I see my frightened face dance on the screen. I am livid and my eyes are lost in the nothingness. I do not remember having been dragged on the stage by the Peacekeepers. Tama's yellings are breaking my heart. I look at my arms. The burn made with the pan, it seems that it happened to me in an another life. My flesh is streaked with scratches and nail marks. In some areas of my skin, the dried blood flake off. It didn't hurt me when my friend and the other girl have tried to hold me back but now, every time I touch the wounds, painful tingling made me wince. The frightened girl on the screen, it's not me. I can not believe it was and is me. I do not recognize myself. What happens to her does not happen to me. I'm not on that train. I'm home at dinner with my family. We enjoy the meal I prepared, and we celebrate the fact that I have not been drawn.
But the shaking compartment brings me back to my senses.
I cast a glance at Faun, who fixes the screen too. He looks at himself, climbing on the platform, his face is sallowed and he has a crestfallen expression. I see in his eyes that he does not like this image of himself. And who can blame him? A horrible bruise distorts his face. His cheekbone is swollen and he have to keep his eyelid closed-set. He didn't have it at the Reaping. I would like to ask him what have happenned to him but I don't dare to.
He catches me looking at him. His dark eyes watch me. I do not know since when we are staring at each other but I quiver when Seeder turns off television. We have just missed the tributes from District Twelve. Anyway, they must not be more brave than us.
"So what have you learned?" Our mentor asks us.
I do not really know what to say but Faun answers tit for tat before I could open my mouth.
"It is simple," he says, "if we do not die on the first day, well, it will be on the second."
When I have said the same thing earlier in the day, he told me that he hated me and I'm sure that he bears a grudge against me. But now, he has decided that we were not able to do it.
"I hate people like you," I whisper repeating exactly his words.
I think he'll get up and strangle me. But he does nothing.
"And what makes you think that way?" Seeder asks him.
"What makes me think that way? Well, the list goes on."
"Start by the beggining," she encourages Faun.
"Alabastair, the Tribute from District Two. He makes, at least, two meters, he is as big as a bull and his arms are three times my thighs. If he bumps into me, I am dead meat. So you are, Eila."
This statement hurts me to the quick although I know it is true.
"He is tall and fat, therefore, it will be more difficult for him to hide, climb in the trees, it's also possible that he is not very fast or very agile," I say.
"Exactly," Seeder approves.
"And what do you do with these two kids from District One? The twins of twelve. They seems to be nasty, petty-minded and ruthless. Have you seen the girl's eyes? And the boy's smile? They do not even look human. They are robots. Robots programmed to destroy us. And they, they are small, thin and muscular. I'm sure they're fast and agile. They will not hesitate to kill each other to win."
"But if they are confronted by Alabastair, he will crush them in less than two seconds. They may be muscular but they will be weaker, much weaker than this kind of ogre."
Seeder nods, a smile on her lips.
"And Eider? Eider Foawave, the boy from District Four? He is neither too big nor too small, he is muscular and he looks confident and determined. And given his physique, he will have no trouble getting sponsors. I would hedge my bets that he can swim while we do not."
"Maybe he is not intelligent. And who told you I can not swim?"
Faun looks at me with astonishment and curiosity. This is the first time I see him being surprised.
"You can swim?"
I prefer not to answer him. And fortunately, the dishes arrive. Luckily, I was getting hungry. Faun forgets his question as soon as someone places a plate garnished with tomatoes, cheese, eggs, corn and other ingredients before him.
"Wahou," he whispers, "Well, I would have had, at least, a real meal before dying. What is that thing?"
He takes a slice of vegetable as green as the grass of the meadows in spring with the end of his fork.
"A cucumber, I say, you had never eaten one?"
"No. You yes maybe?" He snapes with a sharp voice.
"Once."
Faun glares at me. He must think I'm trying to belittle him, to make him look like an idiot in front Seeder, but it's wrong.
My own plate arrives. The amount of food makes me dizzy. At home I often eat my fill. It's rare that I am hungry but I had never eaten all by myself if only a third of this plate. I don't dare to think what it means for Faun. He and his family are very poor. His parents, his brother and sister work all day in the fields but it's not paying much. We, we have a few chickens and even a cow which my father found, lost, in the meadow behind our house one day. We even have a small garden plot where my mother grows carrots and wheat.
The dishes, all equally delicious as the others, succeed so well that as soon as we finish one plate, another arrives. I never ate that much. I devour lamb, steaks, vegetables, sausages and I even help myself again this pinkish jelly that tastes like wet grass. I lean on my chair, throw my head back and breath of contentment. I could not swallow anything.
But we can not say this of Faun who continues to eat everything he can reach. He literally gobbles up everything that passes before his eyes.
"Would you prefer to be advisable together or not? Seeder requests suddenly by cutting a piece of carrot.
"Separately," We both answer.
I expected this response from Faun but he should not expect mine. He looks at me suspiciously and confused. He must think I am hiding something. And he's right.
"And besides, where is Fulia? She should not be here with us and give us some advices, too?" I ask, looking through the glass door behind me, to divert attention.
"I have worked with her for two years and I have never seen her dining with me and the Tributes. She dines in his room," replies Seeder.
"I'm going to see if she needs something."
