Hey guys! I haven't updated because I've been on a school retreat. I'm so sore...6 mile canoeing, bike riding, hiking. It was pretty physically demanding. Anyways, here's the next chapter. Again, piepin, you're awesome.
This is a long chapter, but it's pretty good, in my own opinion. Edited late last night, so excuse some of the mistakes. :) Disclaimer: A teenage girl didn't write the Hunger Games, so I'm unfortunately not the author. So sad.
Our mentor couldn't attend the ceremony, since she was visiting another District, but I already knew who she is. I even recognize her face as she climbs onto the train, limbs creaking as she clutches to the stair rail.
Katniss Everdeen.
The one who tried to save us from the Capitol. I remember learning about her in our history class, seeing her face as she hobbles through 12, and even saying hello to her once, when I was very little and had just learned about her in class.
It had been a very quiet, shy hello, since I wasn't very outgoing, and didn't know how to make friends, since I had had Rome since birth. I remember that my hair was not pulled back that day, and my choppy kindergarten bangs were hanging in my face. But I had recognized her. I even got a little bit excited looking at the slightly wrinkled face, the deep gray eyes and tied back hair.
She had swiveled her head around like an owl and stared at me, not saying anything, just nodding curtly and continuing on. Despite her age, she carried herself with a pride and power that I admired. I desperately wanted to be like her.
And here she was in front of me, destined to help me through the Games, to show me how to survive.
And for the second time in my life, I said hello to her.
Her reaction was the same. A stiff nod. More like a jerk of her head, making her long gray braid bob out of place for a moment.
Rome greeted her, and again she nodded silently. Hauna tried her best to smile and help her up the steps, but Katniss ignored her. I expect she is sour about the games, since she herself had worked so hard to eradicate them, only to have them come back only a few years later to haunt her.
"Well, you'll have much time to chat with are tributes later," she says to Katniss, her voice containing the false cheeriness that one might use when talking to a child. "But for now we need to eat!"
I am not hungry, The Reaping has taken away my appetite. But I am forced to eat as we sat down at the elegant dining table, Rome on my one side, Katniss on the other.
The train gives a horrible lurch, causing the plates to slide a little, then takes off like a rocket. I don't know how fast we were going, only that it was leading us straight to death.
The thought makes me even more queasy, and I try to swallow a few bites of what looks like roasted pig, only to have it settle uncomfortably in my stomach, where I can feel it sloshing around. The food is all too rich, too much. The excess makes me feel dirty, when I imagine my family at home eating whatever they could put on the table. They, nor I myself, have ever had anything so extravagant.
I wash it down with a glass of water I have to request, and am given more than a few looks when I ask for it. It doesn't matter though. Despite all, the water is comforting.
Hauna smiles up at us anxiously, trying to gauge are reaction to the meal. She looks so ridiculous, covered from head to toe in glitter, but I can 't help but feel bad for her. So I smile thinly and take a tiny bite, swallowing it quickly.
Rome has recovered from the shock of The Reaping, and is slowly returning to his old self. He compliments Hauna on the "excellent" meal, then turns to Katniss.
"So," he says quietly. "Katniss Everdeen. The Girl who was on fire?"
She doesn't smile, but there's a spark in her eyes. "Yes. And you are?"
"Rome Fairing." He grabs my hand to get my attention. "And this is Philly."
I nod and smile again, trying not to look like an idiot. "Philla Ellwood." I let go of Rome's hand, but keep close to him. He gives me an encouraging look.
Katniss smiles a little at us. "You volunteered for the boy. Do you know him?"
Rome shakes his head. "I keep my promises, that's all," he's says vaguely, looking down at me.
Katniss looks at me head on for the first time, and I resist the feeling to shrink back into my chair. "You know each other?" she asks.
I nod and say yes.
Her smile looks a bit more genuine this time. "You remind me of Gale," she told Rome.
No one asks who Gale is. We've all heard of him sometime or the other. Rome's mother was his sister. From what I'd gathered, he'd been desperately in love with Katniss, but in the end was turned down. They had been best friends.
Katniss zero's in on Rome, and I know that she knows this too. She seems to be searching his face for some type of resemblance. All is quiet.
Hauna breaks the silence, clearing her throat and putting her fork down.
"Time for bed," she says, as if she was our mother. I follow the order anyways, too tired to ignore it.
Hauna gives us directions to our compartments, and Rome and I walk down together.
"Odd, isn't she?" I say, looking back at Katniss as she closes the door to her compartment. I open my own, and Rome and I both go in, flopping down on the bed.
He knows who I'm talking aboutnd gives a small smile. "I like her. She's straightforward." He props himself up on , ahis elbow, teeth glinting an eery white in the dim light. "Unlike some people."
I grimace at him, but I knew he is telling the truth. "I can be straightforward when I want to."
He laughs. "Oh, Hauna, the pig is absolutely delicious," he says in a high, squeaky voice.
