right back off again, with as little difficulties as possible.
My mentor, Evander's words play over and over again through my head like a broken record. Reminding me of what angle I was expected to play up and how, precisely, I was supposed to act. This entire thing was no more than a performance; the people in the audience could probably not care less about what our lives were like before we came here. What they really wanted was exaggeration of the stories that they already had floating around their colorful little heads. That was the real purpose of choosing an angle, so that the sponsors could see that you fit into some kind of stereotype, so that they could sponsor you based on whether or not you fit with what they wanted to be known for sponsoring.
Smart sponsors would put money on the Careers, the ones with high scores, or some of the stronger looking outer district tributes. That girl from Seven would likely pull in some sponsors, yes I am sure of that. She won't go hungry, not like some of the younger or weaker tributes would.
As a Career I don't have to worry about food, I had not even bothered to learn any of the survival skills at training. I would never use it. Years of watching the Games has shown me that if a Career wants or needs something that all they had to do was ask. If after that they still didn't get any, they do something that would catch attention. Kill, torture, anything of that nature. Rewards were given for behaving correctly, and I plan to do just that. Maybe some other tributes would try and stage some sort of rebellion in their last dying moments, but not me. I was here, by the harsh voice that had pushed me to volunteer, and I was here to win.
Maxon Slate, 17, District Two
Vulcan and I walk out of our styling rooms at the same moment, almost managing to knock into each other before spotting the other in the dimmed hall. He pulls back at the last moment and we avoid collision, but just barely.
I laugh out loud at the sight of Vulcan in his grey pants and tie, with a bright red jacket over a white shirt. He looked absolutely ridiculous, and by the expression on his face he is none the wiser to the horrendous outfit. All the better for me, something else I have over him is common sense. Or at least common style sense.
"Nice dress," he chuckles and I narrow my eyes at him. My selected outfit was not nearly as terrible as his, but I still could use a major adjustment. The dress is the same color as Vulcan's jacket and is coated with sequins that reflect the light. My hair was combed back, so that my centre part was no longer visible, and secured with a red clip at the back of my head. My face is coated with various powders and gels that I never would have imagined would go one your face.
Vulcan holds out his arm and bows his head snidely, "after you."
I roll my eyes and push through his extended arm, leaving him in a trail of flowery perfumes that have radiated off of my body. I hear his heavy footsteps behind me as I walk down the hall, led by a red clothes man. The heels of my shoes click along the floor tiles and I touch one side of the wall in order to keep my balance in the impossibly tall shoes. We reach a thick, brass door and the Avox pulls it over and ushers Vulcan and I inside.
I want to shriek with laughter upon entering the long room. In front of me, nearly all the other tributes have already been lined up in district order with the female standing in front of the male. The tributes are all dressed up in bright colors and even brighter makeup, all of them clashing and none of them looking any less strange than the others. Still the smile remains on my face when the red of my dress catches my eye and I realize that I must look just as ridiculous as they do.
Vulcan nudges me, no doubt silently mentioning the smile that is plastered on my made-up face. One of his earliest rules was that we are all to intimidate the other tributes to the best of our abilities, if they are scared of us they won't come after us. That was his logic. The look in his eyes though strikes me, I had never noticed how dark his irises were or how intense they looked. The smile vanishes from my face and he strides forward, as close to an approval as I am bound to get.
The little boy from Twelve stands nearest to the door, playing with the cuffs of his green jacket nervously. For good measure I plow through him on my way to follow Vulcan, causing the kid to fly forward. He catches himself on the wall beside him but the alarm is clearly visible in his eyes.
I smirk and shove past Vulcan who has stopped to watch my little episode, nudging his shoulder on my way past him to the front of the lineup. He rolls his eyes and I catch his gaze, the evil glint now gone. I'll show him soon enough, intimidation is what I do best.
