Train Rides Part Two
A Cannon in the Wind;
The Fifth Hunger Games
Daniel Church, 17;
District Seven Male.
"And now, for District Three!" Aeliana exclaims, her voice bright and bubbly.
The screen changes and shows the residents of District Three, their scrawny forms momentarily shocking me. I mean, District Seven isn't that well off either...but for them to be that scrawny, how could they ever have a shot at victory?
It could happen, I tell myself, biting my lip. It'd be wrong to cast them off as corpses already. I shouldn't do that. I'm not like the Capitol.
I'm nothing like the Capitol. Those people should be ashamed of themselves. Seriously, this isn't right. None of it is. Hoarding people inside districts and forcing them to work day and night isn't right. Kidnapping twenty-four kids and publically killing them isn't right.
I feel sorry for District Three. If I could, I'd help them. I would.
But instead, I'm riding on a train to the very people that endorse these kind of things. I'll have to fight for them, kill for them, do anything and everything for them.
The Capitol is so selfish. It's all for them. Everything for them.
Nothing for the districts. If I was in charge, I'd help them. I'd be there for them. Sometimes, that's all I want to do. To help people. People like District Three, who live miserable lives inside of their districts, enslaved by a ruler that takes and kills two of their children annually.
If I was in charge…
"That's a bad thought, Daniel," I tell myself, shaking my head. Power corrupts people, and I'm not so self-righteous as to think I wouldn't be corrupted. That's the main reason I didn't let my little brother volunteer.
It's not even the fact that he could've died. If he won, he would have started another rebellion, and more and more lives would have been lost. And then, if he somehow led the rebellion to victory, there's no doubt in my mind that he would've gained power over Panem.
And while my brother isn't a bad person, I don't want him doing anything worse than what's already happening in this cursed country. He's too smart, and that's his fatal flaw.
The Games would change him.
But they won't change me. I'll go in as I am, and go out as I am.
The alternative would kill me. Literally.
When the tributes of District Three show on the screen—Tet Kender and Iris Logan—I'm momentarily overwhelmed. They're both so young! How can the Capitol condone this? Why are they so cruel?
"Well, we know who not to worry about," Tacita, our Capitol Escort, mumbles. Her voice is as monotone as ever. I glance at her, hiding my cold fury behind an indifferent face. "Well, what do you two think? I'm not going to continue talking if I'm not going to get a response."
"I'm going to assist them," I say immediately, ignoring both her and Calla's looks of astonishment. "It is absolutely repugnant of the Capitol to have those two kids fighting for their lives. It'd be distasteful not to help them."
Tacita's surprised look turns into a deadpanned one. "You do realize that only one tribute will be coming out of the Arena, right?"
"Of course I do." I stand my ground, not trying to be too hostile with her. That's what's wrong with the world; too much hate and not enough love, too much fighting and not enough compromising. "But I'll get to that when it approaches."
Before Tacita can say something rude, Calla opens her mouth. "Why did you volunteer, Daniel?" She asks, her eyes boring into my own. "I mean, you and your little brother were easily one of the most well-off people in District Seven. There aren't many people who smith our axes when they get dull, y'know? It can't be for the money, right?"
She's right. If I were volunteering for the riches, that'd be the biggest mistake of my life. Luke and I don't need money of any kind. We're very well-known in District Seven for our blacksmithing abilities, which our father taught us a while back in District Two.
The reason we had to leave is a sad one. My parents tried to incite a rebellion in District Two, because most of the people there were too afraid of the Capitol to fight back. It failed, obviously, and my parents put us on a train to District Seven right before their capture and probable execution. Sometimes, I really want to believe that they're still alive, wanting desperately to see us...but I know that's just false hope.
I'm smart, and I know when things just aren't worth hoping for. Most of the time, at least.
"My younger brother had wanted to volunteer, even at his young age. I couldn't let him give up his life like that," I tell her, holding back a chuckle. Luke would literally roll his eyes if he heard me say something like this. He's too arrogant sometimes, and his death wasn't even something he considered.
