thanatophobia the hunger games

03

The group of 13 year old girls stood there, mouths hanging open ever so slightly in an aghast silence. I felt all eyes on me as the people around me started to move away, making me stand out like a sore thumb. My cheeks were a burning red as I stood there equally as shocked as the people around me.

Did I really just do that?

Did I really just volunteer for the Hunger Games?

Octavia's face was a mix of confusion and appall, her crystal blue eyes wide as saucers. It took her a moment to speak, clearly unsure if she heard me correctly. I mean, I don't blame her, I don't think District 9 has ever had a volunteer... ever. Before Grist, we barely even had a victor, the only one was an older man who hasn't left his house in years, not even to mentor. Some say he went a little insane after his games, the nightmares never ceasing, even when he was awake.

"A volunteer!" Octavia's lilted voice spoke, a clear undertone of shock ringing through, "how wonderful!"

I glanced at Cleave... I had completely forgotten about Cleave. She stood in utter silence, the kind of silence that made me uncomfortable in too many ways. Slowly moving toward the stage, I tried desperately to read her face, hoping I could understand how she felt. All I saw was bewilderment and hurt, the latter shocking me marginally. I hadn't even thought of how my actions would make her feel, but I sure didn't expect her to be hurt by it. I was doing her a favor... right?

or was I doing myself a favor

There truly aren't any favors in the Hunger Games though, only a fool believes that anyone could really truly win, and I am no fool. Maybe that's why I did it... maybe I was just trying to save myself from the pain I would presumably have the moment Cleave entered that arena. God, how selfish am I?

How

Selfish

Am

I

Without even realizing it somehow my feet had taken me all the way through the crowd, up the stairs, and straight to the middle of the stage where Octavia stood, waiting for me. A plastic smile took up half of her face as she shook my hand and congratulated me... she congratulated me

she congratulated me

I tried to shove every single thought out of my head, hoping with everything in me that my face was as blank as my mind. One thing Grist taught me about these games, they start even before you enter that arena, they begin the moment you step foot on that stage, the moment your name is drawn- or in my case, the moment you volunteer.

Blank face, blank face, blank face

Octavia made her way over to the glass bowl with the boys names, her heels clicking loudly on the stone platform of the stage. "Now for the boys," she chirped as her hand reached into the bowl, repeating the same actions as before. With another fake smile, she pulled a name out and immediately opened it, unlike last time.

"Gunner Maize"

No emotion spiked at the mention of his name, I'd never even heard of him.

Octavia repeated his name, carefully scanning the crowd for the boy- not that'd she'd even know who to look for. After a few moments, a tall bronze haired boy stepped out from the crowd, presumably Gunner Maize. He appeared to be slightly annoyed, an appropriate response for someone whose fate was just decided by a woman with a purple beehive and a slip of paper. He began his walk to the stage, seemingly unfazed by everyone's stares, everyone's whispers. Everyone in that crowd stared him down with a look that people like Octavia could never understand. They stared at him with an intense sense of pity. Not the kind you give someone when they tell you their dog died or that their kid is being bullied... no- it was the kind of pity that only the thought of the Games could bring about, the kind of pity of knowing someone's probably, most likely, definitely going to die a brutal, horrible death, and there's nothing you could do to save them.

I knew that look

Except for me it wasn't a look, it was a thought, and that thought was exactly what I felt when I realized Cleaves name was drawn.

That horrid sense of pity that demanded to be seen, that clawed it's way up my throat and threw itself out into the world. "I volunteer!" it said.

"I volunteer!" it mocked

"I volunteer!" it chanted.

Over and over and over again, replaying in my head over and over and over again.

I volunteer, I volunteer, I volunteer

My mind went blank again as my eyes met a pair of deep blue ones. I can only describe that shade of blue in memories, comforting memories that instantly made me forget all about the impulsive thing I just did. My thoughts seemed to melt away in the presence of his eyes, the captivating deep blue drew me in only to spit me right back out. Reality ripped me out of my memories and shoved me back onto the stage where I stood being watched, whispered about, pitied. A cold emptiness wrapped itself around me as I stood there drowning out Octavia's speech.

Blank face, blank face, blank face

"And may the odds be ever in your favor!"

𓆩♡𓆪

After quickly shaking Gunners hand, Octavia marched us through the door of city hall and took us to a grand room filled with dusty books and comfy sofas, instructing us to wait. As we entered the room, the regret started to gnaw at the pit of my stomach, making me feel sick.

What have I done?

My feet took me to a sofa and I instantly sank down into the soft cushion. Thoughts were drowning me, pulling me into a trance of regret and guilt, suffocating me until all that was left was what I did and what I have done. Voices chanted "I volunteer" over and over and over again, my decision sounding even less sane each time it was spoken.

What have I done?

The door to the room burst open and Cleave came running toward me. Dramatically throwing herself at me, a quiet sob began as she laid her head on my shoulder.

"Rye, what have you done?" she demanded with her snotty nose running and her eyes glinting, an anger that subconsciously scared me.

I backed away carefully and chewed the inside of my cheeks, trying desperately to find the words to explain why I did what I did. "Cleave..." I began, still searching for words, "I can see that you're angry, but if you let me explain"

"Yes, Rye, please go ahead and explain" she mocked

In the 6 years I've known Cleave Chaffe, she's never ever said a single rude thing to me. To be honest, I didn't know she had a mean bone in her body. She's always been the cold to my hot, the sugar to my- no, I've gone to far, I might be living out my last days but that doesn't mean I'm going to make a fool of myself. What I'm trying to say is Cleave Chaffe isn't mean, and I know I've hurt her by the way she's treating me in this moment.

"Cleave, just listen for a minute, I promise I didn't do this to hurt you" I begged, looking at her eyes, but she didn't meet mine, instead she stared straight at the floor, a deep scowl ingrained into her soft features.

Just as I was about to explain though, two peace keepers opened the door and began ordering that Cleave leaves and that it's time for me to go. My word choosing was waved away, as I realized this was probably the last time I'd ever see my best friend, the last time I'd ever speak to her, hug her, listen to her voice.

Blank mind, blank face. Be numb. Don't cry.

She finally met my eyes before turning away, leaving the room with an angry shuffle of her feet and an audible sigh... leaving the room without even saying goodbye.