In Motion

The chair felt strange against Meera's thighs and back. Gooseprickles rose on her bare arms. It was cold on the train and her head ached. Somewhere between the Justice Building and the station she had blacked out. When she awoke she was lying face up on her cabin cot and hearing loud knocks. Confusion set in only a short time before she remembered everything that had happened. The reaping, the way the sand stung as she climbed the steps, and the terrible expression that read across the crowd like a book. Soon after she had slipped out of bed the Capitol representative had come to take her to the dining cart. That was where she was sitting now. She could see her reflection in the silverware. The polished table felt like liquid under her hand. Judging by the landscape moving in a blur beyond the train windows they hadn't traveled very far from District 5 yet, the sandy landscape with scarce trees whizzed by. Her blue eyes twitched to a strange tonic being poured into a crystal glass. Skeptically she ignored the fizzing liquid and grabbed the water.

"We'll have to make up for that little fiasco in the Justice Building. The camera's couldn't get a shot of you both boarding the train because someone decided to faint."

The representative's name was Linares. His Capitol accent was thick and his disdain thicker. Since Meera had taken her seat at the dinner table he had relentlessly made it known that he wasn't here to baby them. Meera didn't know whether to be glad or scared by that threat.

"When we arrive in the Capitol everyone will be waiting to see their Tributes," he sipped the tonic Meera had abstained from, "You will need to be liked. This is very important. We want you to look your best for them. Both of you must make an impression, as representative I can help, and of course so will your stylist team, but you'll need to do the real work."

Meera quickly realized Linares liked to lecture. At first she tried to listen, but his words soon turned to ash and mush. Her dark blues twitched to the little boy who was to be the male Tribute. Faron Blackwell. He was 13. His bug eyes were red from crying and rarely blinked, if it wasn't for the slightest of movements Meera would have thought him dead.

What a pair they were, she sadly thought, both shocked and quiet—they wouldn't stand a chance once the fighting started.

"Eat!" Linares murmured, "This food comes all the way from the Capitol, your first taste of what it means to be a competitor in the Games."

"I don't think they care about the taste of competition, Linares."

The voice was like silk.

Meera turned her head. Faron briefly lifted his eyes from the plate.

Standing like a gazelle was a woman no older than 30. She had cinnamon skin and golden eyes. Linares smacked the grease from his lips with the help of a napkin and scoffed, "Oh it's you. I wondered where you had gone. You were supposed to be there for the reaping."

He said 'you' like an insult.

"I'm here now aren't I?"

The representative shot the woman a glare. "Meera, Faron. This is your mentor...Glade Phillips."

Glade slipped into the seat next to Meera and grabbed a slice of bread.

"I was just telling them about what to expect when they arrive tomorrow."

Meera didn't dare look at Glade but from time to time she braved a short glance to the side. There were only a few living Victors in District 5, most had died off or grown too old to mentor. 5 wasn't a District that saw many victories, in fact most of the Victor's Village was abandoned. Glade Phillips had won over a decade ago. She was legendarily known as the girl who was a shadow. Watching her now Meera could see why they called her that, she moved like the wind—quiet and quick. But as Meera recalled she was a deadly shadow too, responsible for at least 6 of the deaths in her arena. The reflection of the candle's flame gleamed in Glade's knife as she cut into the meat.

"Excuse Linares's excitement, this is his first time working for the Hunger Games."

"No excuses are needed."

"Aren't they?"

Although a proud expression remained on Linares's face Meera noticed his whole body slink back. He was afraid of Glade, and Meera didn't blame him.

"Don't expect any honor in the coming weeks," she continued without a thought, "Your representative's job is to make sure you look good, I'm here to make sure you win."

"But we're not going to win."

The table fell silent. All eyes turned to Faron. It was the first thing he had said. His voice was as small as him. When everyone looked he turned beet red and shrugged into himself with sad cow eyes. His words made Meera's stomach churn. Glade on the other hand swallowed a piece of meat and smiled, "I'm not going to tell you you're wrong, Faron. In this game anyone can die."

Meera shyly pushed the hair away from her face, "Is it true that that they train for the arena in other Districts? I heard they train them starting when they're small. I heard they volunteer."

"Of course not—"

"Yes," Glade cut off Linares in mid lie. "Does that frighten you?"

Truthfully it did, but her face didn't show it. "Should it?"

"Yes."

Meera eyes dropped to her half-eaten food.

Again Faron spoke up, his eyes glistening with panic. "Their odds are better than ours."

"It's best not to think about the odds," Glade whispered, "Think about the running, think about surviving, but never think of the odds."

After the food was finished Linares took his leave. Faron seemed relieved when he was gone, but he remained anxious and twitchy. Meera didn't know whether to be annoyed or sympathetic towards him. Perhaps it was all a ploy to make her buy into the frailness. Perhaps he was truly a killer willing to cut her throat the first chance he got. After all this was a game with only one winner. Her lips resentfully pursed as she thought of how cruel it was to live in a world where a teary eyed boy is looked on suspiciously, but Meera wouldn't be careless. She knew without a doubt that there was no one she could trust in the arena but herself. She was her only ally. If it came down to him or her she had to pick her own life. Win or lose she wasn't a fool. She wasn't a hunter or a talker, but she was smart.

