The Hunger Games
Part 2: Life or DeathPrologue
I guess you could say I once lived in District 12, actually not too long ago. Just a couple of days from now. It feels like a million years though. Maybe I would have lived to grow up into a beautiful woman, but I don't see that happening now. I could have lived. But then my somewhat happy world of few friends took a turn for the worst. A reaping was held the year I turned sixteen, which would be the same time my mother journeyed to the same place twenty-five years earlier. I was chosen as a tribute with another boy of the name Colden Abernathy. I didn't know Colden that well. We had only briefly encountered when my mother invites their family to potlucks and barbecues. I caught him staring at me more than once in the hallways of our school though, and I have a feeling somewhere that he might like me more than acquaintances, even friends. Of course, I won't have time to be Colden's friend anymore. Not when we're trying to kill each other.
Let me explain in simple terms. My name was on a slip picked precariously from a glass bowl instead of Mayda Trinket, Colden's only other sibling and sister. We were never friends and I wouldn't be friendly if I had the chance to be. From the reaping I was taken captive to the Justice Building where I bade goodbye to my few friends. Diala was still cleaning at the house so we never truly parted, but she might have seen my face at the tribute parade or the interviews while cleaning dishes. I only hope she understands that I liked her too. The train ride to the Capitol to around two days because some railway broke on one of the tracks leading District 7 to the Capitol. They just delayed everyone which made the citizens of the Capitol rather unhappy. It delayed watching us die horrible deaths for their petty entertainment.
I met my mentor, Haymitch, and we didn't start off very well. He's drunk and very obnoxious at times. I have to stay on good terms with him though. After all, Haymitch Abernathy will be the one letting and not letting the sponsors from rich Capitols through. They bet on who will survive the few days since the reaping. I hope that a couple will bet money on me. Sponsors are gifts to the tributes that get much more expensive the further in the Games you go. My mom made it to the very end so people will hopefully take a chance on the genes factor. I'm hoping that will help me also.
Cinna, my stylist, dressed me up in a dazzling feather dress resembling a mockingjay. My mother was considered the mockingjay in the second, smaller rebellion. Now I am following in her treacherous footsteps. In the Tribute Center, we trained and worked hard to be better fit. It was easier for some, like the tributes nicknamed Careers, teenagers who have fought in academies to be in this their whole lives. I am more fit than most of them but not the Careers. Three others, a boy from District 5, that girl from eight, and Hondel Odair. I met Hondel during the rope tying station. It was one of the many lined around the walls. We could have been friends, maybe more, until he told every single person in Panem he had the biggest crush on me and now I don't think that we could ever have something simple. It gives me another sponsor advantage though, but I have to be a good actor. After the interviews is a Victor's Ball. Some dance with punch and balloons and the most important Capitol citizens, some of them are the rich ones that bet. Hondel and I danced with some of the other tributes. The Careers stood talking quietly in a corner. The next day, we spent the day in the Capitol and I slipped closer to something real with Hondel which is a problem. There is only one victor in the Hunger Games and I can't bring myself to kill Hondel anymore. I care too much now.
Days leading to the Games were nervous, but nowhere near in comparison to the morning before. I could barely sleep and eat next to nothing. The hovercraft ride was haunting. I entered the Catacombs afterwards, the place you use to prepare before the Games start at 10:00. Cinna helps me fit into fit clothes adaptable to many types of weather. Other than that they don't give much hint to what lies ahead. It could have been anything from a tundra to a scorching desert. Cinna gives me my token, a golden bracelet from my friend Susie. I give Cinna one last goodbye then I go up the shoot up a tube and wait for my possible but predictable death that could come in a matter of seconds.
Chapter Five
I have never run as fast in my life. But that might be because I am running for my life. Every other tribute is a blur of swiftness. They are trying to make this too. Too bad half of them won't make it until the night. Among the running my brain forms one thought, I need to follow Haymitch's instructions. I recall one evening after a stressful day of training. We were sitting at the clear, plastic table often visited only during meals.Colden had went to bed early, and I didn't question. Haymitch had not yet really given us any hard-core advice. "When you're in the Cornucopia-" he started. Then a shadow crossed his face as if he was remember a very dark memory. He likely was, of his time being a tribute. "Let me rephrase that. When you are not in the Cornucopia, because you should never go far inside, grab anything you can. Even if it is a stick. A sharp stick can kill someone."
