IV ── GAME OF SURVIVAL,
69TH HUNGER GAMES
🦊

[  CHAPTER FOUR ]

The second the Panem anthem faded into silence, Lenora and her fellow tribute, Ryeda Crynn, were escorted away by Peacekeepers, through the large, oak doors of the Justice Building.

Once the tributes were inside, they were both led into individual rooms. Holding rooms, as if they were animals being sent to slaughter, it felt like ── which it was.

Lenora was left on her own, surrounded by a foreign lavishness and a smothering kind of luxury, dripping from the ceiling in the form of crystal chandeliers. There were velvet plush chairs, maroon curtains that were drawn over the windows, a circular glass table in the middle of the room, and big canvases swaddling the cream-papered walls, most depicting the grandeur of the Capitol or District Nine's own Great Plains in an assortment of smeared acrylic paints.

Lenora lowered herself on one of the plush chairs, sinking into what little comfort it provided, and kicked her feet up onto the glass table; a last hurrah of rebellion.

The silence made her think. She disembowelled the intent behind her actions, recalling the Reaping.

What had she done? She'd volunteered. Why? To help people; to help Penny. To convince herself she wasn't this evil, selfish, terrible person her mother had glimpsed, with some horror, just yesterday. But why? Did it really matter that much? Was it truly worth signing away her life?

Maybe it was. There were stories of people dying heroic deaths, whether it be via sacrifice or an act of kindness. Either way, their names went on to live in history forevermore. Lenora wouldn't mind being remembered hundreds of years from now. If it erased her own depiction of herself, presented people with a different version of who she was, then she wouldn't mind it at all.

She wasn't left to wallow in her own self-pity for much longer. The first visitors arrived quickly.

Her mother burst through the doors to her holding room, wailing "let me see my daughter!" to the stone-faced Peacekeeper standing guard. Once permitted entry, Ceres hurried inside and rushed to scoop Lenora into her arms as though she were a baby again ── cradling her head and rocking her over and over to the point Lenora started to feel slightly sick. Over Ceres Naverro's shoulder, she spotted her father meandering inside, paler than she'd ever seen him.

"Lennie," her mother cooed in her ear. She finally stopped her rocking and held Lenora out at arm's length. Ceres used one hand to smooth down her unruly hair, "What have you done?"

Lenora gaped at her mother. Was she being serious? How couldn't she understand after that lecture she gave to Lenora about understanding the importance of helping people who couldn't help themselves ── to be charitable at all costs?

Was this not what she would've done? Would Ceres have chosen selfishness over being a good samaritan? She certainly wasn't a hypocrite, so why was she acting like one?

Her father sauntered up beside them, and Ceres reluctantly released Lenora so she could see him. She practically collapsed into his outstretched arms, burying her head in his neck. He smelled like sulphur ( from the factories ) and wood smoke; a smell that was entangled in deep-set nostalgia. It reminded her of home, of being young and the sole focus of her parents attentions, tangled in her father's arms while her mother combed gently through her hair.

At the memory, Lenora felt some of the tension shift from her shoulders ── some semblance of normality beginning to creep in.

Her father kissed the crown of her head. Once the embrace was broken, he leaned back and splayed his hands on her cheeks, umber eyes glassy and wide with desperation, "You've made an imprudent decision, Lennie. The Hunger Games are ruthless."

"I know, Papa, but──" Lenora's eyes welled with tears, and her lip started to tremble on its own accord, "but ─Penny─I couldn't watch. She wouldn't have stood a chance in the Games. And the poor Kellers . . .after everything. . ."

Her father nodded as if he knew exactly what she meant. She loved that about him; his ability to simply connect with her mind, to understand. He removed his hands from Lenora's cheeks and pulled her back into his chest, arms woven so tightly around her she could feel the oxygen being slowly siphoned from her lungs.

When the Peacekeepers inevitably came to take her father away, Lenora doubted she would be able to let go. She'd probably scream. She might even cling to his clothes, dig her nails into the cotton fibres, so they couldn't take him.

Next to him, Ceres was trying very hard not to make her sobbing obvious. She shook her head, hand clamped over her mouth, eyes puffy and bloodshot. The part of the Reaping she feared the most had manifested into reality. She did not want to watch her daughter die. Her only child.

Unfortunately, it was a likelihood.

