CHAPTER ONE - A TRIBUTE IN TRAINING
I remember the Reaping. It was held in the town square, where the whole District had waited in sweat, tears, anticipation and anxiety. Our presenter, Zaera Leafe, had walked onto the stage wearing a green dress glittering in the sunlight from the emeralds. Her made over face wrinkled in the heat, and her curly black and red streaked wig had turned straight from sweat.
I remember hearing my name being called out, and how my thoughts couldn't process at the time. I had stood up on stage with Eric, my district partner, and tried to stay strong. Things have changed a lot since then.
As I have been training for The Hunger Games, my mentor had said to show Seneca Crane my abilities as best as I could posses them. He said that as long as I was confident, I had a good chance in winning.
Feeling nervous, I step into the private training room wearing my District Five shirt. The room is cold and grey, so different from the rest of the Capitol which is bright and beautiful. The first thing I see are the weapons. Silver and dangerous and lingering close to me; knives and swords glinting wickedly in the lamp - light.
My audience sits expectantly above me, drinking wine and whisky in comfortable plush chairs and probably wishing that they weren't here, that they could be doing something else with their life. Something important.
Like this wasn't of any importance to me.
My voice catches in my throat and I can't breathe properly. I step closer into the room, feeling over exposed. Seneca's eyes burn into mine like freezing ice, washing over me and watching my every move.
As we are being assesed on how good we are with weapons and survival, I pick up a few wires and do the best I can make with a snare. I test the snare by picking up a rock at the camoflague station and throw it at the trap. I watch with a sense of pride as the snare comes down in a flash.
I move over towards the plant logic board, and know that I should score some good points for this. I've been training on this for days, trying to see if there was any possible berry, root or flower that I didn't know about. Like that was going to happen.
My slender fingers delicately whiz over the control keys, and I feel thrilled knowing that I'm not useless after all. Over all, I know that I'm not going to be gaining a huge training score because of my non - weapon selection, but this will make me less of a target for the Careers.
The Careers, as always, are over confident and greedily excited. The two girls from Districts 1 and 2 always look past me, thinking that I'm easy prey. The tall blonde with green-grey eyes, Glimmer, I think she's called, is strong. Yet she obviously doesn't have a special talent like the other girl, the one with the dark hair. I'm not sure what her name is, but I know that once she targets a person with one of her throwing knives, they're dead for sure.
I know that the Careers should win, that I should think that they would win. But there's something about Katniss, The Girl on Fire, that seems different to anybody else. If I could bet on anybody to win, it would either be her, or Cato, the ringleader of the Career pack. He's tall, strong, muscular... I try to stay out of his way, for my sake, but some people like that little girl Rue from District 11, have the guts to take him on. And that's when I noticed that Cato isn't capable of observing. He thinks he'll win. He knows that he will win.
I begin to think about my district partner as I exit the training room, leaving the forever hungry eyes of the Capitol audience. I never really knew him, but now I know that he's terrified. He told me he's going in for the Cornucopia. Although I don't think that's a wise idea, I don't tell him. If he get's killed in the bloodbath, I won't be threatened.
I know my strategy anyway. My mentor agree's. I will scan the area, skirt around the edges of the Cornucopia if on land, and run. I make a vow to myself that I will not leave empty handed, but I am not going to be killed on the first day. I know that.
My stylist, Octavius, fusses over my blood-red hair as I come back into my apartment. I tell him not to worry, that it will only get messy in the arena. He seems quite upset by this, and I know it's just the tension, the nerves.
Octavius' black locks shine in the dim lamp light and I pat his arm, saying I'm sorry.
I close my eyes for a second, trying to picture Octavius in The Hunger Games, and immediately come to my senses. I need to train more, become more before I practically run to or from my death. I know that I shouldn't be bored about training, because my only chance of winning this thing is to listen and pay attention to Atlanta, our instructor, but I already know how to make snares, light fires and tell which plant is poisonous from anoher.
