Stay Alive (A Hunger Games Fanfic)

Chapter 9

All forty-eight tributes line up outside large, intimidating steel doors as we mentally prepare for our private session with the Gamemakers.

This is one of the most crucial parts of the Games. After the Opening Ceremony and the Interviews, the only thing left to drag in any last minute sponsors is the training score. Even if a tribute has a pathetic costume and no personality whatsoever, they can pull off a decent pool of sponsors if they manage to receive an amazing training score, and sponsors could be the difference between life and death in the arena. If one happens to be parched, which is likely for anyone who can't find water, they could effortlessly request a drink because of the endless amount of cameras around the stadium and people watching.

Speaking of the stadium, it's supposed to be huge. Miles wide, and no one knows anything about it prior to the Games except the Gamemakers themselves. Except the fact that its a stadium. But since it IS a stadium, that means it doesn't go on forever, right? I don't remember anyone finding the end of it, but it has to be out there. And that's when I suddenly get an idea. It may be just a simple wish, but it could mean something more than that, too.

Since the previous episode on the roof, I still haven't to talked to either Maysilee or Eloise. Let alone made up. I'm still extremely angry at myself for saying something so cruel. I could at least give more of an effort to be discreet. But of course, me being me, I didn't do anything of the sort.

As we wait, I start to fidget my hands nervously, clasping and unclasping them until they have a sheen of sweat.

"Nervous much?" Lon asks besides me.

Lon, the one who basically ditched us to team up with someone of another District.

"Whatever," I mumble and don't answer the question.

Of COURSE I'm nervous. In an hour or so, since we're still at the beginning of the pack, it'll be my turn, and I have no idea what I'll do in that place. I figured it's probably nothing to worry about, that it'll come to me eventually. But it hasn't yet, and the time is coming up awfully close.

I can't stop myself from at least taking a glance at Maysilee. She doesn't look anxious at all, though maybe she's holding it in. Of course, she doesn't look back at me. At least not right now, and I can't blame her. I'm not sure, but somehow it seems she's ignoring me since the little mess up I had on the rooftop. Okay, maybe it was more than that. I wasn't thinking. And that's not an excuse.

--

Seconds feel like minutes, and minutes feel like hours as I sit anxiously waiting for my turn. It feels as if an entire day has gone by and I still haven't managed to think of anything. Something better come into my mind soon. I can wing it, but if I'm prepared, the Gamemakers will know that I truly want to win.

No ideas are coming. And I still wait.

--

It is finally my turn, and in the time I spent sitting down, I haven't thought of anything to do in front of my condemners except what I have already done in Training. I don't have a secret skill. Zip. So I'll just have to do everything to the best of my ability. Maybe they'll see that I'm well-rounded. That will increase my chances of survival. Well, at least I hope it will.

"Haymitch Abernathy" is called over the intercom, and my legs pick my body up as if they have a mind of their own. I walk into the large metal doors, and an exact replica, just slightly smaller, of the Training Center is laid out before me.

I decide to take five seconds of anxiety, and then I must be strong and collected.

Five.

I take a slow, deep breath.