My heart sinks when I don't see any pointy twigs, but I spy something not that far away from my standing pedestal. The object is a brownish gray color with long straps flailing loosely to opposite sides in the soft green grass. I steal the sack, which seems to burlap of some sort and a white linen shirt. I'm only hoping that it is my size. I swerve sharply to dodge someone, the boy from District 6 I am pretty sure. Then I turn and bolt as fast as my long legs will allow to be possible. Minutes pass. I don't stop relax or stop running because I know that if I stop some tribute will likely catch up to me. If they're chasing behind they will murder me without a minute's hesitation. I know because I would do the same. I don't even realize what district I'm running in until I trip over a smooth gray stone and slam suddenly on the ground. The breath is knocked from my lungs. If somebody was really following, they would likely step on me. My face is covered in fresh, green grass.
Then I notice a sloppy cow patty to my right. I warily get to my feet and survey the area. No one is pursuing yet. Grassy hills roll endlessly to the far distance. Cows graze lazily under the pure blue sky, they aren't being chased by ruthless killers. Of course, they are not all killers. Most of them are like me, not liking murder. But those innocent people will fall. Only the strongest survive, willing to anything. In the far north, I can see tiny straw sticking up from the rich soil. They're crops of corn. I must be staring at District 9, which has grain as it's main produce. A young calf stares at me curiously from a small herd a few hundred yards away. His or her mother snorts then pulls it back to the protective section of the grazing, protected by family. I feel jealous of an animal. I flick my gaze from the cattle and back to the district. After I've collected all information I can effectively gather, I look back towards the Cornucopia. And it has transformed dramatically.
The golden symbol of plenty rests peacefully on the four sections of earth. Grass, dirt, sand, and more dirt. Around it, the few remaining battles die away. The Careers are regrouping and soon they will be out for the hunt and it won't be for those cows. I glance farther away in the direction leading to me. No one is in pursuit and I give a relaxed sigh. I have about thirty minutes of solitude even if the Careers do start to head in my direction. Dead, bloodied tributes lay on the ground as a result of not being fast enough. I could have been one of them I think to myself. I shake my head as if that would clear it of negative thoughts. I'm not dead. At least not yet and now I need to think of a strategy, a plan of some sort, to live the rest of the day and farther. Before I get a solid idea of exactly what to do, I sit on the plains and open my burlap sack. It contains some white case of something similar to sunscreen. The next item is hard to define for a moment. It's a small pencil like object painted a bright red. I immediately notice what it is. A fire starter. The weapon is kind of a coincidence on purpose. It started a couple of years ago. Capitol people can pay to have certain objects place in certain spots next to the tributes around the semicircle in the Cornucopia. Citizens bet on what they will grab as well. I can just imagine someone grinning as I find out what the weapon is. Careers usually get a lot of important stuff straight ahead of them while others have the Cornucopia usual.
The fighting has stopped and the four Careers regroup to go hunting. Except there's five. That boy from District 5 has gained their alliance, or they've gained his. I stuff the two items along with the linen shirt back into the sack. Then I pull myself up again, throw it on my back, and begin to head northwards to District 9. If I can make it to the border by nightfall it will be a traveler's small feat. My plan has begun there, still not completely formed.
Using my semi-educated reasoning, I begin to realize that the tributes that survived the bloodbath will most likely head towards their districts. It will be safer to live in weather and plants and places you've grown up in, right. But this isn't your home I want to tell them. They are just trying to lure you in. The Careers must know this as well. I hope that Hondel isn't thinking that. The Careers will probably take him out later, if he even survived the Cornucopia. But they'll take out people with high scores. A ten. As high as the tough tributes themselves. They might be shamed and embarrassed, eager for revenge. It sends shivers through my spine. My gaze is still locked on District 9. I've already begun to tread lightly in that direction. I constantly glance over my shoulder. You never know who could burst out of friendly mammals, even though it's unlikely. I just picture the deadly girl from District 1 with her choppy, long blonde hair and wild brown eyes ready to kill like a giant carnivore. The thought keeps me moving and alert. But it conflicts with the thoughts of that girl from District 4. The one with curly brown hair that falls in waves on her small, fragile shoulders. The little one with hollow cheekbones and tiny hands. She was shy during training and her interview, speaking only in a whisper. I think her name was Chevrolet or something.
