"What the hell was that?!" I shriek out after the interview ends. In all honesty, you really can't blame me for going all psycho-maniac on my fellow tribute. I mean, seriously. Just what in the hell was going through her goddamn head?! Who gives her the authority—scratch that—the audacity to say something so crazy to not just a crowd of Capitol people, but to the entire nation of Panem?! It just doesn't make any sense.
I push my way through the crowd and into a secluded hallway for those either tending to the District 12 tributes or are the District 12 tributes and find Gia practically waltzing away like she hadn't just humiliated me in front of thousands of people. I storm to her and swipe my paw across her shoulders to spin her around and shove her against the wall, my forearm pressing against her collarbone, no way out. If I wasn't so pissed off I probably wouldn't have been so harsh and irrational with my reaction to Gia's announcement, but right now I don't give a damn if I'm scaring the living shit out of her.
Heck! She scared me half to death.
"Just what the hell were you thinking?!" I scream, shaking her. She looks frightened, trembling and wide-eyed as if jumped by some livid beast.
Why did I use the term 'like'? That's exactly what's happening. I'm just about to cuss her out when someone pulls at the back of my collar and yanks me backwards into a wall, separating me from my enemy. I try to get back at her, trying to threaten her into giving me some viable reason for saying such things. But of course, Gobber and Minion keep a firm grip on my arms, holding me back.
"What happened?!" Tooth yelps, seeing the chaos unfolding before her.
"Why don' ya tell her, eh?" Gobber grunts as he twists my arm painfully, more like an order than a suggestion. As the rugged man continues to yank and screw my arm like a freaking drill, I have no choice but to submit. I stop pulling and finally take a deep breath to clear out the raging red blur clouding my mind and vision.
"Did you not see what she did?" I say. "She humiliated me in front of everyone. Going off about some none existent love interest in me to make me-to make me look weak." I hiss the final words through the canines of my teeth, causing Gia to quiver slightly as Tooth comforts her.
"No." Gobber says loudly to get my attention. "She made ya desirable. If any'ting shows for i' it's the fact tha' she jus' sacrificed her independence in the arena for yer security of havin' sponsors."
Why would she do that for me? I've done nothing to gain her trust and respect for her to do such a selfless act, so why would she go out of her way to make sure that I have a solid chance of making it out alive in the Games when she can only care for herself? That's what I've been doing ever since I entered the stinking Capitol and I'm doing just fine. I don't need my opponent to be a little happy helper or some kind of loyal protector. I can take care of myself, thank you very much.
I don't say any of this out loud because another bout from Gobber and possibly Tooth is the last thing I need on my plate. What I do need is a giant melatonin pill and a good night's rest so that I can dream away this hellish nightmare that just so happens to be my reality. On our way back to the Training Center, Gia and I are separated. I ride with my mentors, Megamind, and Minion while Gia confides to the company of the giggly group of our prep teams. Probably thought I might turn on her in the middle of the car ride and throw her out the window on our way through the streets, or something of the like.
Hey, I may be a few quarters short of a buck, but I'm not totally wack. I still have a sliver of sanity left over from the past tormenting years to restrain me from committing first degree murder. Guess that doesn't matter once the Games begin, huh?
The ride back is quiet and tense. Tooth's violet orbs and Gobber's grey eyes are as hard as stone, embedding their gazed into a spot in my head as if attempting to drive a nail through my skull. I keep my own eyes plastered to my feet, the glittering jewels sewn into the hem of my pants sparkling against the black leather of my seat.
The rest of the night is a blur mainly because I don't want to remember what happens to me before I'm sent to my doom. But I distinctly remember two things that stuck with me. The first one was when we were watching the recaps of the interviews. Again, didn't pay much attention to the tributes because what does it matter in the next few hours? But when we get to me, I unknowingly lean in. Watching myself be so...frivolous and open is just so strange that my brows knit together in disgust.
That is not me. That is a clear reflection of the old Alex the Lion from New York City, not the hardened survivor of District 12. Not Alex Lyon. I gave the audience only what they wanted to see, something interesting and exotic to look at before the slaughter of innocent children. But compared to tributes I've seen in the past, I'm no better than them. Brought from the ruins of their homes to the high and mighty city of our leaders to play dress up and die a horrible, miserable death all in one week, that shouldn't be me. I should stand out, be something the Capitol will never forget for the years to come. To make a difference for future tributes that they can rise up against accepting themselves as small, useless pawns in the President Pitch's continuous game of Chess. To be more than just a tribute. I may no longer be the King of New York for now I have a better name, a better title that will now and forever be apart of who I am no longer how much time I have left to live. Alex, the Lion of Fire.