Still, I tell my Octavius that I'm going back down to the training centre, but have to wait until he has finished with my hair, which is technically styled into a ponytail which took an hour to create. I smoothe my District Five top with my palms and make my way across my apartment.
My apartment is massive. And colourful. Yes, anything from the Capitol is certainly colourful. I would say that my room at home is about the size of Zaera Leafe's wardrobe, which is basically a replica of a colourful maze.
The dining room is huge, and an oak table with eight matching chairs circling it sits in the middle of a bright orange circular rug, which is shagged at the ends, and feels soft against my toes whenever I brush against it. Behind the table, two steps covered with blue paisley cloth leads up to a mirror, which holds roses of all colours in the frame to symbolise beauty.
Portraits of... things... are placed delicately over the room. The paintings aren't even a work of art, just splashes of bold paint upon plain paper, like a baby controlling a paintbrush.
My room is the most amazing thing I have ever seen, well, apart from the delicious fruit jellies that present themselves to me at dinner times. The curtains are black, but outlined carefully in certain places with white to make it look as if the curtains were moving away from you.
I love my bed the most; the sheets are a cosy purple colour, and the cover matches my curtains but thankfully don't make me dizzy whenever I look at them. The main thing is that it's so comfortable, unlike my bed in District Five, which feels like laying on a piece of cardboard on the ground. I feel encouraged that if I win The Hunger Games, I could sleep in a bed just like this for the rest of my life.
My wardrobe sits across from the door and is cylinder shaped. Three buttons are positioned like traffic lights, and whenever I press one of them either top or bottom clothing items are selected for me.
I'm resentful leaving the building, but I tell myself to cut it out and keep my legs walking.
In no time I'm in the training room, watching as the Careers ( who have already formed ) attack plastic manequins with weapons and how the smarter people, like Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark, fiddle with snares and camoflague.
I survey my opponents. Many of them are quite weak, like the crippled boy from District Ten and the little girl from 11, but others are ripped with muscles like Cato and the boy from 11. Whilst thinking about this, I make my way towards the camoflague station, where my teacher sits with a bored expression, although excitement twinkles in his mercy less, black eyes.
The trainer talks me through what objects to make fire with without much risk or noise or harm, and I am told that many green plants will smoke like crazy when lit, other than regular plants which are fine and usable if used during the right time of day. Most of this is blocked out by my thoughts, but this doesn't bother me because I already know this information, and feel a little dissapointed of the lesson. Maybe I was hoping to be taught something I didn't already know?
I start wondering what the arena will be like as I make my way to the running stations. I hope that is has nothing to do with water; I've had bad experiences, or... memories. I also hope that it isn't eternally dark or light, or even worse, half desert half ice landscape like in one of the previous games.
The trainers are trying to make me loose my balance as I jump from certain places to others by whacking red beams under my legs, but it doesn't work; I'm too fast and logical. Everything appears to me as a pattern at the moment, and I can easily tell when the beams are about to be thrown at me by the steady grunt of my trainer.
The 74th Hunger Games begins in a few days, and I doubt I will sleep tonight. I wonder if I will gain an ally? No. No, I will not. I'm going to stay alone, because people that you don't know aren't always trusting in a game in which you fight to the death.
A horrible feeling arises in my stomach, and I tell it to shut up. Everyone who isn't feeling confident will also have this pain. I feel lucky that I even have a skill suitable for my time in the arena, no matter what it looks like; logic, which many people don't have. I feel encouraged that most people will not be thinking as they enter the games, and will stumble upon the Cornucopia and be killed.
Tomorrow are the interviews with Caesar Flickerman, and I will do my best to gain sponsors. Objects from people in the Capitol may come in handy, as I don't want to kill anybody or run into the Cornucopia for supplies. But I'm cunning, and hopefully what happens in the arena will turn out to be the best for me.
*****
If you liked this story about Foxface, please wait until I publish the next page of the story next week :)
Please comment :)