And that was the thing about her, she kept on surviving. With bullet holes in her lungs and knife marks etched in her back. She never let anything get in her way, resilient. A fighter, not by choice. But a warrior at heart.
| the hunger games |
| pr...
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In the silence that follows, delicious smells of our dinner waft in from the dining room. "Come on, let's eat," says Nolan. We all follow him to the table and take our places. We start the cream and rose petal soup as we wait for Mica. By the time we've finished, she has arrived. After diner, we watch the replay in the sitting room. I seem frilly and shallow, smiling and laughing in my dress, although the others assure me I am charming. Monty actually is charming as he answers his questions with ease.
When the anthem finishes and the screen goes dark, a hush falls on the room. Tomorrow at dawn, we will be roused and prepared for the arena. The actual Games don't start until ten because so many of the Capitol residents rise late. But Monty and I must make an early start. There is no telling how far we will travel to the arena that has been prepared for this year's Games.
I know that Willow, Nolan, and Mica will not be going with us. As soon as they leave here, they'll be at the Games Headquarters, hopefully madly signing up our sponsors, working out a strategy on how and when to deliver the gifts to us. Teak and Piper will travel with us to the very spot from which we will be launched into the arena. Still, final good-byes must be made here.
Mica takes both of us by the hand, and with actual tears in her eyes, wishes us well. Thanks, us for being the best tributes it has ever been her privilege to sponsor. And then, because it's Mica and she's apparently required by law to say something awful, she adds, "I wouldn't be at all surprised if I finally get promoted to a decent district next year!"
Then she kisses us each on the cheek and hurries out, overcome with either the emotional parting or the possible improvement of her fortunes.
Nolan crosses his arms and looks us both over. "Any final words of advice?" asks Monty.
"When the gong sounds, get the hell out of there. Neither of you are up for the bloodbath at the Cornucopia. Just clear out, put as much distance as you can between yourselves and the other, and find a source of water," he says. "Got it?"
"And after that?" I ask.
"Try to get a weapon, or make one. You told me you know which plants are edible, take note, and take the ones that you can use." Willow speaks up.
When I head to my room, Monty lingers to talk to Piper. My covers are drawn back and I take a shower. I scrub the gold paint, the makeup, the scent of beauty from my body. All that remains of the design team's efforts are the gold designs on my nails. I decided to keep them as a reminder of who I am to the audience. Perhaps it will give me something to hold on to in the days to come.
I put on a thick, fleecy nightgown and climb into bed. It takes me about five seconds to realize I'll never fall asleep. And I need sleep desperately because in the arena every moment I give in to fatigue will be an invitation to death.
It's no good. One hour, two, three pass, and my eyelids refuse to get heavy, I can't stop trying to imagine exactly what terrain I'll be thrown into. Desert? Swamp? A frigid wasteland? Above all, I am hoping for trees, which may afford me some means of concealment and food and shelter. Often there are trees because barren landscapes are dull and the Games resolve too quickly without them. But what will the climate be like? What traps have the Gamemakers hidden to liven up the slower moments? And then there are my fellow tributes...
The more anxious I am to find sleep, the more it eludes me. Finally, I am too restless to even stay in bed. I pace the floor, heart beating fast, breathing too short. My room feels like a prison cell. If I don't get air soon, I'm going to start throwing things. I run down the hall to the door to the balcony. It's not only unlocked by ajar. Perhaps someone forgot to close it, but it doesn't matter. The energy field enclosing the balcony prevents any desperate form of escape. And I'm not looking to escape, only to fill my lungs with air. I want to see the sky and the moon on the last night that no one will be hunting me.
The balcony is not lit at night, but as soon as my bare feet reach it's tiled surface I see his silhouette, black against the lights that shine endlessly in the Capitol. There's quite a commotion going on down in the streets, music and signing and car horns, none of which I could hear through the thick glass window panels in my room. I could slip away now, without him noticing me; he wouldn't hear me over the din. But the air is so sweet, I can't bear returning to the stuffy cage of a room. And what difference does it make? Whether we speak or not?
My feet move soundlessly across the tiles. I'm only a few steps behind him when I say, "You should be getting some sleep."
He starts but doesn't turn. I can see him give his head a slight shake. "I didn't want to miss the party. It's for us, after all."
I come up beside him and lean over the edge of the rail. The wide streets are full of dancing people. I squint to make out their tiny figures in more detail. "Are they in costumes?"
"Who could tell?" Monty answers. "With all the crazy clothes they wear here. Couldn't sleep, either?"
"Couldn't turn my mind off," I say.
"Thinking about your family?" he asks.
"No," I admit a bit guiltily. "All I can do is wonder about tomorrow. Which is pointless, of course." In the light from below, I can see his face now, the awkward way he holds his hands,
"I've never been a contender in these Games," he says.
"That's no way to be thinking," I say.
"Why not? It's true. My best hope is to not disgrace myself and ..." He hesitates.
"And what?"
"I just don't want to change who I am."
I nod my head in agreement, "They control everything we do, how we live, how we die. I don't want to be a puppet that's waiting for its strings to be pulled for them anymore." I say and he looks up at me. "If we have to die in the arena, then I still want to be myself, not something that they have created."
Monty looks at me with sad eyes, "There's nothing left to care for."
I take a step back. "Care about what Willow and Nolan said. About survival, how to find shelter and water."
Monty smiles at me, sad and mocking. "Okay. Thanks for the tip." He is quiet for a moment. "It wouldn't surprise me if you make it back home," says Monty. "Give my father my best when you make it back, will you?"
His words hit deep but I nod my head, "Count on it," I say. Then I turn and leave the roof. I spend the rest of the night slipping in and out of a doze, imagining the cutting remarks I will make to Monty Chase in the morning.
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