Voices of the Dead: A Hunger Games FanFiction ©

2. Macon

An alien world; that’s what it felt like to step inside the Capitol train. It was unlike anything I’d ever seen or experienced back in my residence of District Ten. Velvet, silver, gold, crystal; it was everywhere I looked. Surrounded by such extravagances, I felt overwhelmed by a sense of hopelessness. It was blatantly and cruelly obvious that I’d seen the last my home.

With a false smile on my face, I’d greeted my new mentors and escort. I’d also shaken hands with my district partner; a quiet girl named Amity. Outwardly, I was trying to keep up my positive spirits, but on the inside I was writhing in agony; not even a full day had passed and already I missed my father and the real comforts of the desert. I’d gone through the polite motions in a haze; not really knowing what was going on.

“Hello, I’m Macon Wells… No, I don’t have any special skills… Yes, I do hope I’ll improve with training… I’ll find a skill, I’m sure…” I’d said hollowly; not really putting forth any effort to sell myself. What was the point?

I knew in my heart that if my father saw how I was acting, he wouldn’t be angry, he’d be disappointed. I was acting as if I were already a ghost, an apparition, a walking corpse. I’d lied. I knew I wasn’t coming back.  The need to fight was absent, and the impulse to kill, nonexistent; I was already resigned to lose, to die, to be another name on the long list of the fallen.

It wasn’t that I saw myself as weak, or even unprepared; there had been previous victors less equipped to win than myself. I knew that if I were to actually put my head in the game, success probably wouldn’t be that hard to obtain. It was just that, no matter how I tried to wrap my head around it, I couldn’t bring myself to even imagine hurting someone.

As the night had drawn near, with my mood reflecting its darkness, I’d absently followed the others to the viewing room as the Reaping began to air. I’d watched quietly, trying to keep myself as detached as I could. It was the usual; power-hungry careers, frightened, hysterical children, and hopeless shells of despair.

Faces came and went, and still, the show wouldn’t end. Though my body continued to sit in silence, my mind stopped watching long ago. I’d been thinking about excusing myself from the room, claiming that I was exhausted, when my eyes picked up on the latest picture that was being displayed. It was too late to turn away.

I watched unblinkingly as the escort from District Eight called out the name of a boy. He was impossibly small and wispy, his build similar to that of a bird. He shook as he approached the stage and his eyes welled with unshed tears. His name was Mipe Smalls, and I found it unbelievable to think that he was only twelve years old.

I grit my teeth as anger rushed through my body. He was a child. He hadn’t even had a chance to live a full life. I tried to reclaim the earlier dejected state of mind I’d been in. I averted my eyes as the girl from District Nine was shown. I couldn’t allow myself to care.

I shakily got to my feet, “Sorry, I’m tired. If you’d excuse me I’m going to –“ I cut off as the next face appeared; yet another twelve year old. The scene was heart-wrenching; he hadn’t even been reaped. The boy, Bodey Jacks, had bravely volunteered when it was apparent that his older brother’s name had been announced and there would be no one else to take his place. With a grave expression, he’d stood before the crowd, trying to put on a brave face.

I couldn’t take it. I spun on my heel and left to my room, not leaving until we’d reached our destination. Even as I took in the crazy fashions, colors, and buildings of the citizens of the Capitol, I couldn’t seem to push either boy’s face from my mind. Mipe Smalls and Bodey Jacks; two innocent souls heading to slaughter.

The people pressed around our train when we finally came to a stop. They pressed forward, trying desperately to get a picture or a comment from us. I stared straight ahead, not waving, or even acknowledging their presence. I wanted to hate these people; wanted to despise them for watching us kill each other in cold blood, but I couldn’t.