"I just wanted to help," Lenora wept, rubbing her eyes. Her voice was muffled in her father's shirt, "I didn't want to turn a blind eye ── Mama said we shouldn't. We should help people who can't help themselves. That's what I did."

Ceres couldn't hold back the tears anymore. This was her fault now? She'd said those things without thinking of the repercussions. Good grief.

She didn't bother shielding her sobs. Ceres bawled into her hands, her entire body jerking at the sheer force of her cries.

She was more inconsolable than Penny had been when she was called up on that stage. Unlike her father, her mother's sorrow wasn't clouded by hope, any what ifs ── grief came sweeping in as a singular wave of destruction. Everything crumbled. Wilted. Any semblance of hope sank to a bottomless pit; Lenora was already dead in Ceres' eyes. She'd watched too many Games over the years to believe otherwise, seeing the District Nine tributes butchered in the bloodbaths, year in and year out. Her daughter would succumb to the same end . . . it was fate.

But Ceres couldn't accept it. This fate had to be a mistake. She didn't understand. Lenora was too young.

Her father rubbed Lenora's shoulders affectionately, "It doesn't matter now; these are the consequences. You need to start devising a plan. You need to start thinking of how you're going to win."

"Win?" Lenora blurted. She hadn't even considered it a possibility.

Her father looked suddenly serious, his chiselled features sharp and severe, "Yes. Believe you can, that's the first step."

"I don't know how."

"It's very important you try to win over the Capitol first. Don't worry about the other tributes ─ they can wait. Once you're in that arena, it's sponsors you need. And sponsors come from the Capitol. You need to make them like you." her father explained breathlessly.

Lenora nodded. Her stomach did an apprehensive flip. It was becoming very, very surreal.

"Listen to your mentors," her father continued, rushing to tell her all he could before their time was up, "They know how the Games work better than anyone else. Take their advice. Use it well. It might just save your life in the arena."

On trembling legs, Ceres sunk into a plush chair behind them. She stuck her head in her hands, unable to think beyond her grief. It was horribly obvious she didn't possess any morsel of hope, not even an ounce. She was already imagining a life without a daughter ── what it would feel like to never be called Mama again. That thought alone drew another muffled wail from her.

Lenora's father, on the other hand, was hopeful. He did have faith. Buckets of it, to be certain.

"We don't have long left," he reminded, wary of the short time they were allocated to say goodbye, "But just know you can do this, Lennie. Once you put your mind to something, you can make it happen. Picture yourself a Victor. Become one."

"How? I can't fight, I don't know how—"

"You can learn," he assured desperately, "You have three days to train. In those three days, you must find something to impress the Gamemakers with in order to achieve a high score. Pick up a weapon, any weapon, and practice. It doesn't matter what. Something sharp, and light enough to hold. Something you can perfect in a limited time."

Lenora's heart hammered against its ivory cage. She flapped her shivering hands around like birds fighting for dominance ── an anxious habit ── and paced over the crimson-trimmed rug, splashed with a crocheted image of the Capitol seal.

"Although, a high score will change the other tributes' opinion of you," her father mused thoughtfully, "They'll see you as a threat. Careers like to snuff out their competition early in the Games. Perhaps it'd be best to make yourself seem weak, more vulnerable, until there's a good opportunity to strike."

Lenora slowly turned to her father, confusion seeping in between the cracks of her fear, "How do you know so much about the Games?"

He sighed, like he had been expecting that question, "I know Emmet Lunar ── one of the mentors. We were friends. He told me about his Games, about the Capitol."

"Emmet Lunar? How do you know him?" Lenora asked.

"We went to school together. I remember his Reaping quite well. He was well liked. People were devastated when his name was plucked from that bowl, and then delighted when he won," he said, gazing at his shoes, "When he returned from the Capitol, I went to Victor's Village to pay him a visit. That was when he told me. But . . . we don't tend to speak as much now."

Lenora tipped her head to the side, a hum vibrating in the back of her throat, "Good to know. He might go easy on me if he knows you."

"I'm not sure, Lennie. The Games completely ruined him. It's difficult to have a conversation with him these days. He's closed off. Cold."

"Oh."

So, as far as she was aware, one of her two mentors was unreliable in terms of giving her advice on how to live. If Emmet Lunar couldn't hold a conversation, and was cold as ice, how was she meant to learn anything from him? How was she meant to win?

