After The Storm (A Hunger Games Fanfic)

Sitting Around - 9

Jewel watches queasily as Boo drags the bodies into the grass. Savannah, stood tall at her shoulder, sword loose in her hand, shivers. "About time," she mutters, "Their families will want to say goodbye."

Out of habit, Jewel shoots her a sharp look. That won't do any good, thinking about people's families. Talk about losing focus. Her trained eyes spot that the girl from Two, although she's stood tall, is hunched, her shoulders curled around her, and there's a slight ridge in her forehead. There are a few spots of dried blood on her hollow cheeks.

"You don't know what you're doing here, do you?" Jewel asks crisply. Boo ambles back into the small clearing, rubbing his hands on his shirt. He doesn't even look ruffled, despite the days in the arena. Savannah is glad to turn away from him and blink at Jewel. The girl from District One is leaning on her spear, her mouth pressed tightly together and looking out into the distance through impressively blue eyes. Her hair is coiled in a complicated plait down her back, but strands are starting to escape, clinging to her neck. She looks solid, determined. Just stood next to her, Savannah feels small. Even though she's actually taller than her. She knows straight away; Jewel will see through any kind of lies, any attempt to bluff it. At the same time, to tell her the correct answer would be admitting a weakness. And her father always said to never even hint at a weakness. Usually he accompanied this with a glare at her mother.

"Not really, no." She turns away sharply, well aware that this isn't the answer her district want her to give. She must be a disappointment to them. For her volunteering, her calmness, they must have expected more. And instead they got Jax killed, somehow, and her sitting around doing nothing apart from feeling slightly sick.

"Not how you thought it was going to be?" Jewel's voice is dismissive; she's meant to be a Career, for crying out loud. She's trained. Though at least Savannah is keeping herself together, which is more than could be said for Trey...

As this crosses her mind, she sees her district partner, Trey, the boy who had a sword fight with breadsticks, hauled off into the air. Is he going home? Or will the Capitol fix him up first? And what happens to the bodies of the losers, anyway?

No. She shakes her head to clear these thoughts, feeling her plait hammer on her back. She needs to keep focused. This is why she's spent hours, longer than anybody, in the spacious training centre. She can't start doubting herself just because of Trey and some confused and undertrained girl from Two. She won't be a loser. It doesn't matter what happens to them.

Savannah has said something; what? She looks out in the other direction now, gripping the sword so hard that her knuckles are blazing white.

"What was that?" Jewel asks. Savannah shakes her head. She knows Jewel won't kill her, not yet, anyway. But she doesn't like it here. She feels like Jewel thinks she's weak and pathetic, and she's worried because...because she might be right.

There's a slight buzz as Avery is lifted away. Then attention is uncomfortably back on Savannah again.

"Shovel girl," she mutters, "How is she staying up there?"

Ever is curled up, asleep, in the fork of the tree, the shovel tucked into her side. She's only ever still when she's sleeping, her mouth tightly closed, her shoulders rising and falling with her steady breathing. It's nice here. Comfortable. The tree cradles her like she is its child, hugging her close. It knows she won't hurt it, and because of that, it won't let her fall. Shapes, a kaleidoscope of colours, dance behind her eyelids. Ever doesn't dream of the Games. Ever doesn't really dream of anything. Just colours and sounds.

She smiles at a particularly pretty pattern. The camera, satisfied that it will squeeze nothing from the bizarre young tribute, roves on, looking for some dialogue at least. Give the people something to wake up to.