But I considered it. And losing my little brother wasn't something I was going to let happen.
"Oh. That's...so sweet." Calla brightens up, showing a bit of her true self for the first time. She's been a bit reserved around me—because I volunteered for this, no doubt—but now that she knows the truth, knows that I'm not some sick individual, she feels she can be herself around me. And her true self is actually pretty sweet and kind, I bet.
Just like the majority of people in District Seven. When Luke and I moved from District Two to District Seven, we didn't know what to think. It was just so...different. The clothing was so distasteful to me, the people so unintelligent and naive compared to my brother and I. But we got used to it, and even started up a business.
They weren't the kind of people we grew up with—but they were nice, and that was all that eventually mattered to me. Nice people get so much farther in life than bad people.
But do they? You're a tribute now, Daniel, and you'll have to eventually act like one. I swallow those thoughts down my throat. I'm not going to change for the Capitol. I'll defend myself, but I'm not going to make it a goal to kill as many tributes as I can.
Unconsciously, I place my hands around the golden medallion, my token. Luke almost spent everything we own to make something like this. It's a...Plan B, you could say. When turned a certain way, this medallion will morph into a makeshift blade.
It's against the rules, but Luke didn't care. Anything to get ahead. I was a bit apprehensive on taking it, because honor and loyalty is everything to me.
But just like everyone else, I don't want to die.
That's not wrong, right?
Zander Engres, 17;
District Eight Male.
"And now, for District Four."
Aeliana's face is cut away, the television showing District Four's Reaping now. The boy, Caio Artelle, is reaped first, and he's definitely displeased about it. The girl from District Four volunteers for her little sister, though. Ula Dylan is her name, and other than being older than me, I don't see her as too much of a threat.
A threat. I almost snort, but I'm way too dignified for that. Father always taught me to wear a mask of complete calmness and control, no matter the situation. Even though the Reaping shocked me enough to momentarily break down my walls, I'm not going to embarrass him again. Just because I'm being shipped off to the Capitol, about to partake in a battle royale, doesn't mean I'm going to let his teachings go to waste.
I don't want him to be disappointed in me. All I want to do is please him. Even during the Goodbyes, though, he still had that cold look on his face. Like I'm a failure, like I'll always be a failure, like I'm just a worthless disappointment—
No. He doesn't think that. Just continue doing what you do, Zan, and he'll eventually come along.
Yeah, my father will appreciate me eventually. Eventually...
...But I don't have much time left, do I? I almost forgot, I'm about to be in the Hunger Games. The Hunger Games, where twenty-three tributes meet a gruesome end. The Hunger Games, where I could die.
Some sort of noise leaves my throat, something akin to fear—but before anyone can look and see why, I quickly put on my indifferent facade. Don't show fear, my father always says. Don't show weakness of any kind, Zander.
Even though this is a complete nightmare, I'm not going to let my emotions get the better of me.
"Are you okay, Zander?" Kaya asks, her big blue eyes showing a hint of worry. But I don't want this stupid girl to be worried about me; if anyone's supposed to be worried, I'd rather it be my father.
I sit up just a bit straighter, just like I was taught. Always show your dominance, Zander. You deserve respect.
"I'm fine." My reply is terse. I don't want her thinking that she can be friendly to me. For all I care, she can drop dead.
This entire country can drop dead, actually. I don't care about anyone but myself. And my father. Just because he may sorta forget about you, don't forget about him. Never forget about him.
She pauses for a moment, before giving me a wary smile. "Are you sure? Personally, I'm a wreck right now, and I'd love for someone to talk—"
"Well then talk to Sabina," I interrupt, gesturing towards our Capitol Escort. She's completely ignoring us, content to stuffing herself with a variety of colorful foods. Fatass Capitol freak.
Kaya bites her lip. "Could you speak a bit louder? I heard you, but not very loudly, and working in the factories—"
"I don't care!" I say, a lot louder so her ears can pick up every single syllable. "I don't want to talk to you! You're bothering me, and I'd like for you to leave me alone and shut up! Did you catch that?"
