Train Ride: District Five
Octavian Amorous, District Five
Hiss. The double doors of the train slide shut, and then we're off, gliding smoothly out of the train station and through District Five, past the rickety oil refineries, past the stinking plastic factories, past the enormous electricity pylons that have become our district's signature. I try to take in as much of it as I can, standing with my nose pressed to the window, my breath fogging up the glass, staring at my home until all that is left of it are tiny little smudges on the horizon—quickly swallowed up by the desert. It's a depressing sight. Who knows if I'll ever come home again?
"Are you gonna be like that for the whole trip or what?" I spin around to see Mireya Spradlin standing there, her arms crossed over her chest, glaring at me.
I yelp. "Go-Good lord, yo-you scared me." I squeak pitifully. "My heart…" I take several exaggeratedly deep, raspy breaths, as if I've been running a marathon instead of pathetically reminiscing of home. My hand weakly clasps my chest, pretending to feel my heartbeat.
"Don't give me that crap," Mireya snarls. "You're no idiot. You won the Hunger Games, for heaven's sake! I'm not as stupid as you think." She pokes my bony chest hard. This time, I don't bother feigning pain. She already knows my secret. Shoot.
I'm not as weak as the rest of my district gives me credit for. To them, I'm just Oct-Oct-Octavian, the pathetic little weakling who can't even say his name properly. I've been living a lie. Although I was born with a mild limp and stutter, most of it has just been exaggerated by me over the years. When people look at me, they see a cripple. What they don't see is an all-knowing mastermind who is ready to bring them down at the slightest provocation. People let their guard down around me. The let slip rumors, secrets that they would never expect a fool like me to understand. I know secrets. Dangerous secrets. And now Mireya knows mine.
"If you ever tell anyone…" I hiss, trying to sound as menacing as possible. Which isn't very easy when you're a skinny fourteen-year-old boy with a stutter.
Mireya looks smugly amused. Right now, it's annoying as hell. "Well, I might just let it slip the next time we're on national television if some certain circumstances are not met…" She trails off. I have no idea what she means by that, and I don't really want to know.
"If you tell ANYONE," I snarl, my voice low, deadly, and miraculously stutter-free, "the world will know of how much you hate the Capitol and our dear Mr. President. And although you're going to die anyway, I will make sure your family feels the complete, painful consequences of your crimes, even if it's the last freaking thing I do."
The poor girl actually takes a step backwards, as if I've punched her. "You wouldn't—how would you know anyways? Besides, my family means nothing to me." She sneers. She's trying to put on the tough front, but I can see right through it. She's shaken.
"Like you said, I'm not as stupid as you think," I reply simply. "You don't let slip my secret, and I won't tell anyone yours. Deal?" She nods. "Great. Now let's get something to eat. I'm freaking starving."
Mireya Spradlin, District Five
My mind is racing at a thousand miles per hour as I follow Octavian into the food car. How could that idiot have found out my secret? It's true that I haven't been very discreet about how much I hate those despicable animals that force us to send our children off to slaughter every year, and most of all that bastard of a president. I guess hatred isn't enough to describe what I feel for them. But how could anyone, least of all the town fool, find out my secret? No, now the question is, Will he tell anyone? Was he bluffing? Has he told anyone already? I'm already going to die, but if they hurt my family...it's true that we don't like each other very much, but I could never live with myself if something happened to them because of me.
I'm so lost in thought that I nearly crash into Octavian before I notice that he's suddenly stopped. Looking over his shoulder, I can see why.
The center of the room is dominated by a long table. An endless banquet has been laid out on top of it. Plates are piled high with mountains of colorful food that I've never seen before. And all I can think is, While we're starving in the streets, they're living like this? Just reason number two hundred and forty-six to hate the Capitol. Of course, what catches my attention the most are the two men sitting at the other side of the table. Our mentors. I think their names are Blake and Calvin, but in our district, they're more commonly referred to as—
"Junk and Drunker," Octavian sneers. Both of them are passed out, slumped faceforward into their plates. A rapidly growing puddle of drool is spreading next to Blake. Yuck. I wince in disgust as it begins to drip to the floor. "Which one do you want?"
So I get to choose between a druggie and a drunk to be my mentor. Awesome. "I'll take Calvin," I groan, trying to keep my disgust at a manageable level. At least this guy has less of a chance of dying in the middle of the Games from a morphling overdose.
To my surprise, Octavian actually grins slightly. "I guess I'll take Junk then," he chuckles, an all-knowing smile plastered on his face. Creep. I hate that smile.
He casually strolls around the table and whispers something into Blake's ear. The sedative-laden mentor's bloodshot eyes bolt open immediately, and he unsteadily gets up and follows Octavian out of the room, nearly crashing into the door. I'm left here standing like an idiot.
What the hell?
I slowly creep over to Calvin and poke him in the arm, taking care not to touch the lake of drool that is now cascading over the table in torrents. He doesn't move. I whisper "Get UP!" in his ear. Still nothing. I kick him in the back. He falls over, still passed out. This is going to be a freaking long ride.
And here are our District 5 tributes! I thought that those fight-to-the-death scenes were getting a bit repetitive, so now I'm moving on to train rides. Not much else to say...reviews would be nice, though :).