child-like chances | district one train

"You know you'll regret it later if you don't do it."

Errol is right. His face is always the most punchable when he's right, I think. Like even now, I haven't even given him an answer and yet he's already sliding the keycard for the back of the train around my neck. His nose, totally exposed, right within range. I don't do it, though, I just sigh, tip the bag of bbq crisp crumbs into my mouth.

"Fine."

In my defense, I tried this last year. Caring about them. The boy was a spoiled brat who must've desperately wanted to swallow his own teeth, the way he was talking in my presence, and Sully is a sore subject. She was too close for me not to have gotten a little excited about the idea of the little weirdo making it back. It would've been awesome to have someone, you know, always around, someone from my side of the world. I dunno. Seems like a weird setup for failure. But I crumble the bag into a ball and toss it into the trashcan, smile humorlessly in Errol's direction, and swipe my new keycard against the scanner.

It is decidedly hotter back here, which makes sense since the vents start at the front, and also it's, like, actually depressing. The food shelves are all empty, the space where the fridge should be is completely vacant, and the only things on display are bottled water and hard liquor. Bleak.

The tributes themselves don't look any more impressive now than they did at the reaping. The girl is especially tragic-looking. I bet she's even younger than Ace. And the other one is tall and lanky and smells too nice to be from anywhere near where I grew up, so I instantly decide I don't much like him. Lovely. They've made my job super easy this year.

"Two questions each. I got shit to do, no offense."

I point between them as I take a seat across from them and cross my bare legs when they emerge from the vibrant purple of my dart jaguar coat.

"Who is first?"