Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games, nor do I make any money from this fic. All characters you recognize are Suzanne Collins'. If you don't recognize them, they're mine.
Actors on a Stage
"Haymitch Abernathy!"
Haymitch Abernathy. Me. I'm Haymitch Abernathy. I am this year's sacrifice, the lamb chosen for slaughter. I am going to die.
I stiffen my back as my name leaves her green lips. Vander clutches my arm, but doesn't say a word. I can see my mother crying, already crying, in the crowd. I can't see Leanne. I wonder what she's thinking.
The crowd parts for me, allowing me a clear view of those dreaded wooden steps that lead up to the stage. The steps that ninety-seven dead children walked up the last time they were in District Twelve, their home. Will this be my last time?
"I have to go." I say to Vander, quietly. I can't let anybody think that I'm a coward, or that I'm overly emotional about my family. The weak ones die first. Vander understands, and he lets go.
I take a first, somewhat shaky, step towards the stage, then another, and then another. I stare straight ahead, giving those hated wooden stairs a stare of my own. I don't want to see the expressions on the faces of my friends, my classmates, my neighbors. Are they sad I've been chosen? Or are they happy they haven't been chosen themselves? I don't want to know.
After what seems to be an eternity of silence, broken rhythmically by my footsteps, or sporadically, by my mother's sobs, I reach the top of those stairs.
Turning, I lock my eyes onto the escorts'. Startlingly, they're a normal brown. Has Capitol cosmetic surgery not yet advanced to that level, or is this brief glimpse of normalcy a conscious decision by the blue-haired, green-lipped, Capitol woman?
She smiles at me, but I don't see the smile reach her eyes. In those brown wells, I don't see a twinkle, but no hardness, either. I see a perfectly crafted blankness, without a crack in its façade. Is it there to hide joy, fear, despair? She blinks, and contact is broken, I feel myself fall back from those brown eyes, onto the stage, where no time has passed while I was pondering.
"Haymitch Abernathy, the last Tribute from District Twelve, people! Please, give all four of our wonderful Tributes a big hand of applause!" She says as she grabs my limp hand from my side in a viselike handshake. I shake back, and she lets me go. I make sure that I show no sign of weakness.
I size up my fellow Tributes on stage as the Mayor makes a speech. Miranda, the small girl without a chance, has stopped crying, and now just sniffs occasionally, her eyes cast downwards, her hands limp by her sides. Starkly contrasting the small girl beside him, Tybalt stares stoically ahead, his eyes looking over the crowd, not into it. His hands clench at his sides, slowly, and relax, just as slowly, in a methodical, recognizable pattern. Watching those hands calms me, but also makes me angry, makes me want to do something, to act on a stage where the whole world can see me. I control the impulse, and my eyes move on to the last of my competitors, Maysilee. Her long golden hair ripples in the breeze that has started up again. Her eyes are blue. I see her eyes, and it's then that I realize she's looking at me, just as much as I'm looking at her.
At this sudden understanding, I drop my eyes, suddenly becoming fascinated with the woodwork of the stage's floor. In my peripheral vision, I see that her gaze has not dropped. I focus on an ant studiously carrying a grain of rice between my feet, and only look up again when the mayor has finished his speech. Thankfully, Maysilee's gaze has left me, and moved elsewhere.
A group of Peacekeepers guides us down the stairs, and into the Justice building. I think wildly of running, but push down the thought before I even give it any serious consideration. Running? Here? It would be a bullet to the back, and that guaranteed bullet guaranteed death. In the Games, I would at least have a chance. At this notion, I scoff again. I have no chance. I'm not coming back to District Twelve.
AN: I apologize sincerely to my three (Only three? Ouch.) followers that this chapter, which was so incredibly short, took so long to finish. I had a bit of a block, and I felt that there needed to be something that fleshed out the Tributes and the Escort, and out of that feeling came this chapter. Again, many thanks to my beta, Chaosandmayhem, who is one of the nicest and funniest people I know. Also, anyone catch the slight Harry Potter reference? Reviews appreciated!