Scars That Never Fade- A New Generation of Hunger Games

Chapter 16

The next hour was a blur. Toasts all around, congratulations from everyone. Preparation for tomorrow, Haymitch knocking something over. Lina screaming about the mahogany, the stylists complementing themselves.

Why all this celebration, I thought. Despite our surprisingly high scores, the odds were not in our favor as everyone thought. I'd last a day or two if I was lucky, then probably be destroyed by some career, Wake or Cassian most likely. Maybe Volker could, maybe he was determined to get back to his folks. I wanted to win for my dad, and I would try. But how could I, so small, weak and unskilled?

These thoughts came with me to bed. That night I had the worst dreams I'd ever had in my life. I was killed 24 times. Each time I died was from a different tribute, a different way. It started with Cassian, and going all the way through each District. Finally, I was killed by Volker. But, oddly enough, I woke up in the arena. Dead bodies of the tributes were scattered everywhere, and I remained. But I had not won the Games. Without any control over myself, I slowly walked over to where a dagger lay. I picked up, breathing heavily. Then, in one, swift motion, I jabbed it into my heart.

I woke up, breathing quickly, tears streaming down my face. I was panicking. I grabbed my pillow and clutched it to my face, crying into it.

"Dad!" I screamed into it. "Dad! Come here and take me away! Tell me it's going to be okay!" But of course no one answered me.

Shakily, I got ready. Breakfast was completely silent. Even Haymitch could not bring himself to say any witty remarks. Each step I took, I hurt inside. One step closer to my death.

All of the tributes boarded a hovercraft, sitting in restricting chairs in which I felt trapped. A lady came by, putting a tracker in my wrist. It stung, but for some reason, pain didn't bother me at all in the moment.

When we landed, the tributes were lead to seperate hallways, where each of us met our mentors and stylists one last time.

"Are you ready?" asked Haymitch. I hung my head.

"To kill other kids?" I said disgusted, "I will never be ready."

"Well, you want to win, don't you?" asked Haymitch. I nodded.

"Do what you have to do, sweetheart." Tybalt, always serious, walked in briskly.

"Good luck, Fern, I believe in you," he said thoughtfully.

"Thanks," I whispered.

"Judging by the thickness of your outfit," began Tybalt, "it could be very, very cold in the arena. Keep warm," he advised. "I have to run and tell Volker. Good luck."

"I will need it."

The Peacekeepers motioned me into a vessel which would take me upwards into the arena. I clenched my fists, and bit my lip. Quickly, I knotted my hair into its usual braid. It was all I could do to stay sane. My vessel started moving upwards, but Haymitch had one last thing to say. I didn't hear him, but I think I made out what he was trying to say.

"Stay alive."