"Well—!" Kaya's eyes flash in anger. She's just about to say something scathing, I can tell, but suddenly she bites her lip and stares at the table instead. "Okay, I get it. You're pissed off about being reaped—and I am, too. You just look like a cool guy, y'know, and I just didn't want you wallowing in despair during our time here. I'll, um, give you time to cool off?"
I don't respond. She's got a fiery side, I can tell, but she's too nice for my liking. Nice people like her are the absolute first ones to die. And I don't want any part of it. I deserve to win the Hunger Games; I can't be preoccupied with the state of my allies or whatever.
In the end, they'll all be dead. Because I have to win. Kaya can die. The pair from District Four can die. Everyone in the goddamned Capitol can die for all I care.
District Five shows up on the television now. Thirteen-year-old Michael Riverbee and fourteen-year-old Alexandra Fearn, the latter volunteering for some odd reason. For a quick second, Michael and Alexandra both remind me of myself a bit.
Michael's crying onstage, something I used to do a lot when my mother was blasted to bits. She was the closest person in my life—and just like that, she was gone. And Alexandra's smiling at the camera like she's trying to get the attention of somebody important to her. I always did crazy things to get my father's attention, hence the multiple scratches on my face. In the end, though, my quest for acknowledgment failed—and so will hers. Volunteering will be the literal death of her.
"That's sad," Kaya mumbles, mainly to herself more than to me. "They're so young. They don't deserve this..."
And just like that, a plan starts to form. I don't know why those words trigger something in me, but they do. I'll use Kaya to act as a shield while I go through the Games safe and sound. She's so nice and pathetic, she won't suspect a thing. It's wrong, probably, but I'm a cunning person when I have to be.
And right now, I have to be. Because I deserve to win.
I deserve to win the Hunger Games.
And then, my father will finally be proud of me.
I can't lose control; I can't fail.
Terrance Vallier, 16;
District Nine Male.
Aeliana Devrine grins at the cameras. "The competition seems to be heating up, everyone. But now, let's get to District Six."
I stare at the television, leaning in a bit. If I'm going to succeed, I need to see my competition, analyze their every action. Even the tributes of District Twelve could prove dangerous, and I'll need every advantage I can get.
The screen changes, and the people of District Six seem to stare right back at me. Ignoring their soulless eyes, I focus on the orange-haired Escort pulling out a slip. The male is called: seventeen-year-old Breno Harmont. He looks pretty calm for a boy just condemned to death—but I can see through that facade a mile away. Immediately, multiple scenarios of his death come to mind, each of them by the hands of yours truly.
No, I don't want to kill him. But it's best I get used to the idea of my weapon slicing into another body. What has to be done will be done; there's no emotional satisfaction at all, it just is.
If I'm going to win the Hunger Games, I'll have to kill. Especially if I truly want the Capitol's assistance. I'm not going to be one of those foolish tributes, the ones that think they can get through this without a drop of blood on their hands.
Just like the tributes before him, Breno Harmont means absolutely nothing to me. Nobody means anything to me, if I were to be brutally honest. With no parents, with no friends, I've had to provide for myself for as long as I can remember. I wasn't going to end up as one of those sniveling children, begging for food until they eventually starved to death.
Just like how I'm not going to end up as a causality, my body scooped up and sent back to poor District Nine. There'd be nobody there to accept it—except Dalton, I guess, but they wouldn't give him my body. I guess I'd be cremated in the Capitol, maybe even used as a Mutt for the next—
Okay, I'm not letting my train of thought lead me there. I'm not going to die, and that's final. If I can build myself up from the ashes in District Nine, I can kill twenty-three others and return home. I know I can. I just need to work hard enough.
But you're always working hard. How much harder can you work before you drop?
As hard as I have to, I tell myself.