The grass is soft and easy to navigate through, if you can call it navigating. I just walk in a straight line. It reminds me of peacekeepers, our police in District 12. They wear white coats and wield guns. Harboring the only weapons gives them some authority. There was this Head Peacekeeper when my mother grew up, named Cray. I named a tree after him on one very boring afternoon. I hold on to this thought, of the small spruce shooting up behind my house like a stick in the mud. This weird thought of tree named Cray. It draws a smile on my lips. Cray the pine tree. Peacekeepers in District 12 are nicer than the ones in other districts. Of course, in Districts 1 and 2 you might as well establish the citizens as peacekeepers. They're built for the job.
I hear the cannons marking the deaths in the arena. The Careers have left so they send flying ships, called hovercrafts, to retrieve the bodies and send them in coffins to the families waiting back home. I count the deaths on my fingers. one,two,three,four,five,six... seven. Seven on the first day and lots more to come. I climb a large hill and stare down at the next one. Immediately I reach at anything that can be used as weapon. Nothing. I am virtually defenseless. I was planning on avoiding competition until I retrieved something of use, but now it's far too late. Sitting in the dip between the two mounds is a girl. She doesn't look much older than me with scrawny arms and dark skin. I would have spotted her before except she was effectively hidden by the hill. She crouching over something cross-legged. Her hand is placed in her lap and she's doing something to it. I see the pure white of a bandage. She has an orange backpack leaning on a small rock to her left, away from me. She must have hurt her hand in the Cornucopia battle I reason. At least she hasn't spotted me yet. But just then she finishes wrapping her injured hand and picks up her backpack. Her eyes widen alarmingly as she notices me.
I run head on at her. She looks jumpy so she might falter if I act with Career attitude and I'm not disappointed. The teenager bursts out of my reach and straight up the hill in a matter of seconds. A job very well done. I'm just about to congratulate myself completely and start in another direction away from the scene. That's when I see the girl leaping back over the hill she just left moments before. What? That doesn't make sense. That girl was scared off, so why is she speeding toward me like she's... like she's being chased.
My brain goes into overdrive. Somebody must be in District 10 also. This efficiently ruins all my plans, or lack thereof. I bolt before the girl catches up to me. We both run from our deadly pursuit. Our steps are almost the same pace. Cows fly by us in a blur, but after awhile they become more seeable. Oh no.I'm beginning to slow down. My breathing is heavy and my legs ache. She is too and we don't have much time. Suddenly, a serrated, two inch blade goes flying by my left. It barely misses my arm and before it can drop to the ground I grab it without thinking. I whip around and stare at the pursuer. A short boy with light brown hair. I think he's from District 6, but I don't care. His eyes widen as the knife sinks into his stomach. A large blotch of red grows on his shirt. Then he falls face forward into the grass, allowing the shiny weapon to go completely through his body.
I've never been one for knives. When I was little I had played with them once, every parents nightmare. Though my mother never caught me, I accidently cut my finger. The clear image of dead boy is way more than I had anticipated. The cannon soon follows, a big boom that fails to clear my foggy head. I've killed someone. It's a sickening feeling much like being plunged in something cold and soggy and wet and jarring. That could have been me. I could have just died at the hand of a traitor to mankind, to justice and sanity. Sage the killer. It does not have a good ring to it. But the people in the Capitol sitting in their safe houses are probably smiling like the evil devils they are. They like action. My first kill in the first hour. The sponsors are getting more lenient. I can just picture the scoreboard with my name turn a 0 to a 1. The Capitol must be adoring me.
