The train ride is stagnant. Georgina and I barely exchange glances. Our mentor is introduced to us in his full drunken state and the homely reminder lodges a wad of bile in my throat. Effie doesn't stop talking the whole ride there. And me, I remain in my same unmoving position, buttocks welded to the heat of the sticky leather of my seat, face determinedly fixed on the box resting on my lap, clutched between my sweaty palms. They seem to have turned the train into the sun in order to compensate for the bitter cold of the outside, so now everything has the appearance of a layer of gloss from its own perspiration.
Of course Butterman would give me this of all things before I went off to my death. No words of encouragement or even last minute release of unconditioned affection. Some kind of monologue convincing me of my worth. No. I got a box of scrap. I can feel myself getting more irritated with every jolt the train makes.
Effie tries to engage both me and Georgina into some conversation but Georgina keeps bursting into tears and I keep on ignoring everything but my little box.
"Well this is ... delightful" Effie trifles out, bumbling through the silent swirls of heated breath circling around the train. Effie and Haymitch sit opposite us while someone pours us glasses of patronising champagne in which only Haymitch and Effie seem interested.
"Haymitch, don't you want to welcome our tributes?" Effie tries giving the drunken man a nudge in his seat which backfires as his grip loosens on his champagne flute and the shimmering liquid slops onto his lap. He looks from his lap to Effie then to us. Everything about his movements is slowed and slurred. He reaches out and grabs my champagne.
"Welcome aboard" he salutes and swallows the contents in one exaggerated gulp.
"This is good stuff." He stands up but not before turning to me.
"I'd drink up while you can. It's the only fun you're going to get."
My eyes become caught on his, both of us judging the other for what they are worth to us.
Neither of us is satisfied.
"Nonsense Haymitch!" Effie bats. We both ignore her.
"I don't drink." I state, still holding his stare. Haymitch lets out a snort and shakes his particularly glossy mane.
"Trust me, you do." And he stumbles his way out of the cart and into what I can assume is his part of the train. Leaving us alone, with Effie.
"He's just …." Effie tries to think of some kind of excuse for Haymitch's state but from the look of him he's never apologised for anything in his life so no one else stands a chance.
"He's well …." Effie looks us both in the eye, and I'm guessing she sees some form of intelligence because she simply states, "You get used to him."
We must have been on the train for hours as it starts to go dark outside. Georgina stopped crying a while ago and now only stares hopelessly out of the window. I still stare at my box. I was pretty happy to spend the rest of the ride there like that until suddenly Georgina lets out a gasp. Only this time it's not from excessive crying but of genuine excitement. I look over to where she's knelt up on her seat, desperately pushing her hands into the window.
'The first star!' she exclaims. Her breath has started to fog up the glass and she has to move her head to see around it like she's doing some crazy window dance. Then suddenly she closes her eyes, straightens her back and takes a deep breath.
"I wish I was at home." She sighs and then nudges me with her elbow.
"Go on Ethan. Make a wish. Come on."
I look back at her and then at the star and then back at the box I still clutched in my hands.
I feel stupid for even thinking about it. Everything about this train ride makes me feel stupid. It makes blind hope feel like such a stupid idea when everything in front of me is confirming the rational prospect that there is no hope where we are and definitely none where we are going, not for us. The heat, the persistent jolting, the niggling box in my hand have already wound me up to the point where Georgina's request of me is suddenly too much and I want to hurl out all bouts of realism to her just so that she'd stop.
But as I watch her, knees tucked into her chest with her too short and fraying dress revealing her skinny ankles and even skinnier arms wrapped all the way around them. Her long blonde her hair is staggered across her face where her eyes, possibly the only part of her that seem fully sized, were pleading with my own to share something with her that she could trust.
She was, as if all of a sudden, so young. So I give her a smile. It's half-hearted and limp but it's enough to keep her going as she turns back to the window and rests her chin on the window ledge.
The blunt sound of a body hitting the floor alerts both of us to the idea that the games have already begun and we quickly cross our cabin floor. The automatic doors whoosh open to reveal a drunk Haymitch passed out next to, not yet resting in, his own vomit. Georgina gasps and goes as if to comfort him but I put out my hand firmly in front of her chest.
"No. Go to bed. I'll clean up here." I'm used to this. She isn't. I grab the bucket that once held a full bottle of champagne and empty out the ice before kneeling beside Haymitch. I look up to see Georgina sill stood there. I realise then that I must have scared her rather than comforted her with my instructions. Force of habit.
