Voices of the Dead: A Hunger Games FanFiction ©

5. Macon

Today is the day; the beginning of the end.

I kept my eyes squeezed shut against the morning dawn that was starting to seep through the curtains of my room. Faint pink began to shine through my eyes and I sighed quietly. I basked in the silence that surrounded me, enjoying the calm before the storm. They’d be coming for me soon enough; to take me against my will, like cattle up for slaughter.

A sudden rapping at my door disrupted my pessimistic thoughts and I looked up to see Fords standing in my doorway. I looked up at him, fully expecting the same high and mighty attitude he’d shown the day before, and was surprised to see him looking rather somber.

“It’s time,” he said, nodded in my direction. I swallowed loudly, and as Fords took in my expression, his features softened slightly. “Don’t be afraid.”

Wordlessly, I slid out of bed and obediently followed behind him. As we made our way to the elevator, I took the time to study my stylist; though he attempted to hide behind a façade of flamboyance and drama, I could now see he was not oblivious to the real nature of the Games as I’d first suspected. Taking a closer look; I saw the deeper sets of worry-lines around his eyes, forehead, and mouth. Perhaps he had cared for tributes in the past and had eventually decided his heart couldn’t take it; couldn’t take the heartache and mourning that eventually came at their demise.

Once we arrived at the roof a hovercraft appeared out of thin air, a ladder dropping down almost directly before me. I put my hands and feet on the lower rungs and momentarily felt a sense of panic as my limbs went stiff, leaving me completely frozen. I relaxed as I felt the ladder begin to rise though; vaguely grasping that what held me in place was some sort of electric current.

As soon as I was safely inside, a woman in a white lab coat approached me, a large syringe in her hand. “This is your tracker; with it we’ll always be able to trace your whereabouts in the arena. We wouldn’t want to lose you now would we?” she said enthusiastically; her eyes filled with fervent anticipation.

Though he stayed silent, I saw Fords’ temple furrow and a little pucker appeared between his eyebrows. It was then I realized there were two very different types of people here in the Capitol; the ones like Fords, who cared and understood what we went through but were powerless to change anything, and those like her, who liked the way things were and saw us as mere pawns in their games.

I stayed statue-still as I felt the sharp prick of the metal needle slide into my arm. Wide-eyed, I stared as the woman pushed down on the plunger and injected the metal tracking device deep under the skin of my forearm. After wiping my arm with an antiseptic, the smiling woman placed a small bandage over the puncture and let me go sit with Fords.

The windows were tinted black and though I squinted, I couldn’t make out any of the scenery we passed by. Nervously, I paced back and forth until Fords placed a steady hand on my shoulder. With sympathy in his eyes, he smiled awkwardly, as if he hadn’t made that an expression in a while. “Breathe,” he advised quietly.

“Thanks,” I answered. Not because of his suggestion, but because of the reassuring tone behind it. His discomfited attempts, oddly enough, comforted me; I could see he meant well.

The ride lasted only about twenty minutes and when the hovercraft landed; Fords and I climbed back onto the ladder and were deposit into the catacombs that lay beneath the arena. Following the woman’s instructions, we made our way to my destination; a chamber called the Launch Room where I’d be further prepped for the Games. Back home, we used to call it the Stockyard; the place where animals went before they were massacred.

We walked along the dark hallways until we reached the room labeled ‘District Ten: Macon Wells’. Once inside, an Avox knocked at the door and delivered a package; the clothes. Excluding our own personal tokens, our outfits would all be the same; unremarkable undergarments, some durable black pants, a leather belt, a black shirt, hooded black jacket with various pockets, and a pair of sturdy combat boots.