I hardly notice as the girl backs quietly away, then she stops. I turn to her and we stare at each other. Can she see the fear in my eyes? Maybe she does. Maybe she sees I'm not like the Careers, I'm not built of steel. Maybe she can see that I have human feelings somewhere in my confused mind. Maybe she can see that I didn't want to kill the boy not yet lifted into an invisible hovercraft. Maybe she knows that I'm still sort of a good person, and that this tragedy is not my fault, but the Capitol's. "D-do want to be allies?" she asks. "Yes," I reply, because I do want to be allies. I don't care what Haymitch or Effie think in the Capitol. They're not here, not here now. Did my mother think the same thing when she allied with Rue?
I come to learn that her name is Jardina and her mother is a victor like me. Her mother's name is Seeder, and they're both from District 11. She doesn't like peas, chicken, and lots of noise. Jardina loves grass and open areas, which is why she chose District 10 and decided to head from there to District 11. I tell her what I know about the failing strategy and her eyes widen. "I never knew. The Careers might have gotten to me," she says. We both start towards District 9 instead, giving the Careers longer to catch up to us if they are heading in our direction. Before I left I couldn't tell where they were going but I'm too far away to see now. Hunger begins to claw at our stomachs and he sit to rest. I then split the sandwich in fourths and we it two quarters. "We have to save some for later. She nods and takes a bite. "I saw you with that boy yesterday," Jardina says quizzically between bites. She knows about the interviews, but that didn't really meant I had to spend the whole day with him. I shrug and explain, "Hondel and I just wanted to have a look around." I really want to say that we were just have a look around our prison, outside of the cells. I avoided using the word we. Hondel and I sounded more formal, not personal, except that might lower the Capitol's love. Oh well, I don't love the Capitol back, so I don't exactly care a lot about extended effort.
When we are finished we start off again. The wind has nothing to hit and it blows powerfully over the grass-covered mounds that look like hairy dunes dyed green. Hours pass into late afternoon, then to evening. I lose count of my steps after two hundred and forty-six. Sweat collects on my forehead and my shoulders begin to sag forward. My feet drag lazily. The sun is beginning to set. Brilliant orange hues mixed with dark red blotches. The Careers will be out for good hunting now. Nighttime is their specialty, as proven from previous Games. That's when I see it. We have just climb a particularly difficult hill when I recognize the change. Jardina and I have kept our heads down as a result of the blinding sun and did not bother to look up when it became easier to see. Now we've reached the border, drawing closer and closer than we thought.
You could have drawn a line between the two different textures of ground. The District 9 ground is tougher, but richer and a little bit wet. "Perfect crop conditions," I remember my teacher back at school say once. She was talking about the different districts, not they she knew a lot about them. None of us know about the other's districts that well. Being with Jardina has really been an eye-opener. I step warily over the change in dirt as well as weather. The sky over here (instead of clear sunset) is filled with stormy gray clouds. I hear the crackle of lightning in the distance. I don't necessarily see the flash but I know the storm will go from contained to an out-of-control, non merciful hurricane. If it passes into District 10 than me and Jardina will be screwed. It will be Gamemaker made of course. All for the Games. But I know we can't go in any farther. We'll have to wait out the night on the other side, hopefully it will stay in the assigned district, like everything else so far. I hear the sound of the thunder. Jardina nods silently and we break back over to District 10.
I don't have a sleeping bag and neither does Jardina, so we compromise. To covering ourselves with the two backpacks. We take turns watching for tributes while the other sleeps. Anyone may come barging through from District 10. My dreams are really nightmares, since I'll take second watch. The boy from District 6 and the Cornucopia. I awake to Jardina shaking me. She nods towards the sky. An anthem blares across the whole arena, making sure everyone hears. The deaths of which tributes will be projected from an invisible hovercraft. The seal is showing on an artificial sky right now. I've hope Hondel is still alive all day, and now I will have my answer. The Capitol anthem ends abruptly and the tributes deaths begin to roll. They will just have their district number below and the training score picture used. Normally, back at home, we see the full replay. Here in the arena it might give an unplanned advantage to your location, weapon, and supplies.
