SILAS EDWARDS – DISTRICT 8
Compared to the ruckus that was the reaping, this was a rather calm setting. I'd been seated on a rather comfortable green sofa, in a wooden room with polished ornaments everywhere. There were pictures of male winners from District 8 on the walls, of which there'd not been many, but most of them were still alive. I stared at them, thinking that one of them was going to be my mentor. Great, a big-headed murderer was going to be mentoring me for the next week or so.
The door suddenly flies open, and my family – or at least the closest thing I have – are stood at the door. The orphanage mistress, a stern, grey-haired woman, the rather friendly and chubby cook, and one of my closest friends; a fellow orphan named Alana.
"Silas!" Alana calls out, as she runs forward and embraces me. I return the hug for the sake of being kind, and she looks me in the eye, a single tear running down her left cheek. "Whatever you do, just be careful. I know you can make it home, you're smart," she says. I put on a fake smile.
"And keep yourself well-fed!" the orphanage cook adds, looking unusually upbeat for such an occasion. Trust her to say something like that. The mistress simply stands there, looking grumpily at me. I can tell she's looking forward to getting rid of me. "Let's just hope you're not as misbehaving in the Capitol as you are here," she grumbles, and then walks out, dragging the cook with her. Alana waits for the door to close, and then sits beside me, her hand resting on my knee.
"I don't need consoling, you know," I say to her, chuckling a little. "They want everyone to think we're sad. If we act like we don't care, we've practically thrown their expectations out of the window," I say.
"Now's not the time for being cunning, Silas," she responds bluntly. "Don't do anything stupid out there. I'll be rooting for you the whole time," she says, trying to stay happy. I know she means well, but I don't really need her moral support. What she says here isn't going to affect my ability to survive in the arena. The peacemakers swing open the door again, and they're beckoning Alana to leave. She plants a kiss on my cheek and quickly runs out, without a goodbye. Maybe she's finally gotten the hint that I don't like goodbyes. I wipe the saliva off my face and stand up, letting the peacemakers grab hold of my arms and escort me to the train. They sure don't waste time.
I'm soon joined by my female district partner, Luna Wolfe. I've never even spoken to her before this, and neither of us seem particularly willing to break that trend. Her pale white skin and hair match the washed-out cream colour of her dress, which is adorned with a pink floral pattern. Her redish-pink eyes stared directly at me as she was practically apprehended by the peacemakers and thrown onto the train. I'd gathered over the years that she's probably an albino, but I'd guessed it'd be rude to ask. And besides, that'd require speaking to her. I get thrown onto the train shortly after, and the door slams shut behind us as the crowd gathers near the station, ready to wave us off. I give them all a quick nod through the window and then walk through a door and into the carriage where we'd be sat for the next couple of hours.
Compared to what we're used to in District 8, this place is pretty exquisite, but all it really shows is how stuck-up and addicted to luxury the Capitol residents are. I stroll around the carriage, pick up an iced bun from a display of sweet treats and sit down on the purple velvet seats. I'd figured by watching the reapings every year that each district has differently coloured seats on the trains. Speaking of watching the reapings, a large TV screen on the wall flickers on, and it's showing the reaping of each district, starting with District 1. There's a rather terrified-looking girl already on the stage, and a tiny, scrawny boy being called up to it. I start to laugh as I see their district mentor attempt to pull him up the stairs, and she eventually gives up and asks if anybody would like to volunteer. Sometime after, a tall, muscular boy with dirty blonde hair is walking up to the stage instead. I don't feel quite as optimistic anymore.
I sort of zone out for most of the show, but I do memorise a couple of faces. There's a mixed-race girl from District 4 with messy curly hair. A boy from District 5 with some odd-looking skin markings down his right arm. The girl from District 7 has a full fringe that practically covers her eyes. The District 11 girl is pretty short and looks fairly innocent. That's never a good sign for the Games. The show ends with the District 12 boy, who looks unusually strong and confident for someone from such a poor district. Mind you, I can't complain – I'd done a very good job at pretending to be happy about being chosen.
I fall asleep briefly while on the train, but I'm woken up when our district escort, Tatiana Trolanakuma, enters the carriage, with Luna walking shyly behind her. "I was just speaking to Luna about exciting the next week is going to be. I'm sure you're excited too," she says rather happily. I just nod in response. Luna walks over and sits down across from me. We stare at each other awkwardly for a few moments, until Tatiana breaks the silence. "I'm just going to fetch Phil. I'll be back in a moment," she says before walking off. Phil is our district mentor, then. His name was in the room I'd been in a couple of hours ago, but there was no picture of him for some reason, so I have no idea what he looks like.
