All of District 10's girls collectively exhaled with the announcement of this year's female tribute – all except for Sam, standing there with her heart having fallen into her guts. Thump, thump, thump – fear ratcheted up the tension of the moment as the grays and browns of the square swirled together in her eyes. She wanted to cry out, to break down in tears and start running, yet the shock of the selection kept her rooted firmly in place as she started to sway off-balance. Sam's eyes failed to register as the crowd began parting around her to the voice that seemed so far away and numb, as if surrounded by cotton in a pillow – Augusta's voice calling for her to take her place. The voice…it called for her life. Her blood.
"Sam…Sam! Come on!"
Clara's voice and hands on her shoulders jarred Sam from the dream state she had fallen into. Her eyes darted around, catching Clara's gray irises staring back at her in a tone that spoke of the seriousness of the situation. Her arms shook Sam's still figure into action as the latter girl's mouth hung ajar, her gaze falling to her feet. Every look in District 10 had fallen onto the pair of girls – every viewer across Panem had begun watching the district's entrance into the 98th Games, and it was off to a slow start.
"I-" Sam's voice squeaked out as tears began to fall from her focusing eyes. "I don't…I…"
"Go Sam! They're watching now…" Clara eked out. She'd always been the tougher of the two, but even a moment like this threatened to overwhelm her psyche. Volunteering in District 10 was equally unheard of – no matter what she thought at this time, Clara had no more desire to die than she did watch Sam walk to her own demise.
"Well, come on now," Augusta had spotted Sam and clearly felt annoyed by the delay of her approach to the stage. "Don't have all day."
It took just a little shove from Clara to get Sam started – one small step after step she closed with the stage and looked past row after row of staring eyes. She was no Career or outlier tribute full of bravery – her emotions showed on her face via a stream of tears on her cheeks and quick, shallow breaths that struggled to give her lungs enough oxygen. Sam felt on the verge of passing out from panic just as she reached the steps of the stage, allowing Augusta to grab her hand and half-pull her up to the podium. All the faces of District 10 gazed up a frightened girl confronted by a fate far too mature for her youth – and she could do nothing but cry for her own defense.
Cheyenne broke the moment with another spit of tobacco and a glare at Augusta that could not have been missed.
"One out of two; now for the boys," Augusta crowed as if lording this moment over the two-bit district she loathed setting foot in. Savages, all of them – without the Capitol's stabilizing influence, they'd be nothing more than hunter-gatherers reduced to primitive tribalism. A grand, annual Games presented to show off the best and brightest of the districts and all she got were cold looks from these primitives? Augusta felt a moment of vindication that they'd never have more than a remote chance of winning – except that'd only mean she'd have to keep returning here until she did better.
It was a cruel paradox.
"Let's see…" Augusta droned, enjoying taking her time fishing through the male Reaping pot. Sam shook in her place on the stage during the ordeal, her lone figure representing District 10's dead children of past and present – closing in on two hundred souls since the Hunger Games had begun almost a century earlier. Discontent rumbled out from a few in the crowd at the yearly spectacle, but what could anyone do? Even Sam knew things were futile from her spot. This was it – her last looks at the people of District 10 before she'd be off to the Capitol in less than two hours.
"Laredo Deets!" Sam had slipped off into her own world just enough to miss Augusta's pick of the boy tribute from District 10, although she immediately regretted it. The powerful boy, rippling with musculature from wrangling cattle over three years, immediately evoked tension in Sam. He was the ideal tribute – strong, experienced with physical labor, and built well enough to withstand a Career in a direct confrontation. With a mane of long dirty blonde hair and two eyes so dark they seemed like specks of coal, he gave off a cool yet dangerous demeanor.
Worse, he looked the type who could kill Sam in the blink of an eye.
Laredo strode to the stage confidently, giving off all the signals of a man who'd never had luck on his side, unlike Sam. She saw the telltale signs of a boy finally either escaping the hellhole of poverty in District 10…either through fame and glory, or through an eternal sleep. To a man like that, there was no middle ground, and being chosen was not sacrificing everything you had back home.
