A/N Hey! I'm back! I really don't have anything to say here… so I'll leave y'all alone and get on with the chapter.
Keesa Ambel, 15, District Twelve Female
The Cornucopia is bright this year; the harsh sunlight reflects off of the golden horn and blinds me. I can't see. It's too bright. The guy from Two is to my right. I'm doomed. The gong rings.
In the corner of my eye, I see a large camera, ready to catch everything. I'm hyperventilating. I can't get oxygen. Breathe! Breathe!
I wake up. It's still dark; the window shows the quiet streets of the Capitol. I glance at the wall-mounted clock, which reads two o'clock in the morning. I rub my eyes and lie back down, but a sleepless hour of tossing and turning goes by. Can't sleep. I get out of bed and walk over to the window. Though no one's out and about, the streetlights cast a yellow light over the empty roads and the dark storefronts. My mind inevitably wanders back to the dream. Strangely enough, it isn't the huge boy from Two that scares me the most. Though I don't want to die, I feel a strange calm when I think about my death. However, the camera wields something, some terror that I can't put my fingers on. Something about that camera scares me more than everything else. It's my family, isn't it? That my family will be forced to watch me die?
I feel lightheaded. I need to get somewhere where I can think. At home, I'd go to the pond down in that abandoned mine shaft, but here, there's nothing. They've got to have a pool somewhere; I'm pretty sure I've heard something about it being on the bottom floor. I quietly open the door and sneak to the exits, careful not to wake anyone up. When I find my way to the elevators, I take the stairs. Twelve floors is a lot, but it seems safer.
I step into the dark stairway, the only bit of dim light coming from small windows too high up for me to reach. Oh well. Time to get climbing.
On my third flight, I hear the faint creaking of the elevator going up. Who else would be up? Whoever it is must be going up to the roof. I stopped there yesterday. It was nice, but the view of the Capitol doesn't seem to cut it. It feels big, open, and ready to swallow me.
After my eleventh flight — I'm passing the door to District One right now — I see that I can continue going down, so I continue. There's a light coming from below, a dim, blue artificial light. I bet almost no one comes down here. The next door is labeled "Training Center," with a fingerprint scanner (like every other door on this flight of stairs), but when I put my finger in, it flashes two red lights. Nope, access denied. I'm not supposed to be training right now. The stairs keep going down, however.
Swoosh
There's a sound coming from further down, like the sound… of a broom, or rough fabric against a wall. I freeze. Is this the same person as earlier?
Timidly, I take one step and then another step towards the stairway. They can't do anything to me; I'm a tribute. Still… would they use this to hurt my odds in the Games? Well, it's too late. Besides, I'm all over the security cameras. Shoot, I should've thought of that before I came down here. Too late now to go back. I scamper down the stairs, and at the bottom, I find a woman with silver blonde hair dressed in a red robe. An Avox, sweeping the floor, a sizable pile of dust in the dustpan in the corner. The door down here seems to require a key as opposed to a fingerprint, and the key dangles around the Avox's neck.
She stares at me, unaccustomed to seeing people at this time of day — or morning. I stare back at her, and then I look at the door.
"Is that the pool?" I ask.
She hesitates before shaking her head. I can tell she's lying. She shouldn't need to hesitate; she knows this place like the back of her hand. And I need to get somewhere to think, to calm down. I don't panic often, but the air in the District Twelve suites felt heavy and choking.
I gesture to the chain around her neck. "Is that the key?"
She shakes her head, a frightened look on her face.
I bite my lip. What do to…
"Give me the key," I command, "You aren't doing anything wrong."
I take a step forward and she sighs and gives it to me. I unlock the door and hand the key back to her. "Thank you."
I step inside, and the automatic lights turn on. It is the pool. My footsteps quicken and I sit on the edge, dangling my bare feet into the water, just as I would do at home when I needed so find a quiet place. I stare at the rippling water and take a few deep breaths.
