thanatophobia the hunger games

02

I STOOD IN THE CROWD of 13 year old girls staring impatiently at the screen above the city hall, waiting for this years video to play for us. Glancing over on either side of me, I noticed my closest friend, Cleave, standing next to me looking just as uncomfortable and irritated as I probably did. We made eye contact and shared a look that almost seemed to say, "it won't be us, don't worry."

Cleave Chaffe was my first friend.

My only friend.

The one person who got me through everything bad in my life. She was with me through the best of times and the worst of times. Held me when I cried, laughed with me when I was happy. Cleave was the only person I've ever told everything to. All my secrets, all my feelings, all the little things that nobody should ever know.

She knew me.

My thoughts were interrupted by an adenoidal, high pitched voice that oozed with Capitol charm and ignorance, "Welcome welcome, boys and girls of district 9," the posh woman chirped. She was met with a loud silence from the crowd, the kind of silence that should easily reject anyone, but the woman seemed unfazed.

The Capitol urchin I'm referring to was a woman by the name of Octavia Cloverfelt, a living and breathing example of what money and stupidity could do to a person. With her berry purple beehive and a matching fuchsia and turquoise ensemble she dared to call fashion, her obliviousness was evident, only proving my point even further. Her eyes were coated in a thick layer of bright makeup that probably cost more than last nights dinner and her lips were painted in a coordinating shade of gloss, making her already sprite-like features more intense.

As she stood there looking out to the crowd, I whispered to Cleave "the Capitol never fails to amuse me," a subtle grin pulling at the corner of my mouth as I turned back to the screens. The video began playing, the scenes of the recording making the districts out to be destructive and untrustworthy, while making the Capitol and the games out to be an unmatched importance, worthy of obedience from every district. A monotonous voice narrated the well known history of the war and the Hunger Games, drawing out every ounce of boredom and irritation from the crowd.

The video drew to an end and Octavia began her overly excited clapping as she made her way back to the center of the stage. She wiped a small tear from her eye, causing the boys side of the congregation to snicker loudly. There was no telling whether or not the tear was real, but from just looking at the erratic woman, I wouldn't be surprised if it was in fact real. My thoughts were again interrupted by her bothersome melodic voice that dripped with Capitol superiority "wasnt that video just fantastic?" she asked with feigned innocence, her teary eyes not meeting anyone's in the crowd. Yet again, the mass of children replied with silence, complete and utter silence.

"Well," she spoke, her voice less chirpy than before, "as I said before, Welcome to the 66th annual Hunger Games... and may the odds be ever in your favor!" she seemed to have regained some of her confidence as she enthusiastically said the last part, leaving me with only one suitable response: a roll of my eyes.

Her excitement at the thought of throwing innocent children into an arena to fight it out was unbelievable, but then again, she was from the Capitol... of course her morals were skewed. I sighed and comfortingly grabbed Cleaves hand as the purple haired woman made her way over to the bowl with all of the girl's names.

"Ladies first," an almost sickeningly eager smile formed on her face as she calmly reached into the bowl, her fingers skimming each little piece of paper, making our fates seem almost meaningless, insignificant.

Once she found a piece of paper she seemed to approve of, she slowly pulled her hand out of the round glass and brought it to her eye level. With a dramatic pause, she carefully opened the small slip and took a deep breath, only drawing out the suspense.

"Cleave Chaffe"

It wasn't me

God... It wasn't me...

It wasn't me, it wasn't me, it wasn't me

That wasn't my name

A relieved sigh left my lips as all the tension seemed to leave my body

It wasn't me

But if it wasn't me...

Only then did my brain seem to understand what was just said, whose name had been called from the bowl. My name was still in that large glass dish, my name was safe, but Octavia called out someone else. Who was it again?

My brain didn't seem to compute who the Capitol urchin had called, it didn't seem to understand until...

"Cleave Chaffe?" the chirpy voice requested, "Cleave Chaffe come on up darling"

No- It couldn't be Cleave

A million thoughts seemed to drown me all at once, the thought of watching those games again... watching someone I loved more than life itself die in those games. Another thought crossed, sitting in front of that television watching Cleave kill innocents, watching her battle it out in the final two, watching her win... watching her come back home, her deep brown eyes dull, her big smile never really reaching her eyes.

I couldn't watch that happen

And then something crazy crossed my mind... me.

Me in the games, me killing innocents, me battling it out in the final two.

The thought brought back a wave of memories, memories I had tried for too long to suppress.

"Rye!" my brothers voice yelled in excitement, pride filling every inch of his now deepened voice, "you did it!" I glanced up at him, a toothy grin displaying exactly how happy I was, I had done it... I threw a knife. What a grim thing for a child to be happy about; the exultant thought of throwing a weapon and that very weapon finding a target. A child... I was a child

But so was Grist when he killed 2 children

Children killing children, it all goes around and around, a viscous cycle that can't be broken, can't be fixed, can't be diminished. Children will always be killing children, and adults will watch in pleasure or in pain, parents will sit and watch their child die or kill. Children killing children...

What a world

The memory disappeared as fast as it came and my thoughts turned back to the situation in front of me. Cleave was going to die. Whether she won the games or died trying, she would never be the same, and after seeing Grist, watching a piece of him die in that arena, I knew I couldn't watch it happen again. So a stupid little part of me, an impulsive little voice made me do it...

"I volunteer!"

those two words left my mouth and something changed the second I said them, not the fact that I, Rye Garner, would be District Nines tribute for the 66th Hunger games... No- something else changed, a part of me I knew I could never go back to, no matter what I did, the games were a part of me now.

Ready or not, I was going to die.