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Dymas Corrigan
District Nine Male, 17 Years Old
The table eats in silence, all of us staring down at our bowls. At the head of the table are our mentors, Amaranth and Dakota, who are chatting between themselves. They haven't been talking to Damaris or me much today, maybe because they want to leave us alone with our thoughts. To let us reflect on what we've done and where we'll go.
I hate that.
I hate thinking. It just calls for unnecessary thoughts that impede with my focus and distract me.
"Almost done, you two?" Dakota asks, already standing up from the table. I glance at Damaris who's still staring down at her bowl, and honestly, I don't know if she's listening. She never responds, and whenever she does, it's minimal.
Only if I tried to talk to her in the beginning of the Capitol. Maybe we would have been able to become allies or something. But, whenever I open my mouth, it never works out for me. It never has.
Someone always find something wrong with me.
"Dymas? Damaris?"
"Yes, Dakota," I say, and for Dakota, it was too snappy. He rolls his eyes like he usually does with me, and at this point, I don't know what his problem is. Is it because I don't have an alliance? That I might not have any sponsors?
Why is he taking it out on me?
"Listen," he says, but I don't want to hear it. I've had enough of his lecturing. Damaris probably doesn't want to hear it, either; and even if she did, she'd give it no regard.
"No," I deadpan, trying to calm myself back down. He gets me worked up over the littlest things, and today is a day where I don't need the stress. I don't need someone like stressing me out.
"You're still going to keep this up?" He asks, and from the corner of my eye I can see Amaranth grasping his hand. The two of them will make a wonderful couple, whenever Dakota proposes to her, that is. They'll get all the attention from the Capitol; the attention they apparently have wanted to distance themselves from.
Well, getting married is no way to distance yourself from attention.
They're probably only getting married because they're both victors. They understand each other and can relate. Personally, the idea of marriage never appealed to me, especially not in District Nine. The wife would become a housewife, while I would go to work every day. And kids… I'd rather not.
"Damaris," Amaranth says, her voice as soft as it usually is. "Is there anything else you need?"
Damaris shakes her head, and even though I know I should keep my mouth shut, I can't help it. Today might be the last day I see any of these people here, so there's no reason to be nice anymore. There's no reason to keep my mouth shut just to appease them.
"Are you going to ask me if I need anything else, Dakota?" I ask, staring at him.
Dakota grins, ignoring Amaranth's worrying face. "Do you need anything, Dymas?"
"A hug," I say, feigning pouting. "It's the least you could do."
Dakota opens his mouth, but he shuts it tightly, not wanting to deal with me. No one wants to deal with me after a while, but I'm used to it. It was the same way back in District Nine, so not much has changed. I mean, the only difference is that I'm about to go into the arena where others will want to kill me, but other than that, it's pretty much same.
I'm not sure which I prefer, though; the Capitol or District Nine.
Dakota and Amaranth shuffle towards the door, with Dakota glancing at me over his shoulder from time to time. I wait for Damaris to walk over there, so that I'm the last person. It makes me feel better to stand in the back, since then I can watch people more. If I'm in the front, I'm never too comfortable, so I'll just stay in the back.
People don't notice me that way.
I like it that way.
Filing into the hallway, I see the elevator at the end of the hallway, and for a moment, I begin to feel… I begin to feel nervous. I'm never nervous. But, as we begin to walk down the hallway, I look at Damaris and see that she's nervous too. She's playing with her hands, not being able to stand still and keep her composure. I'm not shaking or anything, but I know I'm nervous.
I have all right to be, don't I?
"Get in," Dakota snaps, holding out his hand for me to go in first.
He nods at me as I walk past him, but this time, I don't say anything. As the doors slide shut, I stand in the back of the elevator, looking at all of them as a whole. Damaris still looks nervous, Amaranth is anxious, and Dakota isn't doing anything. I don't really think he's ever done anything, at least to me. But, I was always rude to him.
I wish I never did any of that.
It wasn't right… to be so rude. Maybe I'm only realizing this now, since I'm going into the Games and all. Why am I feeling so guilty, then? I don't really care what people think about me.
But, him… he's different. He's a mentor.
And he's watched kid and kid die every year. Perhaps that's why he is the way he is?
Because he watches people die?
What will happen if I die?
What will happen then?
Maureen Lowell
District Eight Female, 18 Years Old
"There's no reason to be so quiet, sweetie. We can talk for the last few minutes if you'd like."