My family might have to watch me die. The longer I survive in the Games, the bloodier my death will be. Cornucopia deaths are always fast, but as the Games go on, the trained tributes get hungrier for blood. If I win, everything will be worth it, but if I'm going to die… it might be best to die at the Cornucopia. But then that would disappoint my family. The only option is to be cut up or torn to pieces or something and be broadcasted on national television for Mom and Dad and Netta and Canary and Jacob to see. The thought makes my entire body shudder; my throat feels like it's closing up. Get air. I kick my feet, sending water flying across the pool, and I breathe again.
The door clicks open. I jump.
"Woah!" a voice comes from behind. "I- I didn't expect to find anyone else here."
It's a guy from one of the other districts — I don't remember which one — and he sits down a couple yards down from me.
He looks at the water hungrily, as if he's barely restraining himself from jumping in, and then moments later, his shirt is off and he's in the water, swimming in smooth circles.
"You're from… Four?" I say when he comes up for air.
"Yes," he says, "You are…"
"From Twelve," I say.
"You can swim?"
"Yes." I grin. "There are caves with underground ponds if you know where to look."
"Really?"
"I'll show you." I slide into the water, fully clothed, and swim a circle, not nearly as smooth as the boy from Four but adequately enough.
He looks impressed. "I didn't know," he says.
All of a sudden, it comes to mind that we aren't friends and that we can't be friends. The Hunger Games is not a place to be social, but I can't resist the urge. I should try harder to distance myself… Well, it's a bit too late for that. "I'm Keesa, by the way," I say, against my best judgment.
"Delmar," he says.
I get up to leave. He's probably here to think as well. Why else would he get up so early? "I'll see you in training."
Animata Deeksha, 18, District Two Female
Ithaca, the escort, bangs on my door. "It's time to go! What's taking you so long?"
I finish slipping into my training clothes and slowly stroll to the door of the bedroom. I pause before opening it, and I find my distraught escort.
"Let's go!" she says, grabbing my arm.
I slap her hand away. "I can walk myself, thank you."
Leaving her with her mouth agape, I walk over to the stairs, where Slate is waiting. He's been quiet the entire time we've been here. I understand. I would be careful if I had a Victor dad that was constantly breathing down my neck.
I smile at him. "Let's just go," I say.
He just shrugs, so I open the door to the stairwell and go ahead, with Slate right behind me.
"Wait!" I hear Ithaca call as the door slams shut.
"What was that about?" Slate says as we go down the stairs.
"Some people are fun to mess with," I say.
"You think she's fun to mess with? Are you trying to lose your hearing?"
"No," I say, "She's not fun, but I do it anyway."
He chortles. "All power to you. Ask me if you need ear plugs."
When we enter the training room, a few tributes are already here. The guy from Eight is here — without his district partner. He worries me. Most tributes I've seen on television are either scared or determined. He seems… relaxed? He's completely calm. He doesn't seem too confident, yet he seems to know what he's doing. Even I don't completely know exactly what I'm doing, so he's unsettling. The tributes from Five are here. The guy has muscle — a lot of it — and it doesn't look like it's from factory work. He's trained himself for something. The Tens stand together by the wall. Usually, I'd have no problem allying with them, but both of them are Reaped. I'll have to wait and see what they can do. The elevator doors open, and the Sevens stroll in.
Slate looks at me and then back at them again. "I'm going to go in," he says, "Start forming that alliance."
I shrug. "Suit yourself. Hold back on the Tens, though."
He gives me a thumbs up, and we go over.
"Hey," Slate says, "you two are from Seven, correct?"
The girl crosses her arms. "Yes. And you're from Two?"
"Yes," Slate says, "We thought we'd say 'hi' and decide if we're allying this year."
"Why not," the girl says, "I'm Minisa, by the way." She gestures to her quiet district partner. "He's Pembroke."
"Interesting name," I comment. "I'm Animata."
"I'm Slate."
An awkward silence follows the self-introductions. Pembroke rubs his neck.
