Chapter Nine, In The Games

❝ it was the end of a decade, ❞

❝ and the start of an age. ❞

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"THEY'LL PUT ALL KINDS OF STUFF RIGHT IN FRONT, RIGHT IN THE MOUTH OF the Cornucopia." Haymitch describes, preparing me for my entry in the arena. However, his words don't mean that much to me, I am too preoccupied picking at my nails and trying to breathe to concentrate on frivolous instructions.

This was it. The moment I had been dreading, the moment I could never be prepared for enough. The Hunger Games. Who knows what might happen in the arena, what kind of obstacle they'll confront me with, who might die at my hand. I think of my home, my sister, Gale, who I might never see again. 

This was all hitting me hard, I felt dizzy with apprehension and terrified that the games might not go as I had planned: me winning.

"Jade, listen to me. They'll even be knives there, but don't go for them." I hear my mentor advise, causing my eyes to widen.

This statement alerts me all over. Then, what will I have to defend myself with? How will I actually survive without my chosen weapon?

"But I need to. To fight." I respond, tugging at the strands of my hair laying on my shoulders, not managing to imagine my victory without my knives sitting at my belt.

"Don't. It's a bloodbath, they're trying to pull you in. That's not your game." Haymitch fiercely snaps back, sending me the daggers through his gaze. 

I choose to nod, sending my mentor a small smile, trying to reassure him on his worries concerning my impulses.

"All you need to is turn, find high ground, look for water. Water is your new best friend. Oh, and don't step off that pedestal early, they'll blow you sky high." Haymitch comments, watching my expression.

"Exciting." I reply, staring at the elevator doors as they open, revealing the giant hovercraft I was compelled to enter. 

The sun causes my eyes to squint, and I stop as Haymitch grabs my shoulders and shakes me a little.

"Jade, you can do this." he says, warmly smiling at me, trying to be supportive as I'm about to board a train whose final stop could turn into my worst tragedy.

When I peer into his cerulean iris', I can't help but feel my lips quirk up a little. Haymitch Abernathy is nowhere near perfect, but I had grown to appreciate his company and advice, despite our rocky beginning.

"Thank you, Haymitch. For everything" I finally whisper. 

I'm grateful that my mentor had, despite my pessimistic expectations, been helpful, and at times, one of my only friends. I turn around and head to the hovercraft where the other tributes await.

My steps are shaky and slow, and my heart hammers in my chest. I try to control my uncoordinated breathing, letting small puffs of air leave my trembling lips.

The Hovercraft is gigantic, and I feel intimated by its size. Yet, I board it, despite my whole body ordering me to run away, and to not look back. I shake my head, my hands taking the form of tight fists at my side.

Nothing would ever be the same again.

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"Give me your arm."

My ears collect the distinct orders that are being spread around, all instructing the same thing.

"Give me your arm."

My eyes sweep the closeted space before a woman approaches me, equally ordering me to hand out my arm. I hesitantly follow the protocol, knowing I have no real choice, but I still ask, pointing at the thick needle, "What's that for?".

"It's your tracker." she replies, her tone cold and chilling.

I wince as she directly plunges it in my arm, pain accompanying her action. A shining light appears under my skin, seems to travel until my shoulder and then slowly fades. 

I look up and scan the other tributes. My eyes land on Cato's, whose gaze is already pinned on myself. To my surprise, the corners of his mouth turn into a sly smile, that I hesitantly return.

Afterwards, Peeta's brown, soft eyes collide with mine, and I feel responsible for the boy, and sincerely wish him the best in the games. 

He reminds me of home, peace, and warm bread, just out of the oven, which is such a rare delicacy for us families in the Seam. 

Rue, the little girl from 11, is sitting next to him, her hands shaking between her thighs. Waves of pity and sadness crash into me as I thought of the slim chance of her making it out of the perilous games.

The hovercraft bolts, ready to send us to the arena. This is it.

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Two Peacekeepers walk at my side, leading me into a room where a transparent tube would supposedly shoot me and direct me to the arena. 

As I enter it, Cinna's presence sends floods of relief, and he envelops me into a tight, comforting hug. Nevertheless, the embrace felt like a reminder of what I was about to get myself into. The more time passes, the more my hands shake, the more my bottom lips quiver.

"Here, for you." Cinna says as he helps me out on a rain coat, designed specifically for the arena. 

Silently, he uncovers a part of the coat to reveal the pin Prim had given me, the mockingjay. I gasp, thankful to have a souvenir from home, from the person I loved most, my angel little sister.

"Thank you." I whisper, trying to make my smile seem genuinely grateful as he zips my coat back on.

"Thirty seconds." a robotic voice exclaims, interrupting the moment. I had trouble staying steady on my legs, feeling like I was a second away from passing out of pure, complete fear and dread.

"I'm not allowed to bet, but if I could, I'd bet on you." Cinna states, kissing me on the cheek. I can't answer, because I'm scared that if I do, a revealing tear might glide onto my face. Instead, I just let him hold me, while the same, robot voice claims "Twenty seconds".

Breathing heavily, I enter the small space the tube offers me, clinging onto the clear glass, knowing this was it. The beginning of it all. The beginning of the my new life.

This is it. I had to accept it. This new obstacle has been thrust onto me, and, like every other challenge in my life, I was going to overcome it. Like my father's death, my mom's detachment, Prim's hunger. I was going to do everything in my power, not matter what kind of monster it made me.

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The wind hits my face, and I scan my whereabouts. I can't help but smile at the realisation: a forest. I had gotten lucky. I recognise the tall trees Gale and I usually get lost in, the smell of pinewood and the fresh, green grass below my feet. This definitely put the odds in my favour.

All the other tributes stand on the pedestals, all wearing a similar expression of dread.

My gaze lands on the Cornucopia, miles away from my position, and I notice a display of blades patiently waiting for my arrival. My eyebrows raise, and I realise how desperate I am for the weapon.

The blades would help me incredibly through out the games, and it would be stupid to let an opportunity fly past me.

I'm fast, and lethal if I have to be. I can do it. . .

I take a deep breath, watching the slow countdown ready to mark the beginning of it all. Despite Haymitch's clear instructions, I'm too drawn to the sight of my favourite weapons.

3 ...

2 ...

1 !

As the timer finally comes to an end, and it's time for me to go, I lunge off the pedestal and sprint as quickly as I possibly can. 

I can't help but smirk as I recall my mentor constantly pointing out my unwavering stubbornness. He always somehow knew I preferred to do things my own way.

I am one of the first tributes to have arrived and my hands quickly latch onto the belt of various, silver, beautiful murderous knives. Simultaneously, I grab a machete, and, as I notice blood spreading at my feet, I decide to make my way out.

Screams and grunts can be heard from all around me. I watch for an instant as the Careers ruthlessly kill anyone who gets in their way. Thankfully, my position had gone unnoticed and I get out of the bloodbath untouched.

I make quick eye contact with Cato Hadley as he rips apart a tribute, and I whip my vision back onto the forest, letting my legs transport me through the arena.

As I sprint back into the forest, my eyes land on a male tribute in front of me, a large bag hanging on his back, luring me in.

In the scarce minutes I was at the Cornucopia, I never reflected on also getting supplies for my survival, like matches, or even water. Just the lethal knives. 

Without hesitating, I pull out a short blade out of my belt, and forcibly throw it, while still running, into the boy's neck. Under the effect of my weapon, he directly falls onto the ground. 

I reach him in a second, retrieve my bloody knife and snatch the bag from his wriggling body. I don't even look at him and continue sprinting, exploring the woods, a place that ironically reminded me of warmth and security. I barely have time to realise I made my first kill.