Hope's Lost (51st Hunger Games)

Chapter 5- The Will to Live Gives No Cause to Die

        “C’mon you sappy little wimp! Why don’t we just decapitate you now and send your poor old body back to papa! Momma’s probably already dead with the Capitol looking after her with ‘extreme care’ don’t you think?!” Kadin laughed. Having enough, I kicked him with all the force I could muster, using every fiber of my being to get this man to shut up. How the hell did he know about my mother? Did they broadcast my personal life on the television? They better not have. Suddenly, I watched as Kadin finally was sent reeling back onto the ground, having the air knocked out of him as he did so.

        I was breathing hard. The train ride seemed worse than the actual games so far. My body was shaking and I felt like my legs were going to give way. If the person I would be forced to trust had acted like this then I wouldn’t be able to take it. “Well we found out that hand-to-hand combat isn’t really your thing. But wow, nice kick on the end.” Kadin said, rising from the carpeted floor of the train that had only started moving minutes ago. I stood up straighter at his comment. Did he really compliment me on my horrible skills after he had taunted me? The pieces didn’t quite fit together.

      Kadin closed one eye, wincing in pain. “Help me up will ya’?” I knitted my eyebrows and stepped back, shaking my head. Kadin shrugged and struggled to stand up. Then I saw it. I looked up his sleeve as he stood and I saw his fake arm. Gasping, I tried not to show my surprise and disgust. Noticing it anyways, Kadin laughed, “I don’t have either of them. Isn’t that funny? Happened right as they pulled me out when I won.” I shut my eyes right as he rolled up his sleeves. I knew that his false arms were as real looking as possible, but just with the awareness that they were fake made me scared of what I would go through.

     “Now go away. Both of you. See you at dinner.” Kadin said as he breathed in a whiff of smoke. I stormed out immediately. Not saying goodbye. Anders lingered a bit in the car before following me out like a lost puppy. I sat down in the next car over alone. Sighing, I leaned back on the soft cushions as an imprint of my figure was left in the material that I seemed to sink into. Anders sat down next to me just when he entered. We stared at the glass chandelier above us quietly that swayed with the speed of the train, the glittering glass curving and twisting the light that hit the walls.

     I turned to my left, away from Anders on my right. “Why are you here? Shouldn’t you go use East as target practice or something? I thought you loved the Hunger Games.” Anders sighed, replying, “I wish I could use East as target practice. Seems like I need to use something else.” Something about his tone of voice and attitude towards the games was different than before. “Hm. Then go and practice in your room. I’m going to be in here for a long time and I’m not a very interesting subject to be talking to.” I wanted to sleep, and boy who would most likely be my killer was keeping me away from that. “Don’t need to.” Anders said, moving a little. I turned, surprised at his answer and only found his back in front of my face. Changing the useless subject I asked, “Why did you hug me on stage at the Reaping? We were supposed to look like we hated each other and you kind of blew it.”

         Anders changed the subject back to the one before, “Truth is, I can’t stand the Hunger Games.” My eyes widened. This was coming from the boy who dedicated his life to the Hunger Games. “I just need some way to show my parents I’m worth something. I’ve tried everything. Perfect grades. Strength. Talent. Everything! But they simply won’t listen to reason. They say that they’re proud, but I don’t believe it and if killing twenty-three people is what it takes to show them a combination of what I’ve worked my whole life into doing then so be it.” I shivered when I thought of me being one of those twenty-three people.

        I pulled his shoulder back towards me in order for him to turn. Still on the couch, I finally stopped sinking into the unusually deep cushions and stayed in place, as did Anders. “You don’t have to do this. You know they love you all the same. Parents have to.” He laughed again. “I suppose so.” We were quiet. The tinkling noise of glass on glass and the train’s wheels grinding against the tracks were the only things we heard. I still wanted to dwell on the subject. “Still, why did you hug me?” Anders gave a half-hearted smile.