Opinions and Truth - The Last Hunger Games

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Chapter 2

Locked onto his eyes.

Turns out it could.

Plutarch continues with announcing the competitors. By now, I’m feeling only a bit sick in my mind and I have a weird choking feeling in my throat, like something has got stuck in my windpipe. I am seriously trying to prevent myself from embarrassingly fainting on the stage. How can I survive in the Arena when I’m already feeling faint now? There’s tons of more gore coming my way. Not to mention the pain and the million laughing viewers to embarrass myself in front of.

Plutarch makes a start on the boys next. The youngest boy reaped is the son of Ms. Johanna Kinsey- a rich and elegant fashion advisor who I frequently have spotted on TV- a 12 year old called Elliott Kinsey who is a tiny, skinny little boy with bright ginger hair and innocent hazel eyes. His legs are so short that I’m surprised he can barely use the steps to get on the stage and it takes his tiny feet a long time to reach the stairs in the first place. This is one thing I’m certain that is in my advantage in the Games. I can run fast- and long distances without pause. It’s what I’m good at and what I like to do. I send a silent prayer to God, for giving me a sane mother and father who take me on one hour jogs every morning and who also make me attend weekly climbing courses. Dad always said to expect every possibility. He said that our freedom might not last forever. It seems he was right.

Three thirteen year olds are called out next and Plutarch introduces them jollily. His unbelievably jolly attitude is beginning to really get on my nerves now.

“13 year old, Mon Flickerman. Son of Caesar Flickerman, presenter.”
Caesar Flickerman’s son? I didn’t even know he has a son. Well, the rebels are certainly revealing some secrets today. Mon Flickerman turns out to have short, brown hair and brown eyes and an average sized body. He seems quiet, and rather on the ordinary side, just as Caesar is.

“13 year old, Blaine Lucas. Son of Isaac Lucas, Leader of the Capitol’s Army against the justice of the Districts.”

For some reason the way Plutarch says “Justice” makes my skin tingle angrily. How can he call this justice? The Districts are just as bad as my grandfather was for doing this. They’re no better than us. Mon seems to feel in the same kind of way, as his face clearly shows his hatred for the Rebels, as he stands up- his bright green, pink-tipped Mohawk sparkling in the inappropriate sun. In fact, Mon’s skin is so pale that it looks as though, from even this tiny bit of sun, his skin has turned an unattractive pink. He completely ignores the hand gesture showing him where to stand from President Paylor and purposefully stands in the wrong place. Paylor’s eyes narrow at his action but Mon doesn’t even give her a second glance and he stands, head high, facing the crowd steadily.

“13 year old, Zevran May. Son of Kaenan May, Capitol worker who intentionally injured Katniss Everdeen, District 12 victor and Mokingjay, during her mission in District 2.”

Zevran May approaches the stage from a different place where all the Capitol children are stocked, and it’s obvious that he has been purposefully brought to this Reaping from his home, District 2. Zevran eyes show no emotion at all, just a pure black pool of darkness. No whites. No nothing. I wonder whether he has born like that or whether he has an injury that causes the difference. I can’t but help notice that he has a scar near his left eye, ruining what might have been a handsome black-haired head and face. On the back of his hand, rests the yin-yang symbol suggesting that he may be a strong fighter. I shudder when he passes by, his black eyes resting emotionlessly on what I think is my face.

Next to be called is “14 year old, Hal Aelfdane. Son of Head Nurse, Marianna Aelfdane, who attended to the Capitol’s soldiers.” and “14 year old, Alexander Olivers. Grandson of Hunger Games, sword master, Luke Olivers.”

Hal is a tall, pale and freckled boy with sandy coloured hair and a tattoo of a four leaf clover on his neck and Alexander is a medium toned boy with light brown, messy hair and bright blue eyes.

Hal and Alexander take their places on the stage as well, and I shift my weight from one leg to another, itching to get home and hug my parents. Plutarch continues with the Reaping.

“15 year old, Colin Leeds. Son of Lenny Leeds, chief Doctor of the injury ward for the Capitol’s soldiers.” He announces.

I watch a muscular but slim boy approach the stage with dark blonde hair and trustful blue eyes, whilst I think of how this boy might end up inserting a spear into my stomach or bashing rocks into my head. A wave of dizziness comes over me and I search the crowd for someone to lock eyes onto that might make me feel better. I find Pedro, but his mouldy-blue coloured eyes hold no form of safety to me. Instead my eyes lock onto Colin’s and his eyes sparkle at me, a faint smile on his lips.

I’m still peering into Colin’s bright and open eyes when the next name is called.
“17 year old, Pedro Louis. Son of the Capitol’s biggest…” Plutarch smirks, “/Party animals./”

No. This cannot be happening to me. I close my eyes hard, until they sting and open them sharply, hoping to see any image expect for the one that greets me. Once again, I’d had no thought for Pedro’s safety. I thought he’d be safe. He has no evil mother or father or grandfather. No mad cousin. But no, I bet the Rebel’s did this on purpose just to torment me. As though I won’t be tortured enough.

Pedro Louis, my ex-boyfriend who I was with for three years will be joining with me in the arena.

I hardly consider the next four competitors, my mind seemingly going into a strictly simple-only thought process.

There’s four competitors left now. Three of them are seventeen years old.
Jake Jameson, a guy who when his name is called has a slightly smug expression and brown hair and green eyes, Davien Maisen, a tall boy with matching dark grey eyes and hair and Iscriat Phillips, who reminds me vaguely of a large bear with his broad body and spiky brown hair whose father created the Capitol’s mutations.

And last, the oldest of all, an 18 year old Xavier Gray who is tall and topped with sparkly green hair and green eyes and skin tinged with green. Talk about good camouflage…

And then I find myself being set free from the stage and cattled into a building where I see many families waiting, amongst them all stands my mum and dad waiting teary-eyed, their arms open wide and I thankfully run to them embracing their warmth- clinging onto this moment that may be the last we ever share together.

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