Cause this is the end
Pretend that you want it
I swallow back hard, refusing to believe that my name was called out. It must be some kind of mistake! My name was in there seven times! Seven slips out of thousands! No, this can't be happening. I'm dreaming.
But I know that this isn't some kind of horrible nightmare, but it might as well be, because Madeleine and Carrie are sobbing quietly behind me. I pull them both into an embrace and hold them tight.
Then, I grit my teeth, clench my fists together and walk to the stage. I can feel tears threatening to spill over, and I just know I'm going to start crying. That's the one thing I shouldn't do, though, because if I cry I'll be seen as weak, an easy target. Oh, what does it matter? I'm not a contender in these Games, anyway. I know that already.
I'm standing on the stage beside Marianna and she's smiling widely.
"How exciting!" she trills. "Now, onto our second female tribute!"
She trots away from me and calls out, "Astrid Breslin!"
I look up, watching sadly as a thirteen year old girl makes her way to the stage. I don't know her, I think gratefully. That's a good thing, because it'll make it easier for me to consider her my enemy in the arena. Her hair is jet black and her skin is olive-toned, so I know she's from the Seam.
"Excellent!" Marianna says happily, shoving Astrid over to stand beside me. I can hear the girl crying like a wounded animal.
"Now, let's see who our handsome boy tributes are, shall we?" Marianna asks the crowd rhetorically.
She walks over to the second reaping bowl, pulls a name out and practically shouts into the microphone, "Haymitch Abernathy!"
No. Oh, please, please no. Not him. Anyone but him...
I desperately search the crowd. He's walking briskly towards the stage, his face clearly devoid of emotions. He doesn't look scared out of his mind like I am, or distraught like the little girl beside me is. He's emotionless. How does he do it?
He stands on the opposite side of Marianna, but it's still about the closest I've ever been to him.
"Almost there, ladies and gentlemen!" Marianna continues. "Our final tribute is..."
She pulls yet another name out of the bowl and announces, "Trey Dunst!"
Another one of my fellow tributes I know, but not very well. Trey Dunst is from the merchant's side of town, and he lives a few houses down from me. We were in the same History class two years ago, but we never spoke, really.
He marches up to us, and takes his place beside Haymitch. Out of the four of us, he's probably got the most chance of winning. He's tall and rather muscular.
"Happy Hunger Games!" Marianna concludes. "And may the odds be ever in your favour!"
As I'm ushered into the Justice Building by a squad of Peacekeepers, I wonder how the odds could possibly be in my favour when I've just been given a death sentence.
I'm pushed into one of the most beautiful rooms I've ever seen. The couch is patterned with a pretty gold and peach design, the intricate carpet is soft beneath my feet, and a golden mirror is on display above a grand fireplace.
Suddenly, the door bursts open. "You have three minutes," A Peacekeeper says, as my mother, father and Madeleine enter the room.
All three of them immediately step forward and hug me. We stand there for not nearly as long as I'd like, wrapped in each other's arms, not caring that the seconds are ticking by and we've got such a short time to say so much.
"You can do it, Maysilee," Mother tells me, tears pouring down her cheeks. "Make me proud, honey."
I nod as my eyes begin to water all over again, blurring my vision. "I-I promise, mother."
"We love you so much," Father murmurs, and I can tell he's fighting hard to keep his voice steady. "Be strong."
I start sobbing uncontrollably as I turn to my sister, the person who knows me better than anyone else in the world. I just know it's the last time I'll ever see her.
"Madeleine," I choke out, embracing her once again.
She clings onto me, wailing. "I d-don't want you t-to go!"
"I don't either," I mumble, pulling away from her, smiling the tiniest of smiles. "I'm coming home." I look at my mother and father. "To all of you. I swear."
"Here." My mother steps over to me and holds out her palm. In her hand, is a golden mockingjay pin.
"It's an old family heirloom," Father explains softly. "Can it be your district token? We...we've brought it with us to every reaping. Just in...just in case..."
"Of course," I murmur quietly. "I-I love you all so much." My mother pins my token onto my dress with shaking hands.
The Peacekeeper is back, informing us that our time is up. Madeleine hugs me again, and she literally has to be pulled off of me. The door shuts, and I'm alone once more.
I collapse onto the couch, bury my head in my hands and start sobbing again. Then, Carrie has her arms around me. I was too busy bawling like a baby to even notice she entered the room.
I look up to find that her eyes are red. She gives me a teary smile, and I know it's killing her to see me go. I let out some kind of horrible, half-choking sound and wrap my arms around my best friend. She pats my back as I cry my heart out.
"You'll be okay," she whispers. "I know you can win, Maysilee. You're brave and beautiful and you're going to get out of the arena."
"I'll try," I say. "I love you, Carrie. Have –have a good life. Take care of Madeleine."
A tear drips down her cheek. "I will. Y-You're my best friend, Maysilee. I love you."
The dreaded Peacekeeper returns, and I cling onto Carrie as he drags her away from me. The door shuts with a bang.
