No one's reviewing. oUo What am I doing wrong? I'd really appreciate a review if you like the story.
Zeph's P.O.V
The trouble with my mind is that thoughts tend to constantly flutter around my head. Usually, back at home in Three, this is a good thing. Leaves me open to new inventions and ideas. But here, in this hell of a place they call the Capitol, my thoughts act against me, making every possible worst scenario to play in my head. A District One tribute ripping off the head of Xyris, a District Four Career sending a trident through my chest, A District Two brute dragging weaker tributes into the shadows.
Some call them nightmares.
I wake up in the bed I've been assigned to in the Training Centre's apartment for District Three, the sun shining through crevices in the elegant silver blinds that lay over the window. I stare up at the ceiling for a moment, reaching to my right through the masses of luxurious bedding to find my glasses.
Ah, my glasses. I practically had to beg my mentor, a woman named Priya Starlynn, to let me wear them in the arena, even suggesting that I consider them my District token. These glasses and I have been through a lot; all the ideas, all the brilliant designs. And recently, all the tears I've shed when nobody is around. I suspect that our mentor favours my female counterpart in these Games; she practically ignores me in favour for Xyris.
I don't blame her, really. Priya has been forged into a Capitol citizen herself; ever since she won the Games a couple of years ago, she has taken on the look that can only be described as 'Capitol' – with huge, fluttery eyelashes that are permanently dyed red and lips that are always stained a deep scarlet. Of course she favours Xyris – and with her stunning performance and appearance in the interviews, all the fashion-obsessed Capitol citizens will be drooling after her too, which feels somewhat unnerving. The dress she wore was a stroke of genius in its own way; it perfectly encapsulated Xyris's clear intention of wanting to go back home, to her father's shop, with its floor covered in broken microchips and half-built circuit boards.
Her stylist must adore her. My stylist is only concerned about whether or not my eyes are bright enough.
I stare up at the ceiling for a good half hour, contemplating my tactics for the Games. I'm pretty sure it's been done before, tributes forming alliances together for a while, except they usually turn against each other when the numbers get lower. That's not what I want at all; Xyris is loved by the audience, and to kill her would mean that I'd die in the hands of some Gamemaker-produced 'accident'. Plus, Xyris can get us sponsors. I realise how awful this sounds, like I'm exploiting her, and I promise to myself that I will return the favour by using my tactical mind to help her survive.
Because, let's face it; Xyris Quentin has absolutely no idea what she is doing.
After explaining my plan to her after the interviews, she opened up to me a bit about what her plan was going to be. She's apparently learnt a few snares during training, and she was going to use them to catch food and, if she was lucky, tributes. She told me that her private session consisted of her building snares, shakily swinging a sword about, and gauntlet jumping, which she surprised herself at being half-decent at. I told her that her agility and snares were good attributes to have, but she'd need some offensive strategy to be able to fend tributes off. Still, she got an eight out of twelve, so maybe she did something else that she didn't want to tell me.
I put on my glasses, bringing the world into a sharp reality, and look over at the clock next to the bed. 6.00. I sigh, knowing that I won't be able to go back to sleep and face the terrible images I would imagine. I sit up groggily, running a hand through my messy hair and squinting at the over-furnished room I slept in. I slowly roll out of my bed, being careful not to thud too loud and wake any unsuspecting members of our team. I definitely don't want to wake up my stylists; they annoy me so much, thinking appearances are taken as highly as life itself.
I get dressed into the most simplistic clothes I can find, in the new automated wardrobes the Training Centre have so proudly installed. I know the inventor of it, he lived close to my house in Three; a wise old man who had originally intended it to be a way of dispensing medicine for doctors in hospitals. But the Capitol didn't want that, so of course he was fired and more new, promising, Capitol obeying engineers were hired.
So, dressed in a grey t-shirt and combat pants, I tiptoe out of my room and make my way to the large room with a dining table and couch. I stroll across towards the seating, somewhat shakily, and take a moment to remember the room I have spent so many meticulous hours in, trying to come up with a survival plan. The walls are a pale gray, with vertical black stripes pasted onto them in a random fashion. The numerous, luxurious like any other item of this city, couches are scattered across the room, and I pause as it dawns on me that previous tributes will have sat here before, anticipating their death like me. I pinch the bridge of my nose, a habit I possess when I am thinking. They will have sat on these couches, probably spaced as far away as possible, and yet...
Me and Xyris never really did that.
My brain scatters together, piecing recent memories in my head. She's always spaced herself away from me mentally, yes, but that's logical. She won't want to get to know a boy who will either try to kill her or die at her feet. But she used to sit next to me, I'd be able to hear her quick, nervous breaths and see her hands messing with things habitually out of the corner of my eye. That's not like normal tributes.
But I guess, since we are going to be allies, I'd better get used to her company.
I hear footsteps from behind me and turn sharply, anticipating an attack for some reason. But instead, Priya is stood in the doorway, leaning with one hand holding her weight on the frame, smiling sadly.
"So many tributes." She whispers. Her supporting hand clenched slightly, her pristine brow furrowed. But she still smiles. A habit brought on by the cameras.
"We're going to try this year, you know." I reply, trying to sound comforting. Trying. Talking isn't my thing.
My mentor laughs slightly, a warm look in her hazel eyes as they met mine.
"That's what they all say, you know. Then most of them die in the Bloodbath."
I realise how hard it must be for Priya, watching her students die every year, replaying all the deaths in her mind. If it were me, I'd have given up hope by now.
"We're not going into the Bloodbath this year. We're going to be allies." I say nervously, looking down to my shoes. She walks over to me slowly, heels clacking on the floor with each step.
"You take care of her." She suddenly says, her voice urgent yet sad. "You do everything in your power to make sure she lives." I look up, realising she's closer to me than I thought, making me jump slightly.
"Even if that means I die?" I ask, feigning stupidity. I want to know why she wants Xyris to win so much.
Priya pauses, her eyelashes fluttering slightly. She nods gravely, looking deep into my eyes, full of... remorse?
"I'm so sorry Zeph, but she is loved. By everyone. You understand, right?" She grins, a plastic smile, her eyes a little too wide, too wild. A small part of me wonders if all of these deaths in her hands are getting to her sanity.
Yet, I nod. Then, I have to apologise and retreat back to my quarters; to hide the tears that shouldn't be forming in my eyes about the fact that I shouldn't agree with my mentor.