Thirteen-year-old Ceres Cantrell is reaped as District Six's female tribute, and for a quick second, I bow my head, giving a silent prayer to the soon-to-be corpse. I may be a bit weathered, but I'm not a monster. I just do what I have to do to survive in this world.
The Capitol wants a monster as their Victor, but I'm not going to be that. I may be "pro-Capitol" to an extent, but that doesn't mean I'm going to change myself for them.
I'll change for nobody.
Sitting on the couch right beside me is Toren, her eyes red. When we first got on this train, she cried—but only for a bit, because not even thirty minutes later, she was right back in here requesting food. She seems tough, but there must be something more to her. Something nice, something I can manipulate to my advantage.
I wouldn't call myself a manipulative person, but I would call myself intelligent. I take every opportunity I get and use it to further myself, because not doing that would just get me killed.
When District Seven appears on-screen, seventeen-year-old Calla Mallow is immediately reaped. I focus on her and her only, noting the way she walks and everything. The girl from District Four has a messed up leg, which won't be hard at all to use to my advantage. While Calla doesn't look like she has any obvious weaknesses, she doesn't have any obvious strengths either.
I'll have to observe her more during training.
"She looks like a good ally," Toren murmurs, more to herself than to me—but I hear it all the same.
I can't stop myself from snorting. "Until she ends up chopping off your head."
Her head whips around so fast, I'm surprised it doesn't swing off. "Excuse me?" She says, her brows furrowed. "What are you trying to say?"
I roll my eyes, ignoring my District Partner. Arguing with Toren would be pointless, and I don't make it a habit to do pointless things. They just waste time and energy, time and energy that could be used elsewhere.
Back in District Seven, a boy tries to volunteer, but then seventeen-year-old Daniel Church beats him to the punch. By the way he's smiling at the cameras, it's obvious that volunteering isn't as glamorous an idea as the District Two boy made it seem.
I can use that against him somehow. I know I can.
All it usually takes is a bit of thinking, and nothing is impossible. Like how I "sided with the Capitol" during the war. Without my intelligence, I would've never thought to trick the Peacekeepers like that. I would've never gotten back on my feet.
Without my intelligence, I would've died a long time ago.
I look down at the medallion wrapped around my neck. Dalton gave it to me during the Goodbyes; it's his Peacekeeper Medallion, the one he got for excellence overall. He sees it as sentimental, something to help me remember him by.
But I don't see it the same way. I see it as a way to flaunt my allegiance to the Capitol. How could they kill one of their supporters? The Hunger Games are for the rebels. And I'm not a rebel.
Neither are you on their side, Terrance. But that doesn't matter. I'm an opportunist.
I'll use this opportunity, the Hunger Games, to make more of myself.
What must be done will be done. That's what I always say, anyway.
London Tienna, 18;
District Ten Female.
The sun is slowly coming down, the sky turning a deep shade of purple. The trees pass by in a dark green blur. For the umpteenth time today, I'm wishing I was back in District Ten. During this time of the night, Lucas and I would be snuggling together, watching the stars flashing in the night sky.
I press a hand on the window, a weird feeling of dread in my chest. It's like a very bad breakup—or worse, it's like I've been reaped for the Hunger Games.
Because you have been reaped for the Hunger Games.
Oh, right.
I look away from the window, not wanting to wallow in self-pity for much longer. I'm not normally like this. I'm London Tienna—happy, enthusiastic, loving London. I'm not this sad, depressing girl. I'm never this sad, depressing girl.
Standing up, I see to my left Ricky watching the television. To be honest, I haven't paid much attention to the Reaping Recaps. When my District Partner and I first got on this train, I ate so much food that the Hunger Games were momentarily forgotten. And then, when I felt my stomach wouldn't last much longer, I sat over by the window and fought sleep. Watching the wildlife go by in a blur is one of the most boring things in the world—but honestly, I needed a bit of that calmness.
...Watching the wildlife go by. Wildlife. Like pigs. Like the pigs in District Ten. I shut my eyes, hitting myself in the head. I need to stop thinking about District Ten! That won't help me. It won't help me. It won't...
