Okay, next chapter... Hope you like this one! I think it could be better but... Well I'll just let you decide :) Thank you for reading and please review! If this one doesn't meet expectations, tell me how I can improve!
Cameras are trained on me and Ryder, and I can tell he's trying hard not to give them the pleasure of his hurt. I'm a bit better at this.
The train doors finally shut and we're alone with the green haired man. The train lurches forward and I feel myself swaying, nearly stumbling. Ryder turns to address the other man.
"So, now what?" His voice is surprisingly strong, almost a man's. The Capitol man rolls his eyes.
"Now you do whatever you want till we get to the Capitol. I'm Gren Harben by the way. I'll be your escort this Hunger Games." He smiles at us, "Miss Glade's car is to the left. Mr. Ark's to the right. Feel free to change and meet me back here at five for dinner." He briskly walks down the hall and into a compartment. Now it's just me and Ryder standing in an uncomfortable silence.
"I better go get ready," I say just so I can get away from the overpowering quiet. I take off down the hall to the left and find myself in a large and very roomy train car. The carpet swallows my worn boots and the bed fabrics define comfort. But I was more drawn by the mirror and the wild thing it held inside.
My cheeks were hallowed and my dead eyes sunken. My once deep auburn hair was matted with mud and bleached almost a strawberry color by the sun. My eyes were dark and lifeless. My clothing was in rags and you could see almost every bone in my body. My bow and quiver still hung loosely around me. I was a monster.
I pulled myself away from the mirror long enough to see the screen implanted in the wall. I touched it and it hummed to life. As I removed my bow and sheath, leaning it against the wall, a picture of a blue shirt flashed by and then another and another. I touched the screen again and it came up with a menu for clothes. I choose a short sleeved navy top and black boot cut jeans.
It was only after I change that I noticed the bathroom. Sighing I stripped and turned on the water. It was warm and soft. I stood there with my eyes closed, letting the sweet water run over my broken body. I think of how I'm going to win over the sponsors. First were the Opening Ceremonies, then the evaluation, and lastly the interviews. Then let the games begin.
I figured that my first appearance at the Ceremonies is totally out of my control and rests with my stylist. All I could hope for was that I would get a stylist that thought I looked better with clothes on. As for the evaluation of my skill and chances in the arena, I figured I could shoot a few arrows, maybe throw a few knives and jump around. Use some camouflage if they have it. You know, pretend it's a normal day. The interview would just have to be out balanced by my first appearance and score. I can't talk to people to save my life. Funny, how that works out, because now it does.
I finally turn off the soothing water, tug my clothes back on, and run my fingers through my wet and tangled hair. I pity the poor stylist who gets stuck with me. I glance at the small clock that sits on the bedside table. 3:30, still over an hour till dinner. First meal if you don't count the two crackers that I ate before being shoved onboard the train.
Well, I wasn't going to wait around for another hour and a half for dinner, so I slid open my compartment door and stuck my head out. No one. I inched myself past the doorframe and carefully slid it back. I tiptoed toward the compartment that we had started in. As I neared the entrance, I slowly spun, facing the way I had come to see if I was being trailed. It was an old hunting habit.
"People will think you're crazy if you keep spinning like that." The voice startled me and I instinctively reach to grab for my bow. I remember that I left it in my room just in time to make the world's worst cover-up by moving my hands to stroke my hair. Ryder Ark was sitting in one of the large plush chairs, facing me and the television screen that adorned the wall. I could tell he was trying hard not to laugh and I imagine what I must look like; hunched over with arms at the ready to draw my 'bow' at any moment. Add the fact that I look like something out of a horror story and you get a pretty good laugh.
I just stand there studying him. He looks younger up close, but then I realize it's only the boyish grin he wears and the spark of youth in his eyes combined that give him that look. He leans forward in the chair as if to study me too. Our eyes lock for a second before I drop my gaze and walk over to a table, seating myself.
"So, I take it you either can't or don't talk then? Shame, I was looking forward to making a new friend." He leans back again and I glare at him. Who was he that he could so casually joke about me?
"I can talk," I answer as I study my hands, caked with dirt and topped of with cracked nails. If there's one thing living in the middle of nowhere all your life doesn't teach you, it's how to make conversation.
Ryder simply nods and raises his eyebrows, "I see." I have switched my gaze to my feet, taking in how calloused, scarred, and pale they are. He half smiles at me.
"You look terrible, you know that?"
I shoot my gaze to him and his stupid smile. Now he was bashing my image? Or maybe this was his stab at a joke, just trying to lighten the atmosphere that I weighed down. Maybe I should try back, after all practice makes perfect, and if I want to get all buddy with sponsors, I need to practice talking in more than two or three word sentences.
"Tell me something I don't know." There. Six. That makes Ryder smile more and gesture for me to come over to the other chair. I stand reluctantly
and make my way over as slow as I can. I sit and almost jump back up as the chair sucks me in. Guess these weren't made with starved teens in mind.
"Alright, the 135th Hunger Games was won by a twelve year old girl from District 7 using nothing but her bare hands and a pointed stick," Ryder smiled again and nodded at the T.V. screen. For the first time I saw that it had gone dark, but the image of the small girl with red hair on a stage was still clear. Good for him, he was already learning the rules of the Games. A box of thin silver disks sat at his feet, full of the tapes that held past victories and defeats.
"Then maybe there's some hope for us, right?" I lean over the arm of the chair as Ryder pulls a thick and dusty book out of the box and heaved it onto his lap. He opened it to a yellowed page that had a spindled 159 penned on the top in black ink. Under it was penned the names of the twenty-four tributes for that year's Games. One was penned in glittering gold, making the others fade into the background. The Victor. If I was lucky someday my name would be spiraled over one of the pages in gold. If I could stay alive.
"I think there's more for you than there is for me." This takes me by surprise. I look at him and try to figure out what made him say that. The first time I had met him was today at the reaping. I leaned away and tried to disappeared. I pulled my legs up to my chin and closed my eyes, trying to picture myself back in the woods, the wind whispering my name.
I'm almost there when I hear myself whisper, "Why?" It takes a moment for him to respond and I'm still in the woods. I'm walking down the well-worn path that the game I hunt follows to the lake that my parents use to take me to. They would be waiting for me there, happy for once.
"I don't know. I've heard some of the people talk about you in the market. 'She's a survivor, that one.' That's what they say about you. When I was younger, I was fascinated with the thought that someone could live outside of the districts and yet still be a part of it. I would watch you and your parents come in every year at the Reaping. Then one year you just showed up alone. And it always amazed me how you never spoke and yet you were one of the most well respected people that I knew of. I didn't even know your name until you were called. And even then you were like steel. I admire you for that."
I open my eyes and I'm in the train again, comfort and style enveloping me again. I'm staring at the image of the girl on the screen and see the scared, sad look in her eyes. The crown on her head glistened. I could do this. I could win. I'm a survivor; I'm strong. Of course, if I win the boy sitting next to me, the one who admired me for being who I was, would have to die.
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