The 23 Cannons Trilogy

Keeping Hope Alive

Maia Kentner, 16, District 5 Victor

A soft humming sound draws me out of slumber, and I blink my eyes several times. A bright light greets me, and I flinch at the harshness, only I can't move. My eyes snap open. This isn't good. I look around, and notice that my arms are strapped down. But to what? I feel the cold metal pressing against my wrists as I look around. Everything is white; the walls; the ceiling; even the floor from what I can see. It's this whiteness that causes me to remember what's going on.

I won the Hunger Games; I survived everything the arena threw at me, and survived. All the other tributes have died, and I survived. Tears begin to spill from my eyes, and I begin to feel faint as I remember how I won. Afya fell off the volcano, perishing. Did I cause her to fall? Or did she do it herself; suicide? I can't remember the exact details; the final battle is an adrenaline filled blur. All I know is that I'm strapped to a bed, in a blinding white room, sobbing my heart out. As I do this, I shut my eyes, and become aware of a loud bleeping sound, before I slip back to sleep.

When I open my eyes again, a figure is standing over me. My vision is still too blurry to make out who it is, and I begin to feel uncomfortable. All I can see is that whoever it is has long dark hair in a ponytail. Like Afya.

"Maia?" The voice calls, and I feel myself on the verge of crying. It sounds so much like Afya, but I know it's not. Afya is dead, just like everyone else. All dead. "Maia, can you hear me?" Somehow, I manage to nod feebly, and let out a whimper.

The figure moves, and everything comes into focus. It's not Afya standing in front of me; it's Lucia, my mentor.

"Lucia...?" I try to say, but my throat hurts, and my voice is nothing more than a hoarse whisper. "Lucia, is that you?"

"Yeah, it is," Lucia says, smiling softly at me, "The one and only." A sheepish smirk crosses her face, and she pats my head. "Well done, kid, you managed to make it out of hell alive."

"Yeah..." I say feebly, taking a deep breath, "I did, but at the cost of nearly two dozen lives." I can feel the tears building up, and I grip onto the side of my bed to stop myself from breaking down into a fit of sobbing. Guilt flows through my entire being, and I just want to curl up in a ball, and fade away. But I must stay strong, since some part of me remembers what awaits me pretty soon; the victory ceremony, where President Snow himself will crown me as the 68th person to survive this slaughter-fest. I feel sick just thinking about it.

Lucia walks to the other side of my bed, and presses a button. A whirring sound echoes out, and I'm freed from being strapped down into the bed. I carefully sit up, stretching my arms, noticing that they have no signs of the arena; like it was nothing but a horrible nightmare. Maybe it was, and none of it ever happened, and I'm just some poor soul inside a mental facility. In that case, what is real? Is this real? I look up at Lucia, who's looking over at the wall on the other side of the room. There's a countdown timer to the ceremony, and according to it, I have about five hours before it begins.

"Maia, do you feel well enough to move around?" Lucia asks me, and I nod. In response, she passes me a tray that was resting on the bedside table. "Then eat up. We don't have long before the interviews." I nod again, and look down at the tray. There is a bottle of water and a bread roll. Nothing else. Then again, it's not as if I could really eat much anyway; the Capitol workers have probably performed so many operations that my stomach wouldn't be able to handle anything more than this.

I lift the roll up to my mouth, and take a bite. It's cold, but still delicious. I carefully eat it, but with every swallow my throat feels like it's on fire. But I still manage to finish it off, and then drink some of the water. It soothes the burning in my throat, but makes my stomach feel like it's bloated. However, this feeling definitely beats what I was feeling a moment ago: the physical pain distracts from the mental agony.