Launch.
A Cannon in the Wind;
The Fifth Hunger Games.
Iris Logan, 12;
District Three Female.
Balbina opens up the curtains, letting the bright light shine into my otherwise dark room. I squint my eyes, turning away from both my Escort and the light. Leave me alone, I want to say, but all I do is whimper and curl into a ball, the sheets on my bed guarding me from the outside world.
If only it was that simple. In the past week, I've felt a spectrum of emotions, emotions I've never felt in my entire life living in Three. Happiness was the only emotion I was ever able to feel back home—but here, it's almost as if the Capitol wishes to squeeze out every single feeling I own.
Sadness at being Reaped. Anger at being forced to partake in this horrible tournament. Joy at having found the nicest, strongest alliance here. I even think… I even think I feel love. Whenever I look at Tet, my heart aches, my palms sweat, and it's just so hard to hold a decent conversation with him when I can't help but blush whenever he looks at me.
The emotion I'm feeling now, though, is hopelessness. Ever since last night's interview, a horrible feeling of dread has snaked into my heart. I realize… I realize that I'm going to die. And not only that, but my friends and family will be forced to watch me die. Their hearts are going to be broken into a million pieces, and it's all because of my hopelessness. My incompetence at fighting, or surviving, or doing anything except helping people who probably think I'm annoying in the first place.
The sheets on my bed aren't enough to stop the sharp knives that'll cut through the air, landing in my neck and ripping away at the skin and—!
"Iris, sweetheart, it's time to get up," my Escort says, gently ripping the covers off of me. I shake my head, still curled up into a ball, refusing to open my eyes and greet a world that's so determined on killing me.
"No…" I whimper, forcing the tears back. I feel Balbina sit on the edge of my bed, and her hand meets my shoulder. Her sharp, manicured nails gently tap on the bone.
"Iris…"
"Please… Please don't make me…" I can't help but cry now, gasping for breath as I try to keep the sobs away. "I don't… Please, Balbina, I-I can't… I can't do this…"
She doesn't respond, and I can't help but open my eyes to see what's wrong. The moment I see her face, though, I instantly regret it. Big fat tears are strolling carelessly down her cheeks, her lips thinned to probably stop from crying out loud like me. Never have I ever seen my Escort look sad, much less actually cry. And witnessing her crying just makes me cry even more.
Look what you did. You can't just stop at your friends and family, can you? No, you've got to make your Escort feel horrible, too.
...I'm going to die today. I've not yet fully come to terms with it, but I do know that my death is slowly approaching. What I can't stand, though, is making the people I care about hurt because of it. All my life, I've done the most that I could do for other people, trying my hardest to be the sweet and amiable girl that everyone adores. A people-pleaser, you could say.
Whatever anyone asked me to do, I did it. Even when they didn't ask, I picked up on their body language and did it anyway. So whenever I caused my loved ones strife, it really hurt, because my whole life is dedicated to being that sweet and helpful girl.
Even now, when I'm about to die, I can't help but think about the agony my friends and family will feel when they realize that I'm dead and gone. It hurts more than the idea of me dying. It hurts more than anything in the world.
Sitting up, I sniff, wiping the tears out of Balbina's eyes. Somehow, throughout my week in the Capitol, this colorful person has become one of my loved ones. The difference is, though, instead of helping her, she's been doing everything in her power to help me.
"Iris…" Balbina looks up at the ceiling, taking a deep breath, before looking back down at me. "Honey… Throughout my years being District Three's Escort, never have I met a girl as sweet as you. You're the… You're the only tribute I've ever, ever cried about. And I... I just don't know why I'm feeling..!"
I quickly wrap my arms around my Escort, breathing in her sweet perfume. Her breath hitches in her throat, before gingerly, she wraps her arms around me as well. And for a moment, we just stay like this, the sounds of the multiple Avox making breakfast in the distance.
I retract from the hug, managing a small smile. "It's okay," I say, slowly getting out of bed. As my feet touch the floor, I realize that this is the last time I'll ever be able to sleep in a bed—but I gulp down those thoughts and gently grab my Escort's hands. "It's okay. I'll… I'll be ready soon. You don't have to worry."
It's me who has to worry. But just like always, I'll take away their anxieties and keep it for myself.