I find out in a matter of minutes, as a lanky guy dressed in a light blue velvet suit walks through the door. His black hair is tied back in a ponytail, Caesar Flickerman style. He sits down next to us, almost shoving Luna off her seat. He pours himself a cup of coffee and takes a quick sip, closing his eyes and sighing loudly. He then puts the cup down, sits back and rests his arms on his stomach. "So you two are the bait for this year then," he says, not even bothering to look at us.
"I-Id prefer to call myself a tribute, if you don't mind," Luna pipes up. Her voice is very gentle and soft. From what I recall, she's lost both her brother and her best friend to the Capitol, so I can't imagine she's going to be very kind to them in the days to come. At least we have something in common.
"Bait is what you are, Capitol bait," Phil bluntly responds. "They're gonna dip you into that arena and watch you get gobbled up like a worm," he says, mockingly. I suppose all three of us share a blind hatred of the Capitol. Luna's turned away from Phil now and is staring at the wall. I figured she wanted to be alone, so I diverted Phil's attention to me by pouring myself some tea, making sure to make extra noise with the cups.
"You're a quiet one, eh," he says, actually looking at me this time. I smile menacingly and stare back at him, sipping my tea in a deliberately posh fashion.
"Why yes, I am merely thinking of how I plan to win the Games," I reply sarcastically, putting on a Capitol accent. He sniggers – he's evidently picked up on my sarcasm. Good for him, it's practically my language.
"And just how do you plan to do that?" he asks.
"Why, my razor-sharp wit of course," I reply. He sniggers some more. Getting on good terms with this guy could turn out to be beneficial.
"Razor sharp blades are more to the Capitol's liking," he replies, playing along with me. I was starting to love this guy already. He picks up a butter knife and sinks it slowly into the butter, as if he was dissecting a dead body. I chuckled and picked up a sharper, longer knife, carving a piece of ham with it. I can see Luna looking at us with disgust as Phil and I laugh with each other, before he breaks the act and returns to his lazy voice.
"Focus Phil, focus!" he says to himself. "You're supposed to be giving these guys advice!"
"I've picked up plenty of advice from you on how to torture somebody with a knife," I say, smiling. He chuckles, and shakes Luna's shoulder, attempting to grab her attention again.
"Listen, you two. District 8's not had a victor in a while, and I'm being pressured to make sure you two give the Capitol a good show," he says, his voice turned serious. "I'm not expecting you two to do that, but at least knowing how to survive a cold night can't hurt."Luna and I both look to him, then to each other, and nod simultaneously.
"There's one thing I'm going to suggest to you both," he begins, leaning in closer to us as if he doesn't want anybody else to hear. "You don't fight anyone at the bloodbath. Got that? Anyone. You get what you need, and you get out there pronto. We don't need our tributes dead ten minutes into the Games. Got it?" We both nod again.
"Is that all there is to it?" Luna asks. "Surely there's other stuff... starting a fire... finding food... staying hidden..."
"None of that matters as long as you're alive," Phil replies. "You'll figure that stuff out once you're in there. Survival instincts will kick in. Adrenaline will get you away from the Cornucopia and instinct will take care of the rest." She looks a little perplexed, but she's not about to ask any more questions. Actually, I can see why, because the Capitol is coming into view on the horizon. The Capitol... I'm not sure whether to feel happy or sad that this train journey has come to an end, but at least this wasn't going to be the last time I'd see Phil. As we pulled into the Capitol train station, the crowd was jumping up and down in excitement, and were waving so much you'd think their hands were on fire. Luna waved slowly through the window, staring wide-eyed at the Capitol residents, scaring some of them half to death. They probably have some miracle cure for albinism here, so they won't have seen someone like Luna before. It seems as if she's deliberately scaring them, though. I like that.
As we're getting off the train, Phil rests his hand on my shoulder and smiles. "Hey, I'm sorry about sounding so serious earlier. It's just that none of my mentees have ever won the Games and people are starting to doubt whether my win was authentic," he admits, attempting to laugh about the situation.
"No worries. I think we'll both agree that razor-sharp wit is better than a razor-sharp knife any day," I reply, and we both have one final chuckle before we step out of the train, into the blinding light of flashing cameras... We were finally here. The Capitol.