I feel sick, and I wonder if I'm going to throw up, when yet another quartet of Peacekeepers arrive and herd me out of the Justice Building and into a car.
During the short couple of minutes it takes to get to the train station, I wipe my eyes and nose and try to make it look like I wasn't bawling my eyes out just a little while ago. It doesn't work - my eyes are noticeably red.
We arrive at the train station, where Haymitch, Trey, Astrid and I are forced to stand together and pose for pictures whilst the fancy Capitol cameras gobble up our images. We're told to put our arms around each other, and I feel crazy butterflies in my stomach as Haymitch's strong arm wraps around my waist. It's disgusting, though, making us look like some kind of team and then shoving us into an arena to fight to the death.
Soon after that, Marianna arrives and does her job perfectly - escorts us onto the train and plants us into the living room, where we will be meeting our mentor in a little while.
"This place is beautiful," I whisper, taking in the glass chandeliers above my head and the countless trays of fine food and drink around me.
"Tell me about it," Trey adds, equally impressed.
Haymitch, however, doesn't seem to think too much of the place. He's standing there with his hands in his pockets, his signature frown plastered on his face. I think how much more appealing he'd look if he didn't scowl all the time, but then he notices my staring and I quickly look away, embarrassed.
The poor little girl, Astrid, is too busy crying to even notice what's going on around her. She sits in the corner of the room, sniffing and wiping her eyes. I feel awful for her, and I wish I could go over and comfort her, but somehow I don't think I should.
I hear the automatic door swoosh open and I whip around. Standing there is our mentor, Brandon Stock.
He examines each of us in turn, and I can't help but feel intimidated. But there's a certain kind of sadness in the way that he looks at us, like he knows very well that we're all going to die and he hates the thought. I wonder what it must be like, mentoring two kids every year and then watching them die. Clearly, what we see on the television – the victors laughing and drinking happily, living the lives of rich socialites – is not exactly accurate.
"Congratulations," he mutters, taking a seat on the black leather sofa. "So what can you...kids do?" He says the word 'kids' with disdain.
"Well," Trey coughs. I admire him for being the first one to start talking. "I can throw a spear or two."
"Really?" Brandon raises his eyebrows in surprise. "How the hell does one get the chance to learn how to yield a spear in 12,boy?"
"Uh." Trey turns beet red. "Me and my friends throw darts at my house and...this one time, we were drunk, and we started throwing spears at the dart board." He grins sheepishly. "I've gotten kind of good at spear-throwing since then."
I take this in, almost happy for Trey that he has something to show the Gamemakers. But a small part of me can't help but resent him, because I have absolutely no skill to show off.
"What about you, Blondie?" Brandon turns to me expectantly.
I clench my teeth in agitation at this stupid nickname. "I don't have any special skills. None whatsoever. Never used a weapon in my life." It's probably silly of me, making myself out as some kind of useless tribute, but I might as well be honest.
"Right," Brandon replies. "Well, you look like a strong girl. I'm sure you'd be able to hold off any attackers in a hand-to-hand combat situation. But obviously you have the opportunity of learning how to handle a weapon or two in Training, so you do that, Blondie."
I nod silently as Brandon directs his attention towards Haymitch.
"And you, boy?" he asks.
Haymitch glares at Brandon, although I know he doesn't mean to come off as hostile. It's just his way of...approaching people.
"I can use a knife, I guess," he mutters.
"As in, you can throw knives?" Brandon presses, knowing he's not going to get much more than a couple of words out of Haymitch.
Haymitch shrugs. "Sure. Throw, stab, slice, dice, anything." He grins, which frightens me a little. I begin to wonder if I've harboured a crush on some kind of madman.
Astrid begins to cry again, her sobs slightly muffled as she clings onto a silken pillow.
Brandon's tone is much softer, more gentle as he addresses this innocent girl. "And you, sweetie?"
"I-I can't d-do much," she whispers hoarsely. She surprises us all by looking Brandon in the eye and saying, "What's the point, anyway? I've got no chance of winning."
Nobody knows what to say to this, because we all know what she's saying is true. The odds of a wispy thirteen year old coming out of a Quell with forty eight competitors are non-existant.
"Well," Brandon sighs heavily after a few moments of silence. "Let's have dinner, then, shall we? After that, we can watch the recap of the reapings."
We wordlessly obey our mentor as he leads us into the dining room, which is equally as fabulous and decorative as the living room. We take our places at an oakwood table, with Marianna and Brandon seated at opposite ends of the table. I can't help but notice that Haymitch chooses to sit next to me. I chew my lip, knowing that I'll have to get over my insane attraction towards him very soon.
The food is what really takes my mind off things, though. Ravishing dishes of the finest food in the world are laid out before me, and I dig in, suddenly aware of how truly ravenous I am.
Haymitch smirks a little as I fold my napkin onto my lap, like I've been taught countless times by my mother.
