The Chamber [Sequel to Silence]

8

I stayed at the wreckage site for many more hours, helping out with the people who'd lost their homes. I vowed that when I came back from the Capitol, I'd build them new houses myself. 

"Until then, please make yourself at home in my house. My Grandmother will look after you," I finished telling the father of the little girl I'd rescued from the fire. Others, of course, hadn't been so lucky. Fresh tears still glistened on the faces of the family, reduced from a trio to a pair. 

"I am so grateful, Mr Rider."  

I smiled, but tears stung my eyes. The man patted my arm. 

"You did the best you could. You saved my little girl." 

I swallowed hard and shook my head "My best wasn't good enough." 

Before the man could reply any further, I stood abruptly. 

"Come, everyone. I'll show you to my home." 

Three families settled in my home that night. I gave up my room for the man with his little girl, and another slept in Grandmother's room. The other family had to sleep on the couches in our living room, but the gratitude on their faces reminded me of how life was for me before the Games. It had been a fight for survival, a battle against starvation and trying to keep my eyes open long enough to get through the day. When you live like that, when every day is a struggle, the little things in life are so important. Like hospitality. Kindness. A warm heart. 

No one slept much that night. I lay on the cold wooden floor of our kitchen, thinking of the houses as they burned. How Grandmother was willing to risk other people's lives at an instant, just because she understood the bigger picture. As Grandmother made everyone breakfast in the early hours of the morning, I wondered how she'd managed to do it. Ruin the lives of three families in favour of our own. But when I thought about it more, had I not done that myself? That's what the Hunger Games are about. A battle for survival. And I had won them. 

Reaping day had arrived. A day everyone in the District dreads. Not only is it compulsory to gather in the town square to watch the drawing of names, but to make it worse, it's all televised. Everyone dreads the moment when the District's escort dips their hand in the glass bowl and picks a name. One family who stayed in my house had a boy of just twelve. It would have been his first reaping. I shook the thought out of my head as I stood from the breakfast table and grabbed my bag. 

"I'm going to see Antonia," I informed Grandmother. She nodded, and returned to clearing dishes from the table. 

There was a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach as I walked to Antonia's house. Was it fear? Was I afraid of my best friend, the girl I'd known for years? So much had changed in the past weeks. And the truth was, Antonia was the stronger of the two of us. What would I do if she was weak? 

I didn't bother knocking. I found her in her bedroom, curled under the sheets and staring vacantly out the window. I sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. 

"How do you feel?" 

Antonia didn't reply. I stroked her hair of her face in concern. 

"We need to get you up. It's reaping day, remember? We're going to the Capitol." 

Still no reply. In fact, she made no sound other than her heavy breathing. I sighed and began to rummage through her stuff, packing some things she'd need for the Capitol. Food was provided, of course, and we both had stylists to choose clothes for us, but I packed her a book and her favourite pair of reading glasses. I packed her scruffy old slippers, the ones that she'd refused to get rid of, and her sleeping pills. I reached under her pillow and found her diary, knowing she'd want me to pack that too. She hauled herself into a sitting position, frowning.