Voices of the Dead: A Hunger Games FanFiction ©

4. Macon

The thunderous clapping of the Capitol citizens in the audience reminded me vaguely of a herd of stampeding cattle; loud, ground shaking, and dangerous. If I wasn’t able to get the people in the crowd or the viewers at home to like me, my odds of keeping myself and the boys alive would definitely be affected.

I’d ignored most of what the other district kids before me had spoken; concentrating only on what Smalls and then Bodey had answered as Ceasar Flickerman peppered them with questions. They’d done fine, not grand like the careers, or bad like the more introverted tributes. It would be easy to keep them safe it they didn’t call too much attention to themselves.

Someone nudged me, I think maybe the girl from district eleven or whoever was sitting behind me, and I realized it was almost my turn to go up to the stage. I gave myself a quick look, smoothing my shirt and running a hand through my hair. My stylist, Ford, had actually hit the nail on the head with this look. Rather than go with the overdone “cowboy” get up he’d originally planned, he’d changed my outfit at the last minute; instead going with a simple grey suit and black shirt.

“Thank you! Let’s hear a big round of applause it for Amity Ray!” said Ceasar enthusiastically as my district partner returned to her seat. “And now for the male from District Ten, Macon Wells! Come on up here!”

I stood calmly, hiding my nerves as I made my way to the stage. I smiled timidly at the camera, suddenly aware that every eye in Panem would be on my face. As I approached Ceasar, I stuck out my arm and gave him a hearty handshake. “Nice to meet you,” I said as I took a seat next to him.

“And it’s nice to meet you Macon!” the crowd clapped along with him.

“Thanks, it’s been real nice getting to see all of the sights. This place really is something,” I said, not really lying, but bending the truth.

“And it has been a thrill having you all here. Now tell  me Macon, what has been the most impressive thing you’ve experienced here?”

I thought for a minute before answering. “Now Ceasar, I know I’ll probably come off as some silly farmer from Ten, but I’d have to say the most impressive thing I’ve done here is use the showers.”

The crowd laughed good-naturedly along with Ceasar and I smiled back. When he finally got the crowd to settle down he continued his questions. “Now Macon, in all seriousness, what I’d really like to know is how you feel about your odds in this competition. I know, as well as our viewers, that you got the wonderful score of a nine. Do you think you’ll make it to the end?”

I ran a hand through my hair to disguise my nerves; this was the part I’d dreaded. I couldn’t necessarily tell the people of the Capitol my real plan; that I was more interested in saving a pair of twelve-year old boys that I’d just met rather than myself. No, I had to play it smart and give them what they wanted; confidence, charm, and hope. No one would dare sponsor a selfless tribute, where was the fun in that. Self sacrifice, decency and nobility weren’t really things the citizens of the Capitol were interested in.

I smiled. “I think my odds are good, great even if you were to compare it to some of the other –ahem- more well known tributes,” I said the last part quietly, as if I were telling Ceasar a secret. He leaned in too, going along with my silent cues. “Not to be showy Ceasar, but I think I have a pretty good shot at this.”

Ceasar looked at the crowd, then at me, and pretended to only speak to us as if we were alone in the room as he stage-whispered. “I believe you Macon. I’d have to say I think you have some good odds in your favor. Don’t you agree?” he asked the crowd.

The masses crowed in delight, happy to voice their support. There was applause and I could’ve sworn I heard my name chanted from several rows. Ceasar chuckled and then continued. “Now, before you go. I have to ask, not just for myself but for the people of Panem,” he motioned to the crowd that roared with glee, “Do you have anyone you’re doing this for. A lady-friend perhaps?”

I heard woots in the crowd and high-pitched squeals. Lady-friend? I chagrined a little when my slow mind finally understood. Embarrassed, I hoped my reaction would come off more as endearing rather than immature or juvenile.

I shook my head, then smiled bashfully; playing up my previous blunder. “Naw, I’ve never had any of those kinds of friends. Haha, actually I’ve never had a girlfriend. Been busy I guess.”

Ceasar pretended to be shocked, looking from the crowd to me. “Now Macon, I find that very hard to believe. Such a strapping young man. Tsk, tsk,” he looked at the crowd and smiled conspiratorially at them. He leaned forward, and pretended to whisper with only them. “Though I’m sure we could change that, no ladies? Who agrees?”

A series of screams and giggled erupted from the audience and I decided to play it off shy again. “Daww, now Ceasar come on. Keep that up and I might actually believe you.” I chuckled. Then, seeing that my time was almost up, interrupted him before I had to leave. “I do have a message for someone though, my father.”

The humorous teasing was gone, Ceasar looked at me with a new face filled with empathetic sadness. He nodded, pointing to one of the cameras nearby. “Go ahead young lad, speak.”

I gulped, and looked at the camera, imagining that instead of a lens I was speaking to him; maybe for the last time. As the words left me, the prying eyes of everyone in the room disappeared. I had to say this carefully so only he would understand. “Hey dad, uhh, Macon here. Just wanted to let you know I’m fine,” my voice quivered a bit, so I paused and cleared my throat. “Just being me; your Macon, makin’ trouble for everyone. I know my time is limited so I just wanted to tell you I love you, you’ve been the most influential person in my life. I wouldn’t me the person I am today if I didn’t have you to raise me and teach me the value of life.”

The crowd was silent, and I faintly noticed some of them leaning forward to listen more intently.

I continued. “You taught me once a very important fact of life, one that changed the way I perceived existence and the people around me. You said… you said that I should push against the odds, and I’m going to do just that.”

I had seconds left but I knew that I wouldn’t be able to say more without entirely giving away my intentions to the crowd. If I left it at that, they might believe I was speaking of my own odds; of how likely I was to win. However, I knew in my heart that the moment my father saw the first day of the games, the moment he saw me herding Smalls and Bodey away, he’d piece it together. He’d understand my cryptic message.

I would push the odds; not my own, but those of the boys who’d already been labeled as bloodbath tributes. I would die for something that mattered; not just for their lives, but so I could keep my own soul clean and unblemished.

I was ready. I was saying goodbye.