...But what will? My Escort? Ricky? Another tribute?
I don't know. I'm one of the smartest kids in school, yet I don't know the one thing that'll keep me alive. My dad would know; though he's not exactly the happiest soul, he gives the best advice. And mom, she'd be working tirelessly as usual. She'd definitely find a way to stay alive throughout this.
Dammit, I miss them. I miss them already. I even miss my annoying little sister...
...I'm getting depressed again. Forcing a smile on my face, I march over to where Ricky is, sitting on the couch right next to him. He gives me a quick glance, before his face turns crimson red and he looks away.
I bite back a laugh. That's so cute! Cute, like Lucas. I wonder what he's doing without me right now? If I die, will he find a new girlfriend? How long will that take him? A minute? An hour? A day, a week, a month?
Blinking back the tears, I force the thought out of my mind. No crying, London! I haven't cried yet, and I'm sure not going to cry now. Besides, I'm going to...win. Yeah, I'm going to win, so there's no reason to cry...
I'm going to win the Hunger Games.
"And now, for District Eight," says Aeliana Devrine on the TV. The chubby Escort reaps the female first: sixteen-year-old Kaya Vause. With each step she makes to the stage, it's like watching a window crack further and further until there's nothing left but dust. It's sad, really—but I'm not in the position to pity her. Especially considering we're in the same boat here. The boy is reaped next: seventeen-year-old Zander Engres. He's in complete shock, walking to the stage with his mouth wide open.
Despite myself, I start snickering. Ricky gives me a look—but hey, don't blame me! It is pretty funny.
"Now that I think about it..." I say, nudging my District Partner with my elbow. He turns to look at me, his face getting redder by the second.
"Huh?"
"From this perspective, it makes us seem like we're from the Capitol, watching the Reapings together." I laugh some more. I don't know why, but for some reason, it's just so funny! Trying to stop my stomach from cramping, I put on the best Capitol impersonation I can think of. "I'll bet my ring finger that Mr. Engres falls right off the pedestal! Ohohoho!"
Ricky cracks a small smile, but doesn't say anything in response. That's fine, though. I'm not really looking for a conversation, or even an ally. I'm just looking for a distraction, no matter how minimal it may be.
District Nine appears on-screen next, their endless fields seeming like a paradise compared to the Square. The Escort reaps sixteen-year-old Terrance Vallier first. He's pretty cute, I admit, even though he's a bit younger than me. The female tribute is reaped next: fifteen-year-old Toren Ingalls. She doesn't even look like she can fully comprehend what just happened to her. Her hair is so messy, too; I'd rather die than look like that on national television.
...That was a really bad choice of words.
Now that I think about it, though, I wonder how I'll look? Hopefully not too crazy; running away was my first instinct, and punching that Peacekeeper was just the first thing that came to mind. The more I think about my Reapings, the less and less I want to see it.
But suddenly, Rufus walks in, just as our district is displayed on the TV. He's our crazy Capitol Escort, the one that technically condemned us to this awful fate. Yet, for some reason, I just can't hate him. He's been nothing but nice to us this entire time—and hating people isn't something I do in the first place.
I just can't help but adore other people, even when they're rude. So how do you expect to kill them, London?
I don't know. I don't know a lot of things, apparently.
"Okay, so you two won't believe this," he says, his communication-device-thingy pressed against his ear. He explained the concept to us a while ago, but it just seemed so farfetched that I couldn't believe it.
But I need to learn to stop underestimating the Capitol—because from what I can see, they can do anything.
"The people love you, London. Other than the boy from District Two, you're one of the Capitol's favorite!"
"...Huh?" His words take me by complete surprise. For a moment, it feels like I'm falling, like I've just been given a meal too big for my stomach. "I'm...one of their favorites? But why? How?"
"When you were reaped, you ran, you fought back. Even though it wasn't the best image, it proved that you have what it takes to defend yourself. And your looks certainly didn't hurt the matter, either." Rufus has a big smile on his face as he nears me, placing a perfectly manicured hand on my shoulder. "They love you, London. Please don't screw this up. You may be exactly what District Ten needs."