"Iris…" Balbina squeezes my hands, the expression on her face too saddened for someone of the Capitol. But somehow, I've been able to worm into her heart—just like how she's wormed into mine. "You may be the youngest tribute I've ever escorted, but you're easily the strongest. And I am not lying."
The strongest? The grin that settles on my face is too much to hold back, and this time, happy tears fall down my face. The strongest. This is the first time anyone has ever called me strong. I've always been so underappreciated back in District Three. Just because I was overly sweet to everyone, people grew suspicious of me and my motives. Just because I tried to be as helpful as possible, people even grew irritated of me.
But to Balbina, I'm not suspicious. To Balbina, I'm not irritating.
To Balbina, I'm strong. Today, a member of our alliance just might die, a-and it just might be me. But in the end, at least I'll be me as I die. In the end, at least I'll be strong.
Just like I said on the train ride here. I may end up dead in a few hours, but that doesn't mean I'll let them break me. That doesn't mean I'll let them take away my shine.
Because I'm strong. I might not be able to fight, or survive, or even stand up straight as the gong goes off in the Arena—but as I die, it'll be with the satisfaction of knowing that I died as myself, that I didn't let the pressures of the world turn me into someone I'm not.
As Balbina goes off to wipe away her tears and re-apply her makeup, I head off to my own bathroom to take a shower—my last shower. I want to stay in here for as long as humanly possible, the water rushing down my body and dripping from my hair, but I don't want to make Balbina worry as well. So I quickly get out and wrap a towel around my waist, and then I start brushing my teeth. The last time you'll ever brush your teeth, Iris.
As I walk back into my room, I see a familiar black and red uniform on my bed, the same one I've worn every day for training. I thought that I'd finally be able to wear one of the many different clothes in my drawers, but of course, the Capitol won't let me do what I want. Even when I'm just hours away from…
I shake away the thought, swiftly putting on the fitted uniform. As I look in the mirror, I stare at the girl in front of me. Faded brown hair. Perfectly clear skin. A skinny, small body. This is the girl that's going into the Arena; a girl with brown eyes that can still tear up, veins that can still carry blood, organs that can still keep me alive.
Isn't it almost amazing? In just a matter of hours, my organs will be useless, my veins will be dead, my big brown eyes will be lifeless. The girl I am now will be nothing. My thoughts will be nothing. I will be nothing except a fallen tribute in the Fifth Hunger Games.
And just like that, my family comes to mind. My mom, so caring and loving. My dad, so sensible and honest. My sister, so hateful and arrogant. All of them will remember the little girl that hummed when things were looking down, that smiled when things were almost hopeless. Will they remember me by my body laying lifeless on the ground? Will they remember me by my teary eyes during the interviews?
I don't want them to remember me in that light. Standing up a bit straighter, I try to force a smile on my face—but there's too much sadness showing. I shake my head and try again, and again, and again—but no matter what I do, the cracks in my facade are too noticeable. How is something that was so easy for me be so hard to do right now?
You said that you wouldn't let them break you, Iris. You said that you wouldn't let them take away your shine. If you can't do it for yourself, then at least do it for your friends and family. Do it for Balbina, Tet, Calla and Daniel. Do it for them!
"Do it for them..." I take a deep breath, letting out all of my fears and frustrations. And then, I smile. It's not perfect. It's not the best smile I've ever given. But... But it's almost sincere. For once, I feel like the little girl from back home. Hopeful, idealistic, happy.
I might not be able to win the Hunger Games, but at least I've won one battle. I didn't let the Capitol change me. I didn't let the Capitol win.
And dead or not, that still makes me a Victor. Maybe not to them, but to myself. I finally realize just how important that is, doing things for myself.
Calla Mallow, 17;
District Seven Female.
"Today's the day," Tacita mumbles in that usual deadpan way. Sipping on a spoon of soup, she looks up at Daniel and I. "I take it that you both know what you're going to do in the Arena. Well, I hope you two know, considering your choice of allies."
The sudden mention of the Games force me to stiffen. It was quiet earlier, the sounds of kitchen utensils distracting me from the upcoming event—but I guess Tacita's tired of the stalling. Because in the end, that's all I'm doing. Forcing myself to ignore the dire situation I'm about to be placed in.
I'm terrified. Utterly terrified of what could happen today, during the Bloodbath. And not only for me, but for Iris and Tet. What if... What if something happens to them? It's not unusual for the younger kids to fall first. If I have to actually watch one of them die...
