The Mockingjay Died: The Fourth Quarter Quell

Train: District 3/District 4

~District 3~

(Lissy Stonewall's POV)

This can't be real. This velvet couch I'm sitting on can't be real. That huge TV that's bigger than me, replaying the reapings, can't be real. The scenery flashing by out the window, proving that I'm zooming farther and farther away from home, can't be real. None of this is real. If I close my eyes, maybe I'll wake up back in my room. Maybe I'm just dreaming.

But I'm not dreaming, and I know it. Claire is doing her best to stay strong for me, but I can see that she's scared as well.

I realize that I've been holding Claire's hand like a lifeline since we mounted the steps to the stage, and slowly pull it out of her grasp. She smiles slightly at me, then at the dark-haired girl sitting on the other side of the compartment, glaring out the window.

"Hello," Claire says. The girl, Sibyl, I think, doesn't say anything, or even acknowledge that she heard my sister. Claire frowns, and moves a little closer. "Hello," she says, louder.

Sibyl turns around, glaring at Claire. "Shut up," she growls. Claire moves back, startled. Sibyl, satisfied that she's gotten her point across, turns back to the window.

"Ok then..." Claire turns back to me.

"Sibyl's weird," the boy, Thomas, calls from the table. He's been stuffing himself with food ever since we got on the train, but I guess he's done because he gets up and saunters over to us.

When he's right next to me, he leans down and hisses, "She almost killed me once." I flinch at his breath tickling my ear, and instinctively scoot away.

Claire glares at him. "Yeah, right. Sure she did."

"I did," Sibyl says, still staring out the window. It's a little creepy how she talks without moving.

Thomas smiles triumphantly at Claire, then plops down on the couch next to her. "See? I don't lie." He adds, "Good luck in the arena, Lissy."

"Tha-"

"You'll need it!" He bursts into laughter. Claire takes the moment to slap him on the shoulder, and he scoots farther away from us.

"Come on," Claire says presently. "Let's go find our rooms." She helps me up, then leads the way out of the compartment.

We find our rooms easily, and end up sitting on my bed with the door locked. Claire takes my hair out of its braid and starts brushing it.

"Claire?" I say quietly, after a moment. "I don't want to die."

"And you won't," she says, in the same preoccupied tone she'd use to tell someone the time of day.

"But I don't want you to die!"

"Let's not talk about that right now, ok?" Her voice is a bit strained now.

I dejectedly go over the events of the Reaping in my head as Claire starts to French braid my hair. Standing with the other girls. Hearing my name. Walking up the steps. It seems like a bad dream, and I desperately want to wake up, but it's not a dream. It's reality. I'll probably never see Mom or Dad, or Colin or Steven or Will or Harvey, or Anna, ever again. As Claire braids my hair, I start crying. And she hugs me, holding me, and rocking me. And we stay that way until dinner.

~~~~

(Sibyl Phillips's POV)

I'm normally a nice person. However, I see no reason to ally myself with those pathetic excuses for tributes that just left the room, and if they aren't my allies, they're my enemies. And I refuse to be nice to my enemies.