Midnight Azalea-A Story of the 34th Hunger Games

Chapter 6- The Mentor

Today is a Capitol day, and Cashatra seems so excited. We eat a fancy breakfast, which allows me to expand my portions a bit, but not much. When the Games come I'll have to re-adapt to borderline starvation again.

After breakfast, Natiel and I sit with our mentor, who seems to be drifting off. "Um...?" He hums.

"I'm nervous," I admit. "What if they don't like me?"

"Trust me they do." Quorel tells me. "I just hate these train days. Mostly after all these years the fear is supposed to be gone, but it's still lingering around in my mind like that bunny tribute that hopped around in my year. Lingering around the Cornucopia, District 3. She hacked her bow and arrow so it fires double the range shots and will shoot wherever her finger points to. She also gave it fire so when she shot a tree she burned them down."

"Did you ever have a run-in with her?" I ask.

He bites his lip, almost like he's trying to hold back something. "We were last tributes. We were allies." He bites his lip again and his eyes start to get wet with tears. As if it's too much for him he blurts it out..."We were in love!"

Natiel and I spring back.

How could two tributes fall in love where there can only be one?

Well you can't control it you know. I guess he just knew it couldn't work out. So he let go.

I look at Natiel. I don't love him,  but I see he's sort of handsome, even if I've never even talked to him, a develop something in my stomach that wraps up and explodes into a flow of endorphins and makes me happy. I feel my cheeks get hot so I turn around. Then I get serious and know wholeheartedly I can't fall in love with him in the arena. Only one comes out. Only one comes out. Only one....

"Um...dozing off, Princess? We have work to do."

I jump up, startled at what I just heard. Quorel has a puppy name for me, and that puppy name is Princess.

"Excuse me?" My voice corresponds to the uproar developing in my mind. "Princess?" I know I seem dislikable sometimes, but to new people I am nice. "Who do you think I
am?"

He laughs as if he can just brush things off. "You were staring into a zone." He motions his finger to one of the servicemen that operate the train. He wears a white jumpsuit with an eleven sewn to his left breast. His normal white helmet is off of his head, exposing his bare face, as he holds it to his side. His posture is perfect, bolt upright like a canine on command. Now I see why Quorel called me out on my staring, as my thoughts didn't seem to be playing out in my head, but he must've thought I thought this guy was cute.

I shake my head. "Can't afford to," I say, yet he tilts his head.

Aside, Natiel sits next to me, staring out the window. Today it rains, yet soon the sun will expose itself to us, it's glorious rays baking the wet leaves and forest. I imagine District 11 must be working right now, plucking apples from their leaves, peeking a blind eye at the tree of the girl that got reaped. My father, who works ahead of me, is probably arranging my funeral, and my sister grieving at the tree. I think bitterly of her actions, as she could've volunteered instead of standing there in shock, paralyzed at the image of me walking up to claim my death sentence.

I blur in and out of focus, but snap in again once Quorel attains both of our sleepy attiention. "We have a lot of work to do, as tomorrow will be your grand entrance to the Capitol in the chariots, meet with the President--"

"The President?" I say, surprised by this. "Pardon me, but I don't think I can make healthy first impressions at the very eyes of the Capitol, no, the country!"

Quorel leans in. "Relax, it's only one time. Then you speed into the Games and die! Boom! No need."

I grimace. "Are you sure he's our mentor?" I say to Cashatra, who tends to the chairs, fluffing them up for the next time we eat.

"Not encouraging, is he?"

Quorel nods. "Yes, yes and you're not very sympethetic."

"Why would that be?" Cashatra now turns to Quorel, who stands facing her. Her golden wig is flashy, tied up into a giant hat mocking an old cornucopia.

"Look at yourself, the fur coats, the golden wig, the endless apples on your head! Meanwhile half of Panem is starving and cold! Ever think of that?"

I stare at the both of them, not sure whether to stop this or spectate the rest of the argument. Unfortunately it ends anticlimactically and Cashatra withdraws. "just know...we could be starving too you know...just in a different way."

I look back at Quorel. His face is red and the veins in his neck are prominent. He fumbles his fingers around, as if looking for something. He finally discovers a bottle of liquor, grabs it, and goes as hard as he can at the cork. It doesn't come off, but soon his smashing stuff. He raises his arms up, and beats the bottle agains the table. It breaks, glass flying all over the expensive rug, and alcohol pouring everywhere. The table is now well smeared with drink, and I fear he'll get even more violent.

"Quorel, what are you doing?" I ask him as he heads for the back of the train. "Didn't we have something to discuss?"

He looks down, shame striking his face. Calmed down at last, he shuts his door, telling us our stylist team will be heading soon. "We'll meet them at the Capitol, won't we?"

I make my way back to the table and begin cleaning it up. Like Quorel, I'm angry. He was obviously right. Cashatra is too wealthy, and she shows it. The Capitol is too rich with everything once shared by them to us before the Dark Days, and clearly after Quorel's encounters in the Games he had to have known that. I wipe away the drink, gather the remains of what once was the bottle of liquor, and contemplate where to put it all. Never had we went over the routine, and Natiel isn't here either. I bet he knows, since they've been touring him around the train while I sit around.

I travel to his room and knock once. I hear then the shuffle of feet against a wool carpet, and the click of the door unlocking. The door swings open.

I hesitate, saying the first word of my sentence "I" then getting nervous. Never in the past have I stood this close to my fellow tribute, not even on Reaping Day. I've seen him a few times at school, but never really noticed him. I make out his contours, his long nose, sharp crispy green eyes, and biceps so big my whole hand couldn't fit around them. I swallow, and feel my cheeks burning. How long have I been staring? Twenty, maybe thirty seconds? Maximum? I swallow again, and this time my cheeks flare.

Why are you hesitating? What about him is making you resist?

Is he a burly man? Yes. Is he big and could kill you in a second if he wanted to? Um...

I erase my thoughts. "Do you have a disposal? Like, for garbage?" Oh that sounded awkward. Why would you say it like that? Now--

He smirks and shakes his head. He closes his door as I attempt to say "what" but I am too late. He won't answer anyway.

Tomorrow is the day. I head back to the table and take a seat in one of the soft velvety chairs. They are plush and beautiful, with elaborate gold designs on them. Swirls and stripes, stars and frames. I compare this dining set to mine back home. Ours was imported from District 7. Cheapest one we got. The chairs are plain wood, like the refined ones from the trees there. Here these are glossy, polished mahogany tables, or so Cashatra told me. Even now I'm still not sure what it is. Dark wood? It is red, but I'm not sure...

I drift off, and when I wake up, the whole crew is by my window.

"'Ey Princess, wake up, were in the Capitol!"