"You're being sent to your death and you're still concerned about table manners, sweetheart?" he whispers in my ear.
A shudder ripples down my spine. His breath is so cool, and his voice is so...I can't explain it. Irresistible? I can't help blushing a little. I'm suddenly furious that he has this affect over me.
"Piss off," I hiss at him.
He chuckles, and I catch Marianna giving me a death glare, probably because I've sworn at the table. Something Madeleine often got scolded for back home.
A lump forms in my throat as I think about her. Madeleine. My parents. Carrie. All the people I care the most about, and all the people I will never see again. It isn't fair, I think, as I furiously slice a turkey leg in half. It isn't fair that I'm being taken away from my home to go and fight to the death as punishment for something my rebellious ancestors did.
"Maysilee," Brandon says abruptly, snapping me out of my thoughts. "The recap of the reapings is starting."
I realize I'm the only person still sitting at the table, and the others are staring at me like I'm crazy. Most especially Haymitch, who is rolling his eyes and grinning to himself. Flushing furiously, I get out of my seat and follow the others to the living room.
We all sit down on the couch, and once again Haymitch is beside me. He sits casually, with his legs crossed and his arms, I notice, are so close to mine.
"Let's see what our competition is," Brandon says, flicking the TV on with the push of a button.
There is more than twice the amount of tributes this year, which makes it all the more difficult to remember each one of the tributes' faces. But a couple of my opponent's faces are branded into my mind, because they are just so unforgettable.
The Careers are as deadly as always, and this year there are ten of them. Brutal, arrogant, barely-human monsters. And each one as terrifying as the next.
One of the girls from 1 is short with a wicked smile that I can't shake from my brain. A boy from 2 is scarily huge. He must've been about six foot fifty, and he steps forward to volunteer with such confidence and pride that you'd think he's done this one hundred times before. A boy from 4 looks about fourteen, but he's got an evil glint in his eye, startling in one so small and so young.
The rest of the tributes aren't as remarkable, but there are a few awful diamonds in the rough. A boy from 7,tall and monstrous. An eighteen year old girl from 10, who looks like she could snap my neck with one hand.
And then they move onto the District 12 reapings, and there's us. It's bizarre seeing myself on the TV, and even more bizarre when I look as though I'm on the verge of tears. And then Astrid, weeping and barely able to hold herself together. Trey, who looks stunned and scared. But then there's Haymitch, oozing confidence and arrogance, like he's been expecting this and isn't fazed by the fact that he's going to die in a matter of days.
The TV turns off automatically, and the screen goes black.
"Well," Brandon says quietly, turning to us. "Now you've seen what you're up against. What do you think of your...opponents?"
Haymitch snorts. "They look like a pack of idiots."
I have to bite back a laugh.
"Right," Brandon snarls. "You can tell that to those Careers when they've got you pinned to the ground, knife pressed against your neck."
That silences Haymitch, but he doesn't say anything else. Marianna tells us it's bedtime, and we all roll our eyes like a gang of moody teenagers - which is what we are, I guess - because it's only half past nine.
"No complaining, no complaining!" she scolds. "You've all got a big day ahead of you tomorrow! The chariot rides!"
"Ooh, can't wait," Haymitch mutters.
Marianna beams at him, not getting the sarcasm. "That's the spirit, Haymitch!"
Haymitch rolls his eyes. "Whatever. Where are our rooms?"
"Down that hallway," Marianna chirps, pointing to her left. Sure enough, there's a long, narrow hallway with four closed doors.
We're just making our way down there, when Marianna says "And remember – you must stay in your own rooms! No members of the opposite gender are allowed to reside in the same compartment." She smiles at us like she's rehearsed this line before.
I feel stupid for blushing furiously. As if the tributes would actually have sex with one another. I can see Haymitch grinning at me from the corner of my eye.
"No worries, Marianna," he says with utmost seriousness. "I'll try my best to control my urges."
"Excellent!" Marianna replies happily.
Meanwhile, Trey and I are stifling back laughter.
"Although with this one around it'll be a challenge," Haymitch continues, gesturing towards me.
Marianna's orange mouth opens in shock, and Haymitch assures her, "Just kidding!"
I roll my eyes, and we head to our compartments. I open the door to a room that says 'District 12, female tribute' and step inside. The place is smaller than my bedroom back home, but it's still rather grand. There's an automatic shower, with hundreds of different settings for shampoo, shower gel, you name it. Silken bed sheets, a mahogany wardrobe, intricately-designed curtains... This place is so luxurious and beautiful that I feel almost upset that I'll only be spending one night here.
I strip off my dress and search through the chest of drawers, which are filled with mountains of clothes. I pull on plain blue pyjamas and crawl into bed, wrapping the soft quilt around me, praying that today was just a horrific nightmare.
A/N: I was kind of debating putting in that "Although with this one around it'll be a challenge" line, but I eventually gave in to temptation and put it in, hehe. ;) Leave a review telling me what you thought of this chapter!