A/N: (Checks behind me) Please don't send me to the Hunger Games! I was going to update Friday before my school's football game, but my mom's car was in the shop & right as we were about to leave, we found something else wrong with it. Then, I had to go to audition for a musical at our local theater (which I bombed because my allergies are clogging up my throat). By the time we got home, I had to change out of my school uniform so we could go to the game. Then, I was going to update Saturday, but my friend called me and asked me to stay at her house. Then, on Sunday I went to both morning & night church with her. When I got home, I was feeling sick so I went on to bed. But now, I'm better & free (except I have two Spanish quizzes to study for) so I can update.
So here it is!


ELEVEN

Wynona brought me to my compartment on the train. She instructed me to be back at the dining cart in one hour for dinner.

I sat alone in my room. The bed was the most comfortable I had ever felt. However, it was not as comforting as my own. The window was large and so clean it looked as if it wasn't there at all. I watch as trees and mountains and even the occasional animal zip by. But the view will never be as beautiful as the view of the 12's District Square from my bedroom window. I drown myself in these sort of thoughts. How nothing will ever bring me the comfort that home brings me. I had always dreamed of getting out of District 12 and traveling around Panem and even different parts of the world. Just not in this way. We do have to cross most of the country to get from District 12 to the Capitol, but most of the trip will be hollow and meaningless to me.

I pull myself out of my depressing thoughts and decide to start washing up for dinner. After playing with all the buttons and gadgets, I finally figure out how to work the shower and step in, letting the water scorch my skin. Yet the normally comforting heat beating against my back can't melt away the cold feeling that is running through my veins. It's almost like everything I touch turns to ice - cold, hard, and unfeeling.

After what seems like an eternity of standing under the water, I dry off and put on the clothes that are laid out for me. Most people would see them as lovely and would give anything to wear the light blue fabric that I am slipping on. But, though the fabric is the softest silk, it seems uncomfortable and awkward to my skin at the moment. Like I said, everything turns to ice.

I walk out into the hallway just in time to see someone else walk out of theirs. Father smiles a hollow smile and comes over to me. His blond and gray hair is damp like mine, and he seems refreshed. He wraps his long arm around my shoulder and pushes a piece of hair plastered to my forehead back. I bury my face in the fabric of his shirt and breathe deeply. He smells really good.

"Tell me, Sapphire, do I smell like roses?" he says suddenly.

I look at up him to see him smirking. I roll my eyes and playfully hit him on the arm as he pulls out the old joke he used on Caeser Flickerman. "Yes, you do," I answer him, taking another whiff. This causes him to smile bigger. I laugh a bit. "I never said I like how roses smell," I add.

This makes him stop and gape at me as I keep going towards the dining cart. "Wynona's not going to like it if you're late for supper," I tell him. "Oh, and you might want to close your mouth. You're going to catch flies."

I push the door to the cart open as I hear him saying, "I let her be alone with Katniss too long." I smile on the outside but on the inside all I can think is that this might be a good thing. I might have to show the side of me that I inherited from my mother. And let me tell you, it is not pretty.

"Ah, Sapphire, Peeta, so nice you could join us," says Wynona as we enter. She brushes off her bright yellow skirt which just makes her yellowish tone skin seem more yellow.

I mumble a response and sit down in an empty seat. Father takes the seat across for me, reserving the seat beside him for Mother. I silently hope that Haymitch will sit beside me and Wynona at the head of the table on my other side. No way do I want Chisel sitting next to me even if that means sitting between the overhappy escort and the drunkard. Unfortunately, when Haymitch stumbling in, he sits in the chair at the opposite end that I am at.

Mother comes after him, sitting beside Father. She kisses him on the cheek. Then turns to smile at me. "How are you finding things, sweetie?" she asks me. The smile she wears does not match her gray eyes which are full of sadness and regret. I can imagine that there are going to be many nightmares and flashbacks during this "trip."

We sit in the dining cart for several minutes. Chisel still has not arrived. I have considered marching to his compartment and dragging him in here as I can smell the food that has been prepared, and my stomach is growling quietly. Wynona stands impatiently tapping her foot and glancing at the wall clock every ten seconds. Eventually, she throws her hands up in exasperation. "Where can that boy be? I swear, District Twelves-"

"I'm a District Two, actually," a voice behind me says. I jump as I turn and see Chisel standing directly behind my chair. I wonder how he snuck up behind me. I have excellent hearing, training them to hear the smallest noise. He sits in the chair beside me, nodding to me as he lowers himself. I turn away from him and watch Wynona as she huffs and also lowers herself into her chair.

The food is brought out and it takes every fiber of my being not to stuff myself. The food is very rich, and I know that if I eat too much, I will probably make myself sick. As I eat it, I almost feel guilty as I think about all the starving children on the streets of the districts. The lucky ones that aren't going to the Hunger Games yet are so unlucky because here we are getting fattened up for our death while they go hungry for who knows how many more days.

