A Crafted Kind of Games: A Hunger Games Fanfic

Chapter Seventeen

I'm aroused at six in the morning. SIX IN THE MORNING. You'd think they'd allow tributes to get more sleep before they're plunged into an arena.

I somehow refrain from complaining, which I'm always good at. My mom used to say it was one of my talents.

My stomach clenches. My mom. How much time have I spent thinking about my parents? Little to no time at all.

Shame. I've never felt more of it in my life. I'm headed to certain death, and I couldn't think of my parents?

"Come on, Skylar. We're going to the hovercraft." Effie says, and pulls me toward the door.

"Are you coming on the hovercraft, too?" I ask. The cameras never show the tributes being transported to the arena. Only the tributes actually entering the arena.

"No. I have to take another hovercraft with the other stylists. We send you off." She answers, and steps into the elevator, me behind her. The doors slide shut, and we shoot upwards until we're on the roof, where a ladder is hanging from a hovercraft.

"Just grab into that ladder, and they'll pull you up. I'll see you in a bit, Skylar." Effie says, and walks over to another hovercraft that is landed on the roof.

I cautiously walk towards the ladder. Why does the tribute hovercraft have a ladder, while the stylists do not?

There's no time to question. I grab on to a rung, and plant my feet onto another, and I get my answer.

The ladder seems to freeze me in my place, no, not seems to, does. The ladder lifts up into the hovercraft, and I am met by a Capitol woman dressed completely in white.

"Hello, Skylar. I just need to insert your tracker, and then you can go find your seat. The stiller you are, the easier it is."

I notice the needle in her hand, and if I wasn't frozen, I would tense up. I hate needles. Absolutely hate them. (A/N: I do in real life. I'm thirteen and I still cry when I have to get a shot :/)

She jabs the needle into my arm, and I feel a quick stab of pain before it goes away.

Whatever was holding my frozen stops, and I can move again.

The woman gestures toward rows of seats. Some of the tributes are already in their seats, marked overhead with a district number.

I spot Adam and Tiffany, but no Preston. Mitch is here too, along with his friend from Two. I think his name was Jerome or something.

Tiffany grins and waves at me, and Adam smiles at me. I find my seat, which is wedged between a Six and a Twelve.

I look at my arm for the first time since the woman put my tracker in, and I see a small, barely noticeable bump where I assume the tracker went.

I sit back in my chair, and try to steady my breathing. I can do this. I will not break down. I will not.

Finally, when I've told myself that I won't break down about twenty thousand times, all the tributes are in their seats, and the hovercraft moves.

I'm sitting next to a window, and I watch the Capitol get smaller and smaller as we fly away.

We seem to have been flying forever when the hovercraft lands. We are lead out of it by Peacekeepers and brought to our own Launch Room, or, as we in District Ten say, the Stockyard. The place animals go before slaughter.

Inside the Stockyard, I find Effie, who gives me a hug.

"I had no say in these." She says, pressing a stack of clothes into my hand, and shoos me off to change.

It doesn't take a while to change. Long gray pants, long sleeved white shirt, ice blue coat lined with fur on the inside complete with a hood, fuzzy socks, and boots with rubber soles. Good for running.

I step out of the changing room, and Effie looks over the outfit. "Hmm. It seems to be built for the cold. Expect some snow, maybe ice. The coat might be able to protect against rain, too."

My heartbeat picks up. Built for the cold. Now I'm sure that I'll be freezing most of the time. Maybe running could help me stay warm. Oh great, now I'm thinking of that moment so long ago where I almost died out in the cold and Adam saved me. Perfect.

Suddenly, a woman's voice speaks. "Tributes, please step into your launch tubes."

I look at Effie, shaking. She places both her hands on my shoulders. "I can't tell you it's going to be alright, but I want you to know how happy it's been bein your stylist." She looks me dead in the eye. "You can do this, ok? I'll be rooting for you."

"Thank you, Effie." I say, and shakily step into my launch tube. The glass slides shut around me, and the voice speaks again.

"Launching in ten...nine.."

My heart feels like it's going to explode out of my chest. I could be dead, flat out dead, in hour, maybe less. Calm down, I tell myself, and will myself to breathe. I can't afford to break down.

"Five....four...three....two....one."

The metal plate I'm standing on begins to rise above ground, and I shiver.

I squint into the bright sun, and I can't see anything.

My only thought? I'm.....FREEZING.