Not Just A Game

Chapter 35

It's dim back here, compared to the blinding lights on stage. Quieter too. Much quieter than you'd expect when in line with twenty-three other people. All you can here is the dramatic voice of the host and the muted roaring of the audience. Everyone else is silent, while we wait in line to head on stage with to our interviews.

The part that scares me the most about my upcoming talk with Caesar Flickerman, is not that I'm in front of thousands of people, who criticize and judge every word that comes out of my mouth. Or even that the lady in the front row with obvious cosmetic surgeries and makeup that makes her look like a serial killer is eyeballing the line of tributes backed up behind the curtain, only visible from her angle.

Nope. It's that the interviews are my last chance to impress the Capitol so I can move on to the games tomorrow with my best foot forward, trying to forget that if I even come out alive, I may not have a foot.

I lean up against the gray cinder block wall at the back of the long string of tributes, much like I did just two weeks ago, in a white dress instead of blue. The circumstances have changed too, not just my clothes. I was so nervous that day too, but not for the same reason. It's like the same stars are scattered across the endless sky, but the earth has shifted. A new perspective.

Caesar welcomes out the first tribute, Bliss. She's the only remaining tribute from District One, surprising enough.

She bounces onto the stage in a flattering pink gown. Her blonde hair really shines under the beaming lights.

The crowd cheers and I hear a few wolf whistles from the Capitol men. Bliss gives a false smile at them with her glowing white teeth.

I try to pay attention to her interview, but it seems to go on forever. I could never just stand here for hours looking at the little viewing screen they give us backstage.

But what choice do I have?

It's not like I can just walk out to wait for my interview up in the penthouse. I'd get blown to bits at the sound of the gong for ever leaving the auditorium.

I sigh and slide down the wall, at least I can relax if I'm sitting down.

It feels cramped backstage. Not because it's a small hallway, but because there's no- where I can go, or walk around. I'm forced to stay right here, and the limitation is really irritating me.

I hear the next tribute, Talon head onstage. The crowd politely cheers. He's not exactly a popular tribute. He speaks like he's a zombie, but his combat skills are excellent. But despite his skills, I can't imagine him winning.

Indi and Raudo could easily win, but I have fate and karma on my side. They have the skills, but they don't deserve to win. Based on the reapings, they both volunteered for the Quarter Quell just to brag about it when they "win". At the last interview, Raudo wouldn't stop talking about how he's going to win, and what he's going to do after he's become a Victor. Caesar regarded it as "pure confidence" but it's obvious enough to the other tributes that it's just arrogance.

My eyes slide shut, but it's hard to sleep when the lights are shining, looking a cloudy red orange color behind your closed eyelids.

I concentrate on counting backwards from one-thousand, slowly and steadily, sometimes stumbling over my thoughts in the midst of trying to figure out what number comes next.

It's been a few minutes.

I can hardly fathom any of the words in my head anymore as they begin to slur together. I've always tried to feel for the exact point when I fall asleep, but it seems like one minute you're thinking about something, and the next you're wide awake at 10:00 AM.