Wyre Felix, 14, District Three
My fingers fiddle with the hem of my dress, a brilliant blue number with silver accents all over it. The bottom is frilled and sticks out with all the fluffy fabric underneath the gown. My brown hair is curled around my face but even my stylist could do nothing to create volume at the back. The pieces that have managed to remain curled have done so through the use of an extensive array of gels, liquids, and sprays. I can still completely smell one of the less pleasant of the thick gels, which has been only half covered up by a strong flowery perfume.
My mentor had spoken with me a lot about the Interviews, as he probably knew I was going to struggle with it. I was always more of a wallflower than a socialite. I never knew what to say or when the appropriate time to say it would be. Not like these other tributes, by the way they conducted themselves onstage you would think they had been training with words and not weapons. Though they had probably had enough time in their short lives to have become masterful of both.
The angles that had been discussed with me earlier were evident, and, just as Tesla and Beetee had said, the Careers were much more flamboyant than they had been in training or at the Tribute Parade. The first tribute, the girl from One who I learned was named Callena, was feisty and snide. The audience laughed at her rude remarks about the other tributes and cheered her name when she winked into the audience, clearly capturing their support. Likely their money as well.
Her district partner way far more frightening, he did very little except stare into the audience. Even finding points to just look straight into the camera, sending shivers down my spine. It was painfully obvious that he was going for the intimidation angle, one that had never even been considered for me. But, I just can't decide where the angle ends and the tribute begins.
The District Two girl was sarcastic and witty, pulling in sponsors with her crude remarks. She is able to deflect the obvious loss respect that came with her rather low scoring. Even though she had scored two points above me I still felt somewhat better off than her. My score was surprising because I was never expected to do that well, whereas hers was viewed as a loss, only because she was a Career and she was supposed to be talented and bloodthirsty by definition. Now though, people would doubt her. But I never would, I had seen the way she looked at the rest of us, especially the younger tributes. Like we were a meal. And she was ready to bite our heads off.
I watch with dreary eyes as Vulcan, the District Two male, strides off stage. Throughout the entire interview he sat straight up in his seat, with his legs crossed comfortably. He sounded so organized, like all of this was just part of a pre-created plan that would ultimately result in his victory. Didn't he see that it really was anyone's game? Anyone could win this, and just having a plan and also having the skill to carry it out just wouldn't be enough. He would also need luck, sometimes that is all you need to win, dumb luck.
I feel a shove from behind me and I stumble up the stairs, lights blinding me as I walk out to the stage. My eyes are wide and I feel short of breath but I continue walking as steadily as possible. This may be the worse part of the pre-Games, but it was necessary. I don't want to die, and to stop that from happening I have to get sponsors. And to do that, I have to make people like me.
Caddis Tamar, 18, District Four
Faye blows one last elegant kiss to the crowds before she propels herself off stage, using her hips to guide her. She had done exactly what Aquil had told her and played the sexy, flirtatious angle. She made small remarks here and there in a whimsical voice, all while ensuring that the cameras had a good view down the front of her dazzling blue dress. When her eyes move from the bright lights to meet my own eyes, she scowls and shoves past me. Even she can tell, even she knows I am not like the others. I am just thankful that she hasn't told anyone yet, and the rest of them seem to be none the wiser.
I have the skills, I always have. But I had no desire to use them, and now I have to. It's not fair. The rest of the Careers chose to be here and are perfectly happy believing that they are going to win. Even though that is exactly what I am afraid of, winning. If I won I would be exactly like them. Acting like them is one thing, but if I became like them I don't know how I would ever look at myself again.
I blink away the white spots that the blinding lights send shooting into my eyes as I walk onstage. I don't show any more emotion than I have to as I sit beside the Interviewer, a green tinted Caesar Flickerman. His lips are pulled to the side unnaturally in a permanent grin and it is all I can do not to pull myself away from the odd man. But I only force my arms down on either side of the armchair and stare blankly into the audience.
With my size and quiet demeanor, it was an obvious choice of which angle I would play up. Intimidation. Sadly enough I wasn't the only one who had tried it so far, Jax who went second did a good job with the angle but came off as more eerie than physically frightening.
