0.9
I have been keeping a real low profile ever since that night, just hoping that Effie, Haymitch and god forbid, Katniss, won't rat me out at all. I haven't exactly gone to sneak out to see Cato, and even if I wanted to, the idea of me doing so will consist me of sneaking out really stealthily. Training has resumed as normal, and every day, whenever I don't have a hard on seeing Cato just lashing out and concentrating his energy and brute force on a blade to a mannequin or dummy, I look at him, and sometimes, if I'm not being to obvious, catch him staring at me too, but with his placid and aloof look on his face as always. He's always by the sword fighting station or anything that just screams the use of physical. He neglects - not entirely - the survival stations, and here I am just assuming that he's only doing so because he wants fear permeated in the room. Like he's telling everyone indirectly that he's every tribute's literal version of a death reaper.
I move my hands around the ropes, attempting to get the knots correct as it shows on the screen. It's not hard to catch up, but certainly something I find tedious to do. It may prove useful, but I don't see how that's going to work knowing that I will die most likely within the first hour of the game. It's not hard to think like that, because the truth is just so near, it's almost touchable. I pull the rope tightly once I got the knot right and unfasten it before retrying, hoping that the method does not leave my mind too quickly.
•
I make my way to the elevator, my body sore, but not as bad as the first day. Katniss and the other tributes have left for their own breaks and I choose to leave the last. I lost sight of Cato for quite a while, and his face didn't come into my mind until I reach the inside of the elevator. The memory of him caressing my body just seconds after he left for his floor makes me shiver in both fear and arousal. I can't help it, he's strong, and call me superficial, but he's not the type of person I expected him to be. Out of all the people in District 2, he has so far broken the stereotype that every person envisioned him to be.
The door opens onto my floor and I walk out, only to see Portia, Cinna, Haymitch and Effie at the dinner table, with their chattering filling the silence. They don't take notice of me, probably because the dining table is perched high up with stairs attached to its floor. The Avox stand there like dogs with their eyes closed and their hands overlapping each other. I guess you can say that it's the Capitol's level of labor and community service. Katniss doesn't seem to be there, and I begin to think and agree with my standpoint that she's not the type to be talking to all and sundry.
I head for my room, giving them hand signals to the people at the table when I hear Effie and Portia asking me to join them for dinner. I will join them, when my exhaustion doesn't cripple my hands from touching the cutlery. I enter the room wordlessly, and see the lack of clothes on my bed; much to my relief. I dread the thought of finding clothes laid out for me, preparing me for strenuous activities. The training today is exhausting and enervating enough. I enter the shower, and strip my clothes, preparing my body for a warm shower. My body is begging for relief and I let the warm liquid relieve me and I sigh contently.
I know that Cato has been giving me perfunctory, purposeful glances at me. Trying to contact me and checking me out time to time. I try to act casual, getting the fact that despite our secret gathering occurred a few days ago, it doesn't escape the fact that Cato has an image to fill. He needs to be the badass that he is. The one that everyone fears in the game, like he has not an ounce of insecurity or fear in his mind. Only I know the truth, and that brings a small smile to my face. I bet that he expects me to meet up with him for at least a night, and I too won't deny that I want to meet him.
Gale wouldn't know what's going on behind closed doors.
•
I join the others at dinner, without Katniss this time. I seriously cannot fathom how their stomachs can handle the gastronomy laid out on the table. It's as if the chefs here aren't exhausted of the countless people they have to serve, and now with 24 tributes into their list of people to cook for, it makes me wonder how much are they rewarded for their hard work. They must have something that gives them room for their consumption.
"So, the interviews are coming up," says Effie, bringing the topic as an icebreaker. The other give oohs at the topic and Portia starts gloating about how the interviews are always the best part of The Hunger Games. Cinna sits casually, taking small bites from his plate while listening attentively to the conversation. Haymitch doesn't see to show the same reaction as the other three on the table, and here I am sitting confusedly about the interviews. I know that every year, Ceaser Flickerman will give an interview towards every participating tribute, and in simplest terms, it's a one-way beacon for them to impress the crowd and get some easy sponsors. Charming is something I can do, but just talking isn't enough. This is a fight to the death, and having a strategy, be it in the game or pre-game, you need something solid to make sure the public has a concrete reason to back you up.
Everything in the game needs a strategy, and I'm not just talking on behalf of the tributes, but also the Gamemakers along with his staff. Where else would the terrains they put up every year come from? It's all calculative. Many would think that it's about underage kids killing each other until the last one stands, but really it's about the environment doing the talking. We tributes are basically an external factor to our deaths. If we have too much fear, stupidity, irrationality or hubris in our mind, then basically that's considered as internal factor. To the terrain, we are the internal factor, but on the outside, whatever the Gamemakers do like altering the temperature, or just technologically decide to drown us by creating a flood, you can call that external factors.