I'm not cut out for the Games. I'm too altruistic, too caring, too nice. But I refuse to let anyone hurt my two younger allies. No matter what happens in a few hours, Iris and Tet will not die.
But is it that simple, Calla? You of all people should know that not everything goes according to plan in life.
"I feel that we can take care of ourselves," Daniel replies smoothly, taking a sip of orange juice. "And Tet and Iris are definitely not useless, Tacita. It's underestimation like that which leads to defeat."
"Shut up with the pretentious bullshit," Sylvan grumbles, suddenly walking in the room. Daniel smiles at the Victor, despite the fact that he's made it clear a thousand and one times how much my District Partner apparently irritates him.
Before this entire fiasco, I almost idolized the man. Despite the odds, he came back to District Seven as our first Victor, and he wasn't sucking up to the Capitol either. He was supposed to lead us all to another rebellion—and this time, we were going to win.
Now that I've spent a week under the same roof as him, though, I realize that Sylvan Barnes just doesn't care anymore. Not about the Capitol, nor about District Seven. And he certainly doesn't care about Daniel and I. We could drop dead right here and I doubt he'd so much as sigh.
Tacita sighs, wiping her hands as she stands up. "Late as always, Mr. Barnes. Honestly, have you given these two any amount of advice about what to do today?"
No, he hasn't. He knows he hasn't, but he just doesn't care. Honestly, if I didn't have Daniel to reassure me, or even Tacita to nag about everything, I'd be pretty hopeless right now.
"Nothing I say will be able to save them," Sylvan mumbles, ushering an Avox over with his hand. Quickly, he orders the red assistant to get him some herbal tea, before looking back at us. "I can write a whole damn book and have them read the entire thing, but will that stop a knife from shoving into their stomachs?"
I look down at my unfinished food, suddenly not so hungry anymore. Because he's right. Help would definitely reassure me, but that's all it'd be able to do. In the Arena, his help won't have me win a fight. In the Arena...I could die, and there's nothing he could do to prevent that.
Trembling, I bite my lip, forcing the tears from pooling in my eyes. Today's the start of the Hunger Games. I could die. Oh my God, I could seriously die. Before now, the Games were always quite a bit away, and I could ignore it and be that carefree girl from Seven. That's what I did back home, anyway. I resented the Hunger Games, but I was never exactly pissed at it because there was always something else to occupy my attention.
But I can't... I just can't ignore it anymore…
A knife in my stomach. A sword through my chest. An axe in my head. So many possibilities, so many different ways to die—and I'm scared. I may be seventeen-years-old, but that does not mean I am ready to fight to the death. I may have experience with an axe, but that does not mean I can actually bring myself to end a life.
I could seriously die today.
That thought bulges in the forefront of my mind, taking away my attention from everything else. Before now, I tried to distance myself from the possibility of death. During training, I would swing my axe around to escape the crushing despair of reality, if just for a few minutes. Even during my interview, all I did was talk about my friends and family, never once letting the idea of the Games attack my brain.
I talked with Daniel; I talked with Tacita; I even tried to talk to Sylvan. Anything to forget about the one thing that would destroy me, mentally if not physically. And when the topic of the Hunger Games did come up, the only thing I thought about was helping my two younger allies. I always thought...that as long as I kept them safe for however long I can, everything would be okay.
Never once did I allow myself to think, even for a moment, that maybe I was the one who needed keeping safe. That maybe I was the one in danger. That maybe… That maybe I could die.
And you can die. You're not invincible. You're not ruthless. And you can't be. You won't be.
I blink back to reality, just as Tacita glances at the huge clock on the wall. "Look at the time," she says, sighing a little as she stands up. "It's time to go up to the roof. Calla, Daniel, Sylvan. Let's go."
I stand up, a wave of emotions running throughout my body. Time to go. It's really time to go. After five days, it's actually time to...go. The question is, will I be coming back?
Sylvan seems to read my mind, because he looks straight at me and rolls his eyes. "Take one good look," he mumbles. "Because don't expect to be back here anytime soon."
