☞︎ℍ𝕦𝕟𝕘𝕖𝕣 𝔾𝕒𝕞𝕖𝕤 ~ 𝔸𝕞𝕖𝕥𝕙𝕪𝕤𝕥'𝕤 𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕪 ☜︎

~On the train~

Chapter dedicated to EllezaraRae for the amazing cover, tysm! <3

This story is currently undergoing editing, so please point out any errors you see and I'll fix them. Thanks for reading!

I sit on the small wooden stool for what seems like hours. In reality, It's probably only a few minutes, but I'm not sure what's happening and I'm bored. 

Maybe this is visiting time, and my mother declined to visit me. That does seem like something she would do: not even saying goodbye to her daughter who was about to travel to her death, just because we had a petty argument. 

It also seems like something I would do, so maybe that's where I get it from. 

After what feels like days, the door opens again and peacekeepers force me out. I get a brief glimpse of the square, with people already filing out, before I'm ushered onto the luxurious train and the door slides shut behind me, leaving the peacekeepers behind.

Turning around, I walk down the hallway, eventually finding a large sitting room with plush chairs and tables set with fancy attire. I sit in a pale green chair, and stroke the velvety fabric while I think. 

I miss my father. I always have. I never even knew him, I was only a little toddler when he and my older sister ran away. To join the rebellion, they said, to find District 13 and stop the Capitol. Like District 13 is even real. Like that'll ever happen. 

Maybe my mother just made them up, in a moment when she was really trying to aggravate me. But if they exist, they're dead now, it's almost certain. And I've learned to live with it. It's not my problem anymore. 

The sound of a throat clearing makes my head snap up. A young woman is standing in front of me, her brown hair spiky and her expression both bored and hostile. I recognize her as Johanna Mason, victor of whatever hunger games some years ago and apparently now my mentor. 

She gives me a look, her eyebrows raised into her chaotic hairline, and I scowl back at her. 

"So. You're Amethyst, huh?" she asks. I nod. 

"Are you any good with an ax? Those tributes last year could barely lift one. Don't tell me you're like that." I nod, hoping my expression seems hostile enough that she will just think I'm sullen, not shy. Because I'm not shy; and I don't want anyone thinking I am.

"Not very talkative, huh? Aw, c'mon. I'm your mentor. You can talk to me." She smiles, but not in a reassuring way. More in a murderous clown way, which doesn't exactly make me trust her more. 

"Uh, sure," I say, not sounding nearly as sullen as I want to. 

"I can lift an ax, and I'm pretty good with one. I would say," I speak again, and she nods. 

"Good. Training is at six, right after dinner. You'll be training with that other one, whatever his name is, and my mentoring partner, Blight. Don't be late." She turns on her heel and struts out, leaving me to my thoughts. 

"Well, she's friendly," I mutter under my breath, then sink back into my chair. 

I wonder about the other tribute--Adair? He looks pretty normal. Strong, so I'll have to watch out for him in the arena. 

I think I've got more a survival instinct than him though, so maybe I'm stronger in some ways. Well, I hope I've got a better survival instinct. It's thrown me out of the way of a few falling trees, but that's it. I don't really know much about him anyways. 

I think about my sister. I wonder if I'll ever meet her. Probably not. 

I don't think my mother made her up, considering how her eyes always sparkle with tears when I ask about her. She wouldn't cry for her made-up daughter. 

She didn't even cry for me, so that's showing something. 

She didn't even visit me in the Justice Building, not even to say her last goodbyes. 

Well, good for her. I didn't want to see her anyways. 

The sound of the door to the compartment sliding open with a whoosh of air reaches my ears. I look up to see the dark-haired boy, Adair, stepping in. He sits on a darker green chair next to me. I ignore him. 

"What do you think our strategy will be this year? For the games?" he asks, actually sounding like he wants to make friendly conversation. I look up. He has tear tracks on his face, and his eyes are red. He was probably crying with his family. His family who loves him. His friends who love him. Unlike mine.

"There is no 'our' strategy. Only one tribute is going to survive." My voice sounds hostile, which is exactly how I want it to sound. I don't want an ally. We'll both probably die anyways, and I don't want to die looking soft. 

"Alright, fine. You don't want to talk about that, I get it. But just trying to make small talk--what d'you think the costumes'll look like this year?" He tries again. I almost hiss, he's annoying. 

"Trees. Like every year since the very first Hunger Games. Plain old trees." I look out the window, watching said trees fly by at such high speeds you'd think the train would disintegrate.

"Well, uh, okay. Who visited you in the Justice Building, anyways? During visiting hours? I thought I saw a woman enter--was she your mom?" he asks, sounding somewhat curious. I glare at him. So it was visiting time, and my mother decided not to come. And now this rude boy is making fun of me for it. I can't believe I ever--briefly--thought that maybe, we could be allies.

"Nobody visited me in the Justice Building. Not one single person. My family's all dead except for my mother, who hates me. So back off," I snarl, and get up, the polished wooden floor rocking slightly beneath me. 

I consider throwing my pale green pillow at this annoying boy, but veto the thought when someone enters, the door opening with another whoosh of air. 

I push past them, stomping my way into the hallway and not even pausing to see who they are.

All of the other tributes probably had at least one person visit them. Someone in their family. Their friends. Maybe even someone who'd just admired them and wanted to say goodbye. 

I had none of those people. My mother hates me. I've never had a friend. And no one, no one, in all of District Seven admires me. 

I'm not sure if anyone in Seven even notices me, anymore.