"Take the opportunity to talk about your strategy", I think. But I believe they do not need me to tell them this as Faun takes a conspirator face before I turn my back.
The hallways are narrow and coated with varnish paneling. I realize that I do not even know where is Fulia's room. I navigate between compartments without really knowing where to direct me. I'm glad to find myself a bit alone. I hate those cameras always riveted on me, watching for the slightest flaw. I feel like a lab rat. But I think it's what I am now.
After having oppened almost all the train's doors, I tell myself that Fulia may have jumped out off a window and escaped. But the idea is incongruous. I push yet another beating with little hope of finding her behind.
Fulia Maylord eats the same pink jelly that I myself had eaten for dinner. She lifts her tattooed face as I entered.
I notice she's crying.
"I ... I'm sorry. I should have knock. I did not know you were there."
"What do you want?" She asks me with a melancholy tone.
"I was looking for you. I'm sorry to have disturbed you."
She puts her spoon on the edge of her bowl.
" And what is the use for me of an apology from someone who is about to die soon?"
Fulia tidies her capillary tower.
"Nothing, I guess," I say.
"So why are you doing it?"
I do not know what to say. I feel stupid all of a sudden. I better go. Leave her alone. This woman won't take care of me or Faun. She does not care whether we will die or survive, have sponsors or not.
"Why were you looking for me?"
I swallow and glide a lock of hair still wet from my shower behind my ear.
"I wanted to know if you needed something."
"Oh," She says with a smile, "I need lots of things. But I doubt that you can succeed on bringing me them."
This is the first time I see her smile. She looks younger.
"What's your name again?"
"Eila. Eila Nettles, I answer as if the question has not offended me.
Fulia decides that the conversation is over. The hostess of District Eleven dismisses me on part of the coast. I shut the door and ran away.
Seeing this woman, who seems so cold and detached from everything, cry have upset me. I turn when I see a corridor and I rush into the smallest spaces. I got lost. I'm out of breath. I let myself slide against a wall and bury my head between my knees. I start to sob. I am saying to myself that I will die. That it's my last days to live. That I would never see Clael or my parents again. That Tama and Perry will remain memories forever. No one will come to save me. No one will hold my hand during my slow death in the Arena. I will die alone. Nobody will hear my last words. I will agonize in suffering. My only prayer is to die peacefully. I hope that neither the twins from District One nor Alabastair will kill me. I know that, them, they will make me suffer. They will enjoy my death and take pleasure in torturing me. I dread to think what I will endure. A louder sob than the other makes me tremble in every limb.
"What are you doing here?"
I do not raise my head. I did not even hear him coming because of the carpet covering the floor of the train.
"Leave me alone," I squeal with a little voice.
He grabs me by the shoulder and shakes me vigorously. I give him a killer look. He laughs.
"So like that, you can also have this kind of expression?"
My eyes shoot lightenings.
"You should get angry more often, it suits you."
I raise my eyebrows. His cheekbone is still swollen. It looks like it's going to explode at every moment. I extend my hand to his face. My icy fingers touch his burning bruise. He pushes his head away strongly, a blank expression painted on his face.
"I can heal you, if you want," I offer in a breath.
"Seeder told me that it would set the tone, once at the Capitol. I will win the reputation of the tough guy, you know."
"This is your strategy?"
And that would suit him perfectly. His savage appearance, his hair as black as his eyes, his rough face, his square and powerful jaws correspond perfectly with the image he wants to give.
"Don't try to trap me. I will tell you nothing about it."
"No need too," I say with a smile, "your eyes just confirm that this is it."
Faun quickly looks away, as if he was afraid that I can discern anything else in his dark eyes.
"I can make you a bandage at least. Just for the trip. This will alleviate the pain a bit. Okay?"
He thinks for several minutes. When I suppose that he will refuse my help and send me packing, he agrees, to my astonishment.
"I spotted some creams and medicines in my bathroom, I'm sure there will be bandages. Follow me," He tells me.
Without a word, he guides me through the maze of corridors. We move silently, without a sound, our feet sinking into the soft carpet.
"My Palace," he says, opening the door of his room.
It looks just like mine. He sits on the bed and takes off his shoes. I open the closet in the bathroom and take out all kinds of creams I can find and several colorful dressings.
I apply some ointments, only the ones I know the ingredients, on his bruise. He closes his eyes and breathes of pleasure as I gently massage his cheek.
"I didn't know you could have this kind of expression," I say with a smile that he can't see, "you ought to relax more often, it suits you."
His lips crease in an amused smile.
"Being friendly and nice to me, is also part of your strategy, isn't it?" I gently ask.
He does not even try to lie.
"Yes. Seeder advices me to do it. It's good for my image."
"Green or yellow?"
He opens his eye-lid, revealing questioning eyes.
"For the dressing, green or yellow?" I repeat.
"Those Capitol people..." He grouses, "they could not have normal taste? Go for the green one."
I put it slowly and see the result, satisfied.
"I'm going to see Seeder, she is probably waiting for me. If ever the pain returns, do not hesitate to put the ointment on it. Good night."
And when I close the door without looking back, I feel his eyes on me.
I hope that it won't be him neither who will kill me.
Hi ! I hope you liked it. I'm sorry for my mistakes. If you see somes, please tell me.
So about the story, what are your expectations? Your ideas? Your criticism?