Looking up from my lap, I stare at her for a moment, but she's already back at working with her clipboard. I don't expect her to be doing anything, since the arena outfit is already in the corner. The slick black color, all of the accessories all black as well. The boots, the belt, the gloves. There's not much else she can do.
And really, if she wanted to do anything more to help me, it would be to leave me alone.
That's all I need right now.
"No thank you," I say, making her turn back around.
"Oh, come on! Don't be like that, Maureen! This could be the last time-"
My stylist stops herself, the doubt in her voice coming to a halt. She just stands there, and as I look back at her, not really offended at what she said, she looks distressed. She probably thinks I'm some emotional teenager.
No, that's not it. I just want to be left alone.
"I didn't mean it like that. I, uh, I'm sure you'll come back home."
I nod as a response, wanting this conversation to end quickly as possible. Once she gives up talking to me, I tune her out, going back to my thoughts. Going back to my thoughts of what's to come and what I could do to prepare.
Have I done enough?
Did I train enough? Did I learn enough from my mentors? Did I… Did I prepare myself?
I can't really say. There's never been a time for me to show what I'm capable of. Besides my training session, but that doesn't really count. That's all fake, but once we hit that arena, it's real. We'll have to fight for our lives. Fight against other kids about the same age who want it just as badly as I do.
Want what, I'm not sure. Victory? Perhaps. Survival? Perhaps.
Even if I were to win, I'd be going back to District Eight. I know that victors get a brand new home to live in once you come back, but is that the only incentive they can give me? And money and fame? I was never one to care for such materialistic things.
The conditions would still be awful, poverty would be rampant, and the starvation would not cease. Back there, if I had the chance, I would run away. But now, I'm in the Hunger Games, so there goes that idea. And even if I were to return, I wouldn't be able to do that, I would have to stay put and suffer from living there more.
Nothing would change even if I were to win.
They'd just sugar-coat it all and distract me from my old life.
But, that's the point of the Games, isn't it? To start fresh? To try for a new life? A new life with money, a new house, and fame? It's still not appealing to me.
That doesn't make me want it any less, though. I'm not too invested in any of the materialistic gains, but I can strive for victory. Winning is still viable to me, but I'll have to work for it. I always have had to work for something I want, though; from the factories to now. It's all about how much I want and to what degree.
Anything's possible, after all.
"It's almost time," my stylist says, gesturing towards my suit. "Please, come get dressed."
Not wanting to resist her anymore, I let myself go over to her, and as I begin to strip down, I continue to think. I slip on the pants, then the long-sleeve top, and then the boots. The gloves are put into my pocket, and when I look at myself in the mirror, it's all black. All of me, all black except for my skin. If it's sunny in the arena… this wouldn't be helpful. But, if it's dark enough, it'll be good for camouflage.
There are ups and downs about this suit.
"Kind of boring," she says from behind me, her nose crinkled. "Whatever."
It's not like she's the one wearing it, anyway, but I won't say anything. I shouldn't be getting all worked up now; I have to keep myself calm and collected. One little slip up could mean my life.
It's just that simple.
One wrong step, one wrong gesture, one wrong word could all lead to my demise. I guess that's why I didn't ally with anyone; I didn't want to risk it. I didn't want to ruin an alliance by doing something wrong, ultimately leaving the person I would have allied with wanting to betray me.
I always try to keep peaceful relations with anyone, but people are fickle. They get offended easily, take things the wrong way, and get worked up over petty things. That's why I couldn't risk it.
I'm better off alone, anyway. I've always been.
"Please, step up to the tube, Maureen," the stylist says, and as I begin to walk over, I know that this is it. This could be the last time that I am outside of the arena. I can't think like that, though. I have to be hopeful. I have to be optimistic.
I have to want it.
If I give up now, I'll die out there. And I can't let that happen. I was never fan of the Hunger Games – who would be? They're morbid, twisted, and are completely ironic. But, if they want me to play their Game, I will. I won't be defiant at a time like this. The Capitol now controls me hands-on, and whatever I do, they can still end my life if they want to.
I won't ruin my chances by not complying. If I comply, I can win. Even if that means that I will have to kill someone… I'll still do it. I'd have to do it.
I'd have to it to win.
To come back to District Eight.
To keep myself alive.
Lomman Rybar
District Eleven Male, 15 Years Old
Stepping into the glass tube, I close my eyes and try to steady my breathing. My body is shaking, and I know if I open my eyes, I'd see into the eyes of my stylist. She's just as scared as I am, having the same fears as I do.
She cares for me.
And she doesn't want me to die.