"Well then," Slate says, "What do you think of the Ones?"
I snarl. "Their 'District One-ness" hurts my eyes," I say, "The girl is so puffed up; it drives me crazy. Her partner seems decent, though."
Minisa lowers her arms a little, though they're still defensively crossed over her chest. "Isn't it a bit early to say? Wait and see what they can do before making any rash decisions."
"Okay," Slate interjects. We're off to a great start, aren't w? His voice level drops. "What about the Tens?"
Pembroke shrugs. I'm starting to get the feeling that he doesn't care about anything.
"Can they do anything?" Minisa says.
"We'll see," I say, watching the elevator doors open, revealing the Ones. "Whoopie, the goldies are here." I give a little wave.
The girl waves back and flips her golden hair back. "Well, I see you've begun without us."
"It did take you long enough," I snark, earning a disapproving look from her. She's that kind of person.
She quickly recovers. "I'm Splendor, by the way."
"Onyx," her partner says. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
We Twos and the Sevens reintroduce ourselves for the sake of the Ones, and Onyx quickly points out the Tens. "Have you decided what you're doing with them?"
"We're waiting," Slate explains. "Until we see their skill level."
"What's our plan?" Minisa says, her arms still crossed. Gosh, ain't she nervous. Relax.
"Learn what you don't know," Slate says, "If that's some weapon, do that. If it's survival skills, go ahead. We don't have any room for overconfidence. Oh, and watch the Tens. See if they're worth the effort."
I bristle at his commanding tone, but the risk isn't worth it. He's popular with the Capitol crowd — he has more sponsors lined up than the rest of us combined — and his victor father means that unless I tread carefully, I'll end up on the wrong end of the sword.
This isn't what I thought it would be. I thought I'd be free, free to do whatever I want and show my family and my district that I am truly grateful. Instead, I'm in a prison, forced to watch every single tip-toe step I make. I almost can't wait for the Games.
In there, I'll finally feel free.
Clover Forney, 16, District Eleven Male
I poke at my food. The morning was uneventful. The trained tributes from One, Two, and Seven have already banded together, which makes life much harder for me. Last year, we Outer District untrained tributes could rely on the rivalry between the two trained alliances, but this year, we're up against all of them. The guy from Eight's been everywhere too. While most of us have focused on one or two things, I've seen him visit… five stations? For the life of me, he either has a brilliant memory or ADHD. I do personally hope for the latter. I want to be the one coming out of that arena alive.
Tyson sits at the end of our corner table. We've been trying to keep a cordial relationship; we'll have to kill each other anyway. An alliance just feels like too much trouble, and if anything it'll weigh me down.
The bell announces the end of lunch, and I look around for a place to put my tray. The cold blue dining room only has the buffet, the tables, and the chairs. Fine then. I guess we leave our dishes for Avoxes.
We return to the training room, and the trained alliance immediately heads for various survival stations. What, are they trying to keep us from using them? Only the Tens go for any sort of combat, with the guy using a sword and the girl doing hand to hand combat with a trainer. She's got a nasty kick.
I settle for the fire-building station, where a grumpy, older trainer sits, his eyes reading a small, handheld screen. It almost seems like a phone, but even the richest citizens of District Eleven only have phones that flip open. He looks up.
"What do you want to know," he says in a low, unimpressed voice.
"How to build fires that don't smoke," I say.
"Look," he says. Patronizing me, huh? "You need to learn how to make a regular fire first. And-"
I would stop and listen, but everything I learn in training could determine whether I live or die. "I know how to do that," I say, "Can-"
"I'm the expert here, okay?" He grabs a piece of wood. "First-"
I reach over a grab the wood. After a minute or so, there's a spark, and after another few minutes, there's a small fire going. I look at him smugly.
"Well then," he says, stumbling over his words, "You do know what you're doing. I'll show you how to build a Dakota Fire Pit."
