We Cross Into Oblivion

Nightmares tangled her sleep. Hollow corpses screamed for violence. Even Zara was there—screaming, all of them were screaming, all were dead. The shrieks gathered like battered clouds before a squall, the only difference was that when it poured in her nightmares it wasn't rain…it was blood.

Light was coming in through the wisps of silk curtains as her eyelids parted. Daybreak.

She sat up in fright, her whole body shaking. Sweat was trickling down her back and chest. It took few pounding heartbeats to remember where she was and why. Everything fell into place, even the things she wished had been lost to forgetfulness. As recognition settled she peered around.

Her room looked much bigger in the daylight. There was a walk-in closet only accessible through a strange panel near the door, thick carpet that sank under her feet each time she walked, and enough space to house all 24 tributes. Mapes' orphanage was crammed and sweating, this was a palace compared to that. Nevertheless, the delicacies weren't enough to make Meera forget the truth. She was confined—even though golden wallpaper replaced bars there was no denying that fact. The shower was too warm, the soaps too fragrant. Everything was too much, even the unnaturally cool air that blew out of strange vents near the ceiling. She yearned for the simplicity of District 5. It may have been a desolate wasteland but it was familiar.

A thick glob of shampoo poured onto her hair the moment she entered the shower. Water shot out of the walls and a large faucet above. A few times she had gasp for air, afraid that somehow she would drown. Wouldn't that be fitting, she thought, a tribute that dies before they even make it to the arena, all from an overactive shower. She spat a mouthful of water out and pulled her hair away from her face. Meera was almost 90% sure this was a torture device of some kind. When the shower finally turned off she breathed a sigh of relief and struggled through the steam. Water dripped on the marble floor, pooling under her feet wherever she moved. Strands of drenched hair stuck to her skin.

A dispenser offered creams and moisturizers that she frowned at.

"Goddamn, Capitol," she muttered angrily.

By the time she returned to her bedroom an outfit had been laid out on the bed. The door was cracked open. She could hear voices echoing through the sliver. Benedict and Genero's laughter suddenly bellowed, followed by giggles. Meera grimaced, she wanted to wait them out but her stomach was grumbling with hunger. Quickly making up her mind she grabbed the black pants and blue shirt. Her hair was still damp by the time she wandered into the communal area.

There were strange glass sculptures and fine furniture filling the halls and rooms. The night before these objects weren't noticeable. It had been so dark and she had been so tired, but now they stuck out. Her eyes darted around in disbelief. One in particular caught her eye: a marble sculpture of a naked fighter wrestling some creature that looked both half bull and half man, water streamed out the bull's nostrils into a shallow pool below.

"There she is," Benedict giggled, "We wondered when you would get up. Didn't we, Genero?"

"Yes, Benedict, we did."

Her gaze shifted from the spitting fountain to a large glass table in the center of the room. It was covered with all sorts of foods. Glade was hacking away at a piece of bread, normally she looked unpleasant but this morning was particularly bad. Linares was babbling like the rest of the Capitolites. Faron silently stared at his food. He looked better than he had during the chariot ride.

"Don't be shy, Meera. Come sit," Linares delicately dabbed some jam away from his silver lips.

Her eyes skeptically wandered around the table. So much food. It could have fed her friends back home for weeks. Suddenly she wasn't hungry anymore.

"This is all for us?"

"Of course! Silly girl!" Laughter erupted once more.

Her eyes narrowed. She pursed her lips and pulled out the seat. The first bite made her want to throw up. She wasn't used to being fed every few hours. She was lucky if they had a meal everyday back home. There was honeyed ham and steaming rolls, butter, and even fruit—that was something Meera gazed at shockingly. Alida caught her gawking.

"Never seen grapes before?" Her violet trimmed eyes judgingly stared.

"We don't get much fruit in District 5."

"Oh? How strange. You must be so glad to be here. We have everything here."

"Yes, yes. Now Meera if you want anything else you can have an Avox bring it…" Linares was stuffing his mouth with anything he could get his painted fingers on.

She noticed Faron was nibbling on a strange piece of fruit Benedict was calling a blackberry. It stained his lips purple.

Next her blue eyes moved to Glade. She twirled the knife in her hands like a strand of hair. It never fell, even when she switched fingers. Their mentor reminded Meera of some caged animal. She always looked like she was waiting to pounce, it was obvious Glade hated being in the Capitol almost as much as Meera. Every time one of the Capitolites spoke she rolled her eyes and stabbed her food.

"When do we begin training?" Faron's little voice said.

