Do You Remember? A Hunger Games Fanfiction

Private Session: Boston

Hey guys! I'm so sorry for the unbelievably long wait for an update, and I really hope it won't happen again. Writer's block is probably my least favorite Summer sickness and I'll try as hard as I can to make sure it doesn't happen again!  The games will begin soon, so may the odds be ever in your favor.... Enjoy!❤️👋🏻
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Jonas exits the room with a smug smile pasted on her practically beaming face.  She gives me a hug, and I enter the room for my session.  It felt like Jonas was in the room for years instead of minutes.  The anticipation really slowed things down for me.  During the time I was left, I felt alone, even though districts Eight through Thirteen had still waited patiently for their turns behind me. 
Throughout the room, I can see the remains of Jonas's session.  Knives, lodged into the centers of targets and dummies.  A rope, representing a perfectly designed snare.

I can't see anything else, but I'm positive she did more. She probably took a test or something. And that's when I realize I don't know what I'm going to do. This whole time, I've been wandering the room, making sure Jonas did a good job, and I completely forgot about myself.  This won't be good.  "Boston," one of the game makers says.  "You have five minutes.  Begin."  I tense at his mention, and I realize that my session as already started, and I'm losing precious, life saving time by the second. 

Before I really know what I'm doing, my feet carry me to the weapon rack, where axes are arrayed beautifully, in all types.  Tempest Boogart, our head game maker's main assistant, grins at me mockingly from the balcony above.  I grin back, and tack an ax from the shelf, throwing it high over my head, landing it exactly where it belongs. I look back up at the game makers and see heads nodding in approval. I throw a few more and a few whistles congratulate my success. "Three minutes." I look up to see Tempest speaking into the exclavation mic, and I know I really need to use my time wisely. 

Think, think, think!  You're better than this Boston!  I think.  Such a jerk. 

I rack my brain for some other skill that I could have developed over the course of training.  And I remember; Jonas had given me some pointers on poisonous plants.  I could take a test.  I know I won't ace it or anything, but it's worth a shot.
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The test table waits for me in a far corner, and I decide that this is my best option; my only option. A blinking ENTER button catches my attention from far away, and as I come closer, a time at the bottom of the screen with the heading reading best time- Jonas Mason, makes me smile. The fact that she can age a test on thirty seconds? Is absolutely...amazing. I could never do that. Stunning. I close my eyes, take a deep breath and relax. My fingers meet the glowing button, and the pressure begins.  My fingers fly over the keyboard like the wings on a hummingbird. I squint as pictures of different plants fade in and out, fixating in my view miragically.

A simple beeping noise signals the end of my session. The test is over as well, and in the middle of the screen is a large number reading my score. It isn't bad. I mean, poisonous plants weren't my main study during our training. The beeping and flashing %95.7 cheers me up and I leave the table ready to go. The game makers stare at me from the balcony shaking their heads and whispering, knowing that I could have definitely done better. And I know I could have. I don't know what got into me. I wave shyly to the men and women who are looking at me. They laugh and I curse. That'll make things better for sure.

Thalia Hugh, the District Eight female, enters timidly as I leave, and I hear her session beginning he announced. 

I quietly close the door behind me and in the distance I see Jonas, Tontine, and Grandma waiting for me at the end of the hallway. Jonas rushes toward me, face tear streaked and sore. "Baby, it's okay. What's wrong, baby girl?"

The sight of her sorrow makes me tear up, but I don't want my darling to see my fear. She's had enough already. The only words she say in response startle me. "Two days, Boston. Two days."

She pulls away glumly and the realization of the present shocks me like lightning, and I stumble. The nervousness and pressure of the last few days have been so hectic, I lost track of where we were in the days pressing up to the games.  We enter the arena in two days.  Our interviews are tomorrow evening, and then we go and die or live.  And this year's survivor, the victor of the 85th annual Hunger Games will be Jonas Mason.  Whether she likes it or not....