Life Through Sea Green Eyes - A Hunger Games Fanfiction

Part 1: Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

Part One: Fish Out of Water

Chapter Eight

          Mags is waiting for me the next morning, dozing on my couch. I wake her up, and she gives me a hug and wishes me luck. She doesn’t bother assuring me that I’ll survive, because she honestly thinks I have a fighting chance. Besides, nothing is assured, and Mags doesn’t lie to me.

          Germanicus is waiting for me outside, and after Pompey thumps me on the shoulder and tells me to try my hardest, I followed my stylist up to the rooftop, where a hovercraft is waiting. The immobilizing current prevents me from falling off the ladder that they use to haul me aboard, and also stops me from flinching when they insert a tracker into my left forearm.

          I try to look out the windows – if I thought the view from the train was spectacular, a bird’s eye view must be even better – but they black out the windows. Don’t want me to get a sneak peek of the arena.

          We touch down and Germanicus leads me to the Launch Area. I take a shower, and he puts me into the uniform that every tribute is going to be wearing. It’s a thick two-piece affair, with a fur-lined hood and big mittens. The whole thing is glaringly white. There’s a black bodysuit underneath, but even this is thicker than anything I’ve worn before.

          Germanicus comments on the clothes as he helps me put them on. “Definitely going to be cold there. Shame for you. I assume you were planning on taking off your shirt as soon as possible.

          He’s right, of course, but I can still see some possibilities with the suit’s design. The hood won’t cover my face at all, and that’s probably my best attribute. And the suit is thick, but it’s still tailored to my body. I can work with this, I think.

          Then Germanicus deposits me on a golden disk at the far corner of the room. A glass tube seals around me, and I barely have time to give him a wave before the platform shoots upward.

          The first thing I notice is the light. It’s so bright that I have to cover my eyes with my hands so I’m not blinded. Claudius Templesmith, the announcer, booms out from some hidden speaker, “Ladies and gentlemen, let the Sixty-fifth Hunger Games begin!”

          My eyes adjust, and I realize it’s so bright because the sunlight is reflecting off snow. We seem to be in some sort of arctic tundra – everything is covered in a layer of white. The cornucopia is ahead of me, glinting gold in the sun’s harsh glare, and the tributes are ringed around it. I see that Gemma is a few golden discs away, fidgeting in anticipation. We have to stay on the pressure plates for one full minute or else they explode.

          Over to the left I see trees, and to the right looks like hills. Behind me is more forest, and straight ahead of me, a few hundred years behind the cornucopia, is a cliff that drops off into the sparkling blue sea. So there is water, I think with a strange sense of relief, although not water I can swim in. Still, that little bit of home focuses me and reminds me why I’m here. And what I have to do.

          There’s a gunshot, and the Hunger Games have officially begun. I shout to Gemma, and she angles toward me as we rush for the mass of items piled around the huge golden cornucopia. We head for the best items, which are piled up against the giant horn itself, but Gemma picks up a couple of knives along the way. As we run, I hold out my hand, and she hands me one without hesitation.