"Excited to get in there, eh?" Linares cheerily asked, "Today, of course. Training begins after breakfast. I'm sure Glade will fill you in on all that. It will be splendid."

Splendid? This team was verging on inhuman. Since her reaping Meera had been told how lucky she was for this opportunity to compete. Opportunity, that was enough to make her laugh. The Capitol was so careful with their words, without a doubt they knew what a lost cause District 5 was.

"If the opening ceremonies were any indication of how well these games are going to go then we're on the right track. Alida that was a wondrous trick you pulled!"

"It received amazing reviews on the recaps, did you see?"

"Beautiful!"

It was sickening to here them speak.

"The arena isn't a beauty pageant," Glade's voice could cut. Meera saw the wild glint in her eyes. Though the rest of the table tried to ignore her words the conversation soon dissolved into silence.

After breakfast ended many of District 5's team left. Alida stayed behind with Linares, each was busy complimenting the other and vainly waiting to receive praise. Their voices turned to low mutters at the far end of the table.

"We should go," Meera's attention shifted away from the quiet whispers to her mentor, "Both of you will want to get as much training in as you can before the arena."

Glade rose from the table like a breeze and nodded. Faron was the first to follow, Meera soon after. Occasionally she turned back to see Linares and Alida laughing and nudging each other, each time they whispered it stung her ears.

Three days were spent in training. Three days of empty interactions with the other tributes before the Gamemakers judged and awarded a score to each opponent. Meera suppressed another wave of nausea as they entered the elevator. The thought of meeting the other tributes didn't sit well with her.

"I can train you but I'm not allowed in the room. Only tributes are allowed inside. It's important that you listen to me, follow my advice. Do you both understand?"

Faron answered yes immediately but Meera simply stared at her distorted reflection in the elevator doors.

"Have either of you thought about skills?"

"I'm quiet," Faron offered.

"Any experience with tools, weapons…anything?"

He shook his head miserably.

"That's alright, quiet is good. The other tributes won't know what to expect. And you, Meera?"

She adjusted her posture and glanced to the changing numbers, "I've never held a weapon if that's what you're asking."

"It's important to think. What can you do?"

Her eyes dropped. For the very first time Meera forced herself to think critically about what she had to offer in the arena. The answers weren't what she would call great. "I'm a good climber. Back in the orphanage I could scale the roofs nearby. And if I need to run, I can run fast."

Glade nodded sternly, "Good. Now, what I'm about to tell you is very important, got it?"

She waited but there were no replies.

"When you're in training don't show off. Whatever skills you have, hide them. If you reveal all your secrets your opponents will know what to expect and they'll use them against you."

"How are we supposed to train if we can't even practice what we're good at?" Meera challenged.

"There are only so many ways you can practice climbing and running, Meera. My suggestion to both of you is to work on weapon combat. And another thing, Linares and Alida…all them may be fools but they know what they're doing. You need the public to want you. They can help you with that. Listen and watch."

The doors opened directly onto the gymnasium—a large cavern of a room. Mats covered the floors. Weapons gleamed on the walls. There were stations filling the emptiness. Already some of the tributes had congregated.

"This is where I leave you two," Glade pushed both Faron and Meera out, "Good luck and remember what I said."

Almost immediately out of the gates someone grabbed Meera and pinned a 5 to her shirt. Nearby she noticed Faron growing paler and paler, the sight of the other tributes had him scared. Secretly Meera couldn't judge Faron for that, she too felt the intimidation welting up in her stomach. She may have been older, she was lucky in that regard, but did age really matter in a game like this? Meera wasn't be sure.

Silence fell as a man with arms the size of trees clapped his hands and waved all tributes to the center of the room. He went over the rules one by one. Most were obvious, others made Meera's mouth grow drier and drier. Experts stood at each station, their faces as hard as the cement walls surrounding them. Weapons waited to be wielded, ropes to be climbed.

"One final rule," the block-man boomed, "You can freely move around stations but do not antagonize other tributes. No fighting. Now, let's get started."

The congregation broke apart instantly. Meera started assessing each of the tributes. It was her first time to see them this close with no chariots or distance between them and it was petrifying. Most tributes were like her, though they came in varied shapes, colors and sizes they were all underfed and seemingly sad. But then her eyes landed on the Careers. Each was older and stronger than the next.