I feel something in my chest, something strong and suffocating and...good. I suddenly feel good. Because I have a shot at victory, a better shot than most tributes have. Usually, I'm the most self-confident girl you'd ever meet—but this is the Hunger Games, and things are different.
I have to be different. I can't afford to be cocky anymore, I at least have the common sense for that. But I can be confident in myself. And confidence is one thing I have plenty of.
I glance at Ricky. He's staring at the television again, but the small frown on his face is as clear as day. It must suck, not being as liked as your District Partner—but I don't want him to think he's any less than me. I don't want him to be intimidated by me.
Because I'm just a normal girl. I'm not a killer, I wouldn't even call myself a threat. But I'm not giving up, either, and that's where my true strength comes from.
The Hunger Games are a curse—but I know I can win. Nothing more than fate has brought me here. Why throw someone like me into an arena if I don't have what it takes?
So I'm going to win.
I have to.
Meeko Brighton, 14;
District Eleven Female.
For the umpteenth time today, Priscilla—our Escort—gives Koda a look that'd shatter glass. "Can you please stop moving?" She demands, her voice high and frilly.
The Capitol's accents have always intrigued me a bit. Why do they talk in such high voices? Why do they put so much emphasis on their S words? My accent is a bit different than the others in District Eleven—but my skin color is an abnormality as well, so I guess it makes sense.
Immediately, Koda stops tapping his feet, avoiding Priscilla's gaze and looking down to the table. After many hours of being around Koda for today, I've come up with the solution that he's scared of the Capitol people. And why wouldn't he? Once a year, these crazily-dressed people come to our district and kill two of our own people. Even the Orphanage Keepers have started threatening us with the Hunger Games.
Ironic how her threats just became a reality. It's so funny that I could die.
Note the sarcasm, please.
"That's better." Priscilla goes right back to reading her magazine. It's something about Capitol fashion, I believe. "Honestly, Koda, why can't you be more like Meeko? She's quiet, and she's smart enough not to bother other people when they explicitly don't want to be bothered."
"But—" Koda begins, yet he's instantly cut off by Priscilla's hand right up in his face.
"There are no butts. Today has not been a great day, mind you," she says, motioning to the mop of hair on her head. It's pretty long; It goes all the way down to her knees. It got pretty drenched during that storm in District Eleven, though, and obviously that put her in a horrible mood. "I just wanted a moment of peace, but of course that's impossible when you're talking every five seconds. And on the off-chance that you're not talking, you're moving. Does District Eleven fail to raise their children correctly?"
Says the lady that chooses two kids to die. Annually. I dislike the Capitol citizens—and Priscilla is a good example on why. They're snooty, and arrogant, and have less common sense than an ant.
Her patronizing tone is the worst. She thinks she's better than us, just because she was born in the winning side of the war. I don't use the word hate very often, but by the end of my time in the Capitol, I'm pretty sure I'm going to start.
I want to tell Priscilla off, tell her that Koda has ADHD and can't help how he is. I want to tell her that Koda doesn't have any parents to truly raise him, because his father left before he was even born and his mother was thrown in prison when he was only six-years-old. I want to tell her how much I dislike her, how much I dislike this situation, how much I just want to go back to District Eleven and live the rest of my life in peace.
It's not a good district at all, yet it's not a bad one. I don't like it, yet I don't dislike it. District Eleven is the only place I've known—and that's where I want to be.
Even though I want to explain all of this to her, I don't. All I do is place a hand on Koda's lap, silently comforting him, just like how I'd do when one of the Keepers yelled or hit him. I don't need to use my words to express my feelings. Contrary to popular belief, I'm not crippled, I'm not useless.
There's silence on the train, other than the Reaping Recaps. Honestly, it's really late now, and Koda and I should be heading off to bed. But other than our own Reapings, we still have yet seen District Twelve.