"Caddis Tamar! Great to have you here, how have you found the Capitol?" Caesar begins with an easy question, smiling creepily the entire time with his green, tainted lips.
"Fine."
Caesar doesn't even look the slightest bit taken aback, I guess he has gotten used to the strong, silent angle and he seems to know exactly how to help me out. He swivels around with his knees and looks me directly in the eyes, asking question after question until I think he will soon turn blue instead of green. I answer each question with one or two word responses, not giving the audience any sort of grasp of who I am, and why should I? I could very well die in a few days. Despite my training I am not arrogant, I know that not all trainees can win, how can they? When there are usually five others who have trained as well. I just don't want the last thing people remember about me to be a stupid lie concocted by my Mentor. I want the Capitol to forget me if I die, the only ones I want to be remembered by are my family and friends. They are the ones I really want to be known by, not these people who, really, if they looked inside themselves would not give a care.
Miram Rivett, 15, District Five
"And now let us welcome, Miram Rivett of District Five!"
I hear Caesar call my name and I practically jump up and down with excitement, soon all of Panem will see me. It's like I am going to be famous! My light green dress bobs around me as I bounce around, waiting as a man in a headset holds his arm out in front of me to stop me from running onstage. I feel a push from behind me and I move forward, only to be caught by the back of my collar.
"Don't say anything about Training, if you value your sanity," a cold whisper sends a numbing sensation down my spine and I don't even have the ability to confirm my understanding by nodding. Of course I know what he means, when I shot the arrow at Areyna. They're probably just trying to scare me, they think I wouldn't want to say anything anyway because I should feel guilty that my arrow was so off target that I managed to shoot my own ally.
But, they're just playing into what I knew they would.
I step onstage and the applause is almost deafening, but smile until my face begins to ache with the overuse. The lights are so bright that even while I squint, I can only see a slight change in color to indicate the two centre stage chairs and the Interviewer I recognize from the newscast in which our scores were announced. He grasps my hand and his skin is as cold as ice but I let him lead me to the chair. Once I sit down my head clears a bit and I am able to concentrate on the words that are being chanted by the citizens in the audience. My ears pick up many chants of my name, as well as a few for District Five, my smile grows and I think to myself, so this is what it feels like to be famous.
"Miram, how are you coping with everything in the Capitol?" Caesar begins and my mind feels so fuzzy that I have to search for the words that Avani had tried to drill into my head.
"Just great, Caesar!" I say in my most enthusiastic tone, bringing my hands to my cheeks to complete the illusion. "Everything here is so beautiful! How could I be anything less than perfect?"
"That is just, perfect, to hear Miram!" He laughs to the audience and then brings his focus back in on me. "Now let's get to the things everyone is really interested in, shall we?"
I nod and swallow quickly, what does he mean? Nobody knows about my little stunt at Training, whoever had whispered in my ear a few minutes ago had made that much clear. I rack my brain for an excuse to use, something that won't ruin my image to the Capitol. I'm supposed to be the friendly one, but this will change everything.
"How about your training score? A six for someone so small?"
The breath I had been holding blows out through my lips. They don't know, he means my score. Nobody knows.
I don't know whether to be relieved by this, or angered by it.
Geare Petrol, 13, District Six
Once the interviews have ended, Mayli and I finally make our way upstairs via the elevator. Even after we both had gone, neither of us had seemed to be in any hurry to leave. Leaving meant going to bed, sleeping on what could very well be the last night that we ever will see. I guess neither of us wanted to face that reality, because now we share an elevator with the girl and boy from District Twelve as well as the girl from Seven, who also had hung around after her interview had finished.
No one says a word and the tension is evident, especially in this tiny space with three black-suited guards fitted into the back. All of them carry deadly looking, long guns that are strung across their chests on straps. The girl from Seven doesn't move, only stares at something on the ceiling that I can't seem to find. When I look to the District Twelve girl a similar stoic yet tensed expression takes over her face, but beside her , her district partner who is just a bit bigger than I am is crying. His voice hiccups and it is the only sound that enters my ears besides the uneven breaths that come from my own lips.
