I tap my fingers anxiously across my knee. I hate being on trains. They go far too fast for my liking. We are speeding down a track at 250mph toward District 1, and I am queasy. I glance down at my hands. The fingernails, once long and elegant have been bitten down to the nub. I sigh, and run a hand through my hair. Most of the curl is gone, only to be replaced with a lank, messy look. My natural hair color is seeping through my roots, defeating my faded sapphire locks. Dark circles linger beneath my eyes.
Cori told me I looked stretched. I told him to thank his mother for the compliment.
She speaks through him, I know it. He tells me things that are surely not of his own creation. He speaks of love and passion in a way that makes my throat constrict. Those are not his words. Cori is far too dimwitted to make up something that special on his own. President Snow is trying to pull me into a relationship with her son. I can only imagine why.
It has been exactly 2 months and 24 days since President Snow has told me of my new positsion. I have been on an almost constant lock down, being badgered by news journalists, stylists, cameramen, and giddy adults, drunk on the idea of pain and blood.
It makes me sick. Litterally sick. I have not been able to keep food down for longer than a day. The pressure, and stunned horror, makes living life difficult.
A month ago, I recieved a computer from District 3. It is not just any computer. It designs, it creates. It can bring a sandstorm over an ocean. The Capitol has put District 2 to work, building walls around the endless forests, where no life can be found. I know this will be where my contestants-my tributes, the people I've chosen to watch die-will fall. This is my next order from President Snow. To choose the children who will suffer from their parents actions. We have decided to go with only 12 this year. "A tester year." President Snow had proclaimed happily in one of my many meeting with her.
The train is slowing to a stop, and suddenly, the pouding of my heart in my ears is overwhelming. I close my eyes, couting to 50. It doesn't help as it normally should.
The train driver opens the door to the 1st class section, where I sit on the couch, my face green as if I'm going to be sick. "Miss. Black?" he murmurs in a gruff voice. My eyes snap open as if I have been shot. He is a heavy-set man, with an overgrown brown mustache. For a train driver, he is well dressed. His grey suit matches the stormy color of his eyes. His nametage states, 'Mr. Praug.'
"We have arrived..." he mumbles, and then teeters back through the door. I know this man will not be my friend. He knows of President Snow's plan. Mr. Praug lives in District 1, where he has 4 children, all within the age limit of the game rules. I stand, and walk toward the door that will lead me into District 1. The usual glamour and luxurious feel of District 1 is all but gone. The white marble roads and gold streetlamps have been reduced to rubble. The jewled windows of the chapels and the Mayor's home have been destroyed. Though, as I stare through the window, I have to admit, they are doing well without it. They are rebuilding. I beg that all the other District's are the same.
I open the door, and step out into the light. The silvery glow of the Capitol's train creates sparkles that fly across the city. I walk down the steps, tripping over my heels. People begin to stop, and look, and I feel my face redden.
I walk toward City Hall, where Mayor Helunski stands. He is young for a mayor, the devious look of childhood still remains in his dark eyes. His black hair is slick with gell. He stands in a purple suit behind what one must have been a podium. A microphone is held in his hands.
I wade through the crowd, and soon enough, all fo District 1 has parted like the red sea to let me pass. Mayor Helunski puts to micorphone to his lips. "Ladies and Gentlemen, let us welcome Veritas Black to our lovely District 1!"
"It's Veris." I mumble as approach him. I had winced at the uncommen use of my 1st name. Veris, or Miss Black. Never 'Veritas'. Mayor Helunski shrugs, and hands me the microphone. I watch as he returns into City Hall. He does not wish to stay and watch his people's reactions. I know this. The Mayor's know of the Capitol's plan. The people, the poor people, have no clue.
"Err, hi." I murmur into the microphone. There is no reaction. The people glare at me. They know I am from the Capitol. Everyone from the Capitol is hated these days. We bombed their Districts. Well, what were we supposed to do? Sing children's songs while they bombed the Capitol? The anger drives me forward.
