CHAPTER THREE -
By the time the first bell goes off to tell us it's time to reassemble at the centre, I am dressed in a half-silk-half-cotton sky blue dress, staring at myself in the dirt ridden mirror in my compartment. As I stare at my distorted reflection thoughts being to flood my mind. Maybe that boy was right, maybe they haven't given us enough time to prepare, last time we had our whole life, today we've had two and a half hours. Normally they would've given us at least a week, why is this so rushed? And what if Cato's right, the Capitol has never done this before, why now? No. I tell myself. This is not the time for second thoughts.Just do, be impulsive. Our trainer back in district two used to say to us every morning. He was right. I want to do this. I need to do this. No one ever gets a second chance at this? Why waste it? The second bell rings through my room and I know I have to stop debating with myself in my head and go down to the centre. As I leave my room I slowly look back, I have been living here for almost a year and even though it's a dirty, stuffy little room, I am sure I will miss it. I slowly shut the door behind me and begin to travel down the hall way. This time, as I am not late, there are more people in the hall way. The tension in the air is so thick it is almost tangible. Nervous eyes flicker from person to person; everyone's sizing each other up, hoping it's someone else's name that's drawn from the large glass bowl. It's silly, really. Hope has nothing to do with the odds. No matter how hard you wish it will never alter the fact if you're chosen, you're chosen. Nothing will change you. So why spend your time wishing the bad away?
By the time I reach the large metallic door there is a line of tributes in front of me. I pass the time waiting until we're all allowed in by subtlety staring at the other people in the corridor. Listing out possible strengths and, more likely, possible weaknesses. The majority of people here are reaps, I guess they're actually taking Conall's threat seriously. Caught in mid-daydream, I realise how fast the line is travelling only when someone brutally knocks in to my from behind. "Hey watch where yo-" My sentence trails off as I turn around to find an emotionless Cato staring back at me. He looks smug. I can't help but want to punch him. "Oh, it's you." I say, my voice dropping the angry tone it just had, but I make an effort to remain my irritated facial expression.
"Let me guess, you're so stubborn you're still going to volunteer?" He says in a somewhat cutting way.
"Why does it matter to you?" I remark back quickly. Why does he care so much?
"Maybe because I don't want to see you get killed." He states like it's obvious.
"Again, why does it matter to you?" It's not like we mean anything to each other. "I thought we'd agreed before the last games, no more friendship between us." I have to drop my voice down to a whisper now. Even though there are a few people talking, we're still drawing attention. He's about to say something, when a loud beeping sound echoes through the narrow room, followed by a snooty, high-pitched voice.
"All revived tributes must be in the assembly hall in five minuets. I repeat, all revived tributes must be in the assembly hall in five minuets." Then it all falls silent. I'm now at the front of the queue. My hand slips down to the small glass plate, soon enough opening the door, and just before I step through I give a soft sigh. "Good bye, Cato." I say, instantly. And then, without looking back or waiting for a reply, I walk on through.
The hall is laid out exactly how it was back in the Districts. District One is on the far left, whereas District Twelve is on the far right. Laid out on the stage are twenty four perfectly shaped, crystal clear, glass bowls, holding each of our names in. I have no idea how they settled the odds, they could be completely bias, but either way, there is still a chance your name is in there. The older tributes stand near the front while the younger ones stand at the back. There are no twelve year olds, but there are ages up to twenty year old. So this could be interesting. Inhaling slowly I begin to walk towards where I think I should stand. I end up between two other girls, both taller and bigger than I am, but it doesn't intimidate me in the slightest. As we wait for the others to enter I begin to wonder (and I have no idea why this thought hadn't crossed my mind before) is anyone else going to volunteer from District Two? It's not organised like all the other games, I wonder what will happen if more than one person volunteers. My train of thought is cut off quite suddenly as the loud sound of microphone feedback makes it's way through the room. The girl next to me almost falls over due to the surprise. "Welcome, welcome!" The annoyingly peppy Flora Summers sequels with excitement, I found her to be the most annoying escort and just my luck, she's the one hosting the reaping. She positions herself on the stage before us, a large microphone standing upright in front of her. "The time has come to select twelve courageous young men and women for the honour of representing their district in the third Quarter Quell Hunger Games!" She stands with an exceptionally upright posture and she waves her arms around in the air with excitement. She really needs to take a sedative or something. Thick layers of make-up cake her face in a aqua blue tint, matching her sea green ensemble of an outfit. Well, I say outfit, I mean random pieces of fabric hanging off her overly-skinny figure. "Now! We will begin with District One's reaping but before hand, the Compound Instructor has something to say!" Flora looks around, hopefully, but no one else is up there with her. A few mumbles break out from the crowd as the seconds tick by slowly, conversing at the unusual sight of seeing a reaping so unorganised. And just when Flora is about to continue on, Conall steps on to the stage, calling her over to him. With her usual, and quite frankly laughable, gait she trots over to him. He whispers something that, by their facial expressions, not even the tributes at the front can hear. Oh well. I'm sure with Flora's loud personality it will become clear to us sooner or later.
