waltzing off the face of the earth {train blitz}

I look at the pair of them and for a moment I just see past them, like they’re already ghosts. When they talk, their two voices contrast heavily - sharpness and confidence a bleeding edge against drunken slurs and heavy breathing. It’s all just noise to me. Noise that in all likelihood will be a forgotten memory in a few years.

Unless I can help them.

I look to Lysander. How can I help someone who won’t help themselves? A girl not yet letting the heavy reality of her decision settle, and so she drinks more - to numb the pain? To keep herself in this blissful state of ignorance? Maybe just because she likes it. I don’t blame her for drinking, but sooner or later we all have to sober up.

Kenji I can work with. His tone is snide and he talks like he knows he’s going to win the games, which is dangerous. Overconfidence and underestimating the arena will get you killed - that’s why District Two’s performed so badly for so many years. Years of training in a career centre just don’t compare to the instincts of surviving in poverty.

How to win? Big fucking question. No shortage of luck, people you can rely on, but above all that you need to be able to kill, without hesitation - you need to know going into that arena that it’s you or them, and if it comes down to it you need to take a life to save your own.

I look Kenji up and down again. His thick black hair sits neatly above a bruised and battered face. His knuckles are red, his frame slender, like a strong breeze could knock him over. But his eyes, his eyes are fierce. I wonder about his upbringing, about what the hell he does to get in this state - street fights, abusive parents, or maybe he just got mugged?

"Do you know how to fight?" I ask Kenji, "I’m not talking the correct posture, social etiquette bullshit they teach in the upper districts."

When I look at him, I know he knows what I mean.

And then Lysander’s droning slur of a voice bleeds over me talking, and I look at her slumped figure, cheap alcohol in one hand and her chances of surviving slipping away in the other.

"Sure, I’ll get you something stronger." I swipe the bottle from her hand and walk out of the carriage, into the longer dining cart. Stupid girl. Stupid stupid girl.

I find a bucket of champagne, and remove the green bottle, turning and walking to the sink. I twist the handle and wait for the faucet to fill the bucket of ice to the brim, before twisting it back the other way.

I walk back into the tributes carriage, take two steps, and throw the ice cold bucket of water all over Lysander.