Hunger Games: The Second Quarter Quell - The Story of Haymitch Abernathy

Chapter 5: The Training Scores

The following day's group training was no more enjoyable then the first. 

There were no Capitol mentors, though, which was some form of relief, although no knives could be found upon entering the training room. 

As it turned out, a large percentage of this year tributes were skilled with knives, meaning either the Capitol was smart, and decided to let the tributes train without them for a day, or someone had a very large stash of knives in their pocket. 

This did give Haymitch a chance to practice lighting small fires with his father's lens, however, which proved surprisingly useful.  The huge, bright, industrial light served as a surprisingly successful sun, and in no time, the dried leaves and bark meant for the camouflage station were smoking, and Haymitch had to put it out before anyone noticed. 

However today was the third and final day of training: the individual assessment. And this time, there would be no flitting around or shooting things with arrows or meddling with leaves. Each tribute would select only one weapon, and complete a short demonstration of their abilities, one-on-one with the Gamemakers. 

Haymitch, of course, wasn't so intimidated – he demonstrated little concern for whatever standards they had here in the Capitol. He was oddly confident he could impress them, if he tried hard enough. 

He could not say the same for his fellow District 12 tributes, however, who had been pacing the apartment in stress since the early hours of the morning.

When the four arrived at the training centre, instead of taking the usual route to the training floor, they were directed into a small, dim room, where each took a seat in order of districts and gender, beginning with the District 1 males, and ending with the District 12 females, right at the very back of the room. 

It was obvious the room was normally designed for only twenty-four tributes, as Haymitch found himself pressed up against the back wall, less than a foot behind the row in front, like a hen in a crate. 

Then, again beginning with the first district, an unidentifiable voice – low, monotonous, and slightly intimidating, should Haymitch have been scared at all – began to call in the tributes, one by one, for their fifteen-minute personal assessment. 

Haymitch watched emotionlessly as each tribute entered and didn't return to the waiting area. Of course, they exited from the other side of the individual training room, however it felt like they were jumping into the abyss, never to come back.

The announcer on the loudspeaker reached the District 8 tributes after a couple of hours.

'Satin Wilnee,' came the third District 8 tribute's name, and Haymitch recalled her as the girl who'd sobbed her eyes out at the reaping. 

The pale, fragile, fiery-haired girl stood from her seat, trembling in fear. She took a singular step forward, before collapsing on the ground, unconscious. 

Haymitch rose from his seat in surprise, as did the remaining tributes in the waiting room.

'Is she alright?'

'What the hell happened?'

'Is that the District Eight girl?'

Whispers rang around the room, but none of the tributes proved brave enough to approach the young girl, who was no older than fifteen, and curled up in a fetal position on the cold ground.

Finally, after what had felt like hours, two Capitol officials entered, carrying the girl out on a stretcher and leaving the room in silence once more.