We stop at our floor first and one of the black suits gets out with us, walking between us with his hands perched over the rifle as if he could be ready to use it at any moment. Which he probably could be. We enter the dining room and Mayli sits down next to Rush, who looks pained at her sweet smile. Maize looks up at me with glassy, distant eyes and I hesitate for only a moment before walking directly into my room and closing the door quietly behind me.
The lights turns on as I step further into the huge room, which feels so empty and hollow tonight. The past couple of days it was easy to get caught up in everything else, to forget about the real reason why I was here, but not tonight. It's impossible not to think of all the possibilities that tomorrow could bring.
Would tomorrow be the day that I die?
Would tomorrow be the day that I kill?
Would tomorrow change me?
I don't know, I just don't know.
I flop down on my head and bury my face into the soft, blue fabric of one of the many pillows. I can feel the tears beginning to come and I let them, alone in my room I let the water pool under my cheeks and I sob into the cushions that muffle my cries. I'm scared, I finally have come to terms with it all. I thought that I could be brave but now I realize that I can't. I'm just a kid, and very soon my life could be over. Before it has even really started.
Kiera Maaz, 16, District Seven
A knock on my door sends my eyelids whipping open, though I not truly been asleep. How we are expected to sleep when for many of us it will be our final night, I will never understand. All night I had searched through my mind for anything that could possibly help me today. Past arenas, the plant identities I had learned, any words my mentor had spoken since we got on the train at the Reaping. I hadn't cried though, tears would do me no good. I had to separate myself from this all, I couldn't let my emotions get in the way of anything that I would have to do to get home. That is why I wouldn't make allies, so that I wouldn't be able to put a name to a face, it would be easier to take a life when I didn't know whose child I was stealing away.
My door eases open and I see Cypress walk in, her hair askew and purplish bags under her dark eyes. She doesn't say a word but sits down on my bed near me; she reaches her hand out as if to touch me but quickly recoils it, thinking better of the action. When I can't bring myself to look at her any longer I break our gaze and stare down at the green blankets that are thrown around the bed. This could be the last time I ever see a bed, this could have been the last time I will ever sleep.
"Kiera, it's time to go," Cypress whispers and gets up, propelling herself towards the door. She stops in the doorway and looks back at me, her face now completely blank and the bags under her eyes even more visible. I stand slowly and walk towards her as calmly as I can, even though I can feel my body shaking with every movement. My legs threaten to give way and thankfully when I reach her, Cypress reaches out and holds my shoulder. She leads me through the now familiar apartment and we stop in front of the elevator. If I didn't know any better, I would think we were just going down for another day of Training, or to get ready for another public appearance. But I do know better, I'm going someplace much, much worse.
We step inside the elevator and Cypress pushes a button labeled with an uppercase "L". I have never noticed this button, a long rectangle that stretches over the "10", "11" and "12". I feel the elevator move upwards and my stomach feels weak as we ascend further. Cypress grabs hold of my other shoulder and moves her face closer to mine, making me feel even more claustrophobic in the elevator that feels like it has shrunk significantly.
"Remember, you can do this."
I nod almost imperceptivity and the doors open in front of us, the wind that soars in chills me through my clothing. I am unable to move, but a light shove from behind me sends my body flailing out of the elevator, where I land on my hands and knees on the ground. I look up to see one of the black-suited guards standing above me, sunglasses covering his eyes and his lips pressed into a tight line. From in front of me I hear a child's shriek and when I look past the heavy pant leg of the guard I see a small boy with brown hair being pulled towards a large hovercraft. The boy's face is streaked with tears that seem to be coming in a never-ending flow. His screams shake my body and they continue until the boy disappears inside the hovercraft where his cries are cut off.
I am pulled to my feet and the guard begins to drag me towards the same hovercraft that the young boy had been put into. My body feels too numb to resist the movement and I let myself be lead up the ramp of the hovercraft. Once inside I let them strap me in next to the boy with tears down his face that I remember as being from District Twelve. He looks up at me with full eyelids and the look in his eyes is screaming for help, but as the cuffs lock across my arms and legs I realize I am just as helpless as he is.
