The 134th Hunger Games (CURRENTLY BEING REWRITTEN)

Chapter Three: The Train

The train is even more lavish than than I expected. The windows are in golden, curlicued frames and partially covered by delicate cloth curtains which are just see-through enough that the sun can shine through, and are decorated with pictures of songbirds and cherry blossoms growing on branches. Blue couches line the walls. The fine forest green rug on the floor has wispy silver circles spiraling about on it, and the spruce wall panels are exquisite, carved with tiny depictions of cutting down trees and paper-making. My father was a carver, and he would have loved those pictures. If they weren't part of the train bringing me to a place where I had a 23/24 chance of death, that is.

"You two go to your suites and wash up. Supper will be ready soon." "Ms. Flurry?" His voice is quiet, but strong too. "Which way to our suites?" "Oh! Yours are just down the hall, to the left. Dalia's are a little further along." "Thank you, Ms. Flurry." Frankly, I'm a little surprised at his confidence. When we boarded the train, he was shaking like a leaf in high wind. Maybe his family cowed him, and that's why the sudden change. My family probably misses me already, and it hasn't even been a day. His doesn't, and likely never will. Stop it, you can't pity your enemy. Someone else will kill him anyway. Right?

The bedroom alone is as big as my entire house. the huge, cloud-soft bed is draped in red, with a tent-like canopy hanging over it. The wood is pale mahogany, with curly golden patterns engraved onto it. There are watercolors of autumn forests, and summery ones. A few even show trees bursting with green buds and whitish flowers. The dressers have all sorts of clothes, which make me feel dirty in comparison. The shower has about a million buttons, too many to keep track of which does what. When I step out, I discover that their towels feel like heaven.

"Dalia!" "Coming!" The dining room is just as stunning as the rest of the train, but what really draws my attention are the three people already there. A short woman with curly red hair, tying and untying knots in a string, a dark haired man with stubble, and and an middle-aged gray haired lady who looks like she's itching to hold an axe. Victors. And now my mentors. "Well, I guess it's that time of year again. Tell me, are you good at axes?" "I've never used one before. I'm decent with a hatchet though...Ms. Mason." "Just call me Johanna. Won't make a difference anyway." She smiles, but there's no joy in it. "Are you good at foraging?" "yes, Mr. Jonesin. Seven's so stuffed with plants, we're all good at it." I dig into a roast. "And I can use a knife, too. My father was a carver before....before he died." "I see." Elm's been silent the whole time, just eating. The terrain whizzes past us, and I can see a large powered dam now.

My bed really does feel like a cloud, and with the exhaustion of the day's events, it doesn't take long for sleep to come. Unfortunately, my dreams are filled with blood and death.

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