Even with Katniss for company, sleep eludes me. And yet, while I pray for time to slow down, to stop entirely, it has speeded up an unreasonable amount. I keep watching the bedside clock as it ticks away, a seeming countdown to the end of my father's life.
Beside me Katniss stirs in her sleep. A slight twitch of her limbs and tiny whimper escaping her throat indicates to me that her dreams are not pleasant. She is on her side facing away from me, so I am able to spoon her back. I sling my arm over her and pull her into me, kissing the back of her head. She tenses for just a moment then relaxes; whatever terrors were plaguing her have been held at bay for now.
At first light the tributes are taken back in to prep and to be dressed by the stylists for the final time. Katniss and Haymitch eat a light breakfast while we wait to be able to go in and see them but the idea of food makes me feel ill. I catch a glimpse of myself in the reflection of a window and almost don't recognise the pale creature with dark circles under his eyes. The tension and anxiety of not knowing what we are facing is unbearable; even worse this year than it was last year.
I look out of the window at the cityscape sprawled below us. The Capitol is buzzing with people already discussing their favourites. Black Market street vendors thrive by selling toy weapons to children who will be acting out their favourite kills. Street parades act out memorable moments from previous games while the crowds clap and laugh and cheer. The gruesome pageantry, the celebration of death and destruction, is like a vice around my chest, constricting me, stopping me breathing, causing pain to my heart. How can a species that claims superiority over all extend so little compassion to others?
When we are finally summoned to give our last advice to the tributes I find my legs refuse to work. Katniss slips an arm around me and guides me forward and it feels as if I am being marched to my own execution.
Mrs Undersee has become withdrawn again. She refuses advice but says quietly to Katniss, "Tell my daughter I love her."
Ava is as white as a sheet when we see her. During her training she proved to be a fast learner, a quick runner and good at setting snares, which Katniss reminds her of, while pulling her into a hug. Haymitch tells her to steer clear of the bloodbath, find shelter, find water. The same advice he gave us last year. I have nothing more to add, other than to say good luck, a sentiment we both know I don't really mean.
We leave Ava to her fate and I despise myself for not being able to offer her more comfort. At least I won't have to pretend with Rafe Cronin. When Haymitch offers his bog-standard advice I pipe up. "I think you should get to the cornucopia. You can handle it," I say, and I am surprised at the venom in my own voice. I want him at that blood bath. I want him dead and out of the way.
He smirks at me. "Don't worry, Mellark. I intend to. See you later."
I feel a muscle twitching in my jaw and I storm out before I do anything else I regret.
My heart pounds in my throat as I enter the final room to say my goodbyes to my father. As soon as he sees me he pulls me into a hug. "Remember what I said, Peet. Be strong for me," he says.
"I will," I promise.
"I love you, son."
Tears stream down my face and I hold him even tighter. "Love you too."
The door opens and Katniss voice drifts in to me. "We don't have long," she says.
"Listen dad," I say, suddenly panicked. "Don't go near them. Run, get away, hide. Just, please stay alive. Please." I don't want to let him go. I'm shaking with grief as Portia returns to make sure dad is presentable for the cameras. Katniss holds my elbow and gently steers me away from him. I look back and hold his gaze as the doors close between us, most likely separating us forever.
"Let's go," says Haymitch, and he leads the way. I am barely aware of where we heading. He takes us to a part of the training centre we have never seen before. There are monitors everywhere but at the moment all are switched off. A large bar fills one side of the room, and predictably enough Haymitch strides directly towards it. He is soon joined by a man I recognise as a previous victor. They greet each other as old friends, both ordering the largest drinks available. The room starts to fill with other victors, chatting animatedly amongst themselves. It seems such a strange sight; all these people will be witnessing the deaths of at least three people they have come to know. Most will be witnessing the deaths of four. And yet here they all are, talking to each other as if they are at a family gathering.
Katniss seems to read my mind. "I guess this is just how they cope," she says, but her voice betrays the anger she feels.
Haymitch starts to walk towards us with the other victor, a tall dark skinned man with a genial face. "Katniss, Peeta, this is Chaff, a friend of mine." The word 'friend' seems so foreign coming from Haymitch. Chaff takes a swig of his drink and extends his hand for me to shake. I return the gesture but my hand passes through thin air. I look down at his extended arm and feel my face flushing; there is nothing but a stump at the end of his arm. Chaff chuckles heartily, while Haymitch also laughs. "Get some new material, old man! He did that to me when we first met and has been doing it to every new victor he meets ever since."
"Get's 'em every time," he says with a wink, then he calls to the room at random, "So who's up for the usual? First loser gets the drinks in for the rest of the games, right?"
"What's this?" Katniss asks, her voice hard.
"First death after the bloodbath," says Chaff. "Unless of course the first bloodbath death was particularly obvious, special or stupid. Whoever's District they were in buys everyone drinks. Keeps us on our toes."
"You bet on them, like the rest of the Capitol?" she says, deadly serious.
"Look, sweetheart," slurs Haymitch. "I've told you before. We all have ways of coping."
She shakes her head in disbelief. Around us the other victors talk, drink and seem thoroughly relaxed. There is nothing to do now but wait for the tributes to be transported to the arena.
Neither Katniss nor myself feel sociable. We keep ourselves to ourselves, not wanting to settle in to Capitol life as easily as everyone else appears to.
