The Hunger Games: Never Safe From Danger

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

Alsa’s POV

Torrin Sirottan, District Five.

That’s what he said.

That is what he said.

Even if my ears were playing tricks on me, I see my brother on the stage and I know this is real. I blink, confused and scared. He’d better not say anything stupid…

“Hello, Torrin!” says Caesar, just radiating confidence although he’s really old. His hair is dyed a mossy green and his bow tie is not at all in proportion with the rest of his body.

“Torr,” my brother says simply. “And hello.”

“Yes, well!” Caesar says, laughing and looking to the cameras, smiling like an amused grandfather. “We were wondering if you could tell us about your life back in District Five?”

Torr touches his brown hair, which has been so fluffed up it bounces immediately back up. “Not much to tell…I work with the others. We power Panem.”

“Excellent! What about your family?”

“Well,” he replies, sighing. “I have two sisters. Two brilliant sisters. And my mum and dad. I love them all.”

Caesar looks pleased. “What are your sisters’ names?”

“Alsa. She’s fourteen. And Rosaliss. Seven.”

“Ah. So you must be missing them?”

He looks away. “Yes.”

Caesar senses he doesn’t want to talk about this. “How has your stay in the Capitol been so far?”

Torr shrugs.

“Ah, the strong but silent type, eh?” he chuckles, punching my brother playfully on the arm. “You got a Nine as a training score! That’s excellent! How did you get it? What’s your secret?”

“That would be telling. There are twenty-three other kids watching us right now who want to find out my every weakness in order to kill me later. I really don’t want them knowing anything. I have a family that I plan on returning to, you know.”

“Ah. Well…the reaping? How did you feel when little Ennie called your name?”

“Scared. I’m human.”

“I see…”

And then the buzzer goes. Caesar looks relieved.

“So, Torr, would you like to select the next tribute to be interviewed?” he asks, holding out the bowl of slips hopefully.

Torr looks him up and down.

“No.”

There is a gasp from the audience. I see that mischievous smile I miss so much. The little wave that indicates he knows he’s won. His interviewer yelling, “Ladies and gentlemen…Torrin Sirottan!”

But I’m so angry.

Torr, you idiot. The gamemakers are going to kill him in the arena- literally.

He’s as good as dead, but my head is swimming. Hearing his voice, seeing his face- that’s enough for now. However, I know that eventually the numbness will die down and I’ll be destroyed.