I hope no one minds-I've decided to take Peeta out of the picture completely. Nothing is really new with him-he just tells Katniss what he's thinking all the time, and I thought if I put him in here, I would just be rewriting some of the scenes in Hunger Games and such. But anyway! I'm sorry it doesn't seem very Percy Jackson-ish right now, but it will soon! Trust me! And please, please, PEEWEASE review! :D
Glimmer
As they roughly shoved us into the train car after saying good-bye to our families, I caught the other District One tribute-Marvel-staring at me again. I looked away. Sure, he was attractive-really attractive, but I didn't need to be getting attached to anything at this point. An attendant showed me to my room, a luxurious suite that was only a little bigger than my room at home. I sighed. Home. My father. My house. My friends. I would miss them all.
Marvel
The Capitol officials that led me to my train car were the same ones who told me we had to stop and pick up the other districts' tributes. I think that's the biggest batch of bullshit I've ever heard. If the Capitol's so fancy, can't they afford to get eleven more trains? And if you're sending these kids to their deaths, shouldn't they at least get their own trains? Ah, the citizens of the Capitol are such airheads.
Clove
They kept asking if I wanted to say good-bye, and I kept saying no, no, no. There was no one I wanted to see. I trudged into my room and fell onto the bed, depressed. For what, I wasn't sure. Maybe because of the way my life had turned into, or maybe it was because I knew in my heart that even if I did want to see someone, there was no one who would want to see me.
Cato
Of course, my brothers came in to see me after my parents hugged me and cried and said their goodbyes and all that crap. I mean, sure I love them, but come on, guys, I'm not six! I'm probably the oldest one in these Games, and there's pretty much a definite possibility that I'm coming back alive. And if I don't, well...I'll be damned.
Cosette (Foxface)
After the long, emotional good-byes with my family, I squeezed Gavroche's bracelet-which I was using for my token-and tentatively stepped up the three metal stairs that would lead me to the train car where I would call home for the next few weeks or so. When I got to my room I flung myself on the bed and cried. I cried for my mother, who was too sweet to have her child reaped for the Games-much less two-, I cried for my father, who I didn't remember, but I hoped that he would be watching me from his place in Heaven next to Gavroche. And then I cried for Gavroche, who, even though only a year younger than me, was still my baby brother; the boy who always got sick, the boy who made me friendship bracelets and homemade gifts for me on a daily basis, the boy who hugged me and kissed me even when I was cross and snapped at him, the boy who never was cross, the boy who did his studies thoroughly and well, the boy who made sure everyone else had enough to eat before he took his share-the boy who cared so much for other people-even if some others didn't do the same to him. MY heart broke when he was reaped, and it broke when no one volunteered for him, and it broke a third time when I realized I could do nothing more to help him.
Rue
Oh, I was so scared. So, so terrified. I had a thousand questions. No one was answering them. No one was helping me. I started to feel dizzy in my head and started to sway. The Capitol attendants that had brought me to my bedroom were pulling down the coverlets of my bed; their backs to me.
"Excuse me," I said quietly, clearing my throat. As usual, no one answered me. "Excuse me." I said louder, and this time the two ladies' heads turned to me. "I think I'm going to faint, could someone please help me?" The women were immediately at my side. The younger one gently held my arm and guided me towards my bed, while the older one smoothed back my hair and caressed my cheek, showing me the motherly gestures I had seen from my friends' mothers, and had seldom felt from my own. I collapsed onto the bed, and immediately noticed how soft and plush the blankets were. I counted them-there were two lavender purple silk sheets, three comforters, and about twenty large pillows on the whole bed. I sank deeper into the mattress, only to sit up again a second later, immediately feeling guilty for indulging in these riches while my family at home barely had enough to spare. But then I thought of my father, all the tears shed at our good-byes, and knew that he would want me to enjoy them. I pulled the blankets around me and looked at the large empty space next to me on the bed and thought of my bed at home, one of the only comforts I could afford to enjoy in District Eleven. One mattress was all we had; held up by a few boards my father had managed to get his hands on. I would lay by the wall, my father on the other end, all of the littler children between us to keep them warm. My father would lay the few threadbare blankets we had across our legs, and then he would get out the huge wool afghan that my mother and grandmother had made together across us all. It was so large and thick that it kept the heat in perfectly. It was the only possession I had of my mother's, whom I had only met a small number of times. I know it seems strange, having a big family and only meeting our mother a few times, but from what I can remember, she was a beautiful woman with dark brown hair and smooth dark skin like mine, with sparkling dark brown eyes and always a smile on her face. I was very little when she visited, so my only memories of her were when she was pregnant with my littlest sister, three year old Ani. My father never told us where she went; just that she lived on the other side of District Eleven so she couldn't visit very often. I thought it was a bit strange, not living with your family, but I decided not to pester my father too much about it because he seemed to get rather sad when we spoke of her. My mother wasn't living with us for her whole pregnancy; only a couple of months, and Ani was born with my mother on the other side of District Eleven. A week after her birth, my mother brought her home, in a little straw baby basket inlaid with soft yellow, green, pink and orange fabric with the word Harvest sewn onto the front, which is where Ani's name came from. I hoped my mother will see me during the Games, and maybe she will even sponsor me. I hope she will be proud of me.
Thresh
There was a blizzard in front of me. A blizzard of people, and they were all wearing white clothes. I knocked them out of my way as I stomped forward. Instead of following the map to my room one of the Capitol people gave me, I turned in the totally opposite direction, crumpling up the map and tossing it in a wastepaper bin. I could hear every single step I made with my hard, heavy boots, and from the glares I was getting from some of the people in this train car, I knew they could hear them, too.
With every step I took towards the crowd, that was one more they took away from me. They scattered by the dozen, in every direction, trying to get away from big scary Thresh Koring. They knew I could kill them. Kill them all with one snap of my wrist.