"My name is Miss Black, and I work directly for President Snow. I have some bad news for the Districts. You see, your rebellion, well that was very wrong of you to attempt. We have already shown you that the Capitol is not afraid to kill to get what it wants. And what we want now, is for you to pay for the wrongs you have commited. District 13 paid for everything they have ever done. Their elders paid, their babies paid. But now, for the rest of the surviving Districts, we in the Capitol wish for the children to pay for the wrongs their parents have committed." I inhale, and begin to relay the rules and guidelines President Snow has set down for the games.
"12 children, one from each district, will be randomly chosen to preform in an event titled 'The Hunger Games'. Winning, means fame and fortune. Loosing, means a certain death. Only one child can survive. It's a fight to the death. It will show you and your fellow Districts that when faced with the choice of murdering and being murdered...well, I suppose you can work that out yourself."
That's when the shouting started. The words of hate and anger soaring through the air. I watched, my face unmoving as a man pulled a gun from his pocket. The man next to him, in all white, tackled him. President Snow enforced men like that. The white cloaked men. She called the Peacekeepers. If they kept me from being shot, then she could call them whatever she wanted. I stepped down from the podium and sat on the steps. The Peacekeepers were doing their job well. Before long, a line of white stood in front of me. I stood once more, and looked out into the crowd.
A glint of gold caught my eye. A girl with blonde locks, dressed in a school uniform stared at me, her green eyes dark and angry. "You there!" I shouted over the remaining heated grumbles from the crowd. The girl looks up, her eyes wide.
"You're my District 1 tribute."
The crowd is roaring once more, droning, the once again, insane pouding resounding from my chest. A Peacekeeper is dragging her toward me. They are walking up the steps. She is standing directly in front of me, her head an inch taller up from mine.
"Your name?" I ask in a bored tone, trying to pull it off as the people in the Capitol do.
"Jessica." she replies, in the same tone as mine. "Jessica Everdeen."
Suddently, a gunshot cracks through the air. One of the Peacekeepers is down, and the Inhabitants of District 1 are attacking my bodyguards. I grab Jessica's arm, and we race out of the District, to the train that is still glimmering in the fading sunlight. I open the door, and thrust her inside. The door slams behind me as I climb in as well.
After a moment that we both gasped for air, Jessica speaks. "Who do you think you are?" she challenges. I turn to face her. Her face is red, though I am not sure if it is from the run, or from her anger. "You Capitol people, you just all think you're so high and mighty-"
"I'm not just anyone from the Capitol." I reply coldly. "I'm the Gamemaker. I design the Hunger Games. I decide whether you die or not, so I suggest you shut you're bratty mouth." I push past her, and collapse on the couch.
She rolls her eyes. "How old are you?"
"15." I reply softly.
"I'm 17!"
"I don't care. This is my job." I snap, though my voice is softer.
Jessica begins to pace in front of me. "I can't believe it! The Capitol has some teenager controlling some lunatic death games! Do you realize that you're murdering, doing this. You might not be doing it directly, but you will always be counted as a murderer!"
I wince, and Jessica notices. I try to cover it up. "Look, I didn't ask for this job!"
"'Course you didn't." Jessica mutters, not believing a word I am saying. "And even if that is true, you took it anyways." and she retreats down the hall, to the dining car.
* * * * * * * *
Hayden Ewan is a quiet tribute. I attempt to converse with him, but he is the total opposite from Jessica. He intends to remain quiet, and deal with his pain internally. I like his type better. A few of the tributes have adapted to the news like that, but most of them have shouted at me. Eventually, I let them. I don't fight back. They have every right to be angry with me. I ruined their lives, after all.
I still sit on the couch, flipping through the tv. Chandler Weathers from District 10 is chatting with Kathryn DeValley from 7. Natalie Estel from 3 is staring out the window. She has never been father away from home than District 3, and she likes the scenery. The other tributes have left. They have traveled through the dining car, to the Compartment Car, where each tribute has a room. I hug my knees to my chest. They are probably lonely. Lonely and afraid. And I am afraid with them Afraid of what I have done, and what I will do.