Daniel seems unaffected, but the words seems to stab right through me. Nonetheless, we all walk straight into the elevator, and I morph my face into a look of determination. I may be kind. I may not be quite cut out for this. But if I'm anything, I'm stubborn—and just like during the Reapings, I won't let myself curl into a ball and cry. No matter how much I want to, I won't. Taking one last look at the floor—chandeliers and paintings and everything else I've come to associate with the Capitol—I take a deep breath and watch as the doors close.
And just like that, there's no more time to ignore or push things away. There's no more time for carelessly laughing. It's time I become a tribute, no matter how much I want to scream and throw up.
The ride to the roof is a short one. Before I know it, we're already at our destination, and the doors open. Instantly, the wind whips at my face, and I have to squint my eyes to see the two massive hovercrafts right in front of me. There are Peacekeepers lined up, probably to stop a suicide attempt at jumping off the roof, and there are other tributes situated around, talking to their various Escorts. Some tributes, like the girl from Twelve, have tears in their eyes. Some of them, like the boy from Ten, look frigid in fear. And then there's the little girl from Eleven, who still looks emotionless even now.
Our group walks into the mix, the wind still whirling around because of the hovercrafts. I turn around, suddenly feeling very rigid and afraid. When I get into that hovercraft, I know it'll all be over for me. Before I can cry out in despair, though, Daniel leans in...and kisses me right on me cheek.
I flinch, stepping back a little. "What the heck?" I blurt out, feeling my face turn hot. "Is this… Is this really the time?"
"Hey." He chuckles. "That was just my way of telling you that everything is going to be alright."
No, I think, not finding it in myself to laugh and shove his shoulder. I just frown, uncharacteristically. Everything isn't going to be alright.
Once upon a time, I may have wanted to believe that. I had a family, we were surviving—and despite the Capitol's dirty ways, we were happy. As long as we had each other. But the thing was, we weren't going to always have each other. When I was just ten years old, my mother died trying to give birth to what would've been her seventh child. We were heartbroken—but we could still survive, right? Wrong. Just a single year later, when the Rebellion first began, I lost my father to the war.
The Capitol had killed him. Not only did they have control over my entire district, but they could alter my very life whenever they pleased. Because of my father's death, the entire family was orphaned. My brother Yew and I got a job as lumberjacks to make sure our family didn't go hungry, while my other brother Balsa went out to fight in the Rebellion. The Rebellion that was soon lost, and resulted in my brother actually losing an arm.
Without any parents and five siblings to take care of, you can guess that my life after that was very hectic. No time for relaxation. No time for hobbies. I worked day in night in the forest, working hard to provide for my remaining family. And y'know, it was difficult, but maybe everything would have been alright. Maybe there would have been a happy ending.
But not anymore. Because now that I'm going to be competing in the Fifth Annual Hunger Games, the road ahead is only going to be filled with pain and suffering.
"Tributes," comes a mechanical voice, coming from one of the hovercrafts. "We will soon be departing. All tributes are ordered to board the craft, District Partners separated."
Once again, my blood runs cold. I'm actually going inside the Games. Will I be able to seriously win? You have to, Calla, for your family back home. But the other tributes have families, just like me. What makes me any more important than them? But what makes you any less?
I bid Daniel farewell, until we eventually meet in the Arena. He goes off to one of the hovercrafts, and I go off to mine. Behind me, Tacita and Sylvan both look on, their faces stony. Do they actually think I'll be coming back? Can they actually be silently urging me on to victory?
I hope so. Because while I desperately want to save Iris and Tet, I want to save myself equally as much. And though I'm not a vicious killer, though I'm not captivating enough to acquire sponsors, I'm not foreign to the idea of working hard. I'm not foreign to the idea of doing anything and everything to get back to my family.
Because they need me.
The odds are never in my favor—but for once, I just wish that everything will turn out alright, that I'll get one happy ending.
Ricky Laris, 18;
District Ten Male.
"Give me your arm."
I look up at the Capitol lady quizzically. She's adorned in a full white outfit with a mask over her nose and mouth, like she's some sort of doctor. In her hand, though, is a fairly large syringe. Is she… Is she going to stick that inside of me?
I must take too long to move, because she seems to narrow her eyes. "Give me your arm," she repeats.
"O-Oh." I feel my face go hot as I stick my arm out. Quickly, she grabs it—and with the precision of a trained warrior, she sticks the needle straight into my vein. I wince at the sharp sting, but before I even have time to thank her or apologize or whatever I'm supposed to do, she walks off to the District Three girl sitting beside me.
