They call me Marvel - 74th Hunger Games fan fiction

Chapter three - Glimmer

T                                                                             hree

"You're pregnant?" I recoil. "What? Glimmer I - " now I was the one who could not bring words to fall from my lips. She tosses me a tight lipped, sad smile. "Here comes the bomber." Before I even have time to inform her that I thought that was the bomber she's holding back tears.

"Marvel - I'm pregnant with Gloss' baby." I watch her in amazement. I can't sympathise, nothing - just watch.

"It just happened, Marv," she weeps.Tears flow violently now - tearingdown her pale cheeks in quick succession."It wasn't meant to... we were just so... in love." I can't stop thinking of our mentor - Gloss. A previous victor, following the year of his twin sister, Cashmere's success. He was young, around nineteen and relatively good looking. Was there really chemistry between the two?

"You know that talisman - the ring they took off of me? That was the last thing - the last thing I had left of him. For goodness sake I had no freaking idea that it had poison inside but..." she breaks off hysterically. She turns to me; tears streaking her face.

"And now I have to win. This baby has to live Marvel." The words hang in the air. I contemplate the sentence. This year there were twenty five of us in the arena. And Glimmer could win. The sponsors would be loving this drama back in the Capitol. Yes - she had a fighting chance. The baby had a chance to live. I look up at her.

"What can I do?"

***

I stay to keep guard. I don't want to hunt more children. I don't want to see them die. Not like Axel. Glimmer tosses me a frown but I shrug.

"I'll stay and look after the stuff,"

"Okay," Cato's surveying me, intrigued. Trying to figure out how I tick. So that he can rip everything which keeps me going apart.

***

"What's it like - in one?" it's a small voice. I look round to see the boy left in my care. The boy from district three. He's sitting cross legged, his brow furrowed, fiddling with a wire again.

"Oh, district one. It's nice," I say abstractly, remembering Axel's words from the day before. I clasp at the pendant which hangs from my own neck.

"What's it like in three?" I ask. He nods tersely. I can see he's about to cry. I look away - I don't want to hear another sob story - not now. I don't want to feel sorry for him because I can't promise to keep more than one person alive. There can only be one victor.

"The odds for you are 5/1," he says suddenly. He stares at me, somewhat darkly. "I'd say a whole lot better than my 22/1," he adds. My head snaps up.

"Odds?" my breath catches.

He shrugs; "rough estimates at whether we'll win," he laughs dryly. "Not always correct but generaly scarily accurate." I continue to stare at him. As an afterthough he adds; "based on sponsors, polls, training scores, allies and district number of course."

"What's Glimmer's?" I ask, hoarsley.

"7/1," he says, looking at me. "Why? Got a love interest going on there?" he ribs. "Because I'd watch out 'cause Cato's been tossing her winks all day." The boy smirks.

"Really?" I try to act disinterested. The audience will be loving this.

"You know all of the odds?"

"I know my tributes, Marvel Pedanski," I turn but his face is deadly serious. "Why do you think I'd hang around with someone like Cato?"

"What's his?" I ask lightly.

"Odds? 3/1," he breaths. I whistle. "People like him."

"People think he's going to win. And I mean, when you strut in here with that much arrogance, and that much mucsle what else are people going to think?" I'm starting to like him.

"Tell me more," I say.

"Clove odds are 5/1," the boy comments thoughtfully.

"Like me," I say, thinking to the tiny, spiteful little dagger throwing child I'd met at the training session.

"Like you," the boy agrees.

"Believe it or not the only one to go anywhere near Cato's odds is the boy from eight." I count mentally.

"He's dead," I state, confused. The boy shrugs. "I told you the odds weren't always correct. In fact the odds actually had a lot to do with that boy's death."

"You told Cato he had the same odds as him," the realisation hits me in the stomach. The boy sighs. "It's not a nice way to play the game, I know. But is there any nice way?" I shrug dismissivley. "Cato was so angry that he had a real competitor for the title - that the Capitol though he could be beaten..." the boy sighs again.

"What's your name?" I ask, as a barely subtle way of changing the uncomfortable subject.

"Davey," he looks up at me with deep, brooding, callous eyes. I wonder if there's a lot more to this boy than meets the eye.

"22/1, huh?" I say, shaking my head. He licks his lips. "I think I can do better, though. I mean, I need to win. For my kid brothers, for my parents," he gives a sigh. "For my district. The last victors we had were over a decade ago - Wiress and Beetee. We need to bring back some of that pride." I think of his district partner; laid, lifeless by the mouth of the cornucopia. Was there really any chance of three bringing pride to their district this year? He nods, as though reassuring himself. "Yeah, I need to win." I remember Glimmer's desperate tears; Axel's last words.

"I think we all do."