The Hunger Games: The Pawns

Chapter 12: The Last Supper

~~Saul Arrem~~

Saul had been through a lot in his seventeen years on the earth. He'd lost his parents, his girlfriend... He had almost lost his sister more times than he could count.

Often, the weight of it would press him to the floor, whispering into his ear that he had none left to fight for. He would spend long nights lying awake, wondering why he was here, but he only kept reminding himself of Peara. He knew that, even though he felt terrible pain in every situation, she felt it just as bad. They were all either had left.

He stared across the rickety wooden table into his sisters' eyes. They were in this together even more now than before—if that was even possible. He looked down to his cuffed hands and watched as a plate of food was placed in front of them. He hadn't eaten in so long, yet today he wasn't hungry.

"Eat," Mr. Munrow barked at him. "You need your strength for the days to come."

"No," Saul spoke firmly. He saw that Peara had already begun scarfing down her mashed potatoes. That was like her. Even a grudge against the man who was holding her prisoner wouldn't stop her from what really mattered. Saul couldn't find the same strength in himself.

"You're going to eat it, boy." Munrow pushed the plate further toward him. He admitted the fluffy mashed potatoes and steamed green beans looked appetizing, but his will to get the cuffs off weighed more than the pit in his stomach. "If you don't eat, you're gonna lose weight. And trust me, you do not want to be in the arena on an empty stomach." When Saul didn't respond, he scoffed and continued. "Well I guess I'll eat it then, if you're so persistent on getting yourself killed."

Saul sucked up his gut and spit as much he could into the plate before Munrow had a chance to take it from him. "Eat up."

Saul didn't gaze up from his cuffs to see his former master's expression, but judging from the tone of his voice, he was angry. "This is more than I eat in three days, Saul. How hard can it be for you to take a bite?"

"I'm not hungry!" Saul barked at him.

"You just don't understand do you?" He sat down in the seat next to himself and his sister, rapidly waving his arms. "You're whining because you got suckered into the Games! I have news for you, boy. You're going in because the rest of your district deserved it more than you. They had something to live for."

"Say that again."

"Okay, the rest of District Eleven has something to live for, you cretin," he repeated himself. "You're two orphan children who have no chance of ever being adopted. Everyone is too full with their own kids to take on two more. And the girl here's an Albar. They don't have any place in our society, even when they're of age. Who's going to take her?"

"We've gone through too much to have to hear about the color of Peara's skin," Saul scowled. "She isn't even a true Albar."

"And then there's you, defending her," he shot back. "If she doesn't have any place, then what does that make her older brother? You get it now? We were removing a weed in the district. We were allowed to select for ourselves who would be our tributes for the Games this year. There was no other option than the outcast and her pathetic guardian."

"Go to hell." Saul turned his head to the side. He saw in his sister's eyes she was too scared to even speak.

The room was the same one he had spent countless hours in before, with its deteriorating wallpaper and faded floors. He wondered how he'd gone so long in his life without realizing the man whom he served as apprentice to was never a man at all, just a backstabbing traitor. This was how he was repaid for all his work in the orchards: getting sent to the Capitol to die.