I didn't even get a chance to ask why she was injecting me, or what she was even injecting me with. But in the end, I guess it doesn't matter. My mother always told me to never question adults, because they're always right and I'm always...wrong.
But are they really always right? Is this alright, Ricky? Are the Hunger Games alright to you?
No… No, the Games are most definitely not alright. I am literally being sent off to my death right now. Am I just supposed to sit here and go along with it? Would my mother and father really mind if I rebelled, even if it meant the death of their only son otherwise?
Even if they didn't mind, though, I don't have the guts to rebel anyway. I wouldn't necessarily call myself a coward...but it's hard to go against years and years of teaching and discipline. Just because I'm about to be in a fight to the death doesn't mean I'm just going to eagerly change myself.
"Are you seriously going to just inject me with some weird liquid without telling me what it is?" I hear someone say to my far right. I look to see what the commotion is, and I'm not exactly surprised when it's the redheaded girl from Eight. The moment I saw her chained up to her chariot, I instantly wrote her off as someone to look out for. "Just because I'm letting you drop me in an arena doesn't mean I'll just willingly become your test subject as well."
Wow. I stare in mild amazement as the Capitol lady explains that what they're injecting in us is a tracker, so that they don't lose us in the Arena. I'm not really focused on that, though; my attention is fully on Kaya Vause. How can two people be total opposites like this?
She seems like the type to backmouth and question everything, the type of sassy girl my mother wouldn't be able to stand. The very opposite of myself. Isn't it weird how two completely different people are being connected by one single thing? Before coming to the Capitol, I doubt I'd even be in the same room as this girl. I was never the outgoing type back in District Ten.
And now all of a sudden, I'm being forced to fight and kill people.
This can't be right. For once, I don't care what my mother says about adults. I don't care what my father says about respect. Kaya's attitude has sparked something inside me, something I've been repressing for as long as I can remember.
"This is wrong," I say out loud, the words just rolling out of my mouth. Until now, we've been riding in this hovercraft in near complete silence—so you can just guess at the number of eyes focused on me now. "This… We're being forced to kill each other. How can anyone justify this?"
To my left, the boy from Two snorts. "It's not justifiable," he says, smiling a little. "It just is. It's either you jump at the opportunity, or you crumble..."
"Shut up," Kaya suddenly grumbles, glaring at Kostos. Instantly, the tense atmosphere is a thousand times thicker. "I don't think he was asking someone like you. Your mind is probably twisted enough to think this is right."
Kostos snickers, hand over his mouth to keep from showing his teeth. That gesture is enough to end the small argument, though, because he doesn't say anything else and neither does Kaya. In the Arena, they'll have all the time in the world to settle their differences. Right now, it'd be polite to just let the rest of us wallow in our fears and anxieties.
The little rush of rebellion I felt just then has long vanished, and replacing it is a horrible sense of dread. The severity of my own words come right back to me. In under an hour, I'll be in the Hunger Games. In under an hour, I could be dead. In under an hour, my entire alliance could be dead.
It's almost tormenting, thinking about things like that. Call me pessimistic, I don't even care, but I seriously don't think I have what it takes to win the Games. Am I really able to kill? And if I am, can I really handle that emotional trauma? Besides, how am I supposed to win a fight when I can barely speak up for myself?
My eyes glance over to the little girl from Three, trembling in her seat. The girl from Seven is whispering reassurances to her, but I can see that it's hardly working. It must be even worse for her, having to go through this at only twelve-years-old. This age range is totally unfair.
Everything about this is unfair. Kostos doesn't even look worried because he's undoubtedly trained. How are people like me, people who can barely hold a conversation, supposed to compete with that? And then there's my allies, Eion and Isabel, who were born and raised in District Twelve. Does the Capitol seriously expect for anyone in my alliance to win?
It makes me feel bad to think that I have no faith in myself nor my allies. It makes me want to cry, honestly. But luckily, I'm not the crying type, or my entire childhood would have been filled with tears.
I don't know how long we stay in the hovercraft, soaring through the air at speeds unknown. But after a while, I can feel the hovercraft slow down and come to a stop—and just like that, the tension levels in the room skyrocket. Nearly every tribute I exchange glances with has a panicked look on their face—because we're here, we're here, the Games are almost here.