Outside the sun had set. Darkness crept through the skies. Candles on the table melted wax onto the white linen tablecloth. Meera could see the reflections of the furniture in the glass, distortions moved in faint lines along the windows. Glade was still eating. She was taking her time to size them up. Meera felt like she was being inspected under a lens, no doubt the sight was hopeless under the scrutiny of a Victor.

After Glade had finished her second plate of food she leaned back and stared.

"I hear you fainted."

Meera cleared her throat and shrugged, "It was hot out there."

Glade's golden eyes were filled with brash understanding. "You better prepare yourself for the time ahead. If you fall in the arena no one will be there to pick you up."

"I won't fall." Meera didn't know if that was a lie or not.

"And you?" She nodded to Faron, "What's your story?"

Faron tucked his hands into his lap and shook his head. He still had baby fat on his face making him look even younger then his 13 years. The compassionate part of Meera hoped that would win him some affection in the Capitol.

"Don't be shy," Glade spat out, "There's no time to be shy. What can you do?"

"I—I can't do anything," his small voice trembled painfully. Meera felt his ache and grimaced.

"No. Everyone has something that can be used in these games. That goes for both of you. You just have to figure out what that is."

Her face darkened. She was sick of hearing lectures. It had only been a few hours since they had left District 5 and all she wanted to do was crawl back into her dirty sweating bed and forget that she ever existed. Right now Zara and the other girls would be mourning. She imagined them all tuck away, weeping in their sheets. Mapes would try to comfort them, but it wouldn't work because even she would know the predatory fate that was waiting to sink it's deathly fangs into Meera.

"Linares said we have to win the crowd," Faron whispered finally.

Glade arched her eyebrows, "Unfortunately he's right."

"We have to get them to like us?"

"Yes. It will be challenging. The Capitol doesn't think much of District 5. I'm sure you both know that more than most…but without the popular vote your chances will decrease substantially."

"I thought this was a game to death," Meera cut in, her eyes had grown angry, "Not a popularity contest."

"As with every game there are different ways to play it, but smiling never hurts."

Her deep blue eyes narrowed. She felt her hands ball into a fist.

"I won't smile for them," she suddenly replied, proud of her words.

"You think all those other Tributes are smiling for the crowd? No. They're smiling to save their own necks."

Faron lifted his lips in a brief smile as if to practice. Meera only glared ahead.

"That's it," she pointed to him and nodded, "Sooner or later you won't even realize you're doing it."

Suddenly Meera couldn't take it anymore. The cold air of the train was foreign, she longed for the harsh heat of District 5. Talk of the arena made her organs tie in knots. Quickly she lifted herself out of the ornate chair and threw her napkin on the table.

"Excuse me," she hissed, barely giving them a glance before walking through the doors and down the narrow hall. She heard Glade continue with her lecture after the door shut, but no amount of advice could have kept Meera there.

As she made her way down the corridor a train whistle pierced her ears. If it weren't for the humming under her shoes, Meera would have easily forgotten they were on a train. It never swayed or jolted, the wheels glided across the rails as if it were floating on water. Just another one of the Capitol's wonderful creations—she cursed it under her breath with contempt, remembering to curse Glade Phillips and Linares too. By the time she got back to her cabin the blood had rushed out of her head and her lips had paled. She pressed her hand against her forehead and curled onto the bed. The sheets were soft and clean. A pitcher of water waited near her pillow. Everything was perfect and accommodating, but the perfection was laced with hints of dread. Color had drained out of Meera's world, everything seemed dulled. With every sip of water she took and every bite of rich food she felt her world crumbling away.

Her auburn hair fell across the bed as she pulled her knees into her chest and clutched the sheets. No matter how tired she felt sleep wouldn't come. She tried the old tricks she would use in the poorhouse on sleepless night. She tried remembering what her parents' faces looked like. They had died so long ago that their features had become blurs in her memories, but on nights like this she would put those features together and take comfort in the faces she created. Except tonight wasn't like all those other nights at the poorhouse—tonight was the prologue to a dark storm.

Past Hunger Games crept into her thoughts. Images of children wildly hunting other children. Whispers of death to remind her what was in store for her.

Growing up in District 5 the Capitol had been a mirage for Meera. It never really existed, just a trick of the light—but not anymore. It wouldn't be long before she would step off the train and into the thick of it. Eyes would stare. The citizens would gawk and cheer either for or against her. She feared the ones that cheered against her and hated the ones that were for her. There was no middle ground anymore.

A tiny voice whispered to her, Are you afraid?.It was Zara's voice.

"Yes," she answered aloud, swallowing the sour taste of that word. Somehow Meera wished she had gotten a chance to say it when the question was really asked, but now all she had was that tiny phantom voice in her head and her own cold reply. If she listened hard enough she could still hear the accusing question rumbling over and over again. The echoes bit at her heart and boiled her blood.

Are you afraid?