The Hunger Games: Mashup

Chapter Eighteen

District 3

“Hi there!” squealed the announcer. Hotaru looked up at the announcer with her emotionless eyes. She would be cold and calm. She would not show fear. District 3 was usually described as “easy pickings” within the game. Only the most intelligent tribute of her district survived past the first few minutes of the game, and even then, their chances of winning was slim. If she got in, Hotaru wasn't counting on winning. She was more concerned with disappearing as quickly as possible so as not to distress Mikan. Her parents had forced her into a pink dress with poofy sleeves and top. The skirt flowered down to her ankles. Her parents had splurged on the occasion and bought her adorable sandals with flowers on the top to match. Hotaru had accepted it coolly. Although she disliked dressing up as a girl, she allowed it because A.) It made her parents happy, and B.) It might be the last day they see her.

The girl up on the podium looked only a couple years older than her, but her fashion sense radiated Capitol style. She wore a uniform that looked a lot like a sailor outfit, but with a matching blue skirt instead of pants. She wore a pink bow in her hair, and her amber hair shone bright in the sun. Her eyes were a brilliant hazel and you could see pink tattoos covering the extent of her body.

“I'm your announcer, Renge Hoshakuji! It's lovely to be in District 3, ladies and gentleman!” she squealed happily. Hotaru sighed, brushing back a strand of hair. She felt a squeeze on her hand and she looked over to see Mikan moving to stand next to her. Mikan's face was pale, but she gave Hotaru a brave smile. Hotaru smiled back at her. She didn't want Mikan to be sad. Besides, they were only thirteen. Their names had only been in there three times. That was less than 1% of her population. She wasn't too worried.

Yet, what was this burning anticipation in her gut, as if a bomb was about to fall upon her at any moment.

It's as if the Grim Reaper of Death is hovering over me. As I stand here, his scythe is at my neck, waiting for hell's verdict on whether I shall join their depths tonight or not, Hotaru thought to herself, a bead of sweat breaking out on her forehead. She couldn't breath, so she touched her throat, forcing herself to take quiet, calm, and slow breaths. She would not show Panem how weak she was. If anything, she would at least try to present herself as a threat before the reality showed itself to the other tributes within the arena.

“On to the Reaping, shall we?” asked Renge, her bubbly personality nauseatingly sweet and fake. She skipped over to the ball where the girl's names were. Hotaru kept giving herself small instructions.

Breathe. Relax your shoulders. Take another deep breath. That's it. Swallow your fear. It's all going to be over in a second, she kept telling herself. Renge dug her hand into the ball, and you could hear her manicured nails scraping the bottom of the ball, searching for which misfortunate soul to be picked for horror. Suddenly, Hotaru knew who's name was in the jar before Renge had even opened the slip.

“Mikan,” she whispered suddenly. “Cover your ears,” said Hotaru. Mikan looked over at her in surprise, confusion, and hurt spilling out of her features.

“But—“

“Do it,” she ordered her. Hotaru's voice was steady, but her throat was thick with conflicting emotions. Mikan blinked back her shock but slowly put her hands over her heads. Hotaru touched Mikan's forehead and ran her fingers down, closing Mikan's eyes gently.

“Hotaru Imai! You are the lucky girl chosen to be in the 13th Hunger Games! Come on up here, please!” said Renge happily immediately after Hotaru blocked out Mikan's senses. Hotaru swallowed hard, her fingers fluttering away from her best friend.

So that's what my gut was telling me, she thought softly. A single tear fell down her face, but she shook it back with her hair, as if it wasn't there. She strode up to the stage, and she saw Mikan's eyes were still shut. Her hands were on her ears, as if nothing happened. However, Hotaru knew Mikan had figured it out. She knew from the breeze that brushed by her as Hotaru left her side, the echo of the mike bouncing around her skull, even covering her ears, and from the tears that traced themselves down her face from beneath her closed eyelids. Hotaru sighed to herself unhappily.

Sorry, Mikan. It looks like I won't be able to see your lovely smile any more, thought Hotaru. Before she knew it, the name was drawn for the boy tribute for the games.

“Jeremy Belpolis!”

Hotaru's head snapped up in shock and she looked over at the boy. He strode up to the stage, his knees shaking with every step.

“Jeremy,” she whispered. Jeremy Belpolis gave her a small, weak smile.

“Hello, Hotaru,” he told her softly. She gave him a small smile.

“So, it's just us now?” she asked him. He nodded at her. She closed her eyes in prayer. “I guess...The odds were never in my favor to begin with,” she told him.

“Me neither,” he said. They nodded at each other, and suddenly, their eyes were closed off. Jeremy couldn't stand to see Hotaru look so sad, so he looked away from her. He was the only one in their district who could tell exactly what she was thinking and how she was feeling, based on her looks alone. It didn't matter if it was obvious or not, he was the only person who got her. And now, Hotaru would be forced to kill him.

Jeremy's blonde hair blew back in the wind and he adjusted the glasses on the bridge of his nose.

They were both thinking the same thing.

Neither of them would see the end of the Games.