One by one, we're each unbuckled and escorted by a Peacekeeper out of the craft. We've landed in some sort of warehouse. I guess the ceiling must have opened up, or else how would two giant hovercrafts get inside? Quickly, before I even have time to take in my surroundings, a group of Peacekeepers surround me and nudge me towards a hallway marked D10 Male. Even though the anxiety is almost choking me, I comply without a word, walking down the hallway away from the other tributes.
In the distance, I think I can hear someone crying.
We continue walking for a while. My entire body is trembling when we reach a room at the end of the trail, and a Peacekeeper opens it for me. Stupidly, I expect to somehow see the Arena, and close my eyes to somehow prolong the death penalty.
But it's not the Arena. When I open my eyes, it's my Head Stylist that greets me; Fabricius with his multi-colored eyes and terrifying grin. I freeze a little. Why is he here? Why have I been led to this room instead of the Arena? Before I can even say anything, though, the Peacekeepers practically shove me into the room and close the door behind me.
"Ricky…" My Stylist smiles, coming in close for a hug. I don't have the energy to hug back, too busy trembling, so I just awkwardly lean in as he continues to squeeze and pat my back. "Dear, you're so pale! You almost look like a ghost!"
A ghost. Because I'm dead. I'm so, so, so dead…
I nod, numbly. "Y-Yeah…"
"As gawky as ever, I see." Sighing, Fabricius releases me from the hug and stares into my eyes. When I look into his colored orbs, I don't see an adult that I should respect. I don't see a man with authority. I see an excited, delusional person with hideous fashion-wear.
I see a man who lives to see people like me tortured for the wrongs of the rebels.
I look around the room, taking in my surroundings. To my left is a small row of hooks, a black bag attached to one of them. To my right seems to be a bathroom, along with a refrigerator and a microwave. And then, at the back of the room is the most intimidating thing of all; a crystal clear tube that seems to lead up to nowhere.
Oh, it leads up to somewhere, the voice in my head tells me. It leads up to your death.
"Well…" Fabricius quickly goes over to the black bag, ripping it off the hook. "We don't have much time. Fifteen minutes to be exact, so let's make this quick. You're a smart boy, so I'm sure you'll understand." He begins opening the bag, eyes furrowed as he talks and works at the same time. "The reason you're here right now is… Actually, there's a lot of reasons. To relieve yourself if you need to pee, to get one last meal before the Arena… But anyway, the main reason you're here is to put on your Arena outfit. You've seen the Games, right? You know that each tribute is matching as they go into the Arena."
Oh. I almost sigh as I realize that I'm going to have to take off my clothes in front of this man again. I've gotten use to it, at least, but it still doesn't help the giant blush I must have on my face. You're about to die, Ricky, and you're seriously worrying about something meaningless like this?
I'm never going to change. Or rather, I'm not going to live long enough to change. Just fifteen more minutes of peace is all I have before my world explodes in a sea of blood and gore.
"Well then..." Fabricius takes out the first item, which is a black and white checkered shirt. I stare at it for a second, complexed. It looks a bit too formal to fight in, doesn't it? The second thing Fabricius takes out are blue overalls—and just like that, being from District Ten, I know exactly what the Arena Outfit is going to be. Lastly, Fabricius takes out two big boots and a yellow farm hat.
A farm hat. Because it's going to be a farm. "Th-The Arena is going to be a farm," I say aloud, turning a dark shade of red when my Stylist just stares at me. "I mean, I-I'm sorry for talking out of turn, b-but..."
"No, no, it's quite alright." Instead of yell at me like how my father would, Fabricius just grins. "A farm, eh? That's a wonderful prediction! Ooh, I can't wait until to actually see if you're right!"
I can definitely wait. Gulping, I start taking off my clothes as he yarbles on and on about how his entire family is having a "Bloodbath Party" and how he's sad to miss it. Thankfully, he doesn't seem to be paying much attention to my body—so as fast as I can, I start putting on the outfit. Somehow, it fits my body perfectly, and even the hat is quite comfy. Sometimes, the Capitol just never ceases to amaze me.
"My guess is that the Arena will have multiple temperatures," Fabricius says as I struggle to push one of my feet in a boot. "The hat suggests that it will be really sunny, but it could also be used to see a bit better in the rain. If it's going to be hot, though, your attire definitely won't help against that... Hmm, I'm guessing really sunny but really windy."