Not only that, but even if she did ── by some miracle ── manage to scrape a win, she'd still suffer long after being extracted from the arena, like Emmet apparently did. No surprises there. Inevitably, the aftermath would likely prove very difficult to overcome. There was the gore, the death, the destruction, the Capitol; these things had a tendency to get on top of even the strongest people. Lenora wasn't very strong. She'd crumble.

Suddenly, a thudding chorus of footsteps sounded outside the room. Ceres was the first to realise what that sound meant. The end. A tragic goodbye. Considerably paler, she darted up from the plush chair and engulfed Lenora in her arms. She embedded her nails into the scratchy fabric of Lenora's Reaping dress, unwilling to part.

"I love you, Lennie," she cried into Lenora's ear, "Please try to win. For me. I beg."

"I'll try," she promised. She would try, for them. For herself, because, funnily enough, she didn't want to die, "For you, Mama."

Ceres stroked Lenora's hair. She clung to her devotedly, even when the Peacekeepers barged through the doors and told them their time was up. Her mother screamed as they tried to pry her from her daughter, punching and kicking at the armoured sycophants with all the strength she could muster, even managing to land a harsh blow to one's nose. She almost ripped Lenora's Reaping dress in the process, trying impeccably hard not to let go. It proved to be a mighty struggle, but the Peacekeepers took her. They always managed to take.

The very last thing Lenora heard of Ceres Naverro was her screams rattling from the walls of the Justice Building.

Before the Peacekeepers could snatch him away too, her father lurched forward and embraced Lenora one last time. He clenched his fist around the orange material of her dress, his ragged breaths ghosting across the gap of exposed flesh beneath her collar. He was crying. Hard.

A mere second passed before the Peacekeepers launched their assault. One grabbed onto her father's shirt, giving him a sharp tug backward, and a second charged through the doors with every intent to shoot him if he didn't comply.

Fortunately, he didn't put up a fight, but not before managing to quickly whisper in Lenora's ear, "Where there is a will, there is a way."

The official motto of District Nine. He wanted her to carry home into the arena. And with home, her family, too. Hope.

The Peacekeepers dragged him away, and the door slammed shut behind them. A silence followed ── loud and suffocating.

The encounter left Lenora feeling particularly rattled, and entirely more scared than before; if remotely possible. The only upside of it was she could no longer hear her mother's agonised screams echoing through the halls of the Justice Building. The only decipherable noises were produced by herself, inhaling shakily and sniffling.

By the time the next round of visitors swept through, Lenora was utterly exhausted. She was still trembling, chest tight as a vice and her lungs feeling sunken and deflated. The faces she saw coming into the holding room next certainly didn't help her situation.

Penny Keller led the convoy, wheelchair pushed into the room by her sister, Sunny. Their mother, Hina, followed them inside, as did an unimpressed Peacekeeper. He looked reluctant to leave them without standing idly by, watching them, but rules were rules ── even the Kellers were allowed a moment of freedom to say goodbye to someone they cared about. Well . . . maybe the term cared about was slightly excessive. Thankful for seemed more appropriate.

Once the door was shut, Sunny bounded across the room and enfolded Lenora in her arms without any prior warning. Her blonde hair fell like a curtain around their faces. She smelled vaguely of cinnamon and lemongrass.

"Thank you," Sunny whispered in Lenora's ear, her throat waterlogged by tears, "Thank you so much."

Lenora didn't say anything out of fear she would start sobbing and wouldn't be able to stop. She patted Sunny's back tenderly, swallowing down the rising lump in her throat. Her desire to cry only worsened when she saw, from the corner of her eye, Penny come up next to them. Her small fingers clasped Lenora's hand and gave a gentle squeeze.

"I should be the one saying thank you," she said sweetly.

Up close, Lenora realised just how similar she and Sunny were in appearance. Same cobalt eyes, the same corn-blonde hair, and freckles that bridged across their noses in close resemblance to a constellation of stars. Evidently the looks came from their mother, who was standing near the door patiently; an almost identical carbon-copy of both daughters.

It seemed the only thing Sunny and Penny had inherited from their father, Norm Keller, was their inability to be malicious. But even in that scenario, Hina Keller wasn't cruel either, so the genes had to be equally shared from both parents.

