Chapter Three

I clung my nails hard onto the train window as the blurred motions of familiar trees are beginning to fade while being replaced with dry clumps of land. Now and again, I'd see spurts of fresh grass…clinging for some shade from the hot sun. But it's a clear day and the grass will slowly wither and dry out to become the ugly sand.

Swoosh.

I jerk from the window and see my ill-fated reflection…staring back at me with hollow blue eyes.

I look pathetic…

I stare again into the darkness and I find myself back on the platform…

Reporters would swarm and holler closely with their cameras.

Despite my sadness and the puffy eyes on the wide screen, I still look reserved and calm. However, the screen would flicker quickly to Gale Hawthorne. The reporters seem to like him and would stick to him like repulsive fire ants.

He watched it all unfold and didn't seem to care how close they are to him.

Logically, that was short lived when this wily reporter tapped his shoulder. I can distinguish an eerie disturbance in the boy's grey eyes. Gale Hawthorne rigorously elbowed him in the chest and dart towards the train's entrance.

The reporter fell on the floor, his pink face turning white from utter shock.

"How, rude!" outcried Effie.

Her remark was forgotten when the cameramen flocked the windows to get a good a glimpse of this-dazzling tribute.

There was no luck. The flash of their video cameras reflected badly and added the extra shine on the windows.

"This is no good," tutted one of the Reporters, screwing his eyes tightly.

"Move out the way!" slurred Haymitch, pushing past him and make his way towards the entrance.

Yet, with a sense of irony. Haymitch tripped on the gap, and unintentionally press the button. The button had sent a signal to close the automatic doors. "Arghh!" he howled as the doors gently squeezed in between his ribs.

We all look in shock as this wacky comical feat had imprinted on our brains. The reporters clamour again and take in the scene.

"Ha, what great footage!" The reporter grinned, gathering in for close shots. I believe the Capitol are bellowing like hyena's as they watch this inebriated jester making a jackass of himself. I stared at him furiously as he vomited on the floor.

"How is this appropriate to suit the ensemble of the games?"

I wish they would stop this sketch show so I can get on this stupid train.

But I was met with a cruel reminder of what happened back at the Justice building. "Mom," I mutter under my breath.

The stench of her morphling would reach my nose as she embraced me tighter. Father would be in the background, silently suffering…

What happened between our conversations is distorted and unclear. Mainly because I was tormented with these cruel and unescapable delusions. "Please…Please promise me you'll come back," Mom weeped, clutching my dress.

"I promise," I whisper, clasping her hands together and burrow my face on top of her head.

Either way, she'll have her promise. The Capitol will bring me back either way.

Abruptly, I return to the train.

Only…That I have a funny feeling that someone is watching me. I scour at the grainy black reflection and can spot a grey outline of a tall boy with a grim complexion.

I monitor him gingerly and stiffen my shoulders up as I continue to watch the glass.

Gale Hawthorne had placed his hands on the window whilst he analysed the verdant hills in front of him.

I try to read his expression but there was nothing.

I sigh and tread noiselessly back to my room.

"Katniss,"

But I stop. A little confused for a second. Is he addressing to me by mistake? Or is he talking to himself?

"Did you see Katniss," He asked, turning his head towards me.

"Yes," I mumbled fairly.

"She's a person with a few words but a remarkable archer,"

"Well, I guess," I shrug, my mind flickering back at the bow she was carrying.

The conversation had died with it as he returned to the window. Is this my cue to leave? Do I have to linger for a minute so I can go without being rude? Who knows.

"I don't know what she sees in you,"

"I don't know either," I drone flatly. "I'm still processing our companionship."

"Processing what? You two are obviously friends…"

"Like I said…I'm processing it,"

"Tch, do you have any other feeling other than indifference?!" Hawthorne yelled angrily, raising his fist.

I stepped back a bit, hoping he won't give me a black eye. But he didn't.

Instead, he repeatedly punched the wall while his fist started bleeding.

"Stop!" I gulped nervously, changing my tune. Gale wasn't listening and he broke through a huge hole in the drywall.

"Please stop!" I fretted.

"Why?"

"We're being watched," I hissed, looking straight towards one of the implanted cameras. However, I haven't heard any whizzing or any activity to indicate that it's recording our little mishap.

"Who effing cares!" he scolded, massaging his knuckles. "They'll see us one way or another- This is just another exclusive preview…"

"I might as well give them what they want," he seethed.