And the second thing that happened was the realization of just how stupidly oblivious I am. I had looked over at Gia as her interview played out and saw that the jaguar sat on the complete opposite side of the room, huddling into the farthest part of her chair as if putting as much space between us as possible. And suddenly something clicks, like a misshapen piece of a jigsaw puzzle was finally put into place to reveal a rather embarrassing revelation. Speaking of being just like the other tributes throughout the years, I resemble them in my behavior. Smiling, acting friendly, cracking a few jokes. I did nothing but copy off of those before me while Gia gave me something more, something for those watching to see a new being write a fresh page of a different story into the ever-growing book of the Hunger Games. She made me stand out, she gave me a spark. A spark that will burn away the obsolete manners of your average, ordinary tribute and into an inferno of a celebrity. Someone to remember for generations to come. Instead of giving herself the advantage of this popularity, she gave it to me. Me of all people.
God! Why am I so stupid?
After that, it's a bit of a blur. Everyone and everything passing by me looking fuzzy and distorted as if they were traveling through a fog. I'm not sure why I'm so out of it, but for the time being it doesn't matter. Not when my the length of my life is undetermined. I know one thing for sure, though. When Gia and I were sent to bed, the female cat went straight to her room and slammed the door so fast she nearly chopped off the tip of her tail. She's been so skittish all night, and it's all because of me. I would apologize if it weren't for the fact that she may or may not kill in less than 12 hours so I go to my bed and lay awake for the rest of the night.
In the morning, I sluggishly slip into an outfit layer aside for me by some Avox. Some cargo pants, a black shirt made of wool, and a forest green jacket with multiple pockets in the shoulders and arms. Right as I reach for the door, it is opened by an unmistakably familiar, black hand that is attached to the face of the monkey servant. My heart jumps into my throat and struggling to breathe. He stares back for a minute and ducks his head bashfully, squeezing his way past me and into the room where he starts to make the bed.
I may be too much of a coward to apologize for my actions to Gia, but I can't put off this one for him. I will never get the chance to, and after what I did to him all those years ago he deserves it.
"Hey," I squeak out. He inclines his head, but keeps his gaze focused on his task. "I'm sorry. For everything." I say. I take a deep breath through my nose. I can feel those river blue orbs on me, penetrating through my very bones and into my soul. I don't dare to look back. I make it out of there before he can try to respond. Not that he can, more like react.
This is a mistake because as soon as I get out I'm bombarded by a teary-eyed Tooth Fairy who instantly gives me one of the biggest, rib-crushing hugs I've ever received. She pulls back after a very long, suffocating minute and holds me at an arm lengths away. She straightens the lapels of my jacket and dusts off a nonexistent speck of lint.
"It has been an honor...being your mentor." She says in a hoarse voice. Her amethyst eyes are bloodshot and puffy from what can only be crying.
Wait! Why is she crying over me? I mean, she only met me, walked me through everything I needed to know for our training and interviews, took care of me, made sure I had everything I needed to be comfortable-
Holy shit!
Over the course of this entire week, she had grown attached to me like a mother taking care of her offspring. And I, being the stubborn yet fear-stricken person I was, practically imprinted on her like a newborn kit. Who wouldn't if you were being watched over by such a motherly figure? And now she has to witness not one, but two of her 'adoptive' children get murdered before her very eyes.
How many times has she drawn a name from those glass bowls from our district and introduced herself to two starved, frightened kids? How many times had she welcomed them into her open arms to nurture and love only to be taken away from her in the blink of an eye? How many tears has she cried over her lost, dead children ever since she was employed in the Hunger Games? While the majority of the population in Capitol enjoy their silly lives of fashion and entertainment, this singular woman has to endure the heartbreak of a grieving mother year after year.
I pull the winged woman back into my arms and embrace her with a new understanding. She doesn't push away like a certain someone would—*cough* me *cough*— but instead wraps her thin arms around me like she had before.
Was this how my mother felt before I left District 12? How many mothers have hugged their children for the very last time knowing that they had spent their lives hoping that their beloved children would never get picked for the Games only for that nightmare to come to life? How many?
Reluctantly, I have to pull away and move on before I start to cry myself. As I go to leave, she places her delicate hands on my shoulders, a firm look in her violet saucers.
"Be brave." She says in a hushed whisper, voice on the verge of breaking like a cracked statue of pure glass. I nod affirmatively, not sure if I do it out of instinct or actual will. She lets me go and I am blindly led to an aircraft that seem to come out of nowhere. It's only when I board onto it that I realize that I was brought to the roof by somebody. And that somebody was Gobber. My memory hasn't been the sharpest lately, as you know. But the last thing I heard from the burly man was a single sentence. A single phrase that was once used for mockery, but is now used for assurance and strength.
Don't die, he had said. Don't die. No matter how many times I hear that from the blond man, I'm not so sure I can return the favor of promising him my fate. I cannot ensure that I will come out of this alive and he knows it, so what's the point of advising me so?