He then proceeds to explain it before giving me a demonstration, and after an hour or two, I know how to build a fire that's wood-savvy and relatively smokeless.
"Clover, correct?" a male voice behind me says.
I turn around to see the guy from Eight. It was about time for him to float over here.
"What do you want?" I say.
"Woah, no need to be so defensive," he says. Fair point. This gives me a chance to figure out if he's a threat or just a restless tribute. "I'm just here to propose an alliance."
"No," I say, "I've decided. I'm going solo."
He bites his lip. "Well… non-aggression pact?"
"How do I know you won't break it?" I say, "Those aren't official, and no one will care if you break it."
"Please. There's no need to make this harder than it has to be."
"Then give me a concrete answer," I say. "I told you that I don't want an alliance." There's something more; I feel it. He seems like the kind of person that would overthink things, so I have no doubt that he has some master plan.
"Geez, I didn't think you'd be so hard," he says. He lifts up his head and looks around. "The plan is simple. If all the trained tributes are allied, then none of us will be able to stop them alone or even with a single ally. But if most of us band together, then we can disrupt their alliance at the Cornucopia, and then after, if you want to go alone, you can."
He's making this sound too reasonable. On one hand, he might be lying about everything. But it also makes sense… If he's sincerely doing this… it might be my only way to win.
"I'm considering it," I say, "Tell me more."
"Well..." he says, "That's it. There's nothing else to it."
"Who else is in?"
He looks up for a moment. "Aaron from Five," he says, counting them out on his fingers. "Delmar from Four. My partner, Taffeta. Ezra and Keesa from Twelve, though Keesa's a little iffy. Diesel and Christina from Six are considering it. I tried talking to your partner, but he ignored me."
I stifle a laugh at that.
"And I'm watching Ryzee from Nine, Raffaella from Five, and the Threes," he continues, "I haven't had a chance to talk to them yet."
That's an awful lot of people. If I don't join… I'm doomed. Being trapped between two large alliances is never good. Just look at what happened last year.
"I'm in," I say, faking a smile. Better to seem unthreatening. Whether he knows it or not, he'll wield quite a bit of power.
He sighs in relief. "Good. I'll talk to you later and fill you in on the plan." He gets up and floats over to the traps station, where Raffaella is.
I go back to practicing with fire, but I can't focus. I don't like this. Everything's out of control. I throw the wood down and sit back. Okay, Serge. If you can play the Hunger Games, then I can too. I'm just as capable as you are, and I can play the game just as well, if not better than you can.
That doesn't make me feel any better.
Kaleb Sirius, 16, District Ten Male
I place the sword on the rack and wipe away the sweat on my forehead, looking over to the cluster of six trained tributes gathered around the edible plants station. A few of them looked over just earlier, but they show no sign of being impressed. Fine, then.
I sit down on a bench along the side of the training room and watch as Deborah shoots an arrow at the target, missing by about three inches but still hitting the general area. She was never that into weapons. At home, she'd focus on martial arts while the rest of us picked up swords and knives.
She puts away the bow and sits down beside me. "Do you think it's working?" she says.
"I don't know," I say, "We've pretty much shown them everything we can do. If that isn't enough, then I don't know what will persuade the Twos to let us in."
She leans back against the wall. "Are you sure that joining them is our best option?"
"Unless you want to be hunted down. They're the hunters this year, and if we aren't with them, they'll track us down."
"But something about the group unnerves me," she says, "The alliance doesn't seem strong."
"How so?"
"The girl from Two is rubbing the other two girls the wrong way," she says, "When she's around, the other two seem to be on edge."
"Really?"
"And the guys from One and Seven seem to be… preoccupied. They aren't giving their full attention to the alliance. They have some sort of other plans; I know it."
"But joining them gives us so much more," I say, "Slate will be showered with sponsors. His dad will manage to get him everything he needs. With him, we won't starve."
"With him, we'll be constantly worrying about being killed. We won't be able to touch him, and he'll kill the whole lot of us."