"It's alright. He's alright. I can take care of him. Please go to bed." And then as she turned away, I don't know why I had to say it but the words were already out there before I could stop them.
"Dream something for me."
She stops and turns back, confused by my obviously strange favour.
"Dream of something – good." I could feel a fresh bout of heat and shame colour my skin when she, peculiarly, smiled and nodded as if she would, and went to make the short walk to her quarters.
I turn back to Haymitch.
"Come on Haymitch, come on." And I set to work cleaning him and the carpet. Every so often he'll mumble something which I'm pretty sure is abuse before slouching back into his limbo of unconsciousness. Once everything is as it should be, all that's left is to get him into his room. I grab a fistful of the ice I'd emptied earlier and shove it down the back of his shirt hoping it'll make his limbs more co-operative and not really having the energy for the gentle approach. He jolted upright and took a swing at my face but I managed to duck down in time. His arm movements were still fairly slow so I was able to hold his arms down in place while he took a minute to understand where we was.
"You're an interfering little goody two shoes aren't you." He states as he tries to pull himself up and continues to lean heavily on my support whilst I get him to his room. I take it he's not best pleased about the ice.
"I try my best," I humour him.
"No goody two shoes wins the games. Even the girl had the knack of survival and sense to leave me." I suppose living with Butterman all of these years has softened my immunity to the ungrateful reality of people.
"No wonder your mum got rid of you." He can't know that, not really, no one should know that. I pull at him harder so that we reach his room faster and I deposit him onto his bed.
"There, you've been left." And I leave.
…..
The sound of cheering and whistling drums the train to a stop and we've arrived.
"Come on, come on you two. Never leave the public waiting." I quickly shove my box under my coat just in case someone were to take it as contraband. I'm not sure why though, it may even have been nice to leave the burden behind.
As we exit the train we smile and wave as Effie has instructed and as I've seen those before us do when we would gather around the TV presentation screen in the local tavern. It was a wave of welcome to the capital and of goodbye to any friends or acquaintances at home unable to visit us one last time. I try not to be overwhelmed and only think about my imminent death that these people would get a kick from but it's hard when all you've known is how to scavenge for anything you could possibly need.
We're escorted pretty quickly to our quarters on the twelfth floor. It's huge. Probably the size of my whole street in District 12. All kinds of gadgets are lying around with expensive looking furniture, mainly glass, scattered around the place. What was strange was that most objects, though you could tell what they were, would bend or twist in a way that I'd never seen them do before. Everything looked as if it had been artificially sculptured to fit some kind of design even though it mainly just looked a mess with random things dotted in inconvenient places.
"Voila!" Exclaims Effie gesturing to the suite.
"And it's all yours" I can feel myself becoming overwhelmed again and I really don't want that to happen so I think again about death. Though it's clear that my mind has slowly become numb to the idea of the games and my inevitable failure to survive when a few minutes in, we're ushered by Effie into a new room which is spread out with all kinds of delicacies. Small savoury dishes and finger things of all different colours and smells are littered across a long table while smaller carts stacked with cakes and pastries are tucked away at the side of the sofas. I see Georgina's hand fly to her stomach and a smile crosses her face. It's hard to focus on anything Effie is saying when faced with more food than I've ever seen.
"Enjoy!" She exclaims and claps her hands together, most likely happy that she's finally got a reaction out of us that isn't crying or impartial.
We both grab a plate though its existence seems futile at first as we just shove whatever we pick up in our mouths. Georgina starts asking the names of all the different foods she's trying but it's useless as there are so many and the names are so complicated, so she returns, like me, to the state of blissful ignorance.
About ten minutes in and Effie leaves, so we become braver, more willing to experiment. We've developed a system of only nibbling whatever it is we pick up or only slurping a small spoonful of the mush, before deciding whether it's worthy or not of going on our plate. If it is then at least two good handfuls of it are scooped onto our ever growing piles of food.
Half an hour later and the threatening image of Effie is well and truly out of our minds, even the games seems to be just a faraway fog as we slip into a drunken state of hunger. Never having been faced with so much food before we start to get carried away, greedy and wasteful as we spill different soups and broths over half nibbled pies and breads. Dipping stained fingers into exotic sauces, we recommend different foods to each other and forcefully throw down the ones we don't like.
Georgina gives up the fight before I do which seems to fill me with some kind of phantom hope of my survival, then I realise she's been one step ahead of me and has simply taken a break on a plush sofa, where its purpose seems to be to comfort the deliriously full, before leaning over to inspect the desserts on the trays encompassing her. She picks up some kind of cake which oozes chocolate as she bites into it, wildly licking her lips, delighting herself in this foreign territory.