They'll do it in order and the first tribute is a boy from District 3. He had spiky blonde hair that stuck out like mountains on his head and ghostly white skin. Then comes an expected one I still am pained to see. The sweet little face of Chevrolet, the girl from District 4. Her curly waves still sit protectively on her shoulders and her large eyes still shine of something that only young children possess. That happiness of brighter futures, lost when you grow older and start working hard. When you start giving up hope of a bright life. The glimmer disappears so quickly and is so valuable, I long to see those eyes. Susie has them too. She somehow reminds me of the girl before me. I can imagine Chevrolet's delicate features pale inside a coffin, being sent back for a mournful funeral for the things in life we cannot change. It's all I can do to keep my eyes from watering. Hondel will show next, if he's dead. I can't bear the thought of him frozen in time, taken from life either. But I don't have to, because the deaths skip to a raven haired girl from District 5.
The boy from six I killed myself, a girl from ten, and the boy from District 11. I glance at Jardina out of the corner of my eye. If she's mentally pained, she's hiding it well. Don't want the Capitol to see a sad face. The thought is bitter. We shouldn't have to cover our grief, but if winning means so then we will all oblige. Then the line closes with a flourish and the skies are looming and dark. No stars tonight. The storm crackles from across the line. This fact draws my attention away from the night and back to earth. "We should go back to sleep for the night," I advice to Jardina. She nods inaudibly and we set our backs back down, the ones we have automatically picked up incase of an intruder. I take watch now as my companion rests. The night is like an animal, prowling at the edge of my thoughts and consciousness. I'm not scared of the dark, I have never been ever since the stars, but I have never experienced the Hunger Games. Is this, I wonder, that drives the victor insane. Watching the swirling mists curl around you. Knowing that someone could pop out at you from the gloom. Is it mind-losing, the idea of being so open to death. I may never know.
My eyes flash open. My first thought is Sage, you blubbering idiot! I must have fallen asleep under the starless sky. Anyone could have easily crept up on us and slit our throats. A glance quickly at Jardina, to make sure she's still there. She is, sleeping soundlessly on her pack, her chest heaving up and down slightly. I relax a little bit knowing we're both not dead. I then look down and see I'm still planted firmly on my own valuable supplies. You're not a total idiot, at least not a damaging one a voice in my head says. I like talking with myself, it's semi-calming. I not exactly a friend machine, a school is lonely. This normal sound will help prepare me for the treacherous days ahead.
Jardina blinks slowly for a while, before jumping up and grabbing her things in the speed you can tie your shoe in. "Let's go," she proclaims, all sense of expected grogginess gone. I hurry to catch up with her. We're several hundred feet into District 10 before she explains. "I just had this really bad dream," she says sheepishly. I am tempted to laugh at her statement. Running from dreams? Then I think of what she really could be dreaming about, more like having nightmares. The morning jog is alert, but less than before. The Careers are less active during the night, and they may not have even come our direction. I feel bad about slipping off during the watch, so I plan to apologize. Tell her something along the lines of "I'm really, really sorry." Maybe at lunch. We never made it that far.
Chapter Six
I survey the stalks of grain like a hawk trained on its prey. I don't particularly like the layout of this district. The grain covers anyone who could potentially jump on us at any given moment. The crops were so tall you can barely see over them. I feel trapped, and a little isolated too, even with Jardina right by my side. Suddenly, I fly my hand across her to stop her from moving another inch. She has the good sense not to breach me and remain absolutely frozen. We both stay in that position for a while, neither moving or speaking. We are straining our ears to hear something. It was a rustle of leaves or a tread on the ground. I decide it's nothing and continue a few more steps. Then I whip around to see Jardina turned to her right, staring directly into the eyes of another tribute.
This one, a boy, is a stocky build with lean muscular arms and a ferocious look on his face. I wonder absently why the Careers didn't recruit him in their pack, but six seems a little big. I notice something in his hand, and he's about to throw it. I don't think it is an immediate danger. No glint of a dagger or knife. Something about the object is familiar. If I can only place a name with the device poised to hurl. The thing is round with grooves and an electric blue. It's almost too late when the object bursts on Jardina's chest, erupting like tongues of blueish fire.