I press my lips together. That's a good point.
"How about this," I offer. "If they ask us to join, then we take it. If they never ask, then we don't try to force our way in."
She sighs and thinks about it. "It's reasonable."
"Is that a yes?"
She hesitates. "Yes."
"Relax, okay?"
"But if there's any hint that they'll turn on us, we're leaving. We're taking no chances."
I sigh. "Okay." I bite my lip. "But please. Don't look into things too much."
She tilts her head back against the wall. "You know, in a life or death situation, I'd rather be safe than sorry. If I get that feeling that something's going down, I want out." She looks me in the eye.
"Be careful," I caution, "There's no use making more enemies. Leaving them makes you an instant target."
"Better be a target than dead."
There's no response to that. She gets up, flipping her long brown hair back, and goes to the traps station. Her stylist tied her hair back this morning, but sometime between then and now, the hair band came off. Though she's not a rough girl, she won't hesitate to do what she feels is right.
Where should I go next?The trained group is still gathered around the plants station. I could go do that, but that'd make me look desperate to get in — definitely not the plan. I've had enough with the weapons. I go join Deborah at the traps. Her nimble fingers are much faster at manipulating the materials, and though I've only started, she has one done.
"It's the one called… the bait-stick one," she explains, "For catching animals." She fingers a looped part of the rope, and when she puts a stick through, disturbing the system, the rope loop suddenly shrinks, gripping the stick tightly. "This noose catches the animal."
I put the ropes down. "I'll leave the traps to you."
"What?" she says, "Ropes making you loopy?"
I try to hold the laugh in, but it sputters out anyway. "Seriously? Deborah! That was bad."
"You laughed, didn't you?" she says, laughing, "I'd say that it was good."
"Fine. You got — or trapped — me."
"You thought mine was bad?"
"Yeah. I'm punnier than you."
"Not even original," she laments, "Crap, I can't think of a response."
"Then I win this one?"
"You win this one."
"Good then," I say with a smile.
A voice interrupts us. "Kaleb and Deborah, correct?"
Both of us turn around to find the boy from Two standing behind us. We quickly stagger to our feet, and Deborah catches my eye for a moment. We're on the same page.
"Yes," I say. Is my voice shaking? Thankfully, Deborah takes over for me. I wasn't prepared for this, and I don't have my words together.
"What are you here for?" she asks innocently, though all of us know.
"I'm Slate of District Two," the guy says, "And I'm inviting both of you to join our alliance with the Ones and Sevens."
Deborah looks at me again, clueless. We talked about this, remember?
"We accept," I say.
"Well then," Slate says, "I suppose you should come over and join us."
"We'll be right there," Deborah hurriedly says. "We've got a few things to get."
No, we don't. Slate shrugs and walks to the rest of his group.
"What was that?" I say in a hushed voice, "You know our answer. And what do we need to get?"
She sighs. "I was trying to make it less suspicious."
"What?"
"Don't you think it'd be suspicious if we made an instant decision? That'd tell them that we've been thinking about this for a while. If we seem too desperate, they'll try to push us around."
Oh… "I didn't think about that."
"And I needed to buy us a bit more discussion time. We won't have much one on one communication anymore."
Ohh… I get it. "We need to stay on the same page."
"Exactly. If what we're trying to do doesn't line up with what they see of us, they'll know something's up."
"We'll have to be extra careful," I say.
"Yes," she says, "We'd better get going. Remember our deal."
"If any of us sees any sign that the rest are turning on us, we leave," I say
"Yes," she says. With hesitation, she adds, "And if I need to, I'll leave without you."
I pray it never comes to that.
Questions:
1. Thoughts on the tributes? On their thought processes? On their decisions?
2. What events in this chapter will become important?
3. What was done well? What could be done better?
4. Other predictions?
5. Am I the only person that thinks that the Hunger Games fandom is dying?
That's about it for now. I'll try to be snappy with the next chapter.
See y'all,
~Joseph