I immediately drop my plate and sink myself into one of the sofas, eyes flickering over every desert. I can already feel my stomach aching from too much food so I know I need to be choosey about which deserts I eat. There's a slice of cake with white icing and a yellow creamy middle that gives off the sweet scent of lemon. I've only ever had lemon once in my life but it was raw and bitter. I gingerly stroke my finger through the cream belly of the cake and lick it clean feeling the burst of lemon and cream on my tongue. I forget my rule of restraint and devour the whole piece and am about to go for seconds when the door slams open too hard and knocks over a stand that held the remnants of cheeses.
Haymitch, on staggering his way in, hung over, and seeing his prodigies lying half hazard on the sofa happily descending into some sort of food coma, simply shrugs.
"Well, I see I have two tributes after my own heart." and he helps himself to one of the less appetising looking cakes before switching on the television on the wall. All feelings of selfish delight have now turned me queasy, most likely from a mixture eating too much and the thought of sharing any personality aspect similar to Haymitch.
"Right you two, time to see who you're up against." We both sit up and my head immediately goes dizzy, regret now sinking in.
One by one we watch as each reaping from each district is displayed on screen. It starts off in ours, with who from district twelve being less in demand in the capital social circles and works its way to the top. I see myself walk onto the stage and I can see how actually my demeanour isn't too weak, I don't look too hopeless. Poor Georgina does though. She's quivering from start to finish.
Slowly we move through the districts.
'DISTRICT ELEVEN' the TV announces.
'FOR THE GIRLS – AUBREY LINDLE'
Aubrey must be the oldest you can be as she looks as if she knew already, gives the person next to her a squeeze and walks steadily onto the stage. Already I admire her without knowing anything else. The boy, I didn't pay attention to his name, is less impressive, but equally as calm.
The two from District ten both kick up a fuss, as do nine but then things start to relax at District eight.
'DISTRICT SEVEN'
Every so often Haymitch feigns a useful comment with just enough lack of enthusiasm to tell us that no comment will ever be useful to us. We are the least prepared of everyone and that is perfectly clear from every other districts' slightly larger stomach, or slightly more composed nod of confirmed effort to fight.
'DISTRICT SIX'
'ROSE FINERDAN'
From here on it's clear that each tribute that is called on stage is only going to look even more skilled and lethal than the last.
'JARON FORN'
My stomach has slowly begun to twist and churn making my whole body ache with the irritation. The lemon flavouring is now a sickly reminder of my fault. I wish I hadn't eaten so much, stayed calm and just allowed myself what I could handle.
'DISTRICT FIVE'
I want to excuse myself so that I can go and lie down on my bed and moan out some of my pain in private but to leave now would be as if admitting that I was too scared to watch the line-up of potential killers and not that I may burst from overconsumption.
'DISTRICT FOUR'
Haymitch has run out of hints and tricks for the Career tributes now. After each one lines up he simply nods to the ground as if to confirm he knew it would be this bad.
'DISTRICT THREE'
My head is starting to feel the full of effects of the nausea that has set in my stomach like a stone. I'm stuck in a state of both satisfaction and regret.
'LADIES FIRST – DIANA KLIPFORTH'
A girl that looks similar to the last two we've seen only bouncier, more excited. She practically runs on stage, her long ponytail swishing as she throws her fists in the air in empowerment. I look down at the floor, not wanting to see her strong male counterpart.
'NOW THE BOYS – HAYDEN RINDON'
Haymitch is watching me and I can feel him struggling to think of words. He must have been a big feller.
'I VOLUNTEER!'
This makes me look up. Though volunteering isn't that rare in the better off districts it's obviously not expected by the crowd as a ripple of gasps is just heard in the camera and heads frantically turn to see who it is.
'I VOLUNTEER IN HIS PLACE'
The voice rings out again. My eyes widen.
It can't be.
The figure briskly rushes to the front pulling Hayden behind him, who looks more perplexed than the rest of the crowd. The figure continues to move until he's on the stage and in front of the microphone.
No.
I don't know when I stood up. Or if I said any of it out loud.
'ALRIGHT, CALM DOWN, WE ARE EAGER TO PROVE OURSELVES AREN'T WE. AND YOU MUST BE?'
Please no.
'CALEB KNIGHT'
In an instant I'm down on my hands and knees, vomiting the entire contents of my stomach onto the freshly buffed carpet. It's true what they say, be careful what you wish for.