The female tribute from District 2 was in the Career huddle. Her sly eyes caught sight of Meera. Her mouth drew up in a thin line of amusement. Near the female tribute's side stood the others. Both tributes from District 1 had golden hair. Berris Adams and Dawn Wallace. Meera pulled some rope in a loop as she stared at them. They were tall, healthy, and fierce. Berris had golden skin to match his hair and handled a spear like it was part of his body. Dawn stayed close to her partner and slashed at the air with a sword.

The male tribute from District 2, Rillian Lewis, was just as healthy. He was taller than Berris with thinner muscles but somehow he seemed stronger. His hair was black and shaggy, his skin fair, and his eyes looked like velvet chocolate. In a way he scared Meera the most. He was quieter than the rest, his eyes wandered around the room with caution. Unlike the other Careers he didn't go to the weapons first, his fingers tapped on the faunal and floral identification panel.

She stared for a long while at him. He got nearly every one right and, was it her imagination or did he actually seem bored by the whole procedure? He barely gave a picture a glance before identifying it correctly. A picture of a strange looking fruit came up when he paused. His hands froze too. Suddenly he peered to Meera. He had felt her gaze. She quickly dropped her eyes to the rope in her hand, but Rillian was still watching her when she looked back up. It wasn't the same way the District 2 female had looked at her—he scanned Meera up and down a few times before looking back to the screen. There was something odd in that gaze. A chill quaked her bones as she tried to shake it.

After tying a few knots and a failed attempt at making a trap Meera wandered to the wall of weapons. Practice, Glade had said. She grimaced at the wall. Each one looked more overwhelming than the next. Along the sides a few of the tributes were sitting like skeletons—probably realizing there was no point in practicing for death. She caught the eyes of one. An olive skinned tribute from District 10. His sunken eyes were hard to look away from.

"It's not a museum."

The voice was sarcastic and surprisingly sweet. Meera parted her lips as she identified the source. The female from District 2.

She clenched her jaw and turned back to the weapons thinking maybe if she remained impassive the girl would disappear. But an arrogant laugh soon permeated the air around the tribute as she stepped closer and crossed her arms. She had a few good inches on Meera, but then again so did most of the tributes over the age of 15.

"Do you even know how to pick one up? It's not hard, here I'll give you a tip…you use your hands."

If Meera had been back home and this girl had tried anything she would of fought back. The first time she had met Zara a group of girls were bullying her. Meera cut in and knocked one's teeth out. She was small but that didn't mean she was weak. That wasn't a possibility right now. Glade's words whispered to her. She grated her teeth together and shot District 2 a cold stare.

"Go on then, let's see what you got."

"Livia!"

The girl didn't look away, but Meera did. She peered around to see Rillian Lewis, District 2, watching them.

"Come here."

Her eyes returned to the Livia.

"Go on, then," Meera whispered quietly, mimicking the tone the girl had used on her.

That seemed to amuse the girl even more, "Don't hurt yourself, 5. There aren't pretty glowing dresses in the arena."

She pushed by and knocked Meera to the side. Her strides were long and firm. The air blew out of Meera's lungs as she hit the wall. In embarrassment she pulled on her shirt, hearing the girl laugh as she walked away.

"It's a shame one of them's going to win," a rattled voice whispered. Meera turned. It was the olive-skinned boy from District 10. He licked his lips slowly.

She stared at him in surprise for a second but the anger was still there, boiling over.

"Yea, well, no one's won yet," she coldly shot back grabbing a knife before walking away.

Three days passed by faster than Meera could keep track of. Her muscles were sore, and her head ached. Each day her eyes would lift to the Gamemakers' vewing box. It looked dim behind the glass but she knew they were watching. Not surprisingly it was hard for her to pick up working a weapon. It didn't matter if it was a knife, sword, bow, or spear. Each time she sparred with one of the available trainers she would lose the match, sending the Careers into a fit of laughter—all except Rillian—he never seemed to laugh or even smile. By day two she gave up on weapons altogether and focused her attention on the other stations. Identification was another obstacle. In District 5 the vegetation was a little lackluster. If there was a guide on different sands and desert plants Meera could have written it, but most focused on plants and flowers she'd never heard of. Every time she shuffled through the images the blueberries looked exactly like the nightlock berries. Her muscles tensed each time the word FAIL popped up on the screen. A mistake like that in the arena would kill her.

Meals in between training became more and more edgy. It surprised Meera how fast the conversations turned to strategies and techniques for the arena. Most of the time it was Glade talking. One by one the stylist team stopped showing up. Only Linares was left towards the end of the training days, always with a snide remark to make. Though Faron often looked at Meera, even followed her around in the training room, she ignored him the best she could. At meals she barely eyed him and when he started shadowing her she would find other ways to scare the boy away. His sad cow eyes were a constant reminder to Meera how hopeless they both were.

