Of the twenty-four seats arranged in an arc, I'm in the ninth. Occupying the other twenty-three seats are the other tributes. Caesar Flickerman stands before us, behind him being two white bowl chairs. He warms the audience up over the next hour, cracking a few jokes as the first tributes are readied.
The first interview is the tall, lean girl from One. She wears a long, golden dress, her matching hair flowing around her. The crowd is wild. They always are for the first few districts. Through the progression, they seem to get less and less interested. Her district partner takes his turn, then the tributes from Two, then Three and Four and suddenly Caesar is introducing me. This is my cue. I try not to stumble or be dazzled by the lights as I walk over to join him in the other seat.
"It's exceptionally wonderful to have you here with us, and so nice to meet you." Caesar's voice radiates warmth and I can tell he's trying to make me feel comfortable. Of course I'm nervous; the whole square is teeming with residents eager to capture a view of the tributes of the seventy-fourth Games.
"Nice to meet you too, Caesar." I say. I try to sound friendly, to emit the same kind of likeability as him, but it doesn't show.
"So tell me, Finch, what were you thinking when they called your name at the reaping?" He leans forward with interest, his midnight blue suit shimmering under the dazzling lights.
I swallow, my throat suddenly too tight to speak. Crossing my legs out of nervous habit, I answer his question. "Indifferent, I guess. I know it's something I have to do for my district."
"That's in the spirit of the Games! And do you think you could win this?"
That was not a question I was expecting. Of course I don't, but the others don't know that. Maybe it could win me sponsors, if I looked like I was holding something back. "I think I can, Caesar." I say with a tiny mischievous smile.
"How is this so?"
"I find that if I can apply myself to the situation present, I will be able to figure it out." I counter.
"Ooh, tell us more!" He says, coaxing me to spill. "You're a mystery to us- ever since we first laid eyes on you we haven't been able to figure out a thing. Let us out of the dark here, Finch!"
The audience laughs at his determination.
To this I smile curtly, casting a look into the audience. I have them hanging onto every word. I make sure to pronounce the next sentence slowly and quietly. "You'll have to find out yourself."
"I'd like to see this. Best of luck, it's a pleasure to have you." Caesar clasps my hand in his, pulling us up and throwing my arm into the air.
"Finch Emerson, everybody!"
The last shot is of my sly smile.
The applause fills my ears and I dazedly return to my seat in the arc. Jayson quickly gives me a thumbs-up. I turn back, but he acts as if it had never happens, putting himself down in the seat I was just in. This irritates me and I mask my face with my usual expressionless composure. No attachments. All but one will be deceased in a matter of days. Twenty-three of us circled here, all dead, all gone. Never to recommence life, limbs stilled, arriving stiff and cold in wooden boxes to our districts.
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When we return, a meal is set beautifully on the dining table. Celebratory, I guess. Petalla, Vincent, Helena, Jayson and I are seated around the feast, Jayson and I conscious of savouring the limited number of Capitol dishes we have left to endure before we are sent into the arena. I pile my plate with the rich food. Flavoursome orange sauce floods my mouth as I bite into one of the many dishes. I cling to the luxury of the Capitol. Suddenly I'm conscious that the more I eat now, the more I'll regret this decision tomorrow. I push my plate away guiltily.
"I'm going to bed." I say, pushing out my chair.
Usually nobody bothers me, but tonight I am met with interjections.
"Finch, wait a moment!" I'm surprised to see Petalla hopping out of her chair and following me down the hall. She embraces me and I remain still, quite unsure of what to do, so I attempt a smile that appears to be more of a grimace. I didn't realise how fond escorts became of their tributes. They shouldn't. They are the ones that send them to their death. She holds me at arm's length, her face surprisingly serious. "You're quick. You run, okay? You run and you survive."
And with that, she turns away, straightening out her dress and hopping back to the kitchen. I stand there gaping. No, I didn't imagine it. For those few moments, her silly accent was gone.
I lie on my side, the silk sheets covering to just below my shoulders. My stomach churns and my head throbs. I was right about stopping before I could completely gorge myself. I would be throwing up all over the place. It's a restless sleep I fall into, disturbed by the shallowest of sounds. So I just lie there, afraid that the longer I close my eyes, the less time there is between me and that arena.
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When I awaken, dawn hasn't broken yet. I slide out of the sheets and pad over to the window. It never fails to awe me, how huge the Capitol is. Dreamy pastel buildings line the sky and sleek cars roam the wide paved roads. It startles me when somebody knocks on the door. I open it, and Cyren stands there, handing me a simple shift and put on. That's right; we are readied in the catacombs beneath the arena itself.
I put on the outfit and am promptly ushered from the building. He holds my shoulders with sturdy hands and directs me towards the elevator where he presses a metallic silver button with 'roof' engraved on the circular surface. He exits the elevator before it shoots upwards. He gestures to me and I nod my head once, just as the doors are closing. Of course, stylists don't use the tribute hovercraft.
The hovercraft appears from the air and upon placing my hands on the rungs of the ladder that drops down, I am frozen in place by some invisible force and pulled up. Was this really necessary? Had tributes tried to jump in the past? I am snapped out of my trance as a woman injects something into my arm. Was it some kind of sedative!?
"This is your tracker."
Okay, so maybe it was just my tracker. It still hurts like hell. I thoughtlessly rub the lump under my skin, which has already started to bruise.
I can now move freely on the hovercraft, deciding to spend my time looking out the window. Soon, the windows black out, obviously because the arena is in a secret location. I lean my head back in a seat, close my eyes and try to rest for the few moments I do have to myself.
I would be in the arena in less than a few hours.
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