Voices of the Dead: A Hunger Games FanFiction ©

2. Smalls

The train ride to the Capitol was long and stressful. The whole ride there I was consciously aware of the wrinkled noses and disapproving eyes directed at me. The escort, Jules, made no attempt at hiding her disapproval in me.

“Might we open a window? It getting rather ripe in here,” she said pinching her nose and waving her ornate fan in my direction.

I tried to ignore her mean words but when I saw her turn away, I discreetly took a sniff. I didn’t smell anything odd, not on me anyway, most of the smells that I found strange were coming from the room it’s self. Everything seemed to have a perfumed aura around it.

My district partner, Paisley I think her name was, didn’t really acknowledge me, so I figured any kind of alliance was out of the question. Really, I understood her; who’d want to ally with me. I was small, thin, and frail looking. Undernourished because of the circumstances; I barely looked my age.

That night, when we were all gathered to watch a recap of the Reapings, I saw even more clearly why I was being treated so lowly. The careers from one and two were incredibly intimidating. Even most of the younger girls seemed to have more of a chance in these games than myself. The only person who seemed to even come close to my level of “hopelessness” was another twelve-year old from district nine.  Defeated, I even had to admit he probably had a foot up on me. He’d volunteered for his brother and that would get him at least a sympathy vote, whereas I was merely reaped.

I didn’t sleep a wink throughout the night. I thought a lot about the “brothers” I’d left behind at the orphanage. I missed them already, even though I hadn’t even been gone for more than a day. Were they thinking about me? Did they have any hopes of seeing me again? These questions and many more haunted me as I tried to sleep.

When we were finally close enough to the mountains that separated the Capitol from the rest of the districts I was elated. I couldn’t bear the thought of being cooped up in the train any longer. My escort and mentors were getting on my last nerve with their constant complaints on my behavior.

I was in for the shock of my life when I finally laid eyes on the people of the Capitol. They were all wearing the strangest clothing in bright hues and outlandish styles. It was like their whole world had been splattered in neon paint.

They crowded around the train and instinctively I backed away. They were like mysterious creatures intent on getting a good look at me. It didn’t last long though, as soon as their eyes met mine they were quick to look away. I was of no interest to them.

I heard murmurs travel across the crowd. “Kinda small… scrawny looking… bloodbath for sure… no hope there… sure to be the first they’ll go for… wouldn’t bet on that…”

Their words infuriated me and with a meek growl I clenched my small fists and tried to walk with my head high. It was hard to act as if I wasn’t hurt; their truths were like little daggers to my heart. I was angry because I knew, though I hated to admit it, they were right. I was a bloodbath tribute. Nothing more than a filler; target practice for the hungry careers.

Once we were at the Remake center I was separated from Paisley, though I doubted she minded, and was taken in to be cleaned and groomed. From my prep team and stylist, a woman named Kolt, I received similar reactions to those my mentors and escort had given me; snide looks that clearly said they considered it a great insult to have to work on me.

As we filed out into the tribute-filled space, I felt my stomach twist with nerves. Everyone towered above me. I was pushed and shoved around roughly as I tried to make my way to the chariot with our district number.

Vaguely I noted that the other twelve-year old boy from district nine, Bodey was his name, was also being trampled by the thick bodies around him. Our eyes met and we shared a similar “now what?” look. Though we were far, we communicated wordlessly though body language.

He looked at the towering tributes above him and then back at me. He raised a brow. “Big no?” he seemed to say.

I nodded, then shrugged and pointed to their heads, making my fingers pinch together to indicate a small size. “No brains though.”

Even from across the room I saw Bodey snicker; he’d understood. He stopped suddenly though, then flit his eyes across the room, towards the careers who were already talking to each other. He looked back at me, frowning. “Scary.”

I grudgingly nodded. He was right, unlike some of the other brutish careers from past games, these were different. Murder and a cold intelligence shone though their eyes, whether they knew it or not. Even in the way they moved you could tell, they were not to be crossed. I nodded in their direction then pretended to slit my own neck with my pointer finger. “Killers for sure.”

As a bell rang out across the room, I gave my new friend a small departing grin, which he returned with a small wave. “See you”

I grunted with effort as I barely managed to board our chariot. As the music swelled the horses proceeded to march out in order; from District One and on.

I froze like a deer in headlights when it was finally our turn to parade in front of the people. I didn’t wave, didn’t smile, didn’t even fidget. I was more than scared; I was mortified.

The only thoughts in my head, the only thing that kept repeating over and over in my mind was how these people thirsted for my blood.