The train station is quiet today. Not dead like it had been in previous years. Since the war, the districts are allowed to be visited by all residents of Panem. A track had been built that extended to District 13, stretching through all districts and stopping at them all too. This makes it easier to visit my mother and the other tributes who I class as friends.
We arrive just in time for our train. I blame Peeta. He spent the majority of the journey walking terribly slow, balancing the box holding his cake in both hands, which left me carrying all the bags. Every time he'd stop to adjust the box, I just stood there impatiently waiting but when I needed a rest, he would hurry me along, telling me "You didn't survive the Hunger Games twice being such a slowcoach." I just scowled.
The carriages have changed since the 'Hunger Games' days. Still as elegant as ever, they are now fit to house more than a couple of tributes and their staff. What were once bedrooms and dining rooms are now wooden tables and bunk beds that are surprisingly comfortable. We settle at one of the many tables, our luggage already stored away. However Peeta refuses to give the attendant the cake.
"What time are we arriving?" The train begins to pull away slowly. I stare out of the window, silently saying goodbye to District 12 for a couple of days.
Peeta, with one hand placed protectively on top of the cake, runs his hand through his blond hair. "10 o'clock I think. He'll already be asleep though." Staring at the boxed cake, he taps his fingers, clearly contemplating something before standing up from opposite me and storing the cake in an overhead compartment. Instead of returning to his seat, he moves next to me and kisses my hair, allowing me to snuggle into his side as the train picks up speed.
"What happened during the hunting trip this morning then?" he asks, trying not to sound too interested as he plays with a strand of my damp hair. Same old Peeta, trying not to pry but not being able to resist.
"I don't know," I reply simply. It's the honest truth. I've nearly always brought game back every time I step out of the forest and back to District 12. "Every arrow never met its target."
"But you could shoot a rabbit with one arrow in the dark and make a clean kill."
"I know!"
"Well do you feel alright? You're not coming down with something?"
I had to think about my health. Most nights I wake up with nightmares but that's nothing to do with my health. And apart from the odd headache which is easily cured with a remedy my mother found, I've been fine. "Perfect," I reply happily.
"Well I'm stumped!" Peeta muses, twiddling my hair to the roots and then unravelling it absentmindedly. But I can tell he is still thinking about it. I am too. As soon as one idea comes into my head, there is evidence that disproves it.
During the journey, Peeta lets me sleep in his lap because I didn't get a lot of sleep last night. I keep waking up from the nightmares. The Hunger Games have new rules and new participants. First it was just Rue. But over the weeks, toddlers and small children fight for survival and many wobble curiously into forest fires or are washed away, drowning, by flash floods. Each time, I awake in sweat. And Peeta is there to soothe me back to sleep.
The train's continuous rumble refrains me from falling into my deep unconscious whilst still allowing me to rest. Regrettably, Peeta shakes me gently awake when we stop at District 5 for fuel. Outside, the sky is pitch black with the exceptions of tiny twinkling stars that embed the black blanket. Taking a moment to come to my senses, we decide to take a little walk. We have at least five minutes before the train leaves again.
"It's a lovely night," I say as I wrap my fingers into his. I can't help but shiver slightly as the night breeze trickles through my hair, leaving goose bumps. Instantly, Peeta pulls me closer to his body and I gradually get warmer.
As we walk down the platform, I rest my head on his shoulder and stare up at the stars. "It's beautiful," he says and as I turn to look at him, I see him staring stunned at the sky. His lips are puckered in a way that makes me guess he's imagining a new elaborate pattern for a painting. I return to the stars and hear him murmur, "Beautiful," again.
Continuing down the platform, we hear the scraping of fabric against hard gravel. We turn a corner and see an old woman struggling with a suitcase probably just as big as her, trailing it on the floor. Immediately we jog over to help. I steady the old lady while Peeta lifts the bag, quite effortlessly I must remark. Helping her to the train, we climb aboard and Peeta passes the suitcase to the attendant, who struggles to keep it off the floor.
