The 55th Hunger Games

Chapter 3

        When the anthem finishes playing, the sea of people before me begin to surge out of the square in waves. Peacekeepers come from every direction surrounding Samantha and I. They herald us back, down the stairs and through the tall Justice Building doors behind the podium. The peacekeepers surround us tightly on all sides.

        Do they expect us to try and escape? If we somehow managed it, how on earth do they expect us to get out of District Seven's mighty boundary? Maybe we would be pressing their time schedule if we tried to escape.

        When we are all inside and the doors are shut behind us we are shunted towards a wall with a silver section in the middle of it. One of the few peacekeepers who came through the door with us presses an arrow button on the wall. The metal in the wall splits in half and retracts into the walls at either side. A small compartment is revealed behind it. The word elevator comes to mind.

        A peacekeeper nudges me in the back, telling me to step inside. I do so, and so does Samantha. Two of the four peacekeepers who are with us follow us in, while the other two remain outside. One of the peacekeepers in the compartment with us pushes another arrow button and the doors shut.

        The compartment gives a sudden, almost sickening jolt, and it feels us though my trembling legs are being pressed into the ground as we rise.

        Not long later the compartment comes to a rather unpleasant stop. The door opens again and one of the peacekeepers leads me off down a hall and into a room with a door.

        I step into it, and the peacekeeper tells me to be comfortable and to wait before shutting the door behind me.

        Oh, I hadn't been thinking clearly. This must be the time I am given to say my last goodbyes to my loved ones.

        I cross the plush room very slowly on legs which barely hold me up. I sit down stiffly on a couch made of cool, smooth material. This must be leather. My grandfather had a chair made of similar material to this at his home before he died.

        The room is warmly lit and vases of delicate flowers rest on book shelves and cabinets. Pictures of beautiful forests hang on the walls. The small coffee table in front of me is made of chestnut - a warm, rich wood I recognise in an instant. On it is a platter of small round crumbly things, which I have learned are called biscuits from the food packages we received after Morry's victory. Beside the plate of biscuits, on the same tray, rests a silver kettle and a stack of mugs and tea bags. The kettle feels warm to touch, and it was surely set out for me and my family, but for about the first time in my life I have no desire to quench my inextinguishable hunger.

        I swing my legs up onto the couch and lie down. Despite the room's warm temperature, I feel freezing, or more accurately, frozen. I'm not sure if I am exactly cold, but my body is trembling, shaking, and jerking all over. There has not been a time in my life when I have felt so scared. I feel as though every moment I lie here is another wasted moment of my life spilling away.

        My eyes begin to sting from the bright light. When I blink, tears of what I feel is both misery and exhaustion spill from my eye lids.

        I am going into the Hunger Games. I will not win unless I kill someone and I cannot do that. I will never return to District 7. Tonight will be the last time I ever see my family.

        Then I really begin to cry. I do not try to rub my tears away, but let them come. I know this is a mistake. There will be cameras everywhere at the train station and my eyes will be red and puffy. But what do sponsors matter anyway? I will not win if I do not kill.