"What a strapping pair for this year's Games!" Augusta let out a long sigh, knowing her part was done. "Shake, you two. Go on now."
Sam extended a hand in trepidation, her eyes daring to glance up at Laredo's predatory stare. He grabbed her hand in an enthusiastic grip, letting forth a powerful shake that rattled her to the bone. With that he stepped away as Augusta gripped each by the shoulder, leading them into the Hall of Justice. Sam fired a final worried glance at her shoulder, catching in the dispersing crowd – what she assumed was her final look on the people she had called fellow members of District 10. With a sense of finality, the oak doors of the Hall slammed shut, leaving her alone with the strange woman from the Capitol and the powerful boy who seemed ready to leap out and start killing right now.
Things moved in a blur. A pair of peacekeepers shoved the two tributes apart, leading Sam to her own room and shutting her in. The girl ambled over to a wooden bench inside the dark cell, her knees giving way and falling out from under her. Sam steadied herself on the bench, trying her best to control her rapid breathing and wiping away the ocean of tears that had collected on her blushed cheeks. Spots of moisture from her eyes littered the violet dress that had intended to go home at the end of the Reaping, but now would see her final steps in District 10.
"Three minutes!"
Sam's first visitor was not someone she expected after five minutes of waiting. The tall, lanky form of her father slunk past the door, past the Peacekeeper guard keeping watch outside. He looked around, pulling on the edge of his wide mustache and removing his gallon hat that signified the money of District 10's well-to-do.
"Guess this is it," Mr. Parker confessed as he looked at his own feet. Sam caught her breaths in her chest as the two squared off face-to-face: she had figured he would have simply gone home; she didn't really want to talk to him at this overly emotional time anyway.
"Dad?" Sam piped up, afraid of what could come her direction. He was an unstable and unpredictable man; his outraged tirades against her and her brother had spoken of his fiery temper.
"Look, I uh…didn't think it'd be ending this way. You and I. But…you just stay sharp, alright?"
That was not the sort of re-assurance that Sam needed at a time like this. He father's empathy had never been a trait he'd been known for, but he seemed to push out words for the sake of speaking at this final hour. Still, how could she reject her father – especially as she spent her last minutes in the land she'd been grown and raised on?
All Sam could do was nod and sniff away tears.
"So," Mr. Parker spoke in a sort of conclusion. "I guess that'll do, daughter. I'll see you on the other side."
Sam merely stared after her father as he turned on his heels and raised his hat to his head, leaving far before his allotted time was up and failing to even glance back. The callousness! Sam had anything but emotional stability at a time like this, but the mere sight of her father not even caring enough for a hug or kind word of love grew like a needle under her skin. A red boil of anger drummed up beneath the fear and apprehension that had swarmed her system, growing into a snarl beneath her throat. One person she hadn't wanted to see at this moment, and he'd come in and done even worse than expected.
The next visitors were both expected and welcome. Clay and Clara barged through the door right past the Peacekeeper and fell into Sam's arms as apologies and tears flowed back and forth.
"Alright Sam, look, you can do this," Clay broke into a serious tone first as Clara dried her own tears on her white blouse. "All those Capitol people want is entertainment. Do what you can to make friends, form an alliance with another kid or two if you can; anything to keep yourself alive. Make those people like you – remember the kids every year who get the audience on their side, get off to a great start? That's gotta be you."
Clay's words reinvigorated a fire within Sam that had already been brought on by her father's short appearance. He had never been one for strict approaches to survival despite his poverty, yet now his piercing gaze and hard-set face spoke of a determination to give the few words that would give his best friend a kick-start towards victory.
"I can't just do that so easily, Clay, there are others who train for this stuff!" Sam battled back her tears once more, giving a strong face for her two friends.
