peeta mellark ༄

6. i'm gonna start a revolution from my bed

lyrics, don't look back in anger by oasis

"they'll put all kinds of stuff right in front, right in the mouth of the cornucopia. they'll have everything. don't go for it," haymitch instructed. "it's a bloodbath. they're trying to pull you in. that's not your game."

although you said nothing, you agreed with your mentor. your best bet was to take off as soon as that canon sounded. "you turn, run, find high ground, look for water. water's your new best friend," he declared. he searched his mind for anything else he should remind you of before you went out into the arena. "oh, don't step off that pedestal early or they will blow you sky high."

you winced. you had heard stories of the boy that jumped off the pedestal too early and exploded, as well as a girl who's small wooden ball had rolled onto the ground and her remains were practically scraped from the ground.

the automatic doors opened, and you squinted to adjust to the sun in your eyes. you immediately noticed the huge hovercraft, where the tributes would be flown in to get to the arena. slowly, you walked beside haymitch. once you were closer to the hovercraft, he inhaled and turned to you. "i'm confident in you," he reassured you awkwardly. you felt your heart warm. it was rare that you ever saw haymitch being genuine. in a final goodbye, you stepped forward and embraced your mentor, inhaling his sharp alcoholic scent for probably the last time. you weren't close to haymitch. you didn't like him at times, but it wasn't either of your faults. either way, you were grateful for the help he had given you in your short time together.

"get out there," he said gently, pushing you back. you gave one last look, before turning and making your way into the flying machine

the other tributes were sat in strange seats, looking tense. cato, however, was leaned forward with body posture reeking of confidence. it took all you had not to scoff at him.

a woman in a white coat was taking turns going to each tribute, sticking a needle in their arm. your heart pounded as you watched the boy from district three's face scrunch up as the needle went through his arm. your brows furrowed anxiously. he met your anxious eye, offering a sympathetic but equally nervous smile.

it was your turn soon, and you instinctively tried to back away as she demanded for your arm. instead of you willingly letting her, she had to take your tense arm and implant the tracker. it was a sharp and deep pinch, like a stab, and you visibly winced. in a second, though, it was over and you rubbed your slightly sore arm.

soon the hovercraft landed and you were escorted down a long hallway into where cinna would dress you in the arena appropriate clothes, and say goodbye. as the doors opened, you stepped forward, cinna already waiting. the heaviness of the atmosphere pressed down on you like a rock, and you felt your chest squeeze and your breath speeding up as tears pricked your eyes. as cinna noticed your figure beginning to tremble, he stepped forward to hug you, and you had never felt so much panic in years.

you buried your nose into cinna's shoulder and squeezed your eyes shut. in this moment you let your guard down, after a week of trying to put on a brave face to save the embarrassment. but now you could not hide what you were feeling, when soon you would be put into an arena with other children and be forced to kill them.

you took deep breaths, counting them as you blinked away the wetness in your eyes. cinna pulled away as you composed yourself. he helped you put on your jacket. it was lightweight but provided coverage, with a black t-shirt underneath and cargo pants.

"thirty seconds," the voice sounded.

you took more deep breaths. "i'm fine," you stated aloud, whether it was to cinna or yourself. your stylist moved the stray hairs from your face, resting his hands on your shoulders. "i'm not worried about you," he whispered, as id sharing a secret. his eyes were soft. you gave a nod.