๐๐. ๐จ๐ง๐ ๐ฐ๐๐ฒ ๐ญ๐ข๐๐ค๐๐ญ
โ ๐ฃ๐ฎ๐ง๐๐๐ฎ๐ฑ โ
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How do you say goodbye to everything you've ever known? With a pathetic wave as the train leaves the station. But it was all I could muster to avoid letting the tears that I'd been holding back all afternoon from streaming down the sides of my face.
District nine was gone sooner than I thought, leaving only the path that lay ahead to prepare for. I should have been terrified. I should have been angry. I should have felt anything. I was numb. Even if I could manage to survive, what was waiting for me in district nine? A father who withered away with each passing day? As dearly as I loved him, I knew his heartache would be brief. Perhaps there was a chance when all was said and done, that would look to the skies and become whole once more.
Although each tribute was riding toward certain death, the Capitol certainly knew how to make one feel as if they were riding toward the very opposite. Lavish was the only word that came to mind when trying to describe the pristine interior of the train. White was a common theme: reminding us of the game's benefactor while acknowledging that once stained with red, it would be impossible to blot out. Although easily discarded as seen by the table cloth that was instantly switched out when my fellow tribute spilled his glass of juice.
"Oops," Harlan sheepishly muttered, keeping his head lowered between his tense shoulders as if waiting for something bad to happen.
"Not an issue." Esmรฉ waved a hand and the servants along the outskirts of the wall cleared the cloth as the first course of our meal was brought to the table. "See, good as new. Everything can be replaced with enough money."
There was a dark undertone to her statement. But if the escort had intended anything else, she certainly didn't elaborate or even acknowledge it. She did glance down at the delicate silver watch around her wrist with a look of inconvenience. She muttered something under her breath, but I was too busy picking at the food on my plate to notice.
"Aren't you hungry, child?" Esmรฉ asked. Only after she cleared her throat did I realize that she was speaking to me. I lifted my head, my expression silently asking her to repeat. "You've hardly touched a thing on your plate. To my knowledge your district doesn't provide enough to keep you properly fed."
"Maybe because most of it goes to the Capitol," Harlan muttered under his breath. However, it was additionally muffled by the fruit he'd crammed into his mouth. A nectarine if I knew better. I had heard though, which explained the way my lips curled at the ends.
"It's impolite to speak with your mouth full," Esmรฉ didn't hesitate to correct him. "We'll need to tighten up these loose ends if we ever hope to get you sponsored... speaking of, it's really not my job to be initiating this conversation."
"It can wait," a gruff voice said, joining the conversation almost by invitation. "I wanted to see what I was working with."
My eyes flicked to the door, catching sight of a stranger that all twelve districts would be familiar with. It was impossible to confuse the man for someone else unless you'd been living under a rock.
Caius Sokolov. Otherwise deemed "the falcon" following his victory of the fifty-second annual hunger games. From what I'd heard from those who'd been old enough to remember, the Sokolov would swoop down from the trees, attacking his victims with the element of surprise.
Harlan coughed, choking on some food that had gone down the wrong pipe as he stared at our mentor with wide eyes. He croaked, "You're the falcon!"
"So everyone keeps reminding me," he retorted, taking a seat at the table beside the boy. He poured himself a glass of whiskey then knocked the kid on the back, restoring air to his lungs, "but maybe you should focus on breathing before anything else."
Esmรฉ's lips pursed with displeasure as she watched his brusque mannerisms accompanied by his alcohol consumption. "Must you start so early?"
"Must you always ask the same question?" He mocked her tone of voice before tilting back his glass in spite, allowing the strong liquid to run down the back of his throat before slamming the glass back on the table with just enough force that it wouldn't crack upon impact. His eyes crept toward me, staring back as I'd stared at him. "You've got to be the quietest ginger I've ever laid eyes on. I thought there was some saying about a fiery temper to match the hair."
"What's left to burn for?" I asked, unflinching without lifting a brow.
"Well, aren't you a little ray of sunshine," Sokolov countered, pouring himself a second glass, but pacing himself on this one. "That changes the initial plan."
I scoffed. I hadn't meant to but it sort of just slipped out. He looked smug, as if I'd just proven his point. "Your plan to what? Make sure our death comes painlessly and with ease? Because really what chance do a couple of farm kids from district nine have when facing tributes who could skewer us with a single glance."