Haymitch clears his throat audibly, and Portia and Effie lower their voices. I honestly don't really look forward for the interview. I have to lie through my teeth just to let people sing their praises at me. "Now," starts Haymitch, "The interview doesn't start until the day before you all leave this place, but that doesn't mean the interview alone will save your skin. If you impress the Gamemakers during the evaluation and impress the crowd with your charm, then maybe you have a chance,"
"How do they rate you during the evaluation?" I ask. There has to be more than just announcing the scores, right?"
"They will score you based on the amount of confidence you have. If you have confidence in your strength and skills, as well have practicality towards what weapon or skill you have when you use it in the games, then you obviously have high marks. I know that the kid in 5 is going to score little. The Gamemakers are not the smartest people of the bunch, and even the President will agree with that. You wanna know why?" he asks pointedly at me, "It's because the Gamemakers are superficial. All judgmental and not skin deep. So if Katniss were to miss her shot if she uses the bow, then you can kiss your chances of having sponsors goodbye,"
I stare at him, processing all the information in one go. It's a lot to take, I can tell. "Overall, they will grade you between 1 to 12," adds in Haymitch, "Higher than 8 may be useful. So far, very few has reached 11 and 12. You need to have sheer audacity to impress the Gamemakers."
The topic dies out, with Effie, Portia and Cinna continue talking about other trivial matters, sometimes including me in the conversation. Haymitch has long left the table, with his bottle of alcohol in his hand and a small shot glass in the other. I did not miss the disapproving glance Effie gives, as she turns to me and say, "At least he knows better than the other mentors in the games,"
"What do you mean?" I ask.
The trio of adults stare at each other, before looking at me, "You just need to watch the footage, I suppose. We'd tell you, but we might get off topic," says Effie.
•
"Ladies and gentlemen, the 50th Annual Hunger Games," announces a younger, and flamboyant still Ceaser Flickerman. He sure doesn't look as tan as he is now, and that trait may be better than what he has now, "This year is a special year, as it is also the 2nd Quarter Quell,"
I sit in my room, hugging my pillow tightly as I watch the footage that Effie has given me for my own research. I know that the Capitol has always been so "generous" with showing the entertainment that has become a tradition to them, but going back 20 years into the Game's history is a lot to look out for. I played the footage, and damn, does the image quality look stunning even after 24 years. The Capitol never fails to look far better than the other districts, if only they knew that it's us districts that basically contribute the most to the Capitol. Bloodsucking lechers.
"This year, the Capitol has announced that in conjunction with the 2nd Quarter Quell, 48 tributes will be taken this year. That's right, 48. That's twice the amount we usually have in the normal Hunger Games," No surprise there. The Quarter Quell is always a special event to the upper echelons of Panem. Quarter Quell is celebrated every 25 years, with the intention of reminding people about the tragic events of The Dark Days. So for every Quarter Quell, a special rule has been incorporated into the mix, elevating the hype and excitement of the Capitol and increasing the amount of money needed to build coffins for us people in the districts.
"Now, the tributes here today will be interviewed and I cannot wait to see the fresh faces that will bring the excitement that we have waited 25 or for other 50 years for this event to happen," he says chirpily, "Who will be the last one standing for this year's Quarter Quell? I'm just dying to find out myself," Hmm, not an appropriate time to put in some pun, Caeser. The crowd cheers crazily as they welcome the first tribute from District 1. I had to bear through their broad answers and deceitful tactics that they use, although I will admit, they may prove useful in future interviews. To charm it has to come from somewhere. I watch the different faces, some confident and some nervous, like the interview itself is something scarier to bear through than the death that they will have to evade from.
"And now please welcome, our first tribute from District 12, Haymitch Abernathy," the crowd swoons and basically screams at the sight of Haymitch. I'm actually surprised myself, not really expecting to see Haymitch, whose hair was much shorter and less unkempt and the face of a person who has never touched or been influenced by the power of alcohol walk in. He looks handsome, and if Katniss were here, she too will admit that.
"Is that. . . Haymitch?" a voice says behind me. I jumped at the voice and see that Katniss is behind me. Her lips almost twitch to a smile when she saw my reaction and I nod at her silently as the tape rolls on. She sits next to me with her attention too encapsulated by the graphics that has been preserved for almost 25 years. "Wow," she breathes out in disbelief. I myself, am quite surprised of her sudden entrance but I didn't kick her out. She might as well learn something from this like I am.
"Now," begins Caeser casually, "Haymitch. What do you think of this year's Hunger Games, with tributes doubled?"
