HungerGames72

Chapter nine

After a few minutes, lots of people talking over each other, and at least a litre of water being splashed over my head, I manage to get up to the stage.
Cinnamon smirks. "Now, that was quite a show, wasn't it?" She grins at the cameras.
"Now, time to select the male tribute!" Her hand goes into the ball and rummages about.
I think about all the names inside that ball, all brothers and sons and friends.
She picks one out.
A roughly folded scrap of paper in between two perfect, red nails.
"Representing District ten, Drayton Grace!"
The crowd shuffles around as a cry comes from the spectator pen.
My eyes fly to an older boy, wailing and sobbing. Someone, who I assume is his mother, tries to comfort him, but he pushes her away.
Who could this Drayton be?
A slight stir comes from the seventeen-year old section, as a dark haired sullen boy makes his way up to the stage. His eyes don't move from his feet.
"Give it up for the tributes of District ten!" Cries Cinnamon, clapping wildly, "And may they bring victory and glory to their home!"
Her claw-like hands grab mine and Drayton's and hold them up to the cameras. I try to tug away from her, but she has me in a tight grip.
Suddenly I spot my dad in the crowd. My eyes prick with tears.
Cinnamon drops our hands. "Now, if the tributes follow the mentors backstage, and they will meet with their loved ones in twenty minutes at the train station. Don't be late." The capitol theme starts up again and then, once again, the hunger games are in motion.
I find Daya and follow her quietly. Her dark hair floats in the breeze.
"Keep up, chickie." She says, waiting for me.
I catch up. Daya attempts a smile. At least she, unlike Cinnamon, knows what it feels like.
"You ever had a milkshake, Clementine?" She asks.
A milkshake. Sounds... foreign.
"No. Are they nice?" I rasp. My tongue feels like sandpaper.
Daya nods. "I like the strawberry flavoured ones. But you get all sorts. Chocolate, banana, vanilla. Quite nice."
"Ah. I'll be sure to try them." Will I ever get to try them? These milk things? Or will I die at the hands of the capitol, like all the other nameless tributes?
She sighs. "We're almost there."
We continue trudging through the backstreets of the town for a few minutes, until we get to the train station, which slightly resembles a barn.
A television crew stands outside it, cameramen scurrying around, people with clipboards yelling at Archimedes and Drayton, who got there a couple minutes before us.
A short man with shiny purple hair and a microphone comes bustling towards us."Clementine! Daya! At last- what did you do, get lost? Anyway, you're here now. This way, this way!" He points us to inside the train station.
"Yes yes, I know my way in." Snaps Daya, as we follow the short bossy man inside.
It's strange to see the station quiet, as whenever I've been there it was always to see the victor of the games on their tour, along with what seemed like half the district.
The train sits alone at the platform, the metal gleaming in the harsh artificial light.
"So," says the man, adjusting his hair, " your family will arrive in around five minutes, you have ten minutes to talk to them, say goodbye etc cetera etc cetera-"
"Only ten minutes?" I cry.
The man sighs. "Yes. Ten minutes. Then, our prep team will give you a slight polishing, make you camera ready and all that. Next, the train will take you to the capitol, and whilst you're travelling you can get to know each other better. Don't screw this up for me, ok?"
Daya and Archimedes nod. I try to look Drayton in the eye, but his eyes stay trained on his feet.
I start preparing what I'd say to my dad. What do you say to the people that raised you when there is a chance of you never coming back?
My eyes sting.
Stay calm, Clementine. Don't break.