Flora skips back to centre stage and begins talking once more. "Unfortunately, the Compound instructor can't be here today, so I guess we'll get right down to business." It's strange, he hasn't been around all day. We normally see too much of him, and now it's like he's vanished in to thin air. Well, I guess it's not the strangest thing to happen around here. After all, there are people bringing other people back from the dead. "District One first!" She squeaks, as she makes her way to the first of the twenty four large transparent containers in front of her. I am perfectly confident in my abilities to win these games, but I will admit it always brings butterflies to my stomach when the reap the other career districts. "As usual, ladies first!" She reaches her hand in to the deep basin and rummages deep in to the mass of folded bits of paper. Soon enough, her long talon-like fingers (and I'm not being rude, her finger nails are at least six inches long) find the slip of choice. The person whose name is written on that slip is going to die. Most likely, I am going to kill them. "Nalina Peach!"
"I volunteer as tribute!" Every head in the room spins around to see who the first willing participant is. All eyes are on an older teenage girl with long strawberry blonde hair curling down to her waist. She smiles sweetly and confidently walks up to the platform, as if she hasn't just volunteered for her death. "And what's your name?" Flora Summers forces a crooked smile, maybe she isn't that keen to be here after all. "Bliss Night." She beamed. There is some brief chat between the two, in which I zone out in, and it is only when the District One male volunteer is climbing up on to the stage that I zone back in. I turn my attention to the platform, my eyes narrowing in attempt to re-focus them. The naturally narrow and tall figure, scruffy blonde hair, plain facial features. It could've been anyone, but it wasn't. Marvel? When did he get revived. I haven't seen him since... well... he died. We were in the same ally pack, the career pack, in the seventy forth Hunger Games. I never really talked to him, let alone get close to him, but it's still a shock since Cato and I were brought here as soon as we died. Why is he only here now? I'm lost in my thoughts when Flora Summers announces the name of the female District Two tribute. "Karissa Mason." Everything slows down. I look around, eyes are searching the crowd, expecting a courages, vicious person to volunteer. I'm that person. "I volunteer as tribute!" I declare sternly, my voice echoing through the large hall. And then suddenly, everyone's eyes are fixated on me. I don't have to push my way through the crowd, they all, just sort of, slip out of my way as I make my journey to the stage. Flora ushers me up the steps and soon enough I am standing next to Marvel, looking straight out in to the crowd. "What's your name, dear?"
"Clove Corbsy." I reply, making sure no emotion is clear in my tone of voice.
"Well, everyone, let's give a hand for our lovely Clove, volunteer female tribute for District Two." Slowly people begin to clap, but it fades pretty quickly. Everyone just wants this over with, but I mean to savour this moment. "Now for the boys!" She smiles, brightly, stepping over to District Two's other bowl. This could be interesting. Chances are, my fight with this person will be the last, and it will mean my life or death. Flora scopes out a name from the centre of the bowl, but she doesn't even get a chance to read it before someone shouts out: "I volunteer as tribute!" Sometimes in life, something unexpected happens. Something so unexpected the whole world just kind of slows down, to allow you time to compensate for that the hell is going on. This however, did not happen. Mumbles break out from the crowd as a confident Cato pushes his way through the gathering of people.
For a moment, I am stunned. What the hell is he trying to pull? Was it a trick? Did he not want me to volunteer because he knew I would stand a chance at beating him? Oh, this was a new low, even for him. But I guess, there are no limits to how deceitfully you can be if your about to be shoved in an arena to kill twenty three other people. I suppose, it's as much as it is about harming people mentally as well as physically. Mumbles break out from the crowd, I'm pretty sure everyone knows Cato and I have a history. Well, at least it's capturing people's attention. The whole time Flora is talking to him, his eyes flicker between the crowd and me, but my eyes are only fixated on the floor, however that doesn't change the fact I can feel his devious smirk trying to dig it's way inside me. He almost tricked me and he knows it. He's thinking to himself I wont be hard to fool once more, well think again Cato, because I will beat you.
I will kill you.