"Sammy, you're perky, bright, they'll love you," Clara croaked out words of encouragement from behind a strained voice and mind. "Just do what you can to get sponsors; make your mentors want to keep you alive for anything. I dunno, I don't know-"
Clay grabbed Clara before she fell off into another emotional valley, bringing her to his side as he drove in another spear of determination into Sam's eyes. "She's right. That other guy? He's just a pile of meat looking to be killed off at the Cornucopia. Show them the girl inside you. Get them to want you to win – if they do, and if the Capitol's on your side, you'll be the one to beat. Don't hold back now. If you have to kill, do it Sam."
"Time's up," the Peacekeeper marched into the room, grabbing each Clay and Clara with one hand. "Come on. Now."
"Clay!" Sam shouted, reaching out a hand and grabbing his fingertips once last time. "Wait, I-"
"Don't hold back Sam!" Clay yelled back as he struggled with the stronger Peacekeeper, his eyes etching a memory into his friend's mind. "Come back to us; I know you can. I'll be waiting. Please, I-"
The door slammed shut, leaving Sam even more alone than ever. Clara had been a mess – and Sam figured she would have been too in her shoes (heck, she already was a wreck so far today in front of the cameras) but Clay's steely single-mindedness of her winning gave her something new that she hadn't felt today – hope. Clay wasn't the boy she'd have gone to for courage in the face of fire, but maybe there was a side to him she'd missed. Maybe he had the unbreakable grasp of life she'd never noticed before.
And of course, she'd noticed it too late to matter. Too late to tell him of every feeling she'd ever had; of every dream she'd spent with him in her eyes. Maybe she'd denied any spark in Clay's direction when talking to Jake the night before, but now with the world closing around her, she only wanted more time. Unfortunately, that was exactly what she didn't have.
"Sam!"
Jake burst through the door after a few more minutes, with the door rapidly shutting to the tune of a Peacekeeper's statement of "three minutes." Sam embraced her brother and brought forth a new round of tears as she threw aside her imminent fate for a moment. Her cries fell into his shoulder as he held her for a solid thirty seconds; his presence told her all she needed to know and gave her the rock she needed to make it to the train.
"Listen, listen to me," Jake pulled away from Sam and sat her down on the bench, taking a place next to her. "I know you're scared, but –"
"I don't have a chance Jake!" Sam blurted out, with all her fears and struggles coming forth in a wave of emotional lamentation. "I don't have a chance – you saw the boy who's coming with me! And all the kids from the tougher districts; they're gonna be way bigger and stronger and I don't know what to do!"
"Use what you have Sam," Jake gripped his sister's arm, quieting her cries and letting him give her as much last-minute strength that he could. "You're the smartest girl I know and you know how to rope cattle, ride a horse, and improvise."
"They don't have cows in the arena," Sam protested sharply.
"No, but if you get your hands on a piece of rope or some sort of tool – anything you can do to change your situation and give you just a little of an advantage, you can make something work!" Jake wrapped his arms around her once more, burrowing her face into his shoulder. "Hang on Sammy; you're gonna come back and we'll see each other again."
"Jake, I'm scared," Sam sniffed. "I'm not ready for this."
"But you'll do fine," her brother muscled through the pain and pangs of guilt; of helplessness that he couldn't protect her at her most vulnerable and wounded. "Couple of weeks from now, I'll be the first one waving to you when you get off that train from the Capitol. You're gonna be a winner."
"Time! Let's go!" the Peacekeeper was back.
"Jake!" Sam shrieked, feeling her last connection to her entire life dragged away from her. She held on her embrace of him as long as she could until the Peacekeeper shoved her off, marching her brother off despite every ounce of fight he could give. "No! Don't go!"
"Stay strong Sammy! Carry me with you," Jake shouted as the door began to close. "I love-"
Then the door closed, and Sam would never hear her brother finish that sentence she needed now more than ever. Just her and the wooden room – now she was truly alone. The vice of the Capitol had closed with the power of a noose, prying her away from everything she loved or cared about. Now there was nothing but darkness and a long ride to the foreigners who demanded her blood for their entertainment – to face her fears with every bit of strength that had just been pulled out those wooden doors.
Within the confines of this dark cell, she fell to her knees and cried.