Bio-bombs were not very common among Panem. Most of them were illegal. Then, in the second uprising, they proved to be useful. When the Capitol ordered them and large amounts were paid to the now legal makers, business grew. It was interesting in the Games as well. Bio-bombs are designed to kill any life in a certain area. No effect to the surrounding landscape whatsoever. You can obliterate half a district without even obliterating everything, if it's manufactured to cover such a large region. Then you have to retrieve the bodies and voila. Any area except I don't think they've made one big enough for the whole of Panem. So disappointing. For the Games, the bombs are only the common size of a human. Slightly boring to some of the Capitol citizens, but others adore the absolute suspense.
I jump back as the flash blares. The light is temporarily blinding if you don't close your eyes, which I did. No sound, no damage, and completely effective. Of course, the boy from District 8 I think, isn't so lucky. He rumbles around like a senseless moron. Then he topples over into a precariously random woven basket of grain. I take this to my advantage, and bolt as fast as my legs will allow. My brain goes into overdrive, trying to process everything that just happened in a matter of seconds. Jardina's gone, the boy from District 8 might come after me, and I have only one ally which is myself. Back to what I was before. Now I might really go insane.
It's not as fast as the Cornucopia, but clears a marathon runner. I don't dare look back, for fear of staring into the ragged face of the boy from District 8. I failed to retrieve Jardina's backpack, but she had given me the bandages just in case. Now I am the only one that might need them. Bio-bombs leave the body untouched, still able to move if given life. I now picture Jardina in a box and I feel like retching. Maybe I am running too fast. I slow down to a stop. A cannon booms over the arena. Jardina's cannon. The boy has left the area and is probably heading towards me. But he didn't see where I ran to. The odds are kind of in my favor. The corn seems to be leaning towards me, as if it wants to comfort me and shield me. I pull my backpack closer and trek somewhat slowly through the mazes. Is this what it's like for the people of District 9 everyday? Going at among tall plants and work. The sun beats down heavily on my neck. I will most definitely get sunburned. Then I remember the sunscreen. I pull it out slather some on my arms, face, and neck. Standing cautiously, I survey for enemies beyond. Coming to the conclusion that there are none I begin to head further in. I stop almost mid-step when I hear the unmistakable sound of two cannons firing.
Who was it? Was it Hondel, is he gone? We're they allies? Or did they die coincidentally? It's these troubling thoughts than run through my head in a matter of seconds. They were probably allies. Hondel wouldn't ally with anyone, not while he's looking for me. Then I take a step back. I haven't actually seen any indication that Hondel is, in fact, looking for me. But the Capitol will expect it, so I've been riding on that meager fact. Jardina's cannon has already fired. Were they close to me? I almost edge the night on to see.
After an hour I fear that will spend the whole day pondering and walking like bait to intruders. I turn around and squint to see a small square running along a road. No it's a track. A train track with a small cargo train running along at a relatively fast pace in my direction. To my left is the tracks, not more than a couple hundred yards. I race towards them just as the train comes ever closer. I am not really sure what in Panem I'm thinking, but it's my last hope of possibly outrunning the boy from District 8, possibly getting closer to Hondel, possibly traveling farther along the road around the districts, and possibly pleasing the Capitol by keeping them entertained. It's all possible, but do I have the guts.
I back up a few feet seconds before the train passes me. Then I run and jump onto a moving vehicle. My mother would not have thought highly of this dastardly idea, and neither does Haymitch if he still cares about preserving my life anymore. I did not land lightly. I simply clunked on the hard, rusty metal and barely missed a stacked pile of boxes to my right. I take a minute to bring myself together. At least I made it and I will be able to see the hours of walking pass me by. I see the district more of a whole now. The fields don't seem so superior now. I relax and sit with my back against the hard wall, taking in everything. Not just of today, but of the whole Games so far. I realize now that I haven't eaten yet. I pull the sandwich out of my backpack and shove the sack onto the metal suspended in air. The other quarter of sandwich I eat is not very appetizing. The bread is half stale and a tad bit hard to chew, but I manage to get it down before setting the meal back into my pack and waiting for the hours to fly.