I know that I'm just fooling myself by thinking someone like me stands a shot at this, but I just can't help but try. Because if I don't try, there's no way I'll succeed. Even though the odds are completely against me, they're still better odds than if I just gave up.
Giving up isn't in my blood, you could say. When my grandfather passed away in his sleep, I could tell he fought to the very end. And when my father stole those crops to feed us, getting whipped to death in the process, he wasn't giving up. It's easy to starve in District Eleven, but the determination my family had is the only reason I'm still alive now.
"And now, for District Eleven."
The storm we had during the Reaping was one of the bad ones. Everyone was getting drenched—but the Capitol didn't care. All they wanted was their tributes. This year, though, District Eleven got off easy. Two orphans were reaped. No families to mourn. That's the best thing that could happen during a Reaping, you could say.
Or rather, it'd be good to reap a Victor. Will I be that Victor? Doubtful. But I'm still going to try.
Priscilla reaps Stag first—and for a moment, I'm just stuck in my own space, staring at the older boy's face. As cliché as it may be, I've had a...crush on him since forever. I know that he's four years older than me, and that he and Koda are closer than we'd ever be...
But I'm still a teenage girl. Don't judge me.
Koda volunteers, which probably has the entirety of Panem rolling in laughter. And then I'm reaped, my expression closed off. Aeliana says a few things about us, and then it's on to District Twelve.
"Why do they do this again?" Koda asks, looking away from the screen and to Priscilla. She groans, slamming her magazine on the table.
"Because your people decided to have a war, and then you lost," she answers, every bit bitter. "And as punishment for going against the Capitol, we have the Hunger Games. Don't you listen to the Treaty of Treason?"
Koda blinks. "What's that?"
Priscilla then stands up, sighing. "It's nothing. Just go to bed. When you wake up, we'll be heading into the Capitol. So just go to bed, okay?" And with that, she storms away, that mess of hair dragging on the floor.
Koda stares after her—and then, he jumps up, grinning. "Phew, I was wondering when she'd leave! Why is she so mean, Meeko?"
As usual, I don't answer. I get up from my seat, walking down the hall to my bedroom. I know sleep may never come, but I desperately need some time to myself. Koda follows me down the hall, but stops in front of his own room.
I stare at him. He stares at me. After tonight, all of this will be real. Both of us heading to a place that'll force us to kill each other. It's horrible, inhumane—but it's Panem, and I've gotten used to life screwing me over.
"Goodnight, Meeko."
Goodnight, Koda.
Tonight, it can feel like we're still in District Eleven, still in the orphanage, still friends.
But tomorrow, we'll have to adapt to being tributes.
Eion Daltier, 18;
District Twelve Male.
I lay in the comfy Capitol bed, staring at the ceiling. Even though it's beyond dark, my eyes have adjusted enough to see the swirly patterns aligning the walls. It's completely silent in my room, but I can still hear Isabel's crying through the wall.
It sucks. All of this sucks. The Reaping, right now, and everything in-between.
It just sucks.
I grab the iron chain off of my wrist, holding it above my face. It's dark, but the chain gives off a small amount of shine. Isn't that, like, some sort of literary technique? In the darkness, even this old iron chain can give off a small bit of light. If something like this can fight against the darkness, then can't I?
I can. Rolling to my side, I sigh, letting my eyes close for the first time since I've gotten in bed. I may be from the poorest, weakest district—but I can still fight against the Capitol. I can still fight for my life.
And isn't that all I want? To live? I mean, I'm just a normal teenage boy. The only weapon I've ever held is a butter knife, and I definitely wasn't trying to kill anyone with that. I've gotten in trouble a few times during school, yeah, but I never actually got in a fight with anyone. Compared to the other tributes I saw during the Reaping Recaps, I'm as normal as they come.
But that's fine, right? I'm not gonna lay here and lie to myself. If I can't do something, then I can't do it. If I can do something, well, I can do it. That's all there is to it, honestly.
