Sorry for the length, I've just been very busy :)

No one else came to bid me goodbye, but I wasn’t expecting anymore farewells anyway.

During the Dark Days, my family and I kept to ourselves as much as possible, tried to stay on a low radar and avoided any type of confrontation. We were cowards, sure, but it’s what kept us alive. It’s also what kept me from making friends. But even after the rebellion I stayed distant. I’m not sure whether it’s because the revolt left me suspicious, or just because I’m a socially awkward loner. Could be both.

My escort seems to be the exact opposite; he keeps chattering on, but I’ve stopped listening a long time ago. Jasmin still appears to still be listening though, smiling politely and nodding every once in a while- I don’t know how she does it. I tried, honestly, I did, but as soon as he started glorifying the Capitol, glorifying the Games, I gave up.

The train door slides open automatically, and a lanky man enters the compartment. He doesn’t look like the typical Capitol citizen; his graying hair isn’t dyed in some bright color, his skin has a healthy olive tone (that stands in stark contrast to Maxfield’s ashen complexion) and he wears a simple white blouse and khaki pants. He introduces himself as Taylon Grat; Jasmin’s and my mentor. We shake his outstretched hand and sit down as he does.

He remains quiet as his gaze shifts between me and Jasmin. But then, after a small nod, as he sits back in his chair, he speaks, “Shoot.”

“Uh, what?”

“Ask away,” he clarifies, crossing his legs, “I’m sure the two of you are burning with questions.”

I simply nod, and shift in my seat. My minds racing to the point that it’s giving me a headache. I have so many questions that I don’t even know where to start. Jasmin does though, “What’s the arena going to be like?”

“Could be anything, a thick forest, a dry wasteland. Something challenging, no doubt.”

Naturally, I’m not expecting any less. Their urge for revenge unsatisfied, the Capitol will make ‘the Games’ as ruthless as possible, I’m sure. But how will I be able to survive its vengeance? I have zero surviving- and fighting skills. Only a significant lack of courage.

Maybe that can be my strategy; to hide like the coward I am. According to Taylon though, the best game plan would be seeking out our competition, and kill them before they can kill us. I’m not a big fan.

“What if we refuse to kill each other?”

“That won’t happen, kid. As soon as the gong rings, all your morals will be out of the door.”

“What if we do, though?” I insist.

He sighs, “Then the gamemakers will. Listen son, whatever nobel ideas you have in mind, they will get you killed.”

I glance at my lap timidly, feeling like a naive little boy. It was foolish of me to believe that that would happen, but I just can’t imagine us straight off  killing each other,either. I may not know my competition, but I refuse to believe that they’d be that callous- that I’d be that merciless.

“Will we be transferred to the arena right away?” Jasmin asks. Though it’s not a complete change of the subject, it at least takes my mind off of the killing.

It’s Maxfield who answers her, his eyes gleaming with excitement and his tone cheerful, “No, there’s the chariot ride tomorrow, a spectacular entrance to initiate the Games. Then there’s three days of training, and of course the interviews!”

Taylon assures us it will all be explained later, and that there are plenty more opportunities to ask questions. He then takes us to another compartment to watch the recaps of the reapings.

I examine my competitors, but few are memorable in my mind (though their names don’t stick, despite the fact that I try to remember them). A volunteer from Four. Wasn’t it for the fact that I would  have done exactly the same had Britt been reaped, I would have called him a madman for signing up to his almost certain death, but now I can only sympathize with his actions, and hope that I won’t come across him and his sister.

More hauntingly is the boy from Six. He staggers to the stage, dragged along by peacekeepers. He holds his arms in front of him, groping thin air. A scream in the crowd confirms my suspicions, “He’s blind you monsters!”

And then the District Six reaping is quickly cut off. I’m glad I don’t have to watch the bloody images, but I picture them clearly anyway.

Luckily, the next reaping takes my mind of the one prior- well, the boy tribute does. I don’t know whether it’s to mock the Capitol and its Games, or just a serious case of identity crisis, but the boy wears a dress. Jasmin chuckles next to me, as do the inhabitants of Seven. “He at least has great fashion sense.” she jokes, and the corners of my lips turn up slightly.

The rest of the reapings went smoothly, apart from District Ten’s. Everything happens too fast to follow, and in no time the screen turns black, but you don’t have to be a genius to figure out what happened off screen. In Two there are hardly any rebels left, but it’s obvious that isn’t the case in the other districts. Their fire hasn’t died out, and if anything, the Games fuel their resistance. It’s definitely fuelling mine.