Harlan paled. Sokolov's smug grin only grew wider. "Knew there was some fire. But there's more than one way to survive. Sure, you could fight. Learn how to master a weapon in about a week's time, or... we get people to like you. You'll be overlooked at the start, but that's to be expectedโpreferred really."
"If people like us... we'll win?" Harlan asked, clearly confused.
"You win the favor of the people, the longer the gamekeepers will want to keep you alive," Sokolov corrected. "It's just entertainment to them, but every second counts when your feet touch the ground of that arena."
"How do we get people to like us, but remain under the radar of the other tributes?" I asked. "It's contradictory."
"No." Sokolov shook his head. "It's a balance. We'll find your strengths and use them when the time is right, but for now work on perfecting that smile in the mirror. You can't show fear. They'll eat you alive."
Harlan gulped. This time I noticed. The fire Sokolov believed he saw dimmed as I rose from my seat. I walked around the table, took the boy's hand in my own, then lead him back to my room without batting an eye. It was habit really, something I'd have done had it been my own brother sitting in that chair.
"It's Juneaux, right?" Harlan asked, breaking the silence between us as the door to my room closed. I nodded my head, inviting him to sit on the bed as I took a seat on the chair in the corner. He didn't hesitate, pulling his knees up into his chest. "We're going to die... aren't we?"
I wanted to lie. I wanted to tell him that everything would be alright. I wanted to instruct him to close his eyes and that when they opened again it would all be a bad dream and he'd be home. But his large round eyes implored me to go against my better nature with the truth.
I slowly nodded my head. "But I'll protect you as long as I can... I promise."
Harlan looked up, shock slacking his features. "Why? We might come from the same place, but we're strangers."
"You remind me of someone I once knew," I quietly admitted.
Harlan was quiet. His eyes had drifted back toward the ground. It was a common problem really, there was always someone to remind us of a past life. Of what could have been, but had been stripped away or damaged because of the games. But at least most people could distance themselves from it since there could only ever be a pair of tributes. Not us. Not this year.
I used to believe the tributes were hand-picked. That they were people who the Capitol thought would provide the most entertainment... or even those who had in some way angered the the dictatorship that had pried its finger into every aspect of our lives. But what could I have possibly done to anger the Capitol? What had any twelve-year-old child that had been reaped done? What had my brother done? Absolutely nothing. We were victims in a war we had no part in. Punished for the actions of our parents and their parents as if the capitol believed we would become them and could prevent that from happening by making an example of the few.
"Could... could I sleep here tonight?" Harlan hesitantly asked, lifting his eyes from the ground.
"Here?" I asked playfully, trying to lighten the mood. "With a stranger?"
"You remind me of someone I once knew," he repeated me word-for-word. "At least I think you do... I can't remember her very well anymore."
And that was the second common problem. We were never given the proper time to mourn. Instead, we were forced to celebrate the murderers of our loved ones. The murderers of our friends. And the murderers of the people who lived next door, people we'd always had the chance to say hello to but never even bothered to pick our heads up from the broken cobble roads... or the dirt paths that had once been cobble. We were too busy keeping our noses where they belonged because any questions meant a sentence at the whipping post or certain death. My bad, not death, never death. The Capitol would never abuse its power to keep the population in line, but sometimes people just had a way of disappearing.
I didn't hesitate to nod my head. I dimmed the lights, knowing that neither one of us would catch a wink of sleep, then climbed into the bed beside him. He curled up into a ball, clutching the blanket tightly around himself. I could hear the way his breath quivered as he certainly tried to fall asleep. I wrapped an arm around him, reminding him he wasn't alone. And for just a moment, leaned into my arm, it felt like I had him back. It was like my brother was right there in the room, only to be reminded that I was about to lose him again.
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๐๐ฎ๐ญ๐ก๐จ๐ซ'๐ฌ ๐๐จ๐ญ๐๐ฌ | Alright, as some of you may have noticed, this fic a bit different than my others since it's written in first person point of view. I thought I'd try and replicate the style that the books were written in; however, I'm not sure how I feel about it since I'm used to writing in third person. Thoughts and/or preferences? Maybe I'll change it, maybe I won't. All depends upon the day I guess. Well, thanks for reading and as always don't forget to vote and leave a comment!
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