Training: Day Three
Jillian Perry (D3 F 13)
I walk down to the training room; against my will of course. I notice I'm the last one to show up. It's not like I care. I walk over to my hiding spot behind the berry identification station and sit down. "Welcome to day three of hiding," I think to myself.
You're probably wondering while I'm hiding so much. Truthfully, I'm pretty shy, but not as shy as people think. Yes, I do hide, but that's just to avoid talking to people. The truth is, I can't talk, not even if I wanted to, because I don't have a tongue.
Two years ago, at the community home, I walked into a room where one of the community home ladies was beating a child who had stolen the lady's expensive jewelry. When the lady saw me, she grabbed me by the collar of the shirt, and threatened to kill me so I wouldn't tell anyone what happened. However, she resolved to cutting out my tongue. I didn't have any good friends, and I was shy to begin with, so no one noticed a thing. The lady made it very clear that if I managed to let anyone what had happened, she'd cut my throat next. However, I'm out of her clutches now, and I have a plan for the interviews; a plan that will prevent that lady from abusing children ever again.
My thoughts are interrupted when I accidentally elbow a metal box to the ground. It makes a loud clang, and attracts the attention of the careers who are walking by. The boy from District One spots me, and a grin spreads across his face. "Well, well, well; what do we have here?"
I try to run out from behind the table, but the boy blocks me. I try to run the other way, but the boy from District One blocks that exit. "You're trapped, weakling," he says.
"So what's your name?" the District One boy asks. Obviously, I can't reply, so I just glare at the boy. "Perhaps your name's 'weakling'," he teases. "It suits you."
At that moment, I decide I've had enough. I knock down the table, hurdle over it, and dash toward the bathroom. Tears roll down my face as I hear the careers snickering behind me. I run to the sink and pour some cold water on my tear-streaked face. "Maybe I should just drown myself now," I think. "It would be quicker."
"No," I think to myself. "They'll just pick another kid from District Three to get killed in the Games. Besides, I still haven't gone through with my plan during the interviews."
I forgot about my plan to reveal the community home lady in front of all of Panem. I have to, to make sure she doesn't abuse other orphans, like me. I wipe away the tears. I guess I'll just wait in here untill lunch. After all, I still have to decide what I'm going to do at the private sessions. Obviously, I'm not actually going to try to get myself a good score, but there's plenty of things I can do to make the Gamemakers look stupid...
Thurmond Richard (D11 M 16)
I'm very nervous for the training sessions this afternoon. By the time the Gamemakers get to District Eleven, they'll be drunk and preoccupied with the food. It doesn't exactly help that I'm short for my age. I'm only 5'6, and I'm sixteen. Yep, if I want sponsors, I'll have to succeed at impressing them at the interviews, because my score will probably be in the three to six range.
I haven't discovered any great weapon skills during training so far. I'm alright with axes, throwing knives, and slingshots, but I'm not brilliant with any of them. I've done pretty excellent with survival skills. That doesn't surprise me. I have always had a huge brain capacity, which has made people think I'm from District Three. My too-big glasses and small, skinny body has also caused people to confuse me with District Three. However, I'm from District Eleven; agriculture. I love it there, and I'm very sad I'll won't see it again. I'll never forget the fruity scent that always lingered in the air, or the colorful, juicy berry plants.
Speaking of berries, the trainer told me yesterday that I was the most advanced berry identifier he'd ever seen. Once I aced the basic berry test, he showed me berries that could turn up in the desert, tropics, arctic tundra, rainforest, or even underwater. So, I guess I'll have to use that as my skill at the private training sessions. The trainers won't be overly impressed, but I can probably manage to get myself a mediocre score.
I look at the gigantic clock above the Gamemakers' overlook. There's about one hour left until lunch. That's a perfect amount of time to swing back by the poisonous berry station and review all the berries one last time. I head for the station, focusing on nothing but the berries.
Jorge Mosley (D7 M 15)
I reach the top of the climbing course, and look at my time; four minutes and fifty-four seconds. That's over two minutes more than anyone on the high score list. Taking a deep breath, I climb back down. I wipe off the sweat, and climb up again; this time with a better result. Four minutes and nine seconds isn't a brilliant time, but I'm sure it's better than most.
I look at the clock and realize there's less than an hour left in training. I rack my brains; what haven't I done yet? The answer comes quickly. I haven't stopped by the fire-making station yet. Fire-making is very important in the Games. It could be your only source of heat. Countless tributes have died from the cold. Yes, fire-making is definitely the way to go.
I walk on over to the station, and say hello to the trainer. She looks pretty bored; not many tributes are interested in fire-making. However, her face lights up when she realizes that I'm here to learn. She starts me off simple, with a box of matches. Although it's unlikely that I'd be able to get my hands on these, it is crucial to know how, just in case. Eventually I progress to some flint, and soon, just two sticks. It takes me a while to get that fire started, but once I do, there's no stopping the flames. The trainer congratulates me on my great work, and tells me that I'm a natural. Well, at least I have some sort of skill now.
Throughout the hour, the trainer gives me random, various objects to start my fires. Some of them work, but others seem impossible. (For example, how am I supposed to light a fire with a shoe?) Anyways, I just hope I spent my final training hour well. I'll need all the help I can get in the Hunger Games.
Gemma Hound (D1 F 18)
My allies are idiots. It's not like I expected anything more. Nearly all careers are idiots; except for the ones who win, of course. I'm actually surprised they all had the brain capacity to say 'I volunteer' at the reapings. They're all so stupid; especially the guys. These Games will be easier than I thought.
When we arrived at training two days ago, I have to admit, I was a bit intimidated. The other careers looked pretty muscular, at first glance. I was even kind of scared of Lexiana, who is four inches taller than me. I'm used to towering over every girl, so her height hit me like a slap in the face. However, I eventually learned that she wasn't as strong as the average career, and the other four aren't either.
On the first day, I quickly learned that I was the only one who could throw a knife to save my life (which could be taken literally). Smoky was best at spears. Lexiana excelled with swords, which will work to her benefit since she can outreach any other tribute. Mars favored a machete, while Seabrook chose a bow and arrow. Hull was best with a trident, which only makes sense since he comes from District Four. Hull doesn't seem to posses any other talents, which makes me wonder what he'll do if there isn't a trident in the cornucopia.
I look at the clock. My heart skips a beat when I realize that's training's almost over. I'm very excited for the private training sessions, this afternoon. I can't wait to see what I'll get. My guess is I'll get at least a ten. Smoky, Mars, and Lexiana will probably get nines or tens. Seabrook will probably get an eight or a nine, and Hull will probably get a seven or eight.
District Nine will probably get eights or nines. Yesterday, we approached them to see if they wanted to be allies. After all, my mentor told me that the girl's father is a past victor. However, they declined our invitation, saying that the careers are 'sick' and 'cruel'. Well, I guess we'll just have to kick their butts in the arena.
The buzzer rings, signaling the end of training. We walk into the lunchroom and chow down on our food. You can tell everyone is tense and nervous. Some tributes look like they'd fall to the ground if I simply breathed on them. After half an hour, our plates are cleared, and we wait for the Gamemakers to start the private training sessions. Finally, a robotic voice calls out, "Gemma Hound." I smirk at the tributes as I walk past them and into the training room. This will be interesting.
Sorry I haven't updated in a while. I've been very busy with sports and stuff. I'll try to update at least twice a week. I've also created a poll, so that I can learn your favorite tributes. PLEASE VOTE! :-) Well, the private training sessions are next! :-)
