The Hunger Games (A Fanfiction)

Chapter 12 (Part 1 of 2)

Myla's P.O.V.

I look out my train window, watching the city, The Capitol, flicker by, as if I had never been there at all.

I'm off to go through every District in Panem on a train, and give a little speech, because that's what the Champion of the Hunger Games is supposed to do. This will be the most traumatic experience of my life. Well, the second most.

These Games have left a mark on me.

I look down at my hands. Calluses across my palm, lining where I would hold my bow, little cuts on my fingers from touching arrow tips and signs of rubbing irritation all over my arms. The Capitol did its best to clean me up, to make me look better, but somethings you can't get rid of. Some memories never fade, but you wish they would. A scar is where my heart was. Following me around, haunting my every waking hour, making me so scared of myself that I can't fall asleep. I just want to sleep and slip away, but it always shocks me back. Sends shiver down my spine and leaves me wondering who truly is my friend, or if friendship actually exists. It doesn't. It never could.

I feel a shadow walk in, telling me we'll be leaving for the first District soon. I nod my head, not paying attention to anything. The shadow fades away and doesn't bother to close the door.

I sit up and straighten my dress, in all of its velvety, artificial loveliness. My pumps scrape the edges of my feet. I try to ignore it, but it gnaws at the edge of my mind. I walk up to the door. I hear a speaker say in the distance, "And now, here is the 65th Hunger Games Champion! Myla Ross!" The doors open without a noise, and I step out.

I'm out on a stage, adorned with sparkles and chips of diamonds around the edge. District 1, Where Ella was from. The curtain is taken away and I'm left there, speechless, stuck in the middle of an audience who expect something from me. I look out at their faces. They're all staring at me like they were saying, 'Well, you gonna say anything, or are you just wasting our time?' I clutch onto the microphone, my mouth dry. I mumble some gibberish about how pretty their District was, and how I wish I could visit sometime. It was all a lie, and they could tell, but they just clapped and I left without another word.

Next stop, District 2. Canyon's District.

Oh no.

I step onto their stage. It was dusty, but very well built. Metal beams soaring above me, strong and resilient. Metal rods poked out from the very edge, creating a bit of wall between me and the audience. Maybe not a very good sign. The crowd appeared, almost seeming out of nowhere, but I just hadn't noticed the curtain had moved. They all looked surprisingly like Canyon. Almost all had curly hair, in different shapes and forms. They all looked very well built and like they could easily beat me up. Especially the teenagers. They all just stared at me, waiting. I started mumbling just like before. Talking about their District, how I had heard they had a sort of brotherhood bond, how impressed I was by their tributes every year, when suddenly I saw some movement in the audience. I saw two boys, one with blond hair, the other with red-ish hair, and they exchanged some money between themselves. I was a bit confused, but I continued with my lies. Then, when my speech was almost over, a person exclaimed from the crowd, "Thank you for killing Naya!" I stopped, and leaned closer to the microphone. "Excuse me...what did you say...?" I ask. "I said, thank you for killing Naya! She deserves it for killing Canyon!" Another joined in. "Yeah! He was so going to win, but at least you killed the asshole who killed him!" "Yeah!" The crowd roared and I was ushered out early.

They don't understand.

They have no idea what it's like to be out there.

To kill someone is not a service.