"Oh." In these last moments of peace, I can't help but halfheartedly listen to him. Only thoughts of my friends and family peek through the cloudiness of my mind. All my life, I was disciplined severely by my mother and father. In my early childhood, it was as if I did and said every single thing wrong—and by the time I got older, I just stopped talking altogether. It was easier than being spanked for using improper language. It was easier than silently resenting them because of their strict ways.
Even though they were strict, though, they still loved me—and honestly, I still loved them. They're my parents. Because of them, though, I found it harder to associate with my peers at school, because what if I said or did something wrong? In the end, though, I managed to make a few friends—like Julian and Theodore.
Still, unlike teenagers my age, I didn't spend my time hanging out with friends and living the good life that London seems to always talk about. I spent most of my time working with my mother in the flower shop. It was... It was a good life. It wasn't the most exciting, but it was...
Look at you. You're going to die soon, and you can't even reminisce over the good memories you've had. Isn't that just horrible?
I must spend a lot of time thinking, because as soon as I snap out of my trance, a robotic voice sparks on the intercom. "Tributes have sixty seconds to report to the launch pad."
"Look at the time!" My Stylist says excitedly, ignoring my look of pure and utter terror. Quickly, he ushers me over to the clear tube at the back of the room—the tube that'll send me up to my death, slowly but surely.
No..! Just as I always do, I keep my protests on lockdown and walk inside the tube. Please... I can't... I can't just die..! I turn around, opening my mouth to plead and beg and cry—but nothing comes out. The only thing that does is a single tear, rolling down my face and dropping onto the metallic floor.
"Good luck, Ricky!" Fabricius says, jumping up and down in excitement. "May the odds be ever in your favor!"
And just like that, the tube closes, cutting us off. For a moment, nothing moves, everything is quiet, and I fear that time has stopped and I'll be stuck in this thing forever. I've been afraid before, on multiple occasions—but this, this is true terror.
In less than a minute, I'm going to be in the Fifth Annual Hunger Games. In less than a minute, I'm going to be forced into a life or death situation, with my morals conflicting against my self-preservation.
For a second, I wonder how my two allies, my two friends, Eion and Isabel are handling this.
But that second is gone far too quickly. Because with a silent click, the tube starts humming, and I'm being risen up, up, up...
It's now or never, Ricky. Do you die here without any good memories to call your own? Or do you fight, kill, win and go back to make more memories? Better memories?
I gulp, closing my eyes to calm my beating heart. Now or never...
"Ladies and Gentlemen, let the Fifth Annual Hunger Games Begin!"
Author's Note: Okay, um, yeah. I'm always saying how much I hate my writing, so I'm just going to skip that part. I honestly don't know what to say? I feel like just yesterday I was obtaining submissions for this story. Never did I think I'd come this far, to be honest. I'm a fickle person, okay, and I don't think I have one finished story on this whole site. This story makes me feel so much more, though, mainly because I have an ending planned out unlike my other stories that would've probably went on and on and on... What am I saying again? Oh yeah. Just know that I'm really surprised that we've actually made it to the Games, and I can't wait to write more and more!
And yeah, I'll still be writing—but it's updating that's going to be the problem. As I said last chapter, I'm taking a vacation to a place with no internet connection. So while I can still write, it may be a while before I can actually get access to a computer and update. I may be able to go to my godmother's house once a week and update then, but you know, that's a maybe. We'll see! I'm actually leaving tomorrow, which is why this chapter might be a bit rushed because I really wanted to get it out tonight.
Also, I noticed the reviews really have dropped since the beginning. I honestly don't know if some of you are still reading. :/ Hopefully you all are. Since the Bloodbath is next chapter, though, I'd advise sucking up to me one last time! Don't want your tribute to fall off their pedestal or something. ;)
What are your thoughts on each of these tributes? Which POV was your favorite and why? Which POV was your least favorite and why?
Any Bloodbath death predictions? Any tributes you think will gain a kill in the Bloodbath? And also, any Arena predictions?
Well, that's it from me! I'm extremely happy to start the Games, if not a bit nervous. Next chapter will begin the deaths...and I've kinda grown attached. So yeah, a lot nervous xD See you all next time!
And once again, a review just might save your tribute! :P
Bai!