Coffee & Cakes // [District 10 - 92nd Games Train]

Honey. Fucking. Cornbread.

It’s a flavor that some rich dude wanted, and since he offered a hefty amount for us to try to make it, dad took it up. What’s with rich people having the absolute weirdest flavor tastes? We sold it for a week at most and got maybe two orders a day of it if we were lucky. Probably one of the worst flavors I ever had to scoop in my entire life.

If today was a flavor, it would be Honey Cornbread.

Today has not been very great so far, and being on the loudest train on planet earth didn’t do much to make it better. If anything, I would have taken a nap, but I chose the one seat in the damn cart that bounced to the train's rhythm. Part of me just wished that it’s all just one big, crazy joke, but the other part knew that it’s real.

I spent a lot of time wondering about Scoops. My sweet kitty, does Scoops know where I’m at? Normally, after the reaping, I would take Scoops on another walk around the district. It further clears the mind and soul of whatever negative plague that infests the body every time the event happens. Do pets understand the Games? Is there ever a stray dog that waits at the doorstep of a fallen tribute, never aware of their passing? Or do they rest at the flattened grave? The idea of Scoops looming around a tombstone with Damion Rothbauer listed above the head in carved granite makes me sick.

My head felt so empty yet so full. Like a lead brick. Or when the television cuts out of Games’ feeds for a moment. That speckled black and white image that is just there to fill the void. It’s hard to process what’s happening fully. Not that I should, I’ll be dead already when I do.

Mace entered the cart with a scowl. He growled at the first escort he saw, took a step, and recollected himself. Smooth. Guess that old age is starting to get to the way he treats people. A lot of old people tend to think they’re a gift. I cannot tell you the amount of times Marie from the salon gets mad that we don’t have coconut available. Do you expect us to shit it out? Damn.

"What've I missed?" The guy poured his creamer, and I watched silently. Well, what do you think you missed? An asteroid hit the earth? The Games got canceled, and we’re actually here on a secret mission to save the country? He peered up at me with a blank look. "Y'all eaten yet, Damion?" The thought of food made my stomach turn. I don’t know if I could swallow anything.

”No, sir.” I looked at the buffet table of miscellaneous snacks. ”Not exactly hungry for biscuits or soup.” Soup did sound like a good way to calm down my nerves, but I was too afraid of the soup coming right back out of where it entered.

Moments later, my district partner entered the room with a clash. Literally. Not to mention the way he stomps when he walks, the pitcher of orange juice hitting the floor gave an extra umph to his entrance. Grand, really. He provided a smile written in a wince. ”Sorry.” In his hands rested some sort of fork monument that he constructed. Andal placed it on the table in front of Saffron. ”Got bored.” Oh, jesus. Gross. He’s hitting on her. The boy then took a seat next to Mace and I. ”Did I, uh, miss anything important.”

Maybe if you weren’t trying to fuck our mentor, you’d know.

I didn’t say that, though. As much as I wanted to. Maybe he’s a good guy and just wanted to make something. I caught myself blanking off and quickly spoke up. ”Uh-,” I shook my head, trying to bring myself back to the moment. ”No. But if you want food, I think we’re bound to get some any moment.” I gave a quick shrug. I don’t really know how these things work.