Prison Break: Book 2 (Hunger Games fanfic)

Chapter 5

Author's Note: SORRY FOR THE LONG WAIT! I've had way too much homework. I'm uploading this in science class cx. Dedicated to kittyky4774. Thanks for all your awesome comments! I will hopefully post soon. I just have to finish stupid algebra >.<  Well, here's the new chapter!

Cameras. Blinding lights. The clicking of reporters snapping pictures. The cackle of the press snapping on their microphones. The buzz of people asking questions in my ear. The stomping of feet. It reminds me of when I was first picked at the reaping. Except then, Crystal was by my side.

There are cameras packed for a block. They push and pull me, grabbing me by my clothes. I try and shield my eyes from the lights, but they keep surrounding me. Voices scream in my hear. I can barely move a muscle without smacking into someone. 

I try to back away from the crowd, but I end up tripping over someone and landing flat on my back. Hands reach out to help me, but I don't take any of them. I really don't trust anyone now. I have too many bad memories.

I get myself off the ground and dust myself off. I squint through the wave of people and spot Carly, just as cramped as I am. I nearly trip over someone else, but I get ahold of myself. I look all around at the cameras, the microphones, the reporters asking me questions.

"Quiet!" I try to yell, but my voice is barely heard over the roar of  people. "BE QUIET!" Nobody hears me. And those that do hear me just don't care. They keep swarming about, yelling things. "SILENCE!" This quiets things down a little bit, because the reporters are trying to get my every word on film. I sigh and cough into my hand. Finally, it's quiet.

"Thank you," I sigh out. I  look around. What do I do now? Luckily, I don't have to do anything, because a reporter suddenly bursts out over the crowd. "Zac, how are you handling the popularity of being the victor of the 25th Hunger Games?" I quickly respond, words flying out of my mouth. I don't even think about it, as if my muscles are moving by themselves, leaving my brain out to dry.

This goes on for hours. It must be high noon before the first interviewers begin to leave. But there are still many here, tightly packed around me. The blazing sun seems hotter than ever. It drains me of energy and weakens me. I crave for water, or a bite food, or a wink of rest. But these people just won't leave.

I think of running off several times. I almost did at one point, when a large and burly man tripped over another interviewer and almost landed square on top of me. Luckily, a woman pushed me out of the way before I could be squashed. The man sent a few other men and women tumbling down, and I think he broke his nose from that fall.

It's beginning to get dark, and the square is still about half full. I am exhausted from answering question after question. Sweat makes my clothes and hair cling to my skin. My tongue feels dried out. My stomach howls for food. And, what's really is bad, is I'm starting to get cranky.

"Zac, I must ask, how are you handling the popularity of being the victor of the 25th Hunger Games?" asks one scrawny interviewer.

"Honestly? Right now, I wish you would all get out of my face and give me a little room to breathe! I can't even make one step outside without being swarmed and covered by interviewers! And I just want things to go back to how they were before I won this stupid freak show. Now, can you give me some space here?" After this remark, people start leaving, grumbling ugly remarks about bad manners. I almost feel bad as the man's face falls and he slumps away. But, I've wasted an entire day answering questions, and I'm exhausted.

At last. the final group of interviewers leave, but it's already past sundown, and it's dark outside. A cool breeze drifts down the Victor's Village, sending a shiver down my spine. Besides the footsteps of the final interviewers leaving, the place is eerily quiet. Something growls in the background, and I bring my arms close to my body for warmth, looking around.

The bare, November trees sway lightly in the wind. The dead leaves that litter the ground rustle and skitter across the pavement. The golden fountain in the middle of the Victor's Village trickles with water, queer in the night sky. A half moon glows softly on all that lies below, giving a silver gleam to the night sky.

The stars are breathtakingly beautiful. It looks as if a black tarp had been laid over a starry field. There are thousands of twinkling lights, all held captive of their own beauty. I stare in awe at them for several minutes, caught in a trance.

Finally, I trudge inside after a long day. I flick the light switch, only to remember that I don't yet have electricity. Oh well, I think. I don't mind the dark. The light of the moon if enoughto see the bare house.

I trudge to my room (I've taken over the master bedroom) , my dolled up clothes torn and ragged from crazy interviewers begging for just one of their questions answered. I drag my almost numb body over to the shower and turn it on, but nothing comes out. I sigh. I have yet to turn on the water.

I walk lazily over to the kitchen and open up the pantry door. I forgot again. The cupboard is bare empty, not a piece of food in sight. I sigh and find a place on the musty ground to sleep. I curl into a ball and rest my head on my arms. I close my eyes. and let sleep take over me, dreaming about Crystal.