But what can I do to stay alive? That's the real question. The tributes from District Two have their training, but what do us from District Twelve have? At least the Seam kids know how it feels to starve—but I'm not from the Seam, I've grown up with a comfortable life compared to most people in my district.
I furrow my brows, suddenly feeling irritated. Isabel's crying hasn't let up, and I doubt it's going to anytime soon—but that's definitely not the reason I'm getting frustrated. The reality of everything is slowly catching up to me. And I'm scared.
I'm going into the Hunger Games.
And I'm scared.
But how am I supposed to feel? Happy? I doubt anyone in my position would be happy. And if they are, then something's really wrong with them. I'm just an eighteen-year-old guy from District Twelve. Being reaped was always a possibility, which is the reason why I tried to live my life to the fullest.
Making friends wherever I went, exploring the district when I got bored, and even getting in trouble with adults were all things that I loved doing. Because I realized, a long time ago, that I wouldn't be a teenager forever. That one day, I'd grow up, build a family of my own, and have to start thinking responsibly.
I just wish it didn't have to happen so soon—and in the worst way possible, too.
"CAN YOU SHUT UP IN THERE, BRAT?!"
I jump, surprised by my Escort's sudden outburst. And then, I'm angry, because Nerva has no right to speak to Isabel that way. He just basically ruined her life! If she wants to cry, then she has every reason to. Hell, I don't even know why I'm not crying yet. I feel sucky, but the tears just haven't come yet.
"WHY DON'T YOU SHUT UP AND LEAVE HER ALONE?!" I scream, right back at him. I don't miss the way my voice cracks mid-sentence, but I don't care. If I'm going to cry, I'm going to cry. Just like Isabel, I have every reason to be crying right now.
My whole life was just stolen from me. And I don't want to die.
I'm just a teenage boy; I really don't want to die.
But still, what am I supposed to do? Coming from District Twelve, I don't have a lick of training. I don't even know how to properly hold a knife, much less a giant weapon! How am I supposed to survive?
The answer comes out of nowhere: With allies. For a moment, I ponder this thought, feeling the soothing hands of sleep reaching at my consciousness. Yeah, allies would definitely help me get further than if I was alone. But who could I ally with? I'll definitely ask Isabel tomorrow, but she's the only person I can probably trust...
Sleep starts catching up fast—and before I know it, it's taking a lot of effort to stay conscious. Melancholic thoughts start filling up my mind, just when I feel the entire world start to drift away.
If only I spent more time with the people I love.
Because, win or lose, nothing will be the same anymore.
I'm going to be competing in the Hunger Games—and the moment that gong goes off, I'll no longer be a teenager.
I'll be a tribute.
Author's Note: Hey, guys! Sorry for the mini-hiatus I had going on. Life was hectic, FF was hectic, and overall my laziness prevented me from finishing this sooner. BUT here it is. I hope you enjoyed?
Sorry, but I split the Train Rides in two chapters because having it all in one chapter was just way too long. I did a 12 POVs because I wanted to see who I was comfortable with writing, and who I needed to work really hard on. Of course, this was only half of the tributes. The chariot rides will also be two chapters: one chapter for the chariot prep, and the second chapter for the actual chariot rides, 6 POVs each. And then, after the chariots, I'm guessing each chapter will have 4 POVs? That's my plan, anyway. If you have any other questions, just send me a pm.
And yeah, some tributes may not act like you envisioned them to. That's because, in my opinion, a tribute that's always happy and cheerful will not be happy and cheerful right after they got reaped. The next day, yeah, I understand them acting as who they are. But during the train rides, I think tributes are going to be too deep in thought and depressed. So yeah. Next chapter, though, a tribute that acts happy and enthusiastic WILL act happy and enthusiastic. I just thought it'd be stupid to have someone like Iris laughing when they were just crying onstage.
And yeah. I'd really, really, REALLY love a review? Personally, my writing irks me at moments, so I'd like to know what you all think about it. I'd also like to know what you all think of the tributes featured in these two chapters.
So yeah! I really hope you enjoyed?
Bye-nii~