Not Just A Game

Chapter 30

Short Author's Note

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Its been two weeks since I was in the first arena. That means individual evaluations are today.

If you remember anything about my last evaluation, you'll know it didn't go as planned.

I set the President's portrait on fire, via knife.

Not the best way to show respect to your leaders. But nonetheless, I received a 10 in training, and made it out of the arena (physically) unharmed.

This time, I'm just going to take it easy, throw some knives and hope for the best.

That first evaluation messed with my head though. Throughout the arena, I was convinced the Capitol was out to kill me, to get revenge on disrespecting them. I thought the beast chasing me in the cave was to end my life.

It turns out, since I wasn't viciously slaughtered by it, it led me straight to the career pack, which ended the games and broke my ankle.

I've decided to take a simpler approach to the evaluations, to maybe show them I'm more innocent, and just maybe it'll save my life in the future.

We'll see.

I'm dressed in my usual training outfit, with my hair twisted gracefully into a signature braid down my back.

I secure it with a small, clear elastic, and walk out the bedroom door, not quite ready to bother putting my shoes on yet.

I walk silently down the hall into the main section of the suite.

Breakfast is hot and steaming on the glass table as usual.

I swipe a plate from the stack, and pile on muffins, pancakes, bananas, and grab a smoothie to wash it all down.

I set it down on the table, and the ceramic plate clatters softly against the glass.

I unwrap the napkin containing utensils and dig in.

The pancakes are warm and delicious, with blueberries buried deep inside of them.

The muffins are quite similar, with the blueberries inside the dough.

I probably look crazy, stuffing my face so fast, but I'm starving, and I can't hold back.

Pretty soon, I'm going back for seconds, but my subconscious tells me otherwise.

You won't be able to move at training in an hour.

Darn.

I head back to the table silently and set my plate down.

I go into the living room and collapse onto a white couch.

I stare at the window, looking out on the city that never seems to sleep. There are voices buzzing outside my window every night, coming from the plaza by the hotel.

I wonder if they realize what the games truly are. They see it as pure entertainment, the best that there is.

The districts are the only ones with level heads. We see the humanity being washed away from the Capitol, and soon from the tributes.

It's sick.

The sun streams through the open white curtains just like it did the day I was reaped. It puts a bitter taste in my mouth while I revisit that day.