Professional Fangirl

Chapter 6

Cruel. Cruel. That's the first word that comes to mind when I see that boy reaped. His scared little face, the terror of his eyes. The cries that escape some woman in the distance, probably his mother. I hate them. President Snow, I think his name was? I'm too scatterbrained and upset to even remember.

I thought it was just a book trilogy. I mean, it was much more than that, but I never thought about it being real! I never imagined that, somewhere in a different galaxy, there would actually be a Hunger Games. Where innocent children fight to the death, where parents cry and siblings and grandparents...where people are dying while these neon clothed idiots sit here and watch it like it's just a game. Like real people aren't dying. Real teenagers, that never did anything wrong. They didn't deserve this. No one does. This is sick.

I didn't realize that I had been crying until the Doctor grabs me and asks me if I'm okay.

I let out a small sob. "I'm fine." I say, wiping away tears. "I hate this." I whisper.

"Horrible, isn't it?" The Doctor asks, not taking his eyes away from the screen. He's watching the children from district 9 get reaped. "I know you don't want to be here, Emma," he starts.

My name is Emma. All of this and I almost completely forgot my own name.

"But trust me." He looks at me in the eyes, his blue/green eyes twinkling. "Trust me."

A tear runs down my cheek. He cares for me. He wants me to trust him. I straighten my back and point to the TV. "Was the boy from 5 the kid that we're supposed to help?"

"Yes. Andrew Zusak. Genius 12 year old with a loving younger sister and older brother. It is sad he was picked. But don't worry," He winks, "we'll get him out of there."

I smile, thinking that I'm doing the right thing.

Then I feel a pain in my chest. Or did I? Was it the guilt the punched me when I realized that I would have to kill 23 other teenagers in order to get Andrew out? I'm so confused.

"Doctor?" I ask.

The Doctor perks his head up. "Yes?"

"I want to lie down for a while. May I borrow a pen and paper?"

"Of course." He says. He hands me a yellow post-it note and a blue pen.

So I start to write. And eventually I'm lost. So lost I don't even know what I'm writing even though I know that I'm writing.

After what feels like about five or six minutes, I feel the need to stop. My wrist hurts. How much have I written? Apparently both sides of the paper and up my arm. What is wrong with me? I read what I wrote. Maybe it'll help me think.

ᗰY ᑎᗩᗰE Iᔕ Eᗰᗰᗩ, ᗩᑎᗪ I'ᗰ ᔕI᙭TEEᑎ YEᗩᖇᔕ Oᒪᗪ. I'ᗰ ᕼEᖇE Iᑎ ᑭᗩᑎEᗰ TEᗩᐯEᒪIᑎG ᗯITᕼ TᕼE ᗪOᑕTOᖇ. YEᔕ TᕼE ᗪOᑕTOᖇ! I ᑕᗩᑎ'T ᖇEᗩᒪᒪY ᗷEᒪIEᐯE IT. ᕼE'ᔕ ᐯEᖇY ᕼᗩᑎᗪᔕOᗰE. I ᗰIᔕᔕ ᗰY ᗰOᗰ ᗩᑎᗪ ᗪᗩᗪ ᗩᑎᗪ ᖴᖇIEᑎᗪᔕ. I ᗯᗩᔕ ᗩTTᗩᑕKEᗪ ᗷY ᗰᗩTᕼ TEᗩᑕᕼEᖇ. ᕼOᗯ ᒪOᑎG ᗩGO ᗯᗩᔕ TᕼᗩT? YEᔕTEᖇᗪᗩY? ᒪᗩᔕT ᗯEEK? IT ᖴEEᒪᔕ ᒪIKE IT ᗯᗩᔕ ᔕO ᒪOᑎG ᗩGO. I'ᗰ TᖇYIᑎG TO ᕼEᒪᑭ ᗩ ᗷOY ᑎᗩᗰEᗪ ᗩᑎᗪᖇEᗯ ᑎOT TO ᗪIE, ᗷᑌT I ᕼᗩᐯE TO ᕼEᒪᑭ KIᒪᒪ 23 KIᗪᔕ Iᑎ TᕼE ᑭᖇOᑕEᔕᔕ. I ᕼᗩᐯE ᗩ ᕼEᗩᗪᗩᑕᕼE, ᗰᑌᔕT ᗷE TᕼE TIᗰE TᖇᗩᐯEᒪIᑎG. I'ᐯE (OᗷᐯIOᑌᔕᒪY) ᑎEᐯEᖇ TIᗰE TᖇᗩᐯEᒪEᗪ ᗷEᖴOᖇE. I'ᗰ ᗩ ᑕOᑎᖴᑌᔕEᗪ TEEᑎᗩGEᖇ. I ᗪOᑎ'T KᑎOᗯ ᗯᕼᗩT TO ᗪO. I TᕼOᑌGᕼT I ᗯOᑌᒪᗪ ᒪOᐯE ᗷEIᑎG ᗯITᕼᕼE ᗪOᑕTOᖇ. ᗪOᑎ'T GET ᗰE ᗯᖇOᑎG, I ᗪO. ᗷᑌT...I ᗪOᑎ'T KᑎOᗯ. I ᒍᑌᔕT-

GTG ᗪOᔕ

I look at what I wrote, what was that at the end? Gtg, that means got to go. What does DOS mean? POS means parents over shoulder, which means...

And that's why I felt the need to stop. I look up and see the Doctor.

He smiles. "Aww, do you really think I'm handsome?" He asks.

My eyes widen in terror.

"Ah! Doctor! How long have you been there??" I scream.

"Sorry to intrude, dear" He starts. He sounds sincerely sorry. "I just wanted to know what you were thinking about. I read your paper...I am honestly sorry. You're just the strangest companion I've ever had, I believe. You're the youngest, for sure, and I just wanted to get to know you better."

My heart beats a mile a minute. He called me his companion.

"I-um-sorry" I say.

"Don't be." He smiles. "Would you like some dinner?"