You Think This Is Hard? - A Hunger Games/ Glee crossover fanfiction

Chapter 27: Into the Arena

Chapter 27: Into the Arena

I sit in a cold concrete room in the catacombs beneath the arena. I feel numb all over. Nothing seems real.

I mind can’t seem to fully grasp the fact that in less than ten minutes, the Hunger Games will officially begin.

The door slides open and in walks Judiel, looking as glamorous as always, with her hair pulled back into a high pony tail and her tailored suit adding an air of professionalism. I don’t bother greeting her because it’s not like she cares what is about to happen to me, so why should I show her any courtesy? I look down at my folded hands so as to avoid eye contact with her.

“Kurt,” she practically whispers, “I have your clothes for the arena.”

When I don’t respond she walks over and places them next to me on the bench.

I wonder what would happen if I just didn’t get changed and didn’t get in the tube. I’m going to die anyway, so what’s the worst that could happen?  That’s starting to sound like a good idea. They can’t force me to go into the arena can they?

Instead, I stand up and change into the clothes Judiel provided me.

The outfit consists of black pants that will be easy to move in, a simple khaki t-shirt, an insulated brown jacket and sturdy boots. It’s a fairly regulation tribute outfit.

I sigh and press my forehead against the cool wall. This is still so surreal. It almost feels like this is happening to someone else, like it’s not really me here. I don’t know what awaits me in the arena. It could be anything from a vast ocean to a dry and desolate plain. Everything might be poisoned or there might be mutts everywhere. A fire might wipe out half the tribute on the first night or the Gamemakers might decide not to interfere until the very end. The cornucopia could contain only weapons. You can never know what the arena is going to be.

“I have something else for you,” says a voice from behind me. I spin around to see Judiel. She looks surprisingly solemn, as if she might actually feel sorry for me.

“It’s your district token,” she continues, reaching into her pocket and pulling out the all too familiar pocket watch. “I picked it up earlier this morning. They were almost going to remove the chain, because they thought it might give you an unfair advantage, but then they decided against it.”

She turns the watch over so that the engraved side is facing up.

“Where’d you get this by the way?” she asks. I am increasingly glad I shredded the letter almost as soon as we arrived in the Capitol, as much as it hurt to do it.

“It was my mothers,” I reply reluctantly.

“It’s very beautiful,” she says softly, caressing it with her thumb, “This writing on the front,” she says, “It’s in Latin. Pugnare pro credis, non quod alii volunt. The language was ancient even before the Dark Days. I don’t know what this says exactly, but I know that pugare is the word for ‘fight’ and I think non quad alii volunt means ‘what no one else wants.’ It probably means something like ‘don’t fight; it’s what no one wants.’ I don’t know.”

“Thank you anyway,” I say, trying to keep the iciness out of my voice.

“No problem,” she smiles sadly and hands the watch back to me. I clip the chain back onto its self and drape it around my neck like a necklace.

“Three minutes,” a monotonous voice rings out through the speakers.

I grab onto the wall to steady myself.