Anonymous

Train

We're on a train now. It's eerie that I can't feel us moving, not at all. It's as if we're perfectly still, although we're movie faster than I can see.

My room is opulent, decorated and clean as fresh snow. But I ache to leave this gilded cage and go run in the woods we're passing through. The windows are strong, plastic rather than glass. I suppose that the door to my room is locked, what with the events after the reaping.

I'm still not Theresa Linen, but no one believes that. Not my district partner, not Lucilla Alsteed, not the woman I saw earlier with the brown hair and dagger eyes. I heard her say that she was a mentor, but I have no clue what that is. I don't really care, either.

There are clothes in the drawers, and I take the chance to shed mine and put on new ones. Denim pants, a cotton shirt, and new socks. I keep my shoes, as there aren't any sneakers in the drawers. Only heels and flats. I pull a comb through my hair, tying it back when I'm done. It's barely long enough, but I don't care. I fasten the silver pendant around my neck.

My door is still locked, although I'm sure they'll unlock it at some point. After all, I can't participate in this death tournament if I'm locked in my room. I'm not sure how long it'll be until we get to the Capitol, but considering I have a bedroom, I'm fairly sure that it'll be at least overnight. I can't do much now to escape, but I need to rest. I lie down on the bed, allowing myself to relax and drift off to sleep.

When I wake, the sun has shifted some. I feel rested, and my door is unlocked when I check. I steal silently down the hallway, finding the mentor woman, the boy, and Lucilla Alsteed sitting on the couch.

They don't notice me, and I stand there for a moment, trying to decide what to do. Servers are placing food on the dining room table, the aroma wafting towards me. We'll probably eat dinner soon. I could get a knife during dinner, possibly, and steal some food. Of course, a simple dinner knife wouldn't be good for much, but still better than nothing.

They're watching one of the reapings on the television, I don't know for which district. It's not ours. "You're going to love the Capitol, Nolan," Lucilla says. The boy nods.

The mentor woman- Dawn, I heard Lucilla say- turns her head for an instant and catches sight of me. "Hello, Theresa."

That's not my name, but if I'm going to get anywhere with these people I have to go with it. I nod, not saying anything.

"Come sit with us," Lucilla says. Her coral hair is no longer smoothed down, but curled around her ears. Her makeup is a little more pronounced, her yellow frock replaced with a sleeveless party dress.

I nod again, deciding that it's better to keep silent and play obedient. Slowly, I move from my position by the wall and walk over to the couch. I gingerly lower myself down, not wanting to relax in front of them. I'm not quite sure what I should be doing, but I feign interest in the reaping.

After a minute, Nolan stands up. "I'll be in my room if you need me," he says, walking away. Is he leaving me to answer to Lucilla and Dawn?

"We're about to have dinner," Lucilla calls after him.

"I'll be out to eat in a few minutes," he sneers. "Just need to be alone." Nolan leaves, and I'm alone with them.

We sit in silence for a few minutes, watching the reaping. And then ours comes on, allowing me to see what everyone else saw during the reaping. Lucilla walking up to the stage, perky as ever. Mayor Selvage talking. Then the names in the glass bowls, mine being drawn. I'm dragged to the stage, and escorted inside when I begin to protest. Nolan stands alone next to Lucilla. And then it's over, District 9's is coming on, and there's a break.

"I suppose we can have dinner now," Lucilla says in an airy tone. "I'll find Nolan." She returns a minute later with him in tow, and she sits down to eat.

Dawn sits next to her, and I sit next to Nolan. Lucilla strikes up conversation as a person in a white tunic pulls the lid off of a roast chicken. She chatters for a bit, switching topics between Dawn and occasionally Nolan. But Dawn takes her chance during the time when Lucilla stops to eat, addressing us directly.

"So," she starts. " Do you two have family? Or..."

Nolan sets down his fork, but I continue eating as if she never asked. Nolan speaks, and I listen. "My mother and father died in the rebellion. So did my fiance's parents. She had her baby before the reaping, today." He looks to me. "What about you?"

I'm unsure of what to say. Explain my own situation? Claim to be an orphan? Or make something up? These people know nothing about me except that I said I wasn't Theresa Linen. And I'm not, but they don't believe that.

Instead of answering, I look down at my plate and fold my hands in my lap.

Nolan picks up his fork again. "I understand if it's hard for you to talk about it," he says. "You should've seen how I acted for a while after my parents died. It's so hard to even explain. Let's just say," he finishes his bite, "I was so damn mad."

"Language," Lucilla says. A nasty look twists her face, but it's gone in a moment and the smile is back.

He rolls his eyes. "Whatever," he mumbles.

"My parents aren't dead," I blurt out. "Just gone." And they are. They could be dead, but they aren't here. Just gone.

He raises an eyebrow. "What do you mean, 'just gone'?" he asks. " Do you know what they look like? I could've maybe seen them before."

"No." My answer is curt and clipped, and I'm realizing that it was a mistake to bring them up. I should have claimed to be an orphan.

"Oh." Nolan's answer is a bit of surprise twisted in a deflating balloon. He goes back to eating as Dawn and Lucilla start talking again. But he doesn't give up. A minute later, he speaks. "So, Theresa, tell me about yourself."

I take a sip of water and put the glass back down, as if I'm about to speak. But I pick my fork back up instead and return to my chicken.

Nolan goes back to eating, slightly dejected, and I blank out the sounds of Lucilla's chatter. Time passes, neither of us speaking.

Finally, Nolan speaks. "Well-" he wipes his face, "I'm beat, 'night guys." He stands and heads to his room.

After a minute, I follow, going to my own. I'm not tired, but I can't stand to be out there. My hand is on the doorknob when I hear someone clear their throat.

I turn my head, and it's an attendant. He holds out his hand, beckoning me to hand over the knife. I plaster a look of irritation on my face as I dig the butter knife out of my pocket and give it to him. He tucks it away as I slam my door behind me.

I wait a few minutes, brushing my teeth and pulling my covers back before I uncover the second knife from the folds of my blouse. As if I'd be dense enough to hide a knife in my pocket.