Areyna Kyte, 12, District Eight
As the hovercraft fills up with tributes, all entering one at a time, I feel my heart rate sky rocket and my limbs shake noticeably. I sit with one of my arms against a wall and the other just a few inches away from the boy from Four. He is huge and his very presence makes my blood run cold, but he doesn't look at me or even acknowledge that I am right here beside him, and for that I am thankful. I don't want any of them to see me, I don't know their names and I can only remember them from the television back in Eight. They seem so much more real here though, and the tension is visible even in the expressions of the Careers like the boys from One and Two who are also in my hovercraft. They just stare straight ahead with blank stares.
The last seat is filled by a small girl with long, brown hair who sits down quietly and allows herself to be strapped in without a word. Her face is scrunched up and she looks like at any minute she might try and make a break for it, but she doesn't. She is brave, I just wish that I could look that brave.
Tears run silently down my face as a trio of people with light skin and dark blue tunics file into the hovercraft just before the door closes. One woman with narrow green eyes approaches me with a long tube. She releases the grip from one of my arms and pushes the tube into the skin. My mouth opens but no sound escapes my lips. The woman smiles at me, a warm smile that tells me I have been brave fro not screaming out.
But I'm not brave. I want to scream, but I can't.
They arrived at my door just days after they had taken Areyna, a large group of white suited men with guns pointed at Mama and Daddu. Ronan told me to hide in the closest but I couldn't, I heard them talking to Mama but the words didn't quite reach my ears. She dropped to her knees as Daddy stood paralyzed at her side, Ronan ran in and tried to hold her up but they shot him. It was a horrible sound, gunshot ringing in my ears until I couldn't help myself and I screamed. The white men heard me and ran into the hallway where I stood, shrieks still echoing off of the wooden walls. They brought me here, but first they took my voice. I guess they were scared I would tell people, scared that I would do something that would result in Rebellion.
But I wouldn't have thought to do that, I was too scared. I was going into the Hunger Games as a replacement for my sister who died, and I was only ten years old.
I want to climb up to the peak of the highest building in the Capitol and scream of the injustice that has plagued me, but I can't even sob or cry. The Capitol won't just take my life away, they'll take my voice away too.
Noeah Hazurn, 17, District Nine
The windows darken and I know that we are nearing the arena, they won't let us see it until sixty seconds before the Games begin, lest the surprise be ruined. I try and make myself comfortable in the straight-backed, rough chair but the grips that hold my arms and legs prevent very much movement. Beside me, the girl from District Eleven stares straight ahead of her, light eyes open wide in fright. She looks older than me, but still I feel the desire to reach out and hold her hand. She seems so much like a young child, scared and helpless. But, I guess that's what we all are right now? Scared and helpless. None of us truly knowing what we are getting ourselves into.
A sinking feeling begins in the pit of my stomach and I come to the conclusion that we must be landing. My hands grip the sides of my chair, nails digging into the tough fabric so hard that one of them breaks. Though the small pain barely even registers in me, what is a small cut or a broken nail when I am going to be fighting for my life, probably in less than two hours.
The sound of the engines halts and the only sound audible for a good minute is the raspy breaths around me. Two Peacekeepers enter the hovercraft as the door opens and I dig my nails even further into the chair as they pass by me. They grab District Eleven and escort her out of the vehicle, while his partner takes the boy from Three. After a couple minutes the pair return and one of them presses a button beside my head. A fraction of a second later, the grips on my arms and legs release me and the large man hoists me to my feet and presses his palm into the small of my back. He pushes me in front of him as we exit the hovercraft, the little boy from Six following me off with a Peacekeeper dragging him by his wrist as he shakes his head and mutters words between sobs. His face is dripping with tears and my heart aches for the young boy, but I can`t even so much as utter a soothing word to him before I am shoved harshly down a brightly lit hallway, now in the care of two different Peacekeepers.
