Long, short. Long, short. Hmm... wonder if I'm getting into a rhythm here...

Fun Fact of the Chapter: Just before Anderson was submitted, I myself was thinking about creating a blind character to put in another person's SYOT. And then Anderson's profile showed up in my inbox.

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Anderson Birk, District Ten

Apparently, there was some kind of commotion in the crowd after no one volunteered for us. An old man speaking out, a gunshot followed by several more, screaming. Next thing I knew, the escort had grabbed my arm and was yanking me off of the stage. I was led into a room and told to sit down on the couch, that my visitors would be coming soon.

It's been a good 45 minutes. I've been counting. I can't hear any footsteps coming down the hall, and time is running out. They're very strict about the only-one-hour rule, as I know from when my sister left for the Games. We just nearly made it.

Needless to say, my sister didn't come back. And, most likely, neither will I.

Which means that I won't get to see my father or mother again. But I can imagine what they'd say. My mom would sob, just like she did the last time, and say, "I love you, I love you," over and over again until the end of the hour. My father would shift uncomfortably, and then, in a low voice, apologize for being harsh on me, for not supporting me or accepting my disability. I would tell him that it's okay, that I know he loves me anyway, and that I'm glad that I got to live at least 16 years of my life in peace and happiness. Just like Tara did.

But, in stead of sobs and apologies, there is silence. They're most likely caught in the riot, unable to get to me, pleading with unreasonable Peacekeepers. My hand moves to my right wrist, and I rub the beaded bracelet that my sister gave to me so many years ago. She tried to explain the different colors on it to me, and I think I can get a vague grasp on what they are.

Red is heat and fire, warm and passionate, but also bloody. Orange is a softer, kinder red. Yellow is brightness, and the sun, and happy, cheerful days. Green is the forest air, grass and leaves and the earth. Blue is the sky and the ocean, forever expanding, cool and calm. Purple is the royal color, of kings and high heroes, the color of plums and violet flowers, contemplative and intuitive.

I've memorized her exact phrases. She had a way with words, which she used to her advantage in the Games. We really thought she was coming home when the boy from Four caught her in a trap. I'm glad I didn't see the details, but I could hear her screams and whimpers and pleading, which, to me, is even worse.

I can hear footsteps outside of my door, and for a moment I think it's my family, when the door swings open and a rough Peacekeeper's voice barks, "Anderson Birk, your goodbye hour is over." He marches in and grabs my arm. "We're heading to the trains now."

"I know," I say quietly. He doesn't respond.

The noises around me suddenly go from silent to deafeningly loud, and I can sense the flashing of cameras going off and on. "Here, take his arm," says the Peacekeeper, and another person's hand grabs onto me. It's a softer, smaller hand, one that reminds me of Tara's.

"Hi, I'm Chantelle," she says. "Your district partner." Her voice is like a brook, cool and quiet yet promising danger if you fall in and drown. Blue, with a deadly side of red and green.

"Step up," she tells me. "Higher." I find my footing and mount the stairs cautiously. Stairs are my weak point, especially stairs going up to a moving vehicle.

Eventually I hear the doors slide shut, and the escort, Delia, begins to chirp, something about how Chantelle and I work wonderfully together, asking if we're going to be allies. Chantelle promptly lets go of my arm and I hear her footsteps stomp away. Angry, very much so.

I am, too. This isn't right, this isn't fair. Because I have no chance of surviving the Games. All I have is color and light, not the world. To win the Hunger Games, you need to be able to see the world.

I desperately need an ally.