What Time Is It Where There Is No Time?: Callia Marshan, District 3 Female Tribute

The crowd was cheering, the tributes were waving, and everywhere, cameras were flashing.

Somewhere in District Three, my family was watching me. I could almost close my eyes and picture them now: my mother and father, Sathia, Vince, my aunt and uncle. They'd all be huddled around the television, watching the opening ceremonies. I wondered what time it was in District Three right now, if it was early evening here in the Capitol. But I didn't dwell on it too long. What was the point of time in these Games? In the arena, it didn't really matter. There almost was no time. Of course, it was there. But it was only in the background, lurking in the shadows. Like I'd been a lot of the time.

It took some effort, but now, I managed to smile for the crowd. Wave, even. At least my outfit wasn't as bad as it could've been-it was a simple, black jumpsuit with "wires" all over it. My mother wouldn't have liked the outfit too much, if she'd had a say in it, but she was probably proud of how I was acting around the cameras. I hoped she was proud of me...

But I might've never known.

So I just continued-smile, wave. Wave, smile. Had it always really been this easy?

When the ceremonies were over, and we reached the end of our journey what almost felt like hours later, I climbed off of the chariot carefully. Newcomb got out on the other side, and we were sucked in to a vat of praise and other commentary from everyone waiting for us-our stylists, mentors, and escort.

"It would've looked better if you'd just worn your contacts!" Dom, my stylist, whined. "And if you'd stopped being so hunched over for once!"

"Well-" I started to talk, only to be interrupted.

"What's done is done," he sighed. "Shall we go back to the Training Center?" Without really answering, we all did. I was given a few minutes of peace in my room, which was even better than the train. I immediately pulled my hair back in to a ponytail and washed off every sign of a Capitol alteration on me, even just the simple layers of make-up. Then I cleaned my glasses, quickly putting them back on. For dinner, which I had the feeling wasn't going to be all that formal, I changed in to sweatpants and a t-shirt that was slightly big on me.

By that time, people were already coming to get me, so I headed to the dining room. I was the last person there-everyone was already at the table. They all turned when I walked in, and I suddenly felt even more self-conscious and felt myself turn slightly pink in the face as I sat down, silently, next to Newcomb. I noted that he seems to have found an adaptation of what he wore to the Reaping-a rather dark set of a suit-jacket type article and slacks. It suited him best, in my opinion. Not that I know anything about fashion, of course. I could literally hear Dom tut at my appearance as I sat down.

Dinner is a worthless combination of small-talk and food. I let myself enjoy the edible part of the meal, savoring each and every bite, and tuned out the talking unless someone directly addressed me. Newcomb seemed happy to jump in, but I didn't know about half of the words he said, which was unusual for me, to be honest, and most of his "normal" conversing seemed to be just between him and his stylist, anyway.

I caught some talk of strategies and tried to tune in again. But it was mostly just Alya talking from the mentor pair, and even if she was my mentor, I wasn't listening all that much. I was only half-listening.

After the last course, we watched the recap of the whole opening ceremonies. Not a lot of tributes had particularly stunning outfits this year. It was just your usual lot. But that didn't stop Dom, Collon, and Alya from making their comments, naturally.

Newcomb and I finally managed to escape from the adults and we started to head back to our rooms, not really saying anything. But with just the two of us, I suddenly found that the silence seemed slightly awkward, the hallway just a bit too long. Newcomb seemed to sense it, too, and broke the silence. "So... did you have any ideas about allies in the arena yet?"

"Allies?" I repeated, softly.

Newcomb nodded. "Because, you know..." He trailed off, not uncertainly, but rather, hesitantly. "I was just thinking that, um..."

"That...?" I prompted.

"That we could, uh, form an alliance."

"Yes, I guess we could," I said, starting to warm up to the idea slightly. Maybe I'd even been thinking it myself, and decided to say so: "I was just thinking the same thing, actually."

"Really?" Newcomb sounded almost eager, and even a bit surprised.

"Really," I assured him. "Allies?"

Newcomb stuck out his hand, and we shook on the deal. "Definitely. Allies it is. Should we name ourselves?"

"What?"

"Should we come up with a name for our alliance? Like how the tributes from one, two, and four call themselves 'the Careers'?"

"Well, did you have an idea for a name?" I asked curiously.

"I was thinking... 'The Alliance of the Mockingjays'."

"You certainly had all of this planned out," I laughed. "I like it, though. Any particular inspirations for it?"

Newcomb said, "No; not really. The first part is obvious, and then I was just thinking about how mockingjays are free and they can fly and... and, do whatever they want, to really!"

"Yeah," I agreed. "I guess so." I paused for just a second, and then said, "I'm going to bed. I'll see you in the morning." As I started to walk down the hallway, I called back to him. "'Night!"

"Goodnight."

I fell asleep that night, and my dreams were scattered with the small, black-and-white birds.

The Alliance of the Mockingjays...