We pass by many doors, each labelled with a district number and them either an "M" or an "F". Behind me I hear sobs as the Six boy is escorted down the same hallway, followed by a sharp cry and a door slam as the Peacekeepers lock him into his assigned room. I gulp loudly as we pass one of the rooms and I hear screaming come from the inside. Shivers run down my spine as the cries start to fade when the room grows further and further away.
Without warning, a door is opened by the Peacekeeper in front of me and the one behind me sends me inside with just a light push. The door is shut tightly behind me but I grasp the handle hopelessly, turning it as far as it will go and pulling on it with all my might. I have no idea why I want to go back into that hallway, with the chilling screams and the desperate cries, but I think I just want to escape this place. This place that holds the tube that will launch me to my death.
Enya Hale, 15, District Ten
I stare in the mirror that makes up most of the wall in the Slaughterhouse. That is what we call the Launch room back in District Ten, because it is like the place where we keep pigs before slaughtering them. The tributes are being kept in this place before they are sent out to die. I am being kept here until the rest of Panem is ready to watch my death.
The outfit was given to me by my stylist, Rosalie, who is the same lady who prepped me for the Tribute Parade and for my Interview. She stands in the corner of the room with her back turned to me, remembering that I hate to be watched when I change. She wasn't at all like the scary people that some of the kids in my level would tell stories about. Rosalie has shown me kindness and respect, more than I have ever seen in my life. And the truth is, I'm glad I was reaped and I don't want to leave.
"I'm done," I say to Rosalie but my voice comes out in no more than a whisper. She turns around carefully and makes her way over to me with a passive smile on her rose colored face.
She feels the fabric of the long white shirt that covers me from my neck to my knees. The fabric is a spotless white color and the baggy, flimsy feeling pants are made of the same type of canvas. The pants feel big around my hips and legs but close in at my ankles with an elastic band that sits under the fabric. My shoes are white as well and have flat soles, the shoelaces are also white. A thick, canvas headband sits in my hair that is left down and natural. Unlike most days in the Capitol, my face is free of makeup and my skin feels like it can actually breath, despite the damp, closed-in feeling of the room.
The only parts of my outfit that are not white are the cuffs of the button down, long sleeve shirt, and the piece of fabric that hangs loosely around my neck like a scarf. Both are a brown color that is similar to dirt and reminds me of District ten in which most land plots were this color. My hand fiddles with the cuffs as I remember playing with my friends in the mud piles after it rained, telling them stories in the fields where we would sit. Bothered by no one but the winds that blew around in the weeds.
"The shoes aren't good for running," Rosalie says as she examines the bottom of my shoes, "but the fabric is rather warm so expect it to be cold at some point."
I nod but none of her words make it to my memory. The only thing I can think of is the realization that I have just come to. In a few minutes I will be in the arena, and I don't have any idea of how I am going to survive.
Cain Frost, 17, District Eleven
Maybe the arena will be a desert this year.
I run through idea after idea in my head but I have no way of knowing if any of my thoughts are right. I wish that I could just know what I was going into, have at least a couple minutes to think it over and come up with a plan. But even that luxury is not allowed for me. I am going into the arena pretty much blind to whatever could be in there. Not even the outfit I have been given does much to at least point me in the right direction of what the terrain I will be fighting on could be.
Favian tells me that the shoes I have been given have very little grip, so a forest or rocky landscape is not very likely. He also told me that he thinks the arena might be indoors this year, as most outdoor arenas will at least provide a jacket or sweater of sorts for the tributes. The white is what has stumped me as well as him, he has never seen a building that contains so much white, or where such an amount of white could be found. In District Eleven the only white you will ever see is in the clouds in the sky, everything else is covered in a thick layer of dirt and grime that leaves it with a yellowed appearance.
