The 73rd Annual Hunger Games

Chapter 8- The Last Day

I wake up at the crack of dawn with Cherry's scheduled knock on the door. "Come down for breakfast!"

I sighed and folded back the blankets. Today is my interview with Caesar Flickerman. Just one step closer to my death ceremony. Tomorrow, I go into the Hunger Games. Today, I get interviewed live, broadcast across Panem from the Capitol, and have to try to be humorous. The bad thing is- I'm not sure which is scarier.

I pulled myself out of my blankets, and stared at my hands. Fresh fingernail marks on my palms, bleeding. I had nightmares last night. Maybe worse than a couple of days ago when I had my episode. The dreams started to take control of my mind so I clutched my ears and hummed to myself. The panic halted.

I stood, and walked to the shower. This will be my second-last shower ever, before I die.

So I made it count and pressed every single button on the controls.

~~~---~~~

When I got down to the table, Finnick was picking silently at his food, a trait uncommon for him. Cherry was smiling and commenting on Kyle's manners. "What took you so long?" Kyle grumbled.

"Sorry, just enjoying my possibly last day alive. My bad." I sat down between Cherry and Finnick.

"It's not my last day alive," Kyle smirked.

"It could be," I sneered back.

Finnick lightened up for a second. "Maybe we should've portrayed you as deadly."

"Yeah, maybe I could get some sponsors that way."

"Please," Finnick laughed. "You have sponsors lined up outside of the door! Figuratively, of course."

"How many sponsors do I have?" Kyle asked gruffly.

"Come on, you know that the Careers always have tons of sponsors." Finnick said. Kyle smiled, pleased, but Finnick winked subtly to me to let me know that I still have more sponsors than Kyle.

"Okay guys, down to business." Cherry said. "Caspia will train with me first, then FInnick. Kyle, you'll be with Finnick first. When we're done, you'll go straight to your Prep teams and they'll prepare your interview. Then, you'll go to the interview and get last-minute training. Then..." She continued to tell us every event for the rest of our lives.

"Okay," I smoothly cut in. "So when will we start?"

"As soon as you're done eating, of course."

I continued to eat as slowly as possible. At least until I was the last one sitting and Cherry impatiently shoved the last spoonfuls down my throat and shoved me into the elevator, with Finnick laughing loudly behind us.

We went in the room that I trained with Effie in, where she taught me how to walk in high-heeled shoes, and talk, and wave.

She sat down in a chair, and I sat in the chair across from her.

"Oh no. You have to wear those clothes for our 'interview.'" She pointed to a heavy cloak of a dress in the corner, and the six-inch heels from the other day.

Soon, I was dressed in the ridiculous attire, and seated across from Cherry. The heavy dress was at least 30 pounds, and the shoes at least another 5. I tried not to fidget, and fan myself in the tight, hot dress, but it was very hot, and hard to breathe.

Cherry started asking questions, to test my interviewing skills. I answered them nicely with a smile and with hand gestures at first to get my point better across, but as time wore on, I got more and more irritable.

I felt suffocated in the tight dress, and found it hard to smile. Soon, the smiles grew more and more forced, more and more fake. By the end of the interview, I was spitting answers at Cherry.