MPHFPC ➵ The Hunger Games AU (DISCONTINUED)

Chapter 14

.☆ POV- Enoch

"So how about that Horace kid?" Melina asked. We were both picking at our dinner, trying to make any form of conversation that avoided the topic of the Games.

"What about him?"

"He passed out yesterday. Or something." She shrugged. "Probably already going coo-coo."

I snorted. "He'll be as useful as dirt in the arena if he keeps that up."

"Dirt can be useful," Melina pressed, "you never know-"

"That's beside the point." I crossed my arms and swallowed a chunk of bread. "Pathetic is what I call it."

"I guess."

There was more eerie quiet.

"So tomorrow's the day I guess," she said. She just had to mention it.

"We already knew. You didn't have to remind us," I snapped.

"My pleasure," she answered, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Anyway, you can't just ignore the-"

"I could, and I was trying to."

"-The fact that you're going to die unless you have a general plan. It's you and me, pal. One of us is going down."

"I have just as good a chance at winning as you."

Melina just hummed in reply and left the room, slamming her chair against the table as she walked away. I bit my lip, ignoring how chapped it was and how dry my skin had become, while listening to her steps clank as they collided with the floor. Down the hall. Out of my life, hopefully.

.☆ POV- Bronwyn

I could remember falling asleep. I could remember dreams of rivers and trees and Victor. I couldn't remember, however, waking up.

After staring at the ceiling maybe minutes, maybe hours, I huffed and sat up in my bed. Waiting for someone to come in. Maybe they could pinch me and tell me it was all a silly dream, but I doubted it. I'd long since moved on from believing there was a way out of this mess.

"Today, the Hunger Games begin," I said to myself, and looked down. I hope I don't mess up. What was there to mess up, you might ask. Everything. Because one thing was for certain, that I, Bronwyn Bruntley did not kill people.

Just as I was wondering what the other tributes were thinking right about now, the door opened. A figure stepped through, one of the people in charge of Hugh and I, no doubt. He instructs me to put on plain clothing and my brain is too numb to object or question his authority.

I was lead up to the roof of the train. I could have sworn it wasn't just my imagination that a hovercraft appeared above me. A ladder dropped down from it and I almost-involuntarily reached my arms up to grab it when it had its grip on me. 

My thoughts were slowly stirring.

A person in a lab coat, so a doctor I presumed, walked out from who-knows-where with a syringe. "Bronwyn." She lifted the needle. "We'll just be placing a tracker in your arm, so we'll be informed of your whereabouts." Suddenly the whole situation seemed a lot less shady. Okay.

Pain resided in my forearm as she poked the tip in and inserted the device under my skin. I frowned, longing for days where I could consider this painful. This was nothing compared to what I would have to endure just later that day.

I was released from the ladder's grip and just as quickly ushered to breakfast, where I shoved as much food as I could down my throat. Time was unreal at this point. No one spoke to me and I spoke to no one.

Too soon I was sitting down, looking out the windows of the moving vehicle. Bouncing around as rocks and things hit the wheels. Nervous. Sure, I was nervous. I figured plenty of people would be nervous if they were sent off to the Hunger Games. But who did that make me?

Is this morally correct?

No.

The ride was maybe thirty minutes, but it could've easily passed for five. I didn't have any time to think this over. I didn't have a strategy, for heavens' sake!

More being moved around until I found myself in my Launch Room. Where I managed to shower and groom myself before being clothed in thin clothes with a thick jacket-type thing on top.

One, two, three, I counted while I waited, perhaps to calm down or perhaps to assure myself I was still sane.

One of the stylists gestured me outside. Four, five, six. 

I walked heavily to stand on a large metal plate and looked as the other tributes did the same. Seven, eight.

The plate rose in the air and blood pounded in my ears. I was now in the arena. Nine, ten.

An adrenaline rush overcame me. The world around me was beautiful, terrifying, and fake. Eleven.

...

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the fifty-sixth Hunger Games begin!"

Twelve.