Lenora would cease to forget the image of Hina Keller embracing Ceres behind the spectator lines when she was on the verge of collapsing after Lenora volunteered. The Kellers were simply an amalgamation of inherently good people.

"You saved her," Sunny murmured, wiping at her bloodshot eyes, "I just ─ what made you do it?"

"After everything you told me, how could I not?" Lenora managed to say. Oh no, the tears were brewing.

Sunny sniffled, "You see? I was right when I said you're a good person."

"No──"

"Yes, Lenora," Sunny interjected. She reached a delicate hand forward and wiped a rogue tear off Lenora's cheek with the pad of her thumb, "You can't see it now, but you will one day."

"You think?"

She nodded, "Yes. Of course I do."

"I hope you're right," Lenora said. She wiped her nose with the back of her hand, "And if you are, you'll be the first to know about it. I have to give my inspiration some credit, right?"

Sunny's mouth split in two, revealing a row of white, slightly crooked teeth. She managed a small laugh despite the tears tracking down her cheeks. It made Lenora's heart swell with warmth ── she realised she liked seeing Sunny smile.

"My Papa would like you," Sunny revealed assuredly, "You both have similar wit."

"He must be hilarious then," Lenora jested.

Sunny laughed again. Her tears had practically evaporated ── cheeks now swollen and tinted pink with jubilation rather than sorrow. This happier, brighter version was infinitely better than the formerly grey, sunken alternative; Lenora would much prefer to see Sunny smiling in their last encounter before she inevitably left for the Capitol. Looking back on it would only make Lenora crack a grin, too.

As if reminding them she was there, Penny gently prodded her sister on the shoulder. She gestured vaguely to Sunny's blouse pocket.

"Oh," Sunny blurted. She reached into the pocket, and then pulled out a long, thin chain ── though the pendant was obscured by her hand. "I brought you something."

"We," said Penny pointedly.

Sunny rolled her eyes playfully, "Sorry. We brought you something."

She grabbed her hand and carefully ── with those nimble fingers dedicated to sculpting bread at her family's now-shut bakery ── unfurled Lenora's fist. Once her palm lay flat, Sunny dropped the metal chain into it. Lenora gazed down, running her thumb over the chain. She was able to see the pendant now: a fox's face carved from wood.

A fox? Her eyebrow twitched in confusion.

Foxes were District Nine's most popular ground animal, and the most cunning. They prowled the Great Plains day and night in search of food, and had made a permanent nesting near the canal running through Nine's epicentre; some people called it the Fox Den.

Over the years, however, they'd grown so habituated to human presence that they started to trespass into the villages. Lenora used to feed leftover bread and meat to a family of red foxes when she was younger ── a mama and her babies. They came to her back-door every night for more, always cowering despite her good nature. She was devastated when, after a flash flood, the bushy-tailed family didn't return. Even now she wondered what happened to them.

Maybe this was them repaying the favour, in spirit. A token of luck. A reminder to always abide by that good natured part of herself.

Sunny traced her finger over the sleek, wooden pendant in Lenora's hand, "You know what they say about foxes? One fox can outsmart a dozen wolves if it plays the game of survival wisely."

Lenora looked up from the pedant. Sunny's eyes were intense, determination swirling in the bright puddles of cobalt blue.

"Imagine you're the fox," she whispered, "and the other tributes are the wolves."

Lenora gulped, nodding, "Okay."

Sunny's lips formed another smile. She took the necklace and leaned forward, clasping it around Lenora's throat. The fox's face felt cold against her jugular, starkly juxtaposed to the warmth grazing the back of her neck from Sunny's hands.

Their faces were just inches apart, and it became quite apparent that they were both very aware of that fact. Sunny blinked rapidly, craning her neck back to search Lenora's eyes, whereas the latter remained deathly still; she was worried she'd frighten her away if she moved too abruptly.

She took a deep breath, and then Sunny inevitably broke the tension igniting between them. She tucked a strand of Lenora's raven hair behind her ear and stood up, cheeks a rosy hue as she turned to face her mother.

Eventually, it was their turn to be escorted away by Peacekeepers.

Lenora clutched the wooden fox pendant tightly as the door slammed shut behind the Kellers. Tears breached her waterline, slithering down her cheeks. She sniffed harshly and wiped the trickling wetness away.

She had to win. She had no other choice. Bringing glory to District 9 wasn't impossible, was it?