"Next up, the boy from District 12, Wilson Covert!"
Wilson is stumbling too, but he's not wearing heels.
"Hi Mitchell."
"Hi there, Wilson. I'm going to ask you some questions and you just say the first answer that you think of, okay?" He's explaining it as if Wilson has no idea what's going on.
But I mean hey, maybe he doesn't.
"So Wilson, do you have any brothers or sisters back home?"
"Yes. I have 7 siblings. I was their main food source." He looks up at the camera. "Everyone in District 12, especially the people in the Victor's Village, please keep them safe and alive. I'm begging you." He raises his three middle fingers to his lips and extends them outwards.
"I'm sure they got the message, Wilson. How many times was your name in the drawing again?"
"Twice. I don't believe in tesserae, I believe in working for your food. But really I had to take whatever I could get to keep my family alive, especially my baby sister, Addy."
The crowd is now awwing.
"I suppose so. I think we have time for one more question. As a tribute from District 12, how well do you think the odds are in your favor?"
"What do you mean as a tribute from District 12?"
"I mean exactly that."
"No, you don't. You're implying something else."
This boy is delusional. What could he possibly be implying?
"And what might that be?" Mitchell asks, forcing a smile through clearly gritted teeth.
"That District 12 isn't good enough to win The Games."
Bzzzzzt.
Mitchell regains his grin as Wilson makes his way out. I follow him.
"I think that's all the time we have here, folks. Tune in again to watch the wonderful tributes in The Games. Goodnight, Panem!" I recognize his emphasis on 'wonderful.' That was most likely said through gritted teeth, too.