I'm so numb from the shock of this morning that I hardly feel Megamind buckle me in or see him sit himself down across from me. But I know he's there and that's what brings me back to the present. A man comes by with a tray and a needle and starts to ready it. The gloved fingers, the long syringe, the intoxicating color glowing faintly in the glass vial is too much of a reminder of what brought me here in the first place. The soldiers gathering and killing animals, capturing some as prisoners and eliminating those that were supposedly unworthy for their task. Such as my father. The man moves to puncture a spot on my neck with the instrument and I instantly flinch away. Megamind gets the gist that I'm not too jazzed about having some unknown thing being inserted into my body because he appears right by my side telling reassuring me to calm down and to breathe in, and then breathe out. I do as he says, inhaling as much oxygen through my nostrils and slowly releasing it out of my mouth. My thudding heart is now a peaceful thrumming, like the soft beating of a drum.
"W-What is th-that?" I stutter, my nerves still jumping in my skin.
"This is a tracking device. We put these inside out tributes so that we know where they are in the arena." The man says in monotone. "Wouldn't want to lose one of you, now would we?" He comments wryly. And without warning, he stabs the metal point into the flesh of my nape and I groan on contact. But as soon as it's there, it's gone. The flight is short and quiet and it stays that way when we descend a winding staircase and walk into a dim room with two chairs and breakfast on a wooden table. I probably should eat so that I don't go to bed hungry if I lack any food resources on my first day—that is if I don't die on the first day—but I only manage to nibble on a biscuit and sip on some water occasionally. Megamind watches me with an aura of tranquility and sound of mind. I wish I could say the same for myself, but in case you haven't noticed I haven't exactly been myself ever since last night so that pretty much proves that I'm scared to death… or just losing my marbles. Both possibilities stink.
Suddenly, a platform the size of a manhole cover pops out of the ground and clicks into place. Megamind escorts me to it because I am unable to move on my own accord. If it were up to me, I would command some powerful being who resides up in the heavens to split the earth below me and swallow me whole. But I find myself standing on the platform, eyes set forward as Megamind fiddles with my outfit like Tooth had earlier. I only look down when something yellow shines up at me. Pinched in between Megamind's slim, black leather fingers is my mockingjay pin. How had I forgotten about it?
"Where did you get that?" I ask, stunned.
"It was unfortunately forgotten on one of your outfits you had worn not so long ago. Thought it would be a pity if it was misplaced." He says, pinning the golden adornment onto a breast pocket where it shines under fluorescent light that is embedded in the roof of the ceiling, the light creating a halo of a golden shine on my mane. I smile at him, grateful that out of all the people in the world who could've been my stylist it was him. This man with skin the color of the Caribbean waters and loves his black leather wardrobe with metal spikes and custom seal leather boots with his knack for tinkering. I couldn't have asked for anyone more queer and more brilliant than him.
"Can I let you in on a little secret?" He asks, a mischievous grin etching his lips. I nod, of course. "I may not be allowed to bet, but if I were my money would be on you."
I chuckle, his wit and humor a shred of hope on this tedious day. "Really?"
"Really."
"Well then, I guess that I'll just have to put your vote into consideration when I'm out there." I say. "Wouldn't want to disappoint you."
"You could never disappoint me." He says, a grim expression showing through his once jovial features. "Because you are Alex, the Lion of Fire."
A bell goes off above me and a glass tube slides down with a hiss. Megamind takes a step back and clasps his hands in front of him. When the the glass cylinder is in place, I begin to rise and watch in mild panic as the blue man is blocked out of my vision. His absence leaves a sort of aching in my sternum, but I have no time to dwell on it as I emerge into a world of pure light. My eyes adjust after a moment, and I see that I have entered a realm of lush green jungle with a plain filled with stretching, yellow blades of grass swaying in the gentle breeze. It looks exactly like a reserve on Africa and he blow hits home.
Of course the Gamemakers had to choose this kind of land for this years tributes.
Tributes emerge on my sides in a ring around a giant horn that is he Cornucopia. It vaguely looks like something you'd see in those ancient Viking texts where they have stories and tales of dragons and monsters lurking the land. This one resembles a large beast with polished scales the size of my paw and a gaping void for a mouth, he lips curled back to reveal rows of bronze teeth studded in its metal gums. Inside are stocks of supplies scattered before the mighty statue: crates overflowing with bushels of dried food, bags with other necessities such as blankets and extra clothing, and most importantly: weapons. The better the object, the deeper in the pile. The less significant the object, the farther out it is. I scan it quickly and that's when I catch sight of a bow. A length of curled, polished silver with a pale, thin string tied on its ends just sitting there waiting for me.
I'm going to get it.
You're probably thinking that I'm out of my mind for planning to do something so rash and—let's face it—idiotic when I can easily run away and avoid the fight. There's a little voice in my head who is saying that it's a bad idea, but I can barely hear it over the even louder voice screaming, "Grab the bow and whatever other shit you can grab!" I swivel my head around to see who else is planning on raiding the Cornucopia. At least three quarters of the people are already preparing to run, and the other third are shifting on their plates in uncertainty. In that group is Gia who shakes her head vigorously as if she knows what I'm doing. I do my best to ignore her, but her copper eyes make me second guess myself.
Should I really go with this? Is the best option for me?
Then a whine echoes out of the air and the legendary announcer, Chantel Dubois with her intense Franch accent booms out, "Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-fourth annual Hunger Games begin!"