lost | the hunger games

• vi •

❝i don't just want to see someone's face; i want to know their shadow, too.❞

jude, never fade

☾

The first time I rode in the Tribute Parade I had an anxiety attack. I was dressed up in a poofy sparkling seafoam colored dress with my hair curled and adorned by pearls. But I couldn't stop picking at the pearls sewn onto my dress or pinned in my hair. And my hands were shaking, bad. The only way I was able to get through it was Finnick giving me a big hug and pep talk and Amos pressing my ear to his heartbeat.

"We're here, Pallas. We're here."

That was the only thing he'd say. He didn't tell me to breathe or instruct me to do anything. Amos just held me there, silently but comfortingly, like I wish my brother would've been able to. And when it was time to start the parade, he tucked me under his arm and rubbed my bicep as a way to say, I'm still here. I'm not gone.

It meant more to me than I realized.

I waved my trembling hand and smiled the best I could to the crowd, Amos muttered encouraging words to me from the corner of his mouth.

"We're almost done. We just need to wave to President Snow, and then this will be over," he'd say. "You just need to keep waving and smiling for a couple more minutes. And you're doing great, you're okay."

And I believed him. I smiled and waved to the crowds, to the camera, and to President Snow. I smiled and waved to sponsors that were checking out the tributes. I smiled and waved until the parade was over and I was away from prying eyes.

I hadn't stopped shaking, even by the end of the parade, but my counterpart was as still as a man-made lake. Amos--he was the perfect symbol for District Four. Disciplined. Flexible. Understanding. Responsible. Loyal.

I admired Amos so much. Especially from my first day of training--when I was ten. Our class was to practice throwing tridents at the target, and I just couldn't do it. There were roughly a dozen students in my class, and the teacher was harsh and unforgiving. But Amos was there, a teacher's assistant willing to actually teach me in a way that Miss Coven never could.

"Here," he instructed, moving the trident through my grip, "this should be more balanced out. You want your hand to be closer to the prongs, but not enough for you to fall back on its weight. Now try."

I had never seen this boy before, and so watching him come up to me a kneeling to my height so casually was a sight. And the instructions he had given me actually worked, too. I had hit the leg of the target. Not a great shot, but much better than I was originally doing.

"Thank you," I whispered.

Interested by me, he smiled. "You're welcome. I'm Amos. What's your name?"

"Pallas."

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Pallas. Now how about we work on that follow through of yours?"

I knew him since my brother had died, and I wanted nothing more than to be like him. I'd give anything to get the chance to prove that I could be like Amos, that I could make my mother and my district proud. Now? I'd give anything just to not be given that chance.

"You did great," Amos side-hugged me at the end of the parade.

I smiled gratefully at him, ready to receive another hug from our mentors that were waiting at the foot of the chariot with proud expressions.