A/N: Hmm... Two udpates in one day? Yes, indeed. This chapter is short, I admit. I'm trying not to make them short, but I don't want them to be really long. I'll try to start making them longer, I promise. Anyway. Here's chapter 9.


NINE

"I volunteer!"

I look up and realize that I had somehow ended up on my knees, my head hanging in sorrow.

I see a boy step out from the eighteen-year-old boys' area. "I volunteer as tribute," he repeats. "Spare the boy, take me."

I gape at him, thinking he is crazy for wanting to do this but grateful at his willingness to step up for my little brother's life. Is that wrong?

As if it could, the silence got more eerie. I thought my eardrums were going to burst from silence.

Finally, Wynona broke it. "I'm sorry," she says slowly. "We are-"

"Most definitely taking volunteers," Mayor Francisca finishes, stepping beside her. "Let the boy come forward!"

A couple of Peacekeepers step up to the boy and push him roughly on the back, making him walk. I don't look at his face as I slowly stand up.

I look over at Bey, who is looking dumbfounded at the stairs before him. His eyes meet mine. I mouth one word to him. He nods and obeys, streaking towards the woods. What was my one word? Run. Run as far as you can, Beowulf, I think as I watch him. Run to safety and never turn back.

I hear footsteps from the right side of the stage and keep looking forward as they get closer. They stop not far from me. There seems to be a long pause before Wynona speaks. "And so we have a volunteer," she chirps happily, making my stomach churn. "What is your name?"

I do not look but hear a sigh and can almost feel the sadness on the boy's face. "My name is," he says slowly, "is Chisel Hawthorne."

I let out a small gasp and look over at him. He does not look like the thirteen-year-old boy I met five years ago. No. The Chisel I met was lanky, short, and awkward with blotchy skin and dark blond hair falling limply around his round baby face. This Chisel standing before me was lean and muscular with at least a five-inch advantage to my five-foot-ten stature. His hair had taken more to a light brown than a blonde and was thick and soft looking, barely reaching his almost black eyes. His face had none of the baby fat it did before, and his chiseled cheekbones were highlighted by a nice, even tan as dark as Mother's. But I was still remembering him as the strange boy I knew and hated. And I wonder if he's remembering me as the evil ten-year-old girl who punched him when he tried to kiss me.

"Your District Twelve tributes!" Wynona exclaims, taking our hands and raising them in the air, snapping me out of my thoughts. She let them down and turns us to face each other. "Shake hands please."

Chisel's eyes meet mine with as much intensity as his father's. He smiles sadly at me and holds his hand out. I slowly, robotically take it, not feeling anything as we shake. I don't have the ability to feel anything at the moment.

We face the crowd again. There is no cheering. There is no sound. Just sympathetic looks and heads hanging in shame. Then, everything snaps into perspective. I am not having a nightmare. I am not going to wake up and be safe in bed. I am not going to be sitting in my living room watching children kill each other.

Because I am going into the Hunger Games. And I will have a front row, up close and personal seat. And I might not survive through the show.


A/N: So short... I think it's the shortest in here. And hopefully it'll stay that way. I already have most of 10 written out. Hopefully, I'll have it posted tomorrow. This is all for now. Night, guys.

-AGEless