The young Haymitch looks at the crowd observantly, his expression unamused. I'm clearly not surprised that would be his habit. Giving that look only cemented the very nature that he is today. Even though he has changed from such a young man, he's definitely not let go of his expressions. That look he gives towards the audience is unmistakable.
"I think. . .," he begins before pausing, "That even with the increase of numbers, the Capitol is still as stupid." Needless to say, I'm speechless just hearing the brevity of words leaving Haymitch's lips. I can hear the audible gasps from the audience, as if they have never in their life expected such bold effrontery from the man himself, let alone a tribute. Surely he isn't the first tribute to speak his mind freely, right? Judging by the audience, I guess not. Even Katniss' eyes seem to widen considerably from my peripheral vision. Caeser Flickerman doesn't seem to perturbed or fazed by the comment, as if his whole personality has been schooled to be immune to insults.
"Well, that is a very interesting answer, Haymitch," says Caeser with not an inch of hurt in his voice, "Well, one's man opinion right, folks?" The charm and exaggerated sweetness that Caesar puts up is unnerving. It makes me wonder how anyone is accustomed to that kind of sugarcoating nature. I can hear the crowd basically murmuring alongside each other. "Well, Haymitch. It's a pleasure meeting you, and we wish you luck." I wonder if Haymitch has any idea what kind of position he has put himself in, jeopardizing his own chances on having sponsors. Sure, he may have ended up as the winner of that year, but surely he has some doubts in his ability, right?
I look at Katniss, who gives an unsure look at me. At least someone agrees with me. As standoffish she is, she can't possibly rely too heavily on herself to survive in the woods. All those time and spoils collected in the forest weren't all credited by her. She had Gale, and even she had to rely on Gale for some things. Sure, working on a bow may have been part of her interest or some legacy that she had to follow, but her ability to hunt stealthily and cunningly had to be from Gale. I remember seeing Mr. Hawthorne coming in to give the spoils to my dad, and even I know from a young age, Gale was there with him, watching his dad with keen. I was too busy sketching to even notice his presence.
The clip goes on to the Games, with the commentary from Caeser Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith – who still looks as flamboyant and preppy as his colleague – coming in time to time, to give the audience an update on what the situation of the game has grown. The entire game isn't shown since the two commentators give images of the dead tributes, and telling the audience the tally and leftover number of tributes in the arena. So far, Haymitch has been a surprising contender, from the way Claudius has described. The images then switch back to the arena. I watch as Haymitch walk around own his own, with nothing but a knife and a bag slung over his shoulders. His clothes look dirty but there isn't an inch of tatter on his clothes. No one seems to be tailing him, so I guess that adds to the safety.
He seems to be walking aimlessly, not really having a purpose as to where he is going. He soon walks to a cliff, with nothing but a dead end for Haymitch. He huffs silently at his predicament and soon kicks a pebble right across the air. My surprise comes next, as well as his, when the kicked pebble soon returns to him. Haymitch looks at the air, then the pebble, gaging his mind on the whole situation. He kicks the pebble again, and a few seconds later comes the said pebble, landing right in front of his shoe. The silent smirk that Haymitch gives off is unmistakable as he continues walking off, away from the newly discovered friend of his.
"Must be a force field," muses Katniss. I stare at her, a bit confused at her assessment before continuing, "The arena has got to have some limits, so the force field probably marks it." That's sensible, knowing that such arena doesn't exist anywhere in Panem. The entire arena is technologically built, not a trace of nature has got anything to do with it. The only thing that nature has any part of this is the research. Capitol technology has always been of prestige, able to replicate and duplicate any item so long as they have one copy or sample of the said item. And the limit has got to be somewhere, so that's where the force field marks its course. Huh. The capitol seems to have weakness, who knew?
I continue watching Haymitch as he walks around the arena, only to find himself being attacked viciously by a crazed tribute. There's nothing sane about this tribute, with his hand swiping and slicing the air as if nature itself has turn its back towards him. Haymitch tries to dodge it, and made good work out of it too, when he manages to disarm him, but his victory is short lived though, when the tribute resorts to lunge at him, taking the wind out of Haymitch's system. The tribute then grips Haymitch's vulnerable neck, squeezing it like there's no tomorrow. Haymitch tries to fend himself off, but his efforts come out as slapping. The rid of oxygen is the solid reason why his actions come off as little effort. I almost believe that Haymitch has lost when the tribute suddenly flinches and then slumps to the ground, removing the suspense entirely. Haymitch chokes on air, and I myself give a sigh of relief, not really aware that I had been tense throughout the small fight.