I don't want to die, either, but when you hear it from someone else, it means more. Knowing that someone actually cared for me here shows me that I have deceived the Capitol. I always thought they were shallow people, but now that I met this stylist, I think differently.
That's why I can't look at her.
Because then I'll get upset.
The only people I tried to let myself get close to here were my allies, Peros and Kade. They are my friends, but in a different way than my stylist. I like her as a person, but I know she can't mean much to me. Peros and Kade are my allies, so they have to mean more to me.
I'll fight alongside them in the arena.
And hopefully, we'll make it far enough together. If not… I don't know what I would do.
I don't want to think about that right now.
The platform jolts up a little, and as the plate begins to rise, I finally open my eyes. For a second or so, I see the face of the escort, and then she disappears. As I look upwards, the capping over the tube finally opens, revealing the arena and what will be the next step of this.
This is it.
The first thing I notice is… is darkness. Once I actually get into the arena, I keep staring upwards, looking right into the sky. It's dark, with a gray overcast and no sun in the sky. There seems to be some light, though, so I assume that it's from a moon or something. It is an arena, after all, so none of this is real.
Lowering my head, I look in front of me, not sure of where to look first. But, my eyes go right to the middle. There's a tree in the center instead of a Cornucopia, but the tree has no leaves on it. It's a dark tree, too, that seems to not be brown. It has branches sticking out from it, and it isn't too tall, either. A tall tribute could probably reach to the top of it. As I look closer, I see that things are hanging from it; they seem to be like masks of sorts. They have a nose piece, googles on it, and string.
But, then I look at the ground.
There are weapons and supplies, it looks. Randomly spread out throughout the area, there are random swords and spears stabbed into the ground, backpacks hanging on the handles and shafts. There are knives placed randomly as well, all in different areas and not favoring one side.
It's like a pool of weapons and supplies. Except for the three in the center, there's nothing else.
As I look over my shoulder, the first thing I see is… it's fog. It's a thick wall of fog, and as the time clicks down, I see that it's getting closer to me. The fog circles all of us, keeping us locked inside this small circular area for now. I can't see the past the fog except for that the arena goes on and on.
There seems to be hills of some sort, but they go downwards, not upwards. Like trenches in the ground.
Turning back around, I focus on the area that's in front of me, with three that only has branches but no leaves, the weapons all laid out on the ground, and the gas masks. I can't really see the tributes' faces, except for the two next to me. On my right is the girl from District One and on my left is the boy from District Nine.
But, I'm missing something. A countdown clock.
How do I know how much time is left? They must be doing that on purpose, aren't they? To add suspense? To make us more nervous than we already are?
No one knows when the Games will start. Hunching over a little bit, I prepare myself to leap off the plate once the gong sounds, but for now, I still survey the area. I'm sure there are things I'm missing, but I can't overlook them. If I get a good sense of what the arena is from here, I can find a way to get out with my allies.
My allies.
Where are they?
I quickly scan the circle, not being able to locate their faces. So, I put that aside, not wanting to distract myself with that. I'll find them, and if not, they'll come to me.
Feeling my legs tighten up, I bite down on my lip, knowing that this is my only chance. This is the only chance I'll get to sprint out of here, but first… I'll have to get through the fog. Is that what the gas masks are for?
Is that not fog, then? Is it gas?
Looking at it behind me one more time, I see that it has a green hue to it, which makes it feel more ominous. It's a thick fog or gas or whatever it is, but I'm sure it's meant for the gas masks. We need those to get out of here.
The darkness still gets me. Except for the faint light from whatever light source, there's nothing. Not a cloud, no sun, no blue sky. It's nothing like the skies in District Eleven.
It's all… It's all dark.
Taking a deep breath, I try to calm myself down, knowing that the Games have to start soon. All of this suspense is getting to me, making my head hurt from all the time I have to think. But, they're probably doing that on purpose. And once I hear the microphone click on overheard, my eyes shoot open, the adrenaline in my body reacting quickly.
This is it.
There's no giving up now.
"Let the Sixtieth Hunger Games begin!"
Author's Note:
And that's it for the Capitol! Next chapter is the Bloodbath, and I know how excited you all are. I am, so, you must be as well. Now for some questions.
Oh, but before I do that, I have a poll up that asks for your favorite tributes (you can pick four.)
Questions:
What do you think about the arena?
What tributes stood out to you?
Who do you think will die in the Bloodbath? Who do you want to die in the Bloodbath?
And for a personal question:
If you were a tribute, what arena would you want to be in?