A/N: Thank you for reading thus far. I really appreciate your efforts. xx
The Trial Games.
Though my body is cleaner than it has ever been throughout my entire life, I feel dirtier than I ever remember being. The clean, ironed school uniform is crisp and cool against my skin, while the green tartan collar snugly rests around the skin of my neck and matching tartan cuffs wrap around my wrists.
This was what I was to wear during my involvement in "the Games". The pleated green skirt and matching button up blouse were so unlike anything I had ever owned- it had taken me a moment to remember that this simple luxury was what I'd be buried in.
My stylist had been kind whilst she fitted me for the clothes that would see my death. She complimented me endlessly on things I can barely remember as I sat there in fear for what may happen if I were to act out on my fright.
The day had been long and painful. Any day that started with the knowledge that you will soon be forced into killing your friends and classmates would, but it was so much more than that.
I had not said a single word all day. All questions were ignored, all whimpers were silenced and all cries for god to rescue the tribute children had been suffocated.
I was too frightened to utter a single word to anyone. Not the stylist, nor my cook or the strange servants which did not speak anyway. The President's demonic smile was fresh in my mind, and seemed to curl ever more inside my memory.
None of the other "tributes" had crossed my path. We were all kept separated, most likely out of fear we might try and collaborate before the games. My mind was flooded with thoughts of Holden's horrified face upon the screen that had flickered before me that morning. Was he being silent too, afraid for his family's sake, his own?
It had only occurred to me earlier that it was worse for Holden. I hadn't realised until later that I had recognised one of the younger tributes.
His sister, Adelaide.
My long black hair that I kept tied back was let down and was trimmed only slightly by my stylist's steady hands. I had always protested having my hair cut before, whenever my mother had asked to. There in that chair however, I had no will to cause a problem. A problem could be what ends my life.
I thought again of Holden then. He had once said he liked my hair, even with its tattered ends and flat demeanour. Would I never share a moment with him like that again... or with anyone for that matter?
'No,' said the answer from inside my head. 'Never again.'
I shift uncomfortably on my bed as I review the day in my mind. It had all been so lucid and unreal; I struggle to believe that there was less than an hour left until we are to be placed into the arena. This was to be my last day alive, and I didn't spend it with my loved ones, my family- Holden. Instead, it was wasted. Sitting silently in fear in a stylist's chair as she babbled about how excited she was to be allowed to be a part of the 'trial' Hunger Games.
'Can't anyone see how wrong this is? How morally corrupt the concept of making children fight for their families lives?'
Tears couldn't form; I am too tired, too angry- and too frightened to cry. I clutch my bedspread tightly and wrench my eyes tightly shut, begging myself to wake from this nightmare.
'There is no way this is real... none of this could be real...'
Time passes, slower than it has ever moved before. I stagger from my bed to the bathroom, knowing there could not be much more time left in this hotel room for me. I grip the sides of the sink and stare blankly at the dank girl who stares back at me.
"...this is it," I whisper, barely able to make a sound. "This is it..."
This might be the last time I ever see my reflection so clearly. I trace my image with my eyes slowly, from the sick, pale yet yellowish skin to the dark green eyes beneath the new fringe. My fingers trace down my undeveloped chest, and let my hands rest upon the beginnings of my hips.
I still look like a child. I'd never be able to watch my full transition into a woman, admire my adult features as I had one day hoped. Just like I would never marry Holden, have those three children- so they wouldn't be lonely as I had been as an only child.
No. That would never be my future. Panem had taken my future through its weapon- the Hunger Games. Even if I lived, Holden wouldn't. That future was but a childish dream, speared through the head by this sickening new reality.
I cringe. Cold tears are finally beginning to spill down my cheeks and tangle in my hair. The bathroom light flickers as my hotel door swings open and I feel my body be led from the bathroom by my right arm.
"It's time darling, we've haven't got any time to lose-"
My stylist sounds excited, particularly eager now. I feel the cold remnants of my tears still fresh on my face as the door shuts with a gentle snap and corridors begin to flit past my eyes.
"...it's already time...?"
"Yes Maya," the woman says kindly, giving me a backwards glance as we stroll quickly down the hallways. "Are you ready for the excitement?"
I say nothing. There is nothing I can say. Agree, and lose all that once was myself. Decline, and risk punishment. I close my eyes and try to ignore the dizzying sickness welling up from within the pits of my stomach.
I am ferried into an elevator where the woman swipes an access card and punches in a series of numbers I don't bother glancing at. The elevator begins to shift downwards, smooth and steady as my stomach gurgles and threatens to push upwards.
The depths of hell. That's where I'm going. Hell. Of course.
When the doors finally do open, the room we face before us is dark and shadowy. Instinctively, I step backwards into the elevator, away from the danger- but the stylist tugs my arm forwards into the mystery.
"Step on the metal plate sweetie," she says, pushing me rather than waiting. "Now when you're allowed to move, a signal will go off and... um..."
She pauses, thinking. My heart begins to pound as the plate clicks menacingly beneath my feet, recognising my weight. The ceiling above seems to whir with mechanical noises as the woman remembers herself.
"-oh yes! When a contestant has been disqualified- the boards will flash their images at midnight so you can verify, that's what I had to tell you."
She nods, happy for remembering. I can feel a deadpan stare on my face, covering the fear and panic welling up inside. There's no time left, and I can't fight this fate. I feel that if I were to try and escape now, this plate beneath me will stop me somehow- or this woman would.
"-is there anything you'd like to know Maya, no questions? Nothing to say?"
Questions? About a million race through my mind through the panic- all asking for a shred of humanity, decency- for simple morality to make itself known. Yet as her bright eyes gaze happily at me, only one thing seems appropriate.
"...I'm in love with Holden."
She pauses. The ceiling begins to open- and light begins to flood my field of vision and I go temporarily blind. As a glass tube separates us both- I hear a faint voice say,
"-best of luck-!"