gone to { g r a v e y a r d s } // Anatra, train!blitz

Gone to Graveyards

Luke Davis - District Eight - Eighteen

We are taken directly to the train. Silence pursues the other tribute and I until all attention is taken by Prethim, our escort. Everything about him begins to slowly irritate me. Everything. His forced confidence makes me itch.


Like sheep, we are herded into the carriages. It is cold, but warm. Cold-looking because I've never seen something so plagued with food - likely all modified. It is warm, because I can feel how close we are to the heating. The smell takes my nose by surprised. Suddenly, the thought of having to go to the Games takes a second seat. At least we get to enjoy all of this. But it's not the truth, none of it. This is just one of the conveniences of the Capitol. It would be rude not to provide some light food amounts. Light is an understatement. Everything is practically covered in sugar, salt and pepper. Pepper, my stylist. What a stupid name. Who is called Pepper?. She isn't here, but among the ramblings of Prethim, that was the one thing I took out of the speech that didn't involve dying at the end. Or maybe it did include that, really. Boredom is a cause of death.

"Will you just shut up?" She shocks me a little. I sit there, fork half inside the meat on my plate, a slight bit stunned. "Actually," I look over to her. It's all too clear that she has had enough. She has a fire. "get out. Just leave. I need some peace." Tell me about it. I need peace too. I haven't had a good opportunity to sit down and think through what is happening. I look back at my food, not wanting to seem too bothered. I'm not, really. I just can't stand the drama right now, probably something she felt too. Prethim should be in the Games, I'd be more likely to have a spear at him than a child. "Sorry," She mumbles. I can tell she is eating when she says it. As much as I don't want to, I can't help but be a little surprised. "He was driving me nuts." I want to reply, I feel I should. But I don't really have the words for it. "He's not mine," She tells me, and I look to what she has grabbed. I catch a glimpse of it whilst she cleans whatever was on it, as I didn't see. A teddy bear? "My little sister gave him to me." My heart gets a little warmer. I really wish I had a sister like that.

She has brought up her sister, something that is difficult to respond to. I can't say what initially want to say; She must be proud of you. Because she won't be. She'll be terrified, and the less Savannah is reminded the better, I think. I stopped eating a little bit ago, I was full just from the smell. Upon my wrist is the bracelet my mother gave to me whilst I was waiting in the Justice Building. Hope, it says on it. I am hoping that this train will stop, and something will happen that makes us able to leave. "My mum gave me this bracelet." I drag it from my wrist, the string that it is made out of stretching around my hand and off. I place it on the table. "Last thoughts should be of home." I tell her this because I know I won't make it back alive. There's twenty four of us, only one lives.

Gone to Graveyards

Luke Davis - District Eight - Eighteen

"last thoughts should be at home, in my opinion. That's what I'm hoping for, anyway." It hurts me to know that this will be the attitude I'll need I want to be home again. I will need to be arrogant, I will need to be fearless. I can't do that, not without going half insane by the end. It wouldn't be worth winning.

The sun glares at us whilst we eat our meals. Rude. I would forgive it if it stopped shining in my eyes, though. I can't help but notice how conflicted Savannah looks. I worry for her, even though I really shouldn't care. I can't understand what she feels right now. We seem different. I am the only child, with no responsibilities besides the ones I set out for myself. She, on the other hand, seems like she's had her shoulders weighed upon by the needs of many. I couldn't do it, though I wish I could try. "I'm sorry," I feel the need to tell her not to be so silly. She doesn't need to apologize for being herself, or being emotional. The whole process is supposed to break us, why can't we flip the coin and make it make us bolder?

"I'm just, um... I'm sorry."

"Don't be." I follow. "I don't know how you're feeling, but if it's anything more than what I am it is more than I could be able to handle." My way with words sounds difficult to even my ears. I only just understand what I just said. I think it was a compliment, or something along the lines of 'you're right to be sad'. Maybe that isn't a compliment. Am I bragging?

No, I'm rambling in my head.

"So, um, what did you do back home?" The silence is broken. This kind of question frustrates me because I have really generic answers. "I never really saw you around. Did you work in the factories?" She got it in one. One less thing for me to list - oh wait, it's the only thing to list.

"Yeah. I worked in the bigger factory that's further out. Because I'm eighteen, I'm able to teach the younger ones. It's... Not actually a privilege though. I know what it was like to have to be taught to work in those machines. I assume you've heard the stories about when things go wrong."

"What'd you do then?" I raise a brow, interested. If she hasn't seen me around, maybe she worked elsewhere.

Gone to Graveyards

Luke Davis - District Eight - Eighteen

Stealing wasn't a rarity in Eight, so when she tells me she had to, I wasn't surprised. I accept the fact she had to, as well. If it was just to gain better things that she wanted, I'd perhaps despise her. But I don't.



That gets me thinking. Should I even talk to her any more? I will have to either kill, be killed by, or watch this girl die. It is an indescribable difficulty to simply sit next to somebody like that. "The things we do for little kids, huh?" She's right. I put my name in the tesserae to help out an orphan this year, no wonder I got reaped. That orphan wasn't just a random act of kindness though. They had injured themselves in the factories and I felt horrible for it as I was her tutor at the time. She didn't go hungry that month I don't think. "Yeah, I can relate to that." I don't tell her, though. She probably doesn't need to be bored with the story.

"Is the story true about the little girl? The one who had half her hair ripped out?" Oh. Apparently she does. "Yeah." I say it bluntly, quickly and prepare myself to begin adapting on it. "I was her tutor, she hadn't tied up her hair like I told her to - I should'nt have left for the five seconds it took for the machine to... You know." I pause briefly. "I think I'm paying the price more though. I put my name in so she could recover decently, with food at least. Now she's barely got anybody. She's an orphan, too." A sudden burst of anger fills me, though I conceal it. It is anger for the Capitol, and the conditions that would be unspeakable in their little District.