The Direction Games: A One Direction Fan Fiction

6

6

   My sleep was disturbing. That was, if it could be considered sleeping. It was more like lying there; counting down the minutes I had left before I died. With my luck, I’d die in the training session today and not even make it to the games.

   The dawn light streamed in through my window, clear and bright. I missed the dingy windows back home that let me sleep in a peaceful, misted morning, instead of an unrequested wakeup call the minute the sun appeared in the sky.

   I pulled myself out of bed and stepped into the shower, letting the warm water rain down on me. While they’re trying to pamper me, I may as well accept their bribes while I still have these luxuries.

   Once I was dried, I stepped back into my bedroom, and saw an outfit laid out for me; as orange tunic, skin tight khaki pants and leather shoes. At least it was something I‘d choose to wear and not another ridiculous Capitol costume. I slipped into it and left my room. The flat seemed empty this morning, meaning I was the first one up.

   I made my way back to the dining area, where a breakfast buffet was already laid out. An Avox there gestured me to it, so I began filling my plate with a Capitol breakfast.

   I thought of my mum and Gemma back home. By now, they would be up, making their own poor breakfast, nothing like this. Knowing them, they were probably sitting in silence, still crying for me. Just two mornings ago, I had been there with them, getting ready for what I didn’t see coming.

   Taylor and Simon came in soon after me. They greeted me and began shovelling rich food onto their plates. Taylor was in the same outfit as I was, again. Matching outfits weren’t exactly my idea of fun. I preferred to be an individual. But I really couldn’t criticize Louise and Caroline’s choices, especially after yesterday’s performance.

   Today, we would be training. There would be three days where we would train with the other tributes, and, on the last afternoon, present our skills to the Gamemakers so they could make some final decisions about the arena they were going to shove us in, and its contents.

   We ate in complete silence, the three of us sitting awkwardly around the table, barely gazing up at one another. Once we finished, we remained seated.

   Simon sat rod straight in his chair and let out a long sigh. “Alright,” he said, raising his brows, “Training can be done one of two ways; together or individually.”

   “Why individually?” I asked.

   “If either one of you have a special skill,” he began, “You obviously wouldn’t want to share it with an opponent.”

   “I don’t have a special skill,” Taylor purred, pursing her dark red lips. “If anything, all I have to go on is my wit itself.”

   “Very well,” Simon acknowledged. His eyes trained to me again. “Harry?”

   I bit my lip. I had no special skills. I worked back in the bakery back home. I wasn’t one of the rebellious district kids who snuck beyond the boundaries to hunt deer and squirrel. I was the one they traded it to. What could a baker do? Smack them to death with loaves of bread? I accepted my lack of skill and shook my head.

   “So what do we need to do?” Taylor asked, speaking for both of us, saying we could be coached together.

   “Try hard to avoid showing how deadly you can be,” he instructed. “Instead, focus on survival. It’s something you’ll need. Half of the tributes will die based on climate alone. It’s happened before.