Before long the Panem anthem plays and a hush falls over the room. On each of the monitors we get our first glimpse of the arena. Perfectly circular, an island housing the cornucopia in the centre of a vast sea. Twelve spokes head out from the central island to the edge of the arena, creating twelve separate wedges of sea. The outside edge appears to be a wild forest.
My legs give way underneath me and Katniss helps me into a plush seat. We are witnessing the beginning of the games. The tributes seem to rise up out of the sea itself. Four per 'wedge' of sea. I think that this gives the tributes closest to a spoke a hugely unfair advantage, but as the countdown starts, the spokes lower themselves out of sight. There are enough monitors that each one can show an individual tribute. It takes me a second to find dad. His eyes are downcast as he takes deep, steadying breaths. Panic wells up inside me. I don't think he can swim.
"Looks like it won't be me, then!" I look up and hear Finnick's confident voice ring out. He's right. The District Four tributes all look as calm as they possibly could be.
Forty seconds to go. I notice that Hettie Undersee is smiling serenely. She looks up at the sky and with no further warning steps off her platform.
The explosion is instantaneous and the carnage that follows entirely unexpected. The tributes are far closer together than usual, and the explosion caused by her stepping off the platform early creates a wave that splashes down on the two platforms nearest her causing their platforms to also detonate. These explosions cause a ripple effect that sets off the platforms nearest them. The gamemakers obviously manage to erect a forcefield that stops the entire arena being destroyed before the games are even able to begin, but not before five tributes, including Mrs Undersee, are no more.
Complete silence around the room. I look desperately at the screens to try and work out which tributes died in the round of explosions. The silence is broken by Chaff's voice, "Drinks are on Twelve, I'd say."
Other voices chime in. "Yeah, nice one, douche." "There goes my best chance" "You owe me a double for that."
"Thank you," I whisper to the ceiling. Mrs Undersee may not have known that she would take out any of those other tributes, but she must have been planning this. Her suicide has inadvertently taken out Cassius, the giant from District Two. I desperately check the screens to see if Yohan Fairbain, the boy from five is still alive. My heart sinks selfishly when I see his face still on one of the screens, looking with horror towards where the explosions took place.
The countdown reaches zero, and my heart stops. This is it. Please, please, please let my dad have followed my advice….
A handful of people dive straight in to the water and speed either towards the cornucopia or towards the outside edge and relative safety. Some people lower themselves tentatively in to the water, unsure of which way to go. One boy drags the girl nearest him off her platform, holding her head under the water. She thrashes around blindly, her flailing limbs creating foam in the water, until all of a sudden she is still. Only then does he release her and continue towards the outer edge.
Dad has edged himself into the water. Go, I silently urge him. Go. The belts they are wearing seem to be acting as a kind of flotation device and he pushes himself away from the platform and towards the outer edge. I watch his slow progress, willing him on, willing him to move faster and get to safety.
He finally staggers on to the beach, pausing a moment to catch his breath. He turns to look at the cornucopia in the centre of the arena, where the fighting has already started. Go, I urge again. Please, move.
He jogs up the beach and looks with apprehension towards the trees. He has lived in town his whole life under the impression that trees equal death. That isn't the case here though. Please, get to cover, get to cover… He seems to swallow his fear and heads with resolve towards the trees.
I risk taking my eyes off him for a moment and watch the monitor showing the cornucopia. District Four, with their obvious advantage in this arena, were able to reach the cornucopia first, getting the pick of the best weapons and supplies. The adult female tribute grabbed a knife, a survival pack and a spear before diving back in to the water and heading out alone to the trees, while the others have stayed at the cornucopia, able to pick off some of the tributes in the water as soon as they get close.
I try and find Ava on the screens. Like my father, she too has stayed clear of the cornucopia, and has found a tree close to the beach. She has climbed high in to the branches and from where she is sat she will have a good view of the cornucopia without being easily spotted from the ground. Perhaps she intends to head back out there when the initial violence has calmed down?
I look for Rafe. I am almost overcome with relief when I see his body floating in amongst the red waters near the island. My father is safe from him, at least. But then something about him catches my eyes. The cameras have zoomed in on him, and his eyes flicker briefly towards the island. He's still alive. Is he even injured? Or merely pretending to be downed so he can be right by the weapons when everyone's guards are lowered? I watch him intensely, waiting for him to make a move. He bides his time, allowing his 'corpse' to wash up on the shore. Those remaining at the cornucopia may have formed some kind of alliance as they are rooting through the packs and remaining weapons without fighting. Rafe's eyes keep flickering briefly to where they are, but no one is paying him any attention; until the canon signifies the end of the initial round of killings he is just another dead body to them. He silently rolls on to his front and sneaks up behind another boy, snatching the knife out of his hands and quickly plunging it down between his shoulder blades. Before any of the other tributes have been able to react to his sudden appearance, he slashes out at the man nearest him, drawing blood across the older man's chest. The man stumbles backwards, and Rafe spots something by his feet. He grins, grabs the item, and runs back to the sea before any of the other tributes have been able to make a move.
He swims back to the other shore, and as he climbs out of the water the canon fire signals the end of the bloodbath. The spokes rise back out of the water, providing easier access to the cornucopia. The cameras linger on Rafe's triumphant face, then show a close up of what he managed to grab that caused him to grin so widely. Seeing the item in his hands I feel a thrill of nausea and sickening dizziness. It is a meat cleaver. Rafe has become a very real and dangerous contender in these games.
A/N – Sorry for the short chapter. I wrote more, but decided that actually this was the best place to end it here. So, let me know what you think! Reviews make chapters appear faster ;)