Mother urges me and Chisel to try some of the lamp and plum stew. Lamb and plum does not sound like an appetizing combination to me. Finally, Chisel caves. "I'll try some, Katniss," he mumbles. He turns to me. "Sapphire, will you hand me the pot?"

I do not look at him. I pretend that I did not hear him. This is my tactic for the rest of my time with him. There is no way that I am going to be friends with a Hawthorne. There is no way that I am doing any favors for this boy. Even if he is not as bad as his father, there is no point in making friends right now. We'll all have to say good-bye anyway.

"Sapphire," he repeats, "will you please hand me the stew?"

I continue to ignore him. I then hear an exasperated sigh. I roll my eyes mentally and reach for the pot which contains the stew. Another hand was also reaching for the bowl and bumped into mine as it stretched. An unfamiliar spark went through me as our skin met it. I jerk my hand back quickly as did the other person. I whip my head around to glare at Chisel. "Sorry," he mumbles. "Static electricity." With that, he grabs the pot quickly, scoops out some of the food, and puts it on the other side of the table too far for me to reach.

I nod. "Yeah," I mumble, pushing my plate farther away from me as I suddenly lose my appetite. "That must have been it." He must have felt it too. The spark that ran through me must have jumped through him too. I just hope it was a spark of hatred.


After dinner, we watch the rest of the Reapings in the parlor. I watch Haymitch, Mother, and Father carefully as the clips play. I notice Haymitch is playing fretfully with his fingers as he does not have a glass to keep them occupied with. He is not allowed to have alcohol in the train or when we get to the Capitol. I turn my attention back to the television. The Reapings play in order of the district numbers. The District 1 tributes look as if they have been training still though for the past thirty or so years they have had nothing to train for. Seeing this, I cast a glance at Chisel. He is muscular and tough-looking but not like these tributes.

He catches me looking and smirks cockily. "Like what you're staring at?" he says.

I snort. "Please," I mumble. "I'm just trying to believe that something as ugly as you truly exists." This earns me a glare from my mother, which causes me to immediately snap my attention back to the television. I hear Chisel snicker as he observes this. I clench my fists by my sides to refrain from making him relive that day five years ago.

A few things catch my attention as we watch the Reapings. Like a handsome boy in District 4 being Reaped and his frantic mother coming on stage begging not to take him. I didn't catch his name. I think it was Ohare, Oclaire... something alond those lines. The girl from District 5's face seemed very familiar to me - somewhere in my memory it was there. But the thing that stood out the most to me was the District 2 Reaping.

"Giovanni Hawthorne," their District escort called after he pulled a name from the girls' bowl.

A girl who was no more than thirteen stepped forward. Another girl who looked just like her ran after her. They were twins. Twin 1 pushed Twin 2 off of her and went up on stage.

"I volunteer!" an older girl called, rushing out of her age group to go up on the stage. She looked to be about Chisel's age. She was starting to walk up when the escort shook his head.

"I'm sorry," he says regretfully. "It seems that we are not accepting volunteers this year. Ms. Hawthorne, please come up, dear."

Twin 1 nods and bravely walks up the stairs and stands straight as she faces the crowd. Everyone can tell that there are tears in her eyes though. I respect her for trying to put on a brave facade as she is only thirteen.

All of a sudden, Chisel lets out a yell. He kicks over the closest thing to him which happens to be a chair which hits me in the back of my knees, causing them to buckle. I straighten up and turn on him.

"What's your problem?" I yell at him, feeling myself going red in the face. "You think it's okay to just go around kicking things whenever you feel like it? Who were you raised by, savages?" I pinch the bridge of my nose and close my eyes, breathing deeply. "No wait, don't answer that."

He grabs my wrists roughly, prying my hands off of my face, but not hard enough to hurt me. I glare up at him and try to wrench my hands away from his grasp. "Let go of me!" I yell, still trying to get my wrists back though I know it is useless. His grip tightens as I fight him until I let out of pained breath.

Finally, a hand grabs the front of his shirt and roughly yanks him. His captor pushes him against the wall, holding him there. "Don't you ever handle my daughter like that again, do you understand?" my father growls, sounding nothing like himself.

Chisel slowly nodded. "I understand, sir," he says evenly, not even sounding threatened. "It's just that not everyone is as lucky as she is." His black eyes slide from Father's face and meet my own eyes. "Be glad my father made me volunteer for your brother." He pushes Father's hands away and storms away to his compartment.

I stare after him. Gale made his volunteer? He wanted his son to be in the Hunger Games? This does not compute with me. How could someone be so sick and sinister that they would want their child to be in the Hunger Games?

I look around at all the people in the room who are all staring at me. I finally find my voice. "I'm going to go to bed," I say quietly. I retreat to my compartment, hoping for a good night's sleep though I know it will never come. Even sleep seems icy and wicked.


A/N: There you go! Hope you liked it! Little bit of a filler, but I hope you guys find something significant in it because it's there. I'm not telling you what. Figure it out for yourself.
Also I'm thinking about writing a story for the Second Quarter Quell. But I want to know it you guys think I should. Leave your opinion in the reviews. Or you can just review about this chapter. Whichever works for you.

-AGEless