"Thank you," the old lady croaks, straightening her back to look at us. Like clockwork, her face drops and a red blush creeps up her face as she pulls her sequined shawl closer to her body. "Oh my goodness. Thank you."
Peeta and I stand there shocked. It isn't a completely new experience but it never happens in District 12 so we have to get used to it every time we leave. "You're welcome," Peeta says in a gentlemanly fashion. I just nod my head in an assuring manner.
All of a sudden, she grabs my hand and kisses all four knuckles. Her sloppy lips feel horrible against my skin but I don't pull my hand away. After me, she takes Peeta's, treating it like fine silk. Each knuckle is kissed and the hand is dropped. Once again she murmurs "Thank you," and then ends with a low bow. A first for both of us. The old lady practically skips into the next carriage, leaving Peeta and I completely lost for words.
Silently we return to our seats and the train lurches forward, continuing its journey. I fold myself into my seat, hugging Peeta as I play with the hem of his shirt. Whenever we travel throughout Panem, there's always a reception. It's to be expected but never has someone bowed. I can't get my head around it.
"That was-" Peeta begins.
"Weird," I finish and then we fall back into a comfortable silence.
I can feel on the side of my arm the traces Peeta leaves as his fingers are probably already making his next piece of art. Since his tools are packed, the best he can do is doodle on my arm. Even though the touches leave no marks, I can already see the picture forming in my head. Stars.
The silence is only disrupted when Peeta stops drawing on my arm, his finger stationary on my shirt sleeve. "Do you think they know?" I know who they are. They are always the same. We can't run from them. We can't hide from them. Instead we choose to embrace them. The Capitol.
Granted it's not as strict now in Panem. President Snow isn't dictating us. Our new president, Paylor, is a democratic. She listens to the people and understands them, being the best ruler anyone can remember. Never has Panem been so equal and harmonious.
But everyone still thrives for entertainment. And without the Hunger Games, the attention directly turned to us. The remaining tributes.
"I don't know."
"I'll find out." With a fleeting kiss on my head, Peeta climbs out of his seat and walks out of the carriage. I don't follow. But after a moment's deliberation, I run out of the carriage, catching up with Peeta, who already is firing up the TV.
As the black screen bursts to life, an image of Peeta and I flashes onto the screen. It seems we've caught the end of the segment. "- I just hope District 4 is ready for the love birds because they sure love that salty bread." The screen flickers back to a studio where a girl - bubble-gum pink hair with a suit to match and a golden mockingjay printed on her cheek - is sitting in front of a desk with a large window filled with a skyline view that could only be found at the Capitol. "I'm Isabellum Twist and that has been your tribute news. Thank you and good night!" The TV flashes an image of the seal of Panem and the anthem plays the show out.
Peeta turns the TV off before the anthem finishes. "There goes our chance of having a quiet break from it all," he says in clear annoyance. He takes my hand and pulls me through the carriage into our seats. "You didn't mention it to anyone, did you?" he asks me as I sit down with my back to the window, facing him.
"No," I lie unconvincingly.
But Peeta sees through me like glass. "Katniss!"
"I only mentioned it to Greasy Sae."
"In the Hob?"
Suddenly I understand how everyone knows. I mean, I was talking quite animatedly about our trip to District 4 at the end of the week. Greasy Sae loves the fish there and asked me to bring some back. I doubt it because it will stink my luggage out but I'm sure there's a way.
"I'm sorry," I mumble quietly. I know how important this trip is to Peeta. Everyone's been so busy that I haven't seen anyone in months and I rarely talk to them over the phone. We have friends in District 12 but they don't know what it's like to be under the spotlight. And Peeta is always happy to see everyone.
"It's alright sweetheart." He leans over to kiss my forehead and then I turn in my seat, staring out the window. Waiting for District 4 to arrive.
I apologize for it being shorter than you may have expected. The next chapter will be longer and filled with more information.
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