My hands find the orange tassels that hang around my neck. Favian takes them from my grasp and ties them in a single knot so that two ends of the fabric hang down the front of the white shirt. The room's temperature makes sweat drip down my face, and I am unsure whether to blame the heat on the outfit or on the nerves. Favian continues to tug at the cuffs of my sleeves, straightening and tightening them for what feels like far too long. I yank away my hand and he takes a step back from me, a hurt look coming across his pale face and the green of his eyes dimming slightly.
"I can only do so much, Cain," he mutters. "I'm here to help you."
I turn my head away from him and stare at the full bowl of soup that sits in front of me. I have no desire to eat, even though I know it will do me good. I move the spoon around in the bowl and listen to the empty clatter as it hits the porcelain sides. Before long the scent grows sickening to me and I push the bowl away from me, watching as drops of the red soup coat the table like fresh blood.
"Thirty seconds," a mechanical voice breaks the tension of the room and I rise to my feet to face the plastic tube in the far corner of the room. My feet move obligingly towards it and I can't help but feel like a soldier marching off to war. A war that I never wanted to be a part of in the first place.
Rivers Bishop, 14, District Twelve
I have realized the truth about these Games. That they are not really Games in the slight bit. They are just there as a way of punishing the children of the Rebels, most of who were killed in the Dark Days and so not have living children. They do it to strike fear into our hearts and ensure that we will never be brave enough to stand up to them. They don't want us to feel strong; they want us to be weak. So weak that we will bend to their needs and never question them. But, I do question them, I consider everything they have done to us, everything from as far back as I can stretch my memory. None of it is good.
It happened on the night that our scores were broadcasted, when that three flashed under my name it all made sense. They didn't care that I was young, they didn't care that I had done nothing in my life to ever deserve something like this. They knew I was going to die, and yet they do nothing to stop it. On the contrary, they encourage it. As long as their point is proven, they don't care who suffers. As long as everything works out for them, they don't care that I am going to die.
"Twenty seconds."
My stylist looms over me and holds out a bony hand that I take cautiously. She hoists me to my feet and drags me over to the plastic tube, releasing my hand once we are standing in front of it and giving me a light push in the right direction. The tears begin to flow again and once again I don't stop them, let the cameras see it. Let them realize what they are doing to the tributes, what they are doing to me. I tighten my hands into tiny fists and take the final step into the giant tube.
As soon as both my feet have touched the platform, the plastic closes around me. It cuts off all sound except the muffled sobs that I know are coming from my own lips. I can feel my heartbeat pounding in my head and my legs feel like gelatin. When the tube begins to rise, the sinking feeling from the hovercraft returns to my stomach and I fear that I will throw up. But I hold it together as the tube ascends into darkness and I leave the phony, smiling face of my stylist behind in the Launch room. My breaths turn short and I have to struggle not to pass out as the air feels as though it is thickening.
The dim lights that hit my eyes feel like blinding spotlights, and a faint, musty odour overwhelms my nose. It takes a few seconds before my eyes are able to pick up anything in the new lights, but as I blink away the grey spots from my vision the arena comes into view. My eyes wander over the room but freeze on a glowing, blue light that blinks on the farthest wall behind the Cornucopia. The timer counting down to zero.
The artist theme for this story will be Three Days Grace.
Song: Never Too Late
The blog for this story can be found on my profile.
You guys may have noticed that on this chapter and on the previous chapters, the voting system has been taken down and I have made some minor changes to the format of this story. Now a question or two will be asked at the end of each chapter which I would love for you to answer, and I also ask for a general review on my writing as well.
We have now arrived in the arena, any guesses at what it might be based on the outfits or Rivers' reaction?
Who do you think will be the Bloodbaths? Who do you think will kill?
We are now in the arena! The next chapter will be the Bloodbath! I hope that the wait wasn't too long for this chapter, interviews honestly kill me and I am just happy to have them done and over with. I just wanted to thank everyone who has submitted to this story, as I know that I will likely lose a few of you once the tributes start dying off. It has been a pleasure to write for them and it will be so amazing to finally get into the Games! After a long wait the arena is about to be revealed! Good luck to the tributes, they're going to need it!