What catches my attention is the small protruding dart that is on Haymitch's attacker. A dart; no doubt it's poisonous, I think. The camera zooms out to a lady, with a crossbow in her hand. She seems familiar, no doubt. District 12 has a natural ability of getting to know every single one of the residents, even if you have met them or not. However, I will admit that, there are some people I have little recognition for, and the woman whom has helped Haymitch is one of them. I watch as the two form a temporary alliance, and they walk around the arena once more, leaving the dead tribute without giving pity towards his fate. Can't be help, though. I now notice what Atala meant when she's said that people die in the arena due to natural causes. Huh.
As the clip rolls on, they arena finally leaves with 5 tributes, and the amount of days that have accumulated in the arena has passed the 13th mark. I'm actually impressed of their will to stay alive this long. Most people who have lost their minds or will before the game usually just let death come to them, but there are some out of that said group who chose to do the opposite, and at least stay alive before their fate has been sealed.
Nothing catches my attention more when Haymitch and the lady - whom I now know is Maysilee Donner - having an argument. Long story short, the two are fighting that their alliance should break to minimize casualties, but Haymitch doesn't see eye to eye to her proposal. I don't think I would agree with Haymitch but the fact that this is a fight to the death, it doesn't shock me when Haymitch wants a small semblance of home before he faces his apparent death. They separate, and I cannot shake this hunch that something worse is take place in the next coming minutes. The camera skips to screaming and Haymitch running to find the same lady, Maysilee, being attacked by pink flamingos. I'm at this point quite amazed at how the Capitol has managed to sample such rare species. Flamingoes are almost extinct in Panem and the way they programmed the flamingos to attack makes me wonder what kind of creatures will they sent for us this year. The fear is undeniable thick when I think about it at a deeper level.
And I'm not really into finding out what.
I watch as Maysilee Donner heaves her final breath, due to the creatures impaling her neck like butter, and Haymitch holding her hand and keeping a strong expression. This is probably one of those rare moments I've ever seen anybody from the 12 giving a damn for each other. Mostly, when the tributes are returned from the arena dead and lifeless, the only thing we can sum up is that the two tributes never actually met each other. They have little to no relationship until they both are wound up in the arena themselves.
There are only two tributes left, and Katniss has not once left her place in my room. Not that I care, and upon reflection, I kind of enjoy watching it in my room rather than the living room, since Haymitch wouldn't be impressed by watching his younger self on the television screen. He has seen enough of his nightmare, and I don't want to be the one to re-instigate it. Even though there are only two tributes left and with the knowledge that Haymitch actually wins this whole game, the adrenaline never ceases to escape us, as we watch culminating fight that I guess everyone from all districts 24 years ago were so eager to see; the ending. The fight was rather intense, with Haymitch and a knife, while a girl - whom I know was from District 1 - is holding an axe. Haymitch runs all the way escaping from her and evading with purpose as if he knows the entire arena like he has read the blueprint or map about it. I see the familiar terrain where the force field is laid, and thankfully, the force field is invisible to the naked eye. The fight gets gruesome as I watch Haymitch digging her eyeball out mercilessly and I can feel my palms clenching into fists. I keep forgetting who the winner is and as the fight draws closer to its end, I watch as Haymitch clutches his cut stomach. Goddamn, that is going to leave a nasty scar. Haymitch is completely disarmed and I dread to find out what happens next, regardless whether I know he's the winner or not.
The girl throws her axe as a means of a finishing blow, and Haymitch ducks it, and limps to the ground. Nothing happens at all, and for a few seconds I wonder what whether the recording has gone wrong until I see a deflected axe sinking its blade onto the girl's head. She falls to the ground with a loud thud, and a pause goes. Haymitch was still breathing and I hear Caesar's voice booms narratively as he declared Haymitch as the winner of the second Quarter Quell. The recording ends with the Capitol symbol, and then goes black.
That's it? All of what's left of Haymitch's year? There has got to be more than that. Why is it that Haymitch looks so miserable after all these 24 years? Shouldn't there be a happy ending to his story. Come to think of it, why isn't his family mentioned? Katniss seems to be confused too, but with nothing to go by, she leaves my room without a word and I sit down, waiting for some recording or image to pop up on my screen to answer my questions.
A/N: I'm so sorry for the late update, people. I really have been busy with assignments and what's worse my exams are in two weeks (Not that I care about exams since studying is something I have little trouble with). However, I will not lie that my assignments have drained me of my energy. From freaking interviews and trips, I go home and sleep like a corpse over and over. Thankfully, last week was the last week of my assignments so I won't be receiving anymore of this bullshit until the next semester, which gratefully, only has one for the next semester. This semester comprised of 2 assignments, and I have been so deprived of my energy. I come home without food in my system and I hadn't got a decent meal until Friday. My writing will resume (FINALLY) and I will update as often as possible.
I admit, I'm getting rusty, but I'll get back to it. Hopefully.