Final Reality (THG Fanfic)

Chapter VIII

Two days of training, coaching, and bonding go by. Each day, Cathal and I and the tributes grow closer together. Sometimes we even get into conversations with the careers, sharing jokes and discussing the Quell. I say sometimes, when really it only happened this afternoon before our private sessions with the gamemakers. I even engaged in a tight conversation with Pommel, despite our indifferences. It wasn’t anything to do with the Games though; we talked about home and our families and friends. The conversation seemed to make us forget about his “anger issues” and the Games altogether. Quent got the chance to apologize to Violet about shooting her in the ass with an arrow on the first day, and as you would expect, he pulled her into a tight embrace. He has hugged every single one of us at least once, and let me tell you, no matter how cold-blooded, how shy, or how much of a dick you are, you just can’t resist returning his hugs. Quent brings a smile to your face whatever the situation and he usually seems to know the right thing to say at the right moments. Usually.

I’ve gotten closer with a lot of the younger tributes, especially Primrose, Zara, Tobee and Maddie from District 10. We all hung out around the ropes course, and let them paint me into a meadow in the camouflage station. Cathal got pretty comfy with Rion the other day – it was the cutest thing ever, I ship that! And he’s also gained the trust of half the tributes. Everyone’s become more social and close, and we’re all making the most with what we have left. But we all know it’s all going to end the moment we step into those glass tubes, because whatever has happened happened. The ties will be broken and the memories will fade. And it pains me to know how, at the end of next week, half of us could possibly be dead. Our cannons sounded. Our blood spilt. But here we are now. Laughing at Quent walking up down the aisle as if he’s on the catwalk. Singing childhood songs with Yorke from Twelve and Theo from Eight. Waiting for Hugo’s name to be called for our private sessions with the gamemakers. I’m trapped in one of Quent’s hugs when the computerised voice calls for the first tribute to report to the gym. Hugo stands up, straightens his clothes, and gives us a remorseful smile before he walks in. We shout our good lucks before the door closes behind him, and then we are left in silence. Everyone returns to their seats while the atmosphere hangs heavy on our shoulders.

One by one, each tribute walks in and out of the gym. Each of them more tired, innocent and helpless as the next. “How are we going to kill these people?” I whisper to Cathal. I lean my head into his shoulder, the guilt already pulling me down. I try to calm myself down with a memory of my mother singing a lullaby, but it only reminds me of JD, which then brings on a chain of people who I never want to forget – including the tributes I spent the last three days with. A picture of JD, Fletch and I appear in my imagination. We’re all smiling, all happy, and all alive. Frolicking in the grass and running up and down the streets of District 6. How I yearn for my brothers.

We hear Cathal’s name being called, and I feel the strong shoulder leave my head, cold air replacing the warmth that was once there. Then I feel warmth again. It’s Cathal’s hand on my cheek. I feel like I’m at home, sick with the flu, and my dad is cradling my face, saying soothing words. But the only thing close to soothing I hear from Cathal is a rueful, “I don’t know.” Then the warmth is gone again.

I look to my right where, across the aisle, sits the tributes from Eleven and Twelve. I want to talk to them, but they’re all in their own little world full of focus, deciding what to do for the gamemakers. Cathal and I already decided what our performances would be prior to today. Actually, we had our performances decided for us by our mentors. Being coached separately, of course we don’t know what each other has planned, but we can assure ourselves that if one of us ends up winning, we will come home to nobody. I don’t think either of us is planning to come home anyway. We’re both set on keeping the others alive; getting them out of the death trap at all costs. Costing our lives? No. We shall die, yes, but there’s more than our lives we lose. It costs–