I push him off the bed. "If you're going to act like that, you can leave." But the truth was, I didn't want him to. Rome was too good at distracting me from the horrors that lay ahead, and a distraction was exactly what I needed.
He sat back down, resting back on the headboard and closing his eyes. "I wonder what they're doing back home."
But Rome also knew what was important. I swallowed. "Probably watching the replay of The Reaping."
He opens his eyes at this and looks at me. "Philla…"
I blink back tears and grab the remote that's resting on the nightstand next to me, pressing a button so that the screen in front of us flickers to life.
"And we should be too," I say. "Get a look at the competition." But they weren't really competition, were they? Just conquerors, the victors. We didn't stand a chance against them.
Rome takes the remote out of my hand. "You sure?" he asks.
I bristle a bit, feeling weak, but I nod. "It's the best thing."
So he switches to the designated channel, where The Capitol's label rotates on the screen. A clock on the bottom of the screen tells us that the replay will begin in a minute.
I was a bit curious about seeing myself on T.V., I'll admit it. I wanted to see if I really looked as sick as I had felt, or if Rome had really been that adamant-looking as he volunteered.
The label rotates once more, then comes to a halt. The camera zooms in on it, revealing the words, "THE REAPING," hidden in the middle.
It starts with District 1, and ends with 13. The more wealthier districts had volunteers, while in poorer ones there was only silence. I only focus on the tributes faces. Most look petrified.
I hold my breath as the number 12 appears on the screen, and I see Hauna's hand shake for the second time as she pulls my name out of the bowl. Then, the moment I had been waiting for. I climb the steps, looking pale and scared, until I rise to the top. I'm surprised at how fragile I look, like a delicate figurine of glass. I was used to be called the tall, strong girl. The tough one.
Then the little boy's name is called, the one I had never really seen before in my life. He looks so tiny on the screen, even more breakable. I feel relief when he's allowed to exit the stage. I wish I'd said something to him.
Rome takes his place next to me, looking grave, but accepting. I watch as his lips mutter that one word, pressing his hand in mine. My own crying image whispers back, sliding the stone off the chain and pressing it into his hand.
A man's voice has been in the background the whole time, announcing the names and commenting on what's happening on the screen, but I had barely payed attention to him until now, when he remarks on our linked hands. I flush at how he notices, and will my recorded self to let go. She eventually does, brushing hair back behind her ears.
I watch mutely as 13's tributes emerge from the crowd, then finally the screens goes black again, revealing The Capitol's symbol. Then pictures start to fly on the screen, one district after another.
Only a few stand out. A big-boned boy with a grave-looking face, a girl no older than eighteen, a hand resting on the baby bump on her stomach, a skinny boy with a lazy eye and missing teeth, and a tiny girl with scared, wide eyes and short golden hair falling in waves down her back. Then Rome and I's pictures enter. Rome looks deadly serious, while I look almost crazed with fear. I look away till the screen goes black for the final time. Rome turns off the T.V.
He twists to gauge my reaction, but I don't say anything. I can't. I had never thought of myself as one of the unlucky children on the screen, but now, seeing it from an unfamiliar bed with a death sentence hanging over my head, it had all come crashing down, leaving me mute.
Rome puts a warm, rough hand on my knee. "Philla," he whispers. "It'll be okay. I promise. I'll keep you safe."
I shake my head and look up at him. "No," I say. "You can't. You have to take care of yourself. For me."
I expect him to object, but he remains silent, just staring. He leans in with a sort of hopeless look on his face, his fingernails digging into my knee, and I can feel his breath hot on my face. I try to look away. I can't.
He suddenly snaps back up, letting go of my knee and springing off the bed.
"I'm sorry," he says, looking at the television. "I just…I couldn't. I can't." He searches desperately for words, as if they'll suddenly drop on him from out of thin air. "We're…here," he says finally, striding toward the door and swinging it open. "Goodnight, Philla." Then he walks out.
I sit without moving for a few minutes, until my back starts to hurt, and I go to the programmed closet that hands me soft cotton pajamas. As I pull them on, I think of Katniss in the compartment next to us. How she must've felt during her first Hunger Games.
And as I climb into bed, I know what Rome means when he says, "We're here." That we never imagined in our lives what it would be like to be in The Games, and how our friendship would never be the same. Being here had changed us.
I tried not to be afraid of the morning to come, when we would have to leave the train and be taken by our stylists to be plucked and prettied, then presented to the world. I tried not think about the arena, or the other tributes. The image of scared-looking little girl entered my mind. She reminded me of the boy that Rome had volunteered for. Tiny. Vulnerable. But no one had helped her.
Dead by next week, my brain thinks numbly. I mechanically pull the covers over my head, only the darkness keeping me from screaming.
I fall asleep to my own Reaping replaying in my head, over and over, an endless
loop of fear, till I walk up the stairs to the stage and was met with nothingness.