Hope and Nightmares - A Hunger Games Fanfiction

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

It's score day.

On the third day of training, the Gamemakers call us in from lunch for the private training sessions where they assess our skills and decipher our overall training score, which lets the people of the Capitol know which tributes to sponsor, and lets the other tributes know which of us to target first.

Over the three days of training, Thatcher has taught me how to camouflage and showed me all of the edible plant tricks he knows. I spent time at the poisonous plant section - finding a weird light green fruit the shape of a light bulb to be the deadliest fruit there is, and a wild plant called nightlock which has berries that will kill you by the time they're down your throat. I have also gained a lot of skill with the axe, and improved my leg muscles and agility by running all the different kinds of obstacle courses. I coached Thatcher on knife throwing, while never picking one up myself, and I must say he's gotten good. The knife trainer was impressed by both of our skills.

We will be called in by district, but the boy goes first, so Flint is the first to be summoned to the private session.

Myles and Trexler clap him on the back rowdily before he goes in. I roll my eyes as Flint pumps his fist in the air and beats his chest like some sort of gorilla.

After about fifteen minutes, Flint comes out looking awfully proud of himself, and then they call in Ruby Delacroix, District 1.

"Good luck," Thatcher says. "Throw straight."

I thank him and walk past the Career table, not giving them the satisfaction of a glare.

Myles reaches out and grabs my rear end, earning him applause, whistles, and catcalls from Flint, Trexler, and a couple of the older tribute boys in the dining room.

I can almost feel the smoke coming out of my ears. I make a rude gesture at him over my shoulder and walk into the training room, letting my anger consume me. You shouldn't have winked at him that first day of training, I think to myself. This is your own fault. He's using it against you. Just ignore him.

Nonetheless, my blood is still boiling as I pick up an axe and hurl it at the dummy. It's not a bull's eye, but it pierces the lower chest. Good enough for me.

I make a quick, tight snare as the Gamemakers scribble down notes from their sky box. I camouflage a lime green backpack more or less successfully at the camouflage station, and then it's time for the knife throwing.

I gather a dozen knives in my hands, turning over the cool metal in my palms. I close my eyes, and try to clear all of the thoughts from my mind and focus only on throwing straight.

The anger at Myles and Flint and everyone is still in my muscles even if they're no longer clouding my head.

I press the buttons on the control panel for the knife throwing simulation. I haven't thrown a large number of knives since reaping day back home. I can only hope my skills haven't left me.

The human silhouette dummies extend out with a metallic groan, fanning out around me almost menacingly.

I breathe in, and out. In, and out. When the buzzer dings, I waste no time in letting the knives fly. The simple yet powerful flick of the wrist is familiar. I turn and twist, throwing backhands and doing simple tricks. Why not give them a little something? It will improve my training score, and it will triple my chances of getting sponsors.

When I'm out of knives, I look around me. Each and every one of the dummies' hearts are pierced in the dead center. The Gamemakers are furiously jotting down notes as I am dismissed and walk out of the training room.