On the third day the testing started. Moving in numerical order by Districts, boys first and girls second, they pulled each tribute into the training room alone. Meera and Faron sat side by side on the benches outside. The tall windows let in blinding light. Outside the crowd was celebrating, other than that it was total silence.

Times Passed. For a moment the quiet was interrupted by the doors swinging open. Dawn Wallace proudly walked out. Her face beaming with satisfaction.

By Meera's calculations the trials weren't long. Each time a tribute entered they left within 15 minutes. Her hands rubbed together nervously at the thought of standing in front of all the Gamemakers.

Soon District 2 went.

When Rillian Lewis walked by a tall shadow fell over Meera and Faron. He could have been a statue the way he kept his emotions hidden. Faron inched back.

"I saw him take down two of the trainers yesterday in hand-to-hand combat," he whispered.

Meera felt her heart clench. "So what?"

"Can you imagine what he'll be able to do when it's a real fight?"

Rillian's silhouette disappeared down the hall, she swallowed hard. The only reply she could think of wasn't appropriate to say aloud. I'll be dead before I make it out of the cornucopia, so what does it matter?

Finally came District 5. Faron was up first. He marched into the room slowly. When the door shut behind him Meera finally looked up. There wasn't much the little boy could do but she hoped they gave him a good assessment. It would be wrong to hope for the alternative.

When the 15 minutes ended a razor voice called her name and District. Suddenly she felt her knees knocking together. Each step was a challenge. The doors opened and shut automatically. It was strange to be in the training gymnasium alone. Above, the glass of the Gamemakers' box was opened, suddenly it looked more like a balcony than a viewing room. All the Gamemakers sat with glasses of champagne and wine. Some feasted on food while others chatted. As Meera entered the center of the room and looked up they quieted. She wondered if it was normal to say something but when her lips wouldn't make any noise she gave up and cleared her throat.

She could feel the heat rise to her cheeks. Anxiously she glanced around. There were so many choices, so many ways she could fail. Close by an obstacle course was set up. She eyed it disparagingly. Better than nothing, she thought.

"Any time, Miss Eastwood," one of the Gamemakers called down.

She gritted her teeth together. It made her angry how rushed this was. Her life could depend on the score they'd award her and she only had 15 minutes to prove herself.

Without looking up and sudden decisiveness she grabbed a knife and slid it under her belt making sure the hilt caught on the fine leather. She rubbed her fingers together in concentration and tightened her lips. Meera tried imagining District 5, running along the roofs and down the gutters near the lake.

Just like home, she told herself, just pretend you're home.

Then, with one final breath, she started running. Her feet shuffled through the course spryly. Only once did her foot catch but the stumble was indistinct. Figures and obstacles along the course began popping up unexpectedly. She dodged all of them. Whether it was spinning to the left, the right, or sliding under she was able to manage. Then came the wall. Her hands and feet strangled the rope as she climbed the small rock fortress and threw her body over. As her feet hit the ground she looked to the ending target, a rubber dummy with markings on all the vital areas waited. She grabbed the knife at her belt. A doubtful groan passed her lips as she threw the dagger out. It flipped through the air. She could have sworn she heard the metal sing. Finally with a thud the blade hit the dull plastic. It almost missed the dummy completely but as luck would have it the pointy end sank deep into the shoulder sending the figure wobbling for a few brief seconds.

In disbelief at her lucky aim she froze for a second.

Confidence, she had to remind herself, but it was hard to comprehend how she hit the target in the first place. Get up, dammit, just get up.

Heavy breaths blew from her lungs. Wide-eyed with surprise she climbed to her feet and turned to the balcony.

"Thank you, Miss Eastwood," the head Gamemaker was jotting notes into one of his panels. None of them looked impressed. "That will be all."

She bowed clumsily and grimaced. There was nothing in their expressions that gave a hint to how well she did.

Just before Meera exited she turned back to the dummy, the knife still planted in the shoulder. She couldn't believe it. By most standards it was a terrible hit, but not to her. Some unknowable pride swept over her, reminding her that maybe there was a chance. Then, painful and abrupt, she remembered one true and gruesome fact. The door shut behind her with a crash. Soon there would be more than dummies to fight, stupid girl, and they won't be standing still. They'll tear you apart.

Her eyes dropped slowly. A ragged voice broke through the hidden speakers. The next tribute had been summoned.