I doze off for a while. This sleep is peaceful and dreamless, unlike the shifts I had during the dark night. I awaken to late afternoon sun gleaming down on my legs from the shade of the opened train car. For once I appreciate the Gamemakers ingenuity. They can make a rather good nap but they can also kill me in five seconds flat. I look out of the large window to see a whole new scene before me. This district is definitely not full of corn and woven baskets. The ground is rocky and has hills. A few houses dot here and there. This must be District 8, textiles. I think about that boy sitting outside with his siblings in a backyard and I get this sinking feeling. Is it guilt? I didn't do anything to him. Maybe I'm thinking of the boy I killed or I am feeling the guilt the Capitol should have.
A small lake chugs up to the train and it has to make a quick detour. The water is clear and very reflective. I wonder if all water in District 8 is like this. Then I see myself only for a few moments before the train runs away. My hair sticks out in a lot of places over my head. My skin is slightly sunburned and my expression is unreadable with the exception being the frown on my face and the furrow in my eyebrows, the hardness in my stormy gray eyes. It takes awhile to accept that this will be the expression that I will have for a long while. I mean, it's not like you smile in the Hunger Games.
In the far distance, I see the unmistakable line that marks the crossing from District 8 to District 7, or the other way around. Afternoon haze blurs my vision some so I can't tell if there is someone crouching by the edge or anywhere beyond. I'm trusting luck, which may get me killed. A small wheat field comes up into view. I can almost picture a one or two families of four or five, women gossiping about affairs, little children laughing and fighting with sticks. I can imagine the strong men direct livestock. I know this isn't District 10, livestock, but even District 12 has a small orchard with trees.
But of course, it is behind the fence surrounding the whole entire district. The barbed-wire, electrocuted fence that encloses us, supposedly from bears and wolves. Though the electricity wasn't on a lot before. Then about twenty-five years ago new peacekeepers came and there were fixed fences, longer patrols, closer eyes. I sometimes wish I lived in that day, when it was nicer. The heaviness eventually lifted but it was never the same, or so the parents say. That shock fence makes me feel trapped in some cage, while the Capitol people are like children mocking me and stick their pudgy finger through the rusty iron bars. I feel like a bird, eager to fly but brought down by the weight of the world.
Chapter Seven
Just as the sky darkens I fly into District 7. The night makes the place look even more menacing. Looming trees glare down at me like angry gods. Stars only gleam between the brakes in the leaves, and there hardly are any. Roots stay embedded in the ground as if it were hard cement. Spiny branches stretch out towards me, as if they are hungry souls trying to claw me. A few break on the train's walls and fly into the small car. The twigs lay there with a resounding feel of death. I huddle against the back wall, though it provides no comfort, no escape from the terrors of night time in District 7. Now I'm regretting the Capitol train I think. At least they had plushy cushions.
As if on cue, a jolt sends me in the air a couple inches. I slam back down onto the harsh metal. If that knocked the breath out of my lungs, than this would have killed me. The second thrash almost tosses me from the train itself. I have never like roller coasters, or I wouldn't have if I had ever ridden one. I don't have a delicate stomach, it's just the endless spinning and bouncing and twirling makes me want to puke. I collapse back down and almost lose my backpack out the open door. To make sure it won't try to run away again, I firmly throw the supplies on my back and stand.
It does not last long though because I've fallen on my but again. I stare hard at the roots of the trees. Why do they almost look like they're...moving. I realize just as another bounce comes. They are getting more and more violent. The Capitol must be getting very bored so the ingenious Gamemakers thought it would be fun to move giant tree roots in the way of the track to see if they can topple the great Sage Mellark. Oh, they must be having such fun back there. But that won't help me now. I wish Haymitch could get people to send a helicopter in. Even if it would never fit through the door. I can fit through the door though, and it may be my last chance. I know that this will eventually throw me off. I will likely hit my head on a rock and die. What a way to go. A ridiculous and last-minute idea pops into my head. I almost dismiss it, but jumping from the train is my last chance. I crouch by the tip and take two steps back and prepare to launch myself. Wrong move.
A jump just happens to occur and I'm thrown through the door. The wind whistles through my ears for a couple seconds, then I slam onto the earth with a large thump. I check if anything is broken and I am relieved to find there's nothing. But it will leave a very large bruise. I shakily stand and wipe the non existent dirt from the pants. The soil is too compact to come up in plumes. I hear a branch snap and I start, but it's just a bunny.