Cori told me I looked stretched. I told him to thank his mother for the compliment.
She speaks through him, I know it. He tells me things that are surely not of his own creation. He speaks of love and passion in a way that makes my throat constrict. Those are not his words. Cori is far too dimwitted to make up something that special on his own. President Snow is trying to pull me into a relationship with her son. I can only imagine why.
It has been exactly 2 months and 24 days since President Snow has told me of my new positsion. I have been on an almost constant lock down, being badgered by news journalists, stylists, cameramen, and giddy adults, drunk on the idea of pain and blood.
It makes me sick. Litterally sick. I have not been able to keep food down for longer than a day. The pressure, and stunned horror, makes living life difficult.
A month ago, I recieved a computer from District 3. It is not just any computer. It designs, it creates. It can bring a sandstorm over an ocean. The Capitol has put District 2 to work, building walls around the endless forests, where no life can be found. I know this will be where my contestants-my tributes, the people I've chosen to watch die-will fall. This is my next order from President Snow. To choose the children who will suffer from their parents actions. We have decided to go with only 12 this year. "A tester year." President Snow had proclaimed happily in one of my many meeting with her.
The train is slowing to a stop, and suddenly, the pouding of my heart in my ears is overwhelming. I close my eyes, couting to 50. It doesn't help as it normally should.
The train driver opens the door to the 1st class section, where I sit on the couch, my face green as if I'm going to be sick. "Miss. Black?" he murmurs in a gruff voice. My eyes snap open as if I have been shot. He is a heavy-set man, with an overgrown brown mustache. For a train driver, he is well dressed. His grey suit matches the stormy color of his eyes. His nametage states, 'Mr. Praug.'
"We have arrived..." he mumbles, and then teeters back through the door. I know this man will not be my friend. He knows of President Snow's plan. Mr. Praug lives in District 1, where he has 4 children, all within the age limit of the game rules. I stand, and walk toward the door that will lead me into District 1. The usual glamour and luxurious feel of District 1 is all but gone. The white marble roads and gold streetlamps have been reduced to rubble. The jewled windows of the chapels and the Mayor's home have been destroyed. Though, as I stare through the window, I have to admit, they are doing well without it. They are rebuilding. I beg that all the other District's are the same.
I open the door, and step out into the light. The silvery glow of the Capitol's train creates sparkles that fly across the city. I walk down the steps, tripping over my heels. People begin to stop, and look, and I feel my face redden.
I walk toward City Hall, where Mayor Helunski stands. He is young for a mayor, the devious look of childhood still remains in his dark eyes. His black hair is slick with gell. He stands in a purple suit behind what one must have been a podium. A microphone is held in his hands.
I wade through the crowd, and soon enough, all fo District 1 has parted like the red sea to let me pass. Mayor Helunski puts to micorphone to his lips. "Ladies and Gentlemen, let us welcome Veritas Black to our lovely District 1!"
"It's Veris." I mumble as approach him. I had winced at the uncommen use of my 1st name. Veris, or Miss Black. Never 'Veritas'. Mayor Helunski shrugs, and hands me the microphone. I watch as he returns into City Hall. He does not wish to stay and watch his people's reactions. I know this. The Mayor's know of the Capitol's plan. The people, the poor people, have no clue.
"Err, hi." I murmur into the microphone. There is no reaction. The people glare at me. They know I am from the Capitol. Everyone from the Capitol is hated these days. We bombed their Districts. Well, what were we supposed to do? Sing children's songs while they bombed the Capitol? The anger drives me forward.
