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the walls reduce to nothing but air, and i shoot my head straight forward.
i see a single spike, reflecting the morning's sun off of its point.
the tail of the cornucopia.
beside me, the career boy from two and the boy from eight. i think. i'm not sure whether he's from eight or nine.
i'm so caught up in remembering his district, i never once briefly think to emerge myself within my surroundings.
i see rows upon rows of identical fruit trees. the only discrepancy being whether they hold green apples, lemons, oranges, or red apples.
before me, i see the presumed hill we stand upon curve downwards. in the distance, i see exactly what i've seen so far. trees.
this is an orchard, and it stretches for miles in all directions.
it'll be impossible to escape someone here, or even to set up camp.
perhaps there's not a water source.
the sky holds no clouds, not even ones to lace the horizon gracefully.
just us twenty four tributes, the cornucopia, the blue sky, the sun, the fruits, and the trees.
there is absolutely nothing else to take notice of.
either the gamemakers have some vile tricks up their sleeves, or behind me is a ginormous mountain with a snowy peak. i wonder how well the capitol audience will take to a dull arena like this one?
as if they were letting us settle in to our predicament, claudius begins speaking over a minute after we are lifted in.
"welcome, tributes, to the sixty ninth annual hunger games. good luck, and may the odds be ever in your favour." he announces, monotonous compared to his commentary counterpart - caesar.
i steady my feet to the podium, watching as all the other tributes do the same.
i straighten out my spine and my neck, and push the flying baby hairs out of my eyes. i take great care in not stepping off of the podium too soon, as i'll be blown sky high.
explosives lie beneath the pedestals, just incase someone decides to slip off and get a head-start.
i remember once, when i was watching previous games, a girl accidentally dropped her district token. only a wooden ball, and it set off the explosives and killed her. it was only a tiny accident. of course the capitol's technology has advanced since then, as this was over two decades ago.
the number thirty is displayed in a shiny hologram above the cornucopia. then it goes to twenty nine, twenty eight, twenty seven, and so forth.
i watch as the numbers flick through the early twenties, imagining how those i know are watching.
