ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ sᴇᴠᴇɴ
"In two weeks, 23 of you will be dead. One of you will be alive, who that is, depends on how well you pay attention over the next few days. Particularly to what I'm about to say—first, no fighting with the other tributes. You'll have plenty of time for that in the arena. There are four compulsory exercises. The rest will be individual training. My advice is, don't ignore the survival skills. Everybody wants to grab a sword, but most of you will die from natural causes. 10% from infection, 20% from dehydration. Exposure can kill as easily as a knife."
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The atmosphere was tense and everyone could notice how everyone wanted to win. Everyone wanted to be the winner of the 67th hunger games. Everyone wanted to take home the prize. Everyone wanted to say at the end that he/she had made it. However, not everyone wanted to kill for the price. Not everyone wanted to fight. Not everyone wanted to be traumatized.
One would win, and one would get the prize.
One would stand in front of the nation at the end and give the speech.
The speech was always the worst because they didn't write it themselves. Because they hired other people who didn't have a clue about the experience.
Mary walked around the room watching the others practice. The sponsors sat upstairs watching every move the tributes made. It was creepy. It felt like something or someone always watched her, and it made her scared that she would do something wrong.
"It's weird, right?" A voice beside her spoke and thus made her look there. The voice was harsh, raspy, and a woman's voice. Though rather deeper, but still high. When Mary saw the face, the voice didn't fit at all. She looked soft, sweet, and girlish. She looked like she was 16. "That only one survives, I mean." She must have seen the confused look on Mary's face.
"Yeah, weird."
The girl next to her had to laugh and held out her hand, which Mary accepted. "I'm Francesca. I'm from District 5, and you are?"
"Mary. I'm from District 4." Francesca laughed again as the two headed for the knives.
"You're the girl everyone talks about, right? The one who saved her sister?"
Mary nodded and Francesca took one of the knives. "How old are you?" While throwing the knife at the target, she looked at Mary with a certain expression on her face.
Mary, meanwhile, looked at the target where the knife was stuck in the middle. Francesca had another knife already and was about to throw it when Mary replied. "...13."
The knife hadn't even landed in the target yet. Francesca looked at Mary with her eyes wide open. "You're just a kid."
Mary laughed. "So are you."
Francesca shook her head and kept throwing knives. "I haven't been for a long time."
"Neither have I."
They both looked at each other, smiled, and shook hands.
"I think we're going to be good friends."
"If not friends, then good allies."
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ᴄʜʟᴏᴇ̈ ɢʀᴀᴄᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴇᴛᴢ ᴀs ғʀᴀɴᴄᴇsᴄᴀ ᴅᴜᴘᴏɴᴛ
" If I die in the arena, you must win, and give the letter to a certain Maxime Laurent."