I watched him strangely for a moment. What he said is weirdly bizarre to me. "But what about your family...I mean your brother wouldn't like-"

Gale Hawthorne jerked menacingly towards me.

I draw back quickly. "I'll just-you-"

Without finishing the rest of my sentence, I ran off and bolt inside my room.

"He's going to kill me for sure." I think.

I lay in bed, watching the streaks of blue light hitting the ceiling. I'm still awake and I hope night would fade so I could continue the day without any problems. But the dark night lingers so slowly. I irritably turn my head to the clock. 2:15.

I grunt softly and leave my bed. I pull on a sweatshirt and exit the room. I know I shouldn't trek alone at night. I just don't like being stuck at one place.

I walk a few cars alone until I'm in the dining car. It's eerily empty. A soft jingle of the chandelier had me mesmerised. I remember the one we had back home before Father decided to melt it down.

I take my seat where I endured the dinner just a couple of hours ago. The stench of liquor had reached my nose. "They still didn't clean it all," I think, glaring at the stained carpet.

"You're not seriously thinking of using the good wine!" Effie would shriek, flabbergasted that the inebriated drunk would drink anything else other than liquor.

"My torment didn't come cheap, might as well strengthen the palate with expensive taste," He leered, popping the screw in the cork.

The cork had suddenly burst and it almost hit my face. The wine had kept spilling until it reached into my worn-out shoes.

"Shit!" he slurred aggressively.

I blinked sourly at him as the red liquid seeped slowly into my thin socks. I don't know why but I'm in tears. Is it the realisation of why I'm on this train?

The bittersweet memory of mother?

My intense emotions?

Who knows…?

"Well, there's more where that came from," he squalled robustly

"Don't you think you have enough, Haymitch," Effie impeded with false concern.

Haymitch ignored her and stooped behind the crystalized bar. I quickly wiped my tears and start eating my dinner. Yet before I'd reach my knife for cutting into the steak, the knife wasn't there.

Confused, I glance to where it got to. It was in Gale's fist. He casually hid it under the table.

What is he planning to do? I think.

Haymitch had returned to our table while he held his glass unsteadily in his grasp. Remnants of the whisky had sloshed in front of his lapel as he guzzled it all in one go. "I think a turkey leg really goes well the whisky," he grunted.

But before his grimy hand could grab the turkey leg, a knife had slit into his fist.

Bang!

Departed from my insipid stupor, I'm now face to face with my acquainted tribute.

"Still awake?" he asked, taking his seat opposite me.

"Yes," I say with minimal caution.

"Looks like the both of us can't sleep," he grunted, stretching his arms up to his head.

"We're far away from crickets…" I mumble, staring at the indigo stretched sky.

"What?"

"Crickets, you know…insects-"

"I know what they are, Midge,"

"Madge," I correct him clearly.

"I'll pronounce it as Midge for the time being,"

"But…you're representing me to a mosquito,"

"Or just the other wildly known insects that occur in the wetlands…"

So, I'm a bug to him? Tiny and distracting. Ready to be squished and scraped with an ugly brown boot.

I frowned as I realised what this relates to. My chances in the arena!

I try to remember what I did best in our mandatory fitness regime at school. I was a fair runner. I think I'm okay at climbing. I did throw a javelin a couple of times. However, those skills are inferior to a strong and highly trained Career.

"I won't be squished just yet; I have to better my skills and get…"

Bang!

I jerked from my seat and completely ignore Gale Hawthorne's ramblings as I charge out of the dining car to go visit an unlikely guest.

But I stop in the gangway as I encountered many different doors.

Damn it…

I don't know which room Haymitch Abernathy is staying in.I looked around perplexed while the dull moonlight beamed through the windows. I can distinctly hear Gale Hawthorne, ploughing through the gangway as I continue guessing where my mentor should be.

"He's a lost cause, Midge…You can't get through to this guy,"

"I'll have to try, he does have his rare moments," I say, tiptoeing towards the partitioned glass door.

Hmm. Empty.

"Like what? He's incapacitated and dependent on his drink…He won't give two shits about us,"

"Guess you have to prove your worth with more than a knife in the hand," I hint allusively to him. He observed me strangely, but he soon agreed to assist me in persuading Haymitch.

"It must run in the family," Gale mumbled incoherently, leading the way.

If he has a list, I suspect Hawthorne would put me on it.

"Err, I think I'll probably regret this…"