"My name is Miss Black, and I work directly for President Snow. I have some bad news for the Districts. You see, your rebellion, well that was very wrong of you to attempt. We have already shown you that the Capitol is not afraid to kill to get what it wants. And what we want now, is for you to pay for the wrongs you have commited. District 13 paid for everything they have ever done. Their elders paid, their babies paid. But now, for the rest of the surviving Districts, we in the Capitol wish for the children to pay for the wrongs their parents have committed." I inhale, and begin to relay the rules and guidelines President Snow has set down for the games.
"12 children, one from each district, will be randomly chosen to preform in an event titled 'The Hunger Games'. Winning, means fame and fortune. Loosing, means a certain death. Only one child can survive. It's a fight to the death. It will show you and your fellow Districts that when faced with the choice of murdering and being murdered...well, I suppose you can work that out yourself."
That's when the shouting started. The words of hate and anger soaring through the air. I watched, my face unmoving as a man pulled a gun from his pocket. The man next to him, in all white, tackled him. President Snow enforced men like that. The white cloaked men. She called the Peacekeepers. If they kept me from being shot, then she could call them whatever she wanted. I stepped down from the podium and sat on the steps. The Peacekeepers were doing their job well. Before long, a line of white stood in front of me. I stood once more, and looked out into the crowd.
A glint of gold caught my eye. A girl with blonde locks, dressed in a school uniform stared at me, her green eyes dark and angry. "You there!" I shouted over the remaining heated grumbles from the crowd. The girl looks up, her eyes wide.
"You're my District 1 tribute."
The crowd is roaring once more, droning, the once again, insane pouding resounding from my chest. A Peacekeeper is dragging her toward me. They are walking up the steps. She is standing directly in front of me, her head an inch taller up from mine.
"Your name?" I ask in a bored tone, trying to pull it off as the people in the Capitol do.
"Jessica." she replies, in the same tone as mine. "Jessica Everdeen."
Suddently, a gunshot cracks through the air. One of the Peacekeepers is down, and the Inhabitants of District 1 are attacking my bodyguards. I grab Jessica's arm, and we race out of the District, to the train that is still glimmering in the fading sunlight. I open the door, and thrust her inside. The door slams behind me as I climb in as well.
After a moment that we both gasped for air, Jessica speaks. "Who do you think you are?" she challenges. I turn to face her. Her face is red, though I am not sure if it is from the run, or from her anger. "You Capitol people, you just all think you're so high and mighty-"
"I'm not just anyone from the Capitol." I reply coldly. "I'm the Gamemaker. I design the Hunger Games. I decide whether you die or not, so I suggest you shut you're bratty mouth." I push past her, and collapse on the couch.
She rolls her eyes. "How old are you?"
"15." I reply softly.
"I'm 17!"
"I don't care. This is my job." I snap, though my voice is softer.
Jessica begins to pace in front of me. "I can't believe it! The Capitol has some teenager controlling some lunatic death games! Do you realize that you're murdering, doing this. You might not be doing it directly, but you will always be counted as a murderer!"
I wince, and Jessica notices. I try to cover it up. "Look, I didn't ask for this job!"
"'Course you didn't." Jessica mutters, not believing a word I am saying. "And even if that is true, you took it anyways." and she retreats down the hall, to the dining car.
* * * * * * * *
Hayden Ewan is a quiet tribute. I attempt to converse with him, but he is the total opposite from Jessica. He intends to remain quiet, and deal with his pain internally. I like his type better. A few of the tributes have adapted to the news like that, but most of them have shouted at me. Eventually, I let them. I don't fight back. They have every right to be angry with me. I ruined their lives, after all.
I still sit on the couch, flipping through the tv. Chandler Weathers from District 10 is chatting with Kathryn DeValley from 7. Natalie Estel from 3 is staring out the window. She has never been father away from home than District 3, and she likes the scenery. The other tributes have left. They have traveled through the dining car, to the Compartment Car, where each tribute has a room. I hug my knees to my chest. They are probably lonely. Lonely and afraid. And I am afraid with them Afraid of what I have done, and what I will do.
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