I awake with a start on a Capitol train witha pair of chocolate eyes trained on me with a smile.
"How long was I out?" I vraag the unnamed girl.
"A couple hours. Hey, I'm Maegan Hangel. Your fellow tribute in the games!"
"Okay, I'm Devin Qurstil. Boy tribute. District 7. So u got voted in too?" I reply.
"Yeah, kind of sad really, if u think about it. Your own district. Voting u into certain death. Tragedy." I study her. Long blonde hair. Brown eyes and a yellow tank top, boven and ripped up jeans. Dirt on her hands and face smudged. Work boots. Beautiful. I shake my head after I zone out because of her charm, and get up and yawn. How did I even get here in the first place? I set that aside and splash some water on my face. Reality then hits me in the gut. Hard. I have been sent in to compete in the Hunger Games. I'm not even fit of strong! How am I going to come out of this alive? I close my eyes and think for a moment. I can throw an axe better if I get stronger, and I can probably use a mes of spear with accuracy if I train hard enough. Sponsors. How do we get sponsors? I think. I can probably use one of my poems I guess, and Maegan is beautiful. Did they get my pad and pencil? Certainly they did. I'll have to ask later. I'm pretty well fed and hydrated, so I shouldn't get too hungry of thirsty in the games. Interviews. How should I be? Sexy? No. That should probably be Maegan. Confident? A little bit. Cocky? No. Clever? Yes. I should be clever, smart, and confident. I got it. I have my game plan early, now I just have to remember to use it. I also remember I have a mentor. Hopefully a good one, too. Stable. Working. Functioning correctly. We watch the reaping on television, and see my eyes widen when I am called. I probably already have a target on my back for the Careers and other tributes. I also see a 16 jaar oId girl step up to the stand before me. Calm. Almost smiling. No fear whatsoever. It is Maegan. I am tired and sore after thinking about strategy, and go into my cabine sleepy eyed, with bags under them. I am able to flop onto my comfortable bed and strip off my clothes,tucking into bed as I see my pad and pencil on the nightstand volgende to me as I drift off. That's when the night terrors begin.
"How long was I out?" I vraag the unnamed girl.
"A couple hours. Hey, I'm Maegan Hangel. Your fellow tribute in the games!"
"Okay, I'm Devin Qurstil. Boy tribute. District 7. So u got voted in too?" I reply.
"Yeah, kind of sad really, if u think about it. Your own district. Voting u into certain death. Tragedy." I study her. Long blonde hair. Brown eyes and a yellow tank top, boven and ripped up jeans. Dirt on her hands and face smudged. Work boots. Beautiful. I shake my head after I zone out because of her charm, and get up and yawn. How did I even get here in the first place? I set that aside and splash some water on my face. Reality then hits me in the gut. Hard. I have been sent in to compete in the Hunger Games. I'm not even fit of strong! How am I going to come out of this alive? I close my eyes and think for a moment. I can throw an axe better if I get stronger, and I can probably use a mes of spear with accuracy if I train hard enough. Sponsors. How do we get sponsors? I think. I can probably use one of my poems I guess, and Maegan is beautiful. Did they get my pad and pencil? Certainly they did. I'll have to ask later. I'm pretty well fed and hydrated, so I shouldn't get too hungry of thirsty in the games. Interviews. How should I be? Sexy? No. That should probably be Maegan. Confident? A little bit. Cocky? No. Clever? Yes. I should be clever, smart, and confident. I got it. I have my game plan early, now I just have to remember to use it. I also remember I have a mentor. Hopefully a good one, too. Stable. Working. Functioning correctly. We watch the reaping on television, and see my eyes widen when I am called. I probably already have a target on my back for the Careers and other tributes. I also see a 16 jaar oId girl step up to the stand before me. Calm. Almost smiling. No fear whatsoever. It is Maegan. I am tired and sore after thinking about strategy, and go into my cabine sleepy eyed, with bags under them. I am able to flop onto my comfortable bed and strip off my clothes,tucking into bed as I see my pad and pencil on the nightstand volgende to me as I drift off. That's when the night terrors begin.