runner | f. odair

THIRTEEN

the hovercraft is desolate. not in bodies, as all twenty four of the tributes are rammed in here tightly in their dressing gowns.

plenty of them flick their eyes between james and i.

a peacekeeper approaches me, and grabs my forearm. then he injects a thick needle into my skin, piercing the cover promptly to insert the tracker.

he continues on to james, giving it a nudge after his skin does not pierce so easily.

all of us shift uncomfortably at the newfound weight in our right forearm. this tracks almost everything about us. location, blood pressure, pulse, heartbeat.

not only that, but controls our every movement. too far from the cornucopia? well, claudius templesmith (one of the two hunger games commentators) will announce the explosives in the tracker will be detonated after an hour has passed if you are not there.

deadly little devices, used to speed things up. the games would not be nearly as sinister without them.

it's bizarre, i think. as theyre such tiny things compared to me, or james, or any other tribute on this hovercraft. yet they hold so much unmistakeable power.

it's hard knowing i'm flying far from all that is usual.

it's even more difficult thinking about all i've left behind.

of course, maybe i regret being so rash to volunteer. i was so adamant i wanted to die, without really considering the circumstances.

and being so hasty in the interviews. one spike of ignorance from the audience and i was won over like a fool. suddenly, i've spewed out my biggest secret yet.

though, if i hadn't done either of those things, i wouldn't have known the truth. the closure i've yearned for from finnick. he told me, only because i would've been safe from the capitol.

i would've only been safe if i had died.

no - i am only safe when i'm dead.

after a long hour of deliberation, mainly over the other tributes and my bloodbath strategy, we land.

none of us have any idea where, as there are no windows or holes to peek through to see the arena beforehand.

so we are lowered beneath the ground in the capitol hovercraft, where we are escorted out, district by district, one by one.

then, in a random order, our stylists come and collect us and lead us down a hall.

i'm around the middle to the end of those tributes picked.

so tassian and i link arms, close like peas in a pod as we tread down this eerie hallway. huge in size, the ceiling metres and metres above our head.

it just shows how far down we are now. way beneath the capitol, even beneath the districts.

there's a tiny door at the end. tiny in comparison to the rest of this hallway. when we get close enough to it, i do note that it is normal in size.

tassian pulls down the handle and we are both speedily shoved in by a peacekeeper.

there's about half an hour before i'm set to go into the arena.

there's a platter of food on a long clothed table, breads and meats and all the finest delicacies as my last meal.

the pit in my stomach swells, and i deeply rue eating all i did for breakfast. i can't bear to face another bite.

tassian and i sit in complete silence for a while, not daring to utter a note of pity to one another.

"fifteen minutes remaining." a female robotic voice exerts from a speaker in the ceiling.

"better get your clothes on." tassian says, gesturing hesitantly to a table with an outfit lined out neatly there.

i approach the table, lifting an arm of the top up in my fingers.

"what do you think?" i scratch out hoarsely. then i muster enough stomach strength to clear my throat.

"something average in humidity." he theorises. "could get chilly at night, as the top is thermal."

there are heavy looking cargo trousers for the bottoms. for the top, a plain black long-sleeved top. then a windbreaker jacket in a green colour, green to signify our district.

i'm glad i'm not in district one. their colour is gold. i internally chuckle at the irony of the most favoured district being dressed in gold. it's the hunger games, for god's sake.

"alright." i say. "i'll get dressed in there." i motion to the slight dressing room.

it takes me about five minutes to get dressed, pausing every few seconds to take in whats about to happen.

just before i exit the changing room, i start to cry. i cant help what happens, my throat becomes sore and tears just spill next. it's impossible to halt them, as i think about someone else, and someone else, and someone else that is hoping for me to win.

i leave the dressing room with only five minutes to spare, the robot tells us.

tassian notices me crying, and wades over to embrace me. his hand rubs up and down my back, easing the sadness back into its cave.

we hug for about a minute, as we are told there are four minutes left until launch.

"will you make sure finnick is okay?" i ask between gulps. "and my grandma. oh, and aria and ryanna too."

"of course." tassian replies. "i'll force finnick to sleep."

"and dorian back at four. can you tell him i love him?" i say. "i never got to."

"yes, i'll do that as soon as i get out." he says.

i shake my head. "no, no. watch me first." i chuckle, rousing tassian to let out a dry laugh too. dry, yet genuine. only dry for he does not want to be too cheerful in such a dreary fog.

"i'll be watching all the way. we all will." he says. "and make sure," he pauses, to pull our bodies apart, gulping once, blinking twice, "just make sure you do it quick."

i nod. "i will."

"three minutes until launch." it says again.

tassian forces our bodies to collide again, bruising my skin with the horrific sentiment of all i'm leaving behind.

"i'll make sure i haunt the other stylists who try to compete with you." i grin, my vision slightly scarred due to the incessant crying.

we hug and share little phrases of glee for the last two minutes, hanging onto every tiny word like it's the ultimate one.

eventually he coaxes me into the glass cylinder, designed to shoot me up gradually into the arena.

once the plate beneath me feels my firm weight, the glass tube encases me, shutting the space between tassian and i.

i take in the details of his face once last time, just in case i ever forget such reality when all i'll see is mangled countenances.

i hear the muted descent of the robot woman, exclaiming the numbers fifteen through to one.

until i see tassian's glittering eyeliner snatched out of my sight, and it's replaced with gloomy concrete walls that've captured me.

~