Hope's Lost (51st Hunger Games)

Chapter 8- The Storm, it's Coming.

            He catches me staring and grins smugly. “Blue suits you.” Anders confides, whispering in my ear. I push his giggling form away from me, and try not to laugh myself. I would if I didn’t feel like my hair was completely ruined. “Don’t even talk about that.” I say crossing my arms. Blue. It was like they wanted to douse my flaming red hair. Like they wanted to put out what small fire and motivation I had in me to win these games. “But at least the dress actually suits you.” I turn to him, deep green lips half-open in shock and awe. “It may not be the best-looking dress, but it looks great on you.” I feel my cheeks warm it his flirtatious words. I recall what Anders said before about getting a pretty girl to like him before his imminent death and shake off the compliment. Focusing on the fact of the matter. That this was the Hunger Games. Nothing should take my mind off focusing on that fact for the next week.

            Continuing, we muse upon our short lives before Anders decides to break the heavy silence. “He feels bad.” Anders says. Narrowing my eyes, I watch him carefully. What did he mean? So I asked. “I mean Kadin did the wrong thing. It seemed like he was trying to kill you almost before the games, and you were the one that stopped him.” Baffled at this claim, I raise an eyebrow. “Kill me?” It seemed more like he was trying to save me. Anders shrugs, “I guess I can’t really be the judge of that, but you did seem pretty close there.”

           I look at the ground, wondering what happened. But I can’t seem to gather my thoughts. It seemed like I feel asleep and suddenly here I am. Hair chopped off and being paraded around in a sparkling gown. “2 minutes till show!” someone shouts, “Tributes get on your chariots now!” Anders doesn’t hesitate and climbs on giddily. I stand by and stare at the ground, as if it had some sort of useful answer it could offer me. I was afraid. I was deeply afraid. A warm hand grips my shoulder and I try locating who it belongs to. It’s Anders, leaning down from the chariot. “Hey, calm down. We’ll be out of here in a few weeks. And I promise; once we’re out, let’s have dinner sometime.” Anders says.

           The offer seemed so enticing if I wasn’t going to die. Pretending to ignore him, I take his hand and allow him to pull me up onto the chariot alongside him. “Alright you two.” The voice of the purple-haired woman. I whip my head around to look at her. “You came here to compete. Stand up straight and wave. But smile. Not maniacally, but just enough so that they feel you guys are tributes they can rely on. Business-like. Okay?” she finishes just in time for a voice to shout, “And… Show...!” 

           Chariots in front of us rush forward and it’s about time that we’re next. The crowd’s screaming was deafening as we were paraded around the boulevard. Our faces were projected on giant screens and it felt… Dare I say it…? Thrilling. Anders and I faced our respective directions. “Look at this! Tributes Anders Entifor and Hope Centelinea from District 4 in their best dress! Isn’t that a sight to…? Sea! Ha, ha! Well now look at District 5-” I smile in the business-like manner I was ordered to, but whisper through my teeth, “Anders, I think they like us.” He laughs. “Who knows who they might be cheering for?”

           In an almost pre-formatted manner, we stop in front of a balcony of a towering building alongside other chariots. Anders and I crane our necks to see what is going on. “Greetings tributes and all the citizens of Panem.” The voice is familiar. It is the one of President Snow. He wears a glistening white rose that can even be spotted from afar. It seems to match with his pale skin. “Welcome to the 51st Annual Hunger Games.” His voice spirals to the pit of my stomach and the fear dampens there. “We salute this year’s tributes’ courage and sacrifice, and may the odds be ever in their favor.” He grins maniacally, surveying the tributes as if they were a tray of exotic foods. President Snow is slippery as it is, but seeing him at this proximity seems to be even more blood-curdling.

           Gulping down the sickening feeling I get, I ignore the rest of his terrifyingly enthusiastic speech and the world seems to be at a standstill. Attempting to shake the feeling as the horse presses forward I watch Anders’ expression. He is smiling as he did before. Probably plotting to kill me. Oh the irony. Wheeled inside the tower, we are forced to wait until District 12 is finally inside as well. Once the giant doors close, we are dismissed to our mentors. Kadin approaches us. “How’d we do?” Anders asks excitedly. Kadin smirks, blowing the smoke from out his nose. “They liked you guys.” He says. Kadin seemed to humble up ever since I nearly died at his hands. He is noticeably less angry and bitter. Some would think that to be a blessing, but I still worry. Kadin slips away, obviously attempting to avoid me, and pretends to speak to the other mentors from other districts.

           Anders cheers as some of the final chariots roll into the bay, acting about as brutish as he did when we first met. He put on a show of flexing his muscles, winking, and attempting to intimidate people, namely pointing himself at the tributes from Districts 1 and 2. They scowl, noticing him and staring him into submission. I grip him tightly by his suit jacket and drag him behind the chariot. “What are you doing?!” I hiss, crouching so as not to be seen by the Careers. “Well we’ve got to put on a show, right?” He laughs loudly and I slam my hand over his lips. “Stop.” I demand firmly, “They’re Careers. They have the potential to kill us right when we step off the plate. And it’s likely that will happen if you keep on drawing their attention to us!” And everything was going so smoothly.

           Sighing, I rub my temples. “Let’s just slip away before they notice. And please no more of that.” I say gently as I tug on his sleeve. Rising to my feet, I tug on his sleeve one more time. Pulling at his hand, I find that he is not willing to come with me. “Anders please-” A sudden pull on my pearl-encrusted wrist and I am sent tumbling down to the ground. My lips are captured by his and I feel a sudden warmth that spreads from my mouth and sends chills throughout my body. “Anders!” I shout, pulling away as fast as I could. Standing, I wipe my mouth desperately and straighten out my dress. He is disheveled in appearance as stares up at me, broken, on the ground. His eyes watch me sadly with the color of wet sand on a quiet day in District 4. “I’m sorry.” I say quietly, my voice a cracking dam that only releases tears. “I’m sorry.” I repeat, before running from behind the chariot towards where I had seen the crowd headed. “Hope!” he cries, but I ignore him.

          Wiping away stray tears, I smell smoke. The smell gets stronger as I approach the elevator. As expected, there Kadin stands, awaiting my presence. I hope Kadin doesn’t notice my red-rimmed eyes as I pushed past him. Walking inside the glass elevator, Kadin follows. I turn my head away and pretend to watch the endless Capitol skyline. “Why did you do it?” I ask shakily. I gain no response from Kadin’s end except the deep heaving breath in. “What? You don’t want to answer me?! Huh?! Can’t own up to the fact that you-” I am interrupted by the hissing of the elevator doors. “Floor 4.” A voice announces above me. Kadin steps out quickly as I am left to the wondrous surroundings of this apartment. The door to the elevator is almost on a raised platform above the room itself and I carefully take steps down the short flight of stairs before I feel like I can fully absorb my surroundings.

          Lanterns. Lanterns are everywhere. It feels as though for a moment, that Kadin and Anders have disappeared from my mind and all that matters are the lanterns that are strung across the room, zigzagging this way and that. Each has a dim glow, but together it seemed like a nest of fireflies had lived on the ceiling. I smile weakly. “Like it?” A smug East asks from the silence. I only respond to him by looking at his blue skinned face. “Because I designed it.” He says proudly, standing straight and tall. It reminds me vaguely of Randal after he invented the net-bag. I smile sadly and make a small sound of approval as I push past East.

           “Your room is down the corridor and to the left.” East shouts at my retreating form. I follow his directions and find my room quickly. The door is made of a strange type of wood. Sliding open the door, I find that my room is no less grand than the others.