The Eleventh Hunger Games~ A Mags Fanfic

Chapter Three: Theodore's Story

Chapter Three

So how do you all like it so far? I do apologize of the chapters are a teensy bit long ehe...anyway, enjoy chapter three! Please vote and comment :)

Chapter Three

Theodore's Story

We ride the glass elevator up to the fourth floor, a thin layer of silence hanging in the foreign air. With a ding, the doors part, revealing a prodigious room decked out with plush sea foam couches and floor to ceiling windows. After being led to the bedroom that I will be staying in for the next two weeks, I collapse on the lavishly decorated bed, staring up at the plain ceiling. I wonder what is going on back in District Four. Probably the same every year: People continuing on with their lives, maybe with a little extra bounce in their step; more chatter and gossip around town. The interesting things don't start to happen until the Games begin. But one thing's different this year. It's my family and it's my friends that are tangled in the giant tumble of nerves and false hope. And then I realize something. Lorem's friends and family are lucky. They don't have to worry about him; there is no doubt that he will at least reach it to the top four survivors. But with me, my friends and my family will be sitting on the edge of their seats, just waiting to see which battle or hunt will kill me off. And then there's my father. I wonder what is going through his head right now, happiness? Pain? Regret? But I will never know because now it is my turn to be the tribute, the one on the screen with no sponsors, hiding from a predator from her own district. Now it's my turn to be the meat.

 A loud knock at the door-- more like a pound-- pulls me from my dream. Somehow, through the mass of new thoughts, I fell asleep, curled up at the end of my bed. The knock came once more, Theodore's scratchy voice declaring that dinner is ready in the dining room. Slowly, I uncoil myself, stretch, rub my eyes, and leave my room, not even caring about my appearance.

"Ah. There you are," Theodore gestures to me, and, as casually as possible, I stroll over to my mentor.

"So, Mags, straight to the point. What is your special talent, now that Lorem isn't interrupting?" Theodore questions, glancing at Lorem who is staring deeply into his strangely decorated roast beef.

Special talent? Oh dear...

"Um...I don't really have one?" I bite my lip.

"Of course you have one!  Everybody does. I, for example, am surprisingly good at weaving. Who would have thought, huh?"

"Did that help you win the games?" I sit down across from Theodore.

After a brief rumination, he replies, "I suppose so...Majority of the days inside the arena were spent with my own group, or better known as the career pack. That was actually the first Games where tributes got together to kill, you know. Anyway, once there were only a few members left, I retreated and made my own camp." A dark shadow crosses his dry, aged face, eyebrows creased and accompanied by thin pursed lips. "I wound up at the base of the mountain, about a mile from the Cornucopia. Of course, because my Games was only the third, the Gamemakers were still experimenting with their ideas, so the landscape was basically a mountainous wasteland. But you see, young Mags, it was down to the last five tributes, and of course, people wanted action. More importantly, they wanted blood."

"And what better way to fulfill their needs? A storm." He stretches and pours himself a blue substance, and continues with a sigh. "So there I was, hiding behind my pathetic little shield of dead grass against the ghastly mountain, starving and weak—most of the food was either at the Cornucopia or suspected to be on the other side of the arena, although about...hmm.. I want to say seven tributes died over there, and I didn't dare to attempt that journey—anyways, when the storm finally came, it was like a miracle. Finally water! Something that I had been craving for a few days." He stops, curtly nodding his head towards the entering Basia who joins us at the table.