8: {Let the Fun Begin}

When I open my eyes, I wish I had kept them closed. It's the morning of the Games.

There will be no goodbyes. Coyra will guide me to the hovercraft, dress me in my arena clothes, and bid me goodbye. Her face will be the last friendly one I see before I enter the Games. And perhaps her face will be the last friendly one that I ever see before my death.

Coyra comes to get me. Still dressed in my nightclothes, a shift made of soft cotton, she guides me to the roof of the tribute's building. I've never been up here before, but it's made up like a garden: green and lush.

The hovercraft appears out of nowhere. I don't know too much about hovercraft technology (that's really 3's area of expertise) but I do know that a similar stealth craft was designed in 2. The irony strikes me in the face. I will be taken by a craft of my own district's creation to my death. Wonderful.

Coyra's hands are cold on my back as she pushes me forward. I stand underneath the bright opening in the hovercraft, waiting. "What will they do?" I ask. "Beam me up?" Just as the words pass my lips, a white ladder descends from the bright light. I place my hands on it and instantly I'm frozen in place, unable to move. The ladder slides back up, and I strain my neck to catch a last glimpse of the garden, but the light obscures it.

When the ladder is fully retracted, a man wearing white clothes approaches me. I open my mouth to say something, but whatever's still keeping me frozen is preventing me from speech. The man seems to catch my glance, and he partially explains. "That's an electrical current," he says. "It keeps you in place and prevents you from talking. That helps me do my job." I see that he has a needle in his left hand. I stiffen even more, if that's possible. I don't like needles.

He sticks the needle into my upper arm. "This is a tracker," he explains. "So you don't get lost." He pulls the needle out. The current releases me, and as Coyra travels up the same way, I rotate my arm in it's socket. It doesn't feel sore, which is a good thing. I need every part of my body functioning when I go into the arena.

The man smiles at me. "Good luck." Wyss' voice fills in the rest for me, echoing around my brain. You're gonna need it.

I eat breakfast with Coyra in an antechamber off to the side of the main docking room. There is absolute silence, except for the sounds as I eat as much food that I know my stomach can handle, well aware that this could be my last meal.

About two hours later, the windows black out, signaling that we're drawing near to the arena. Our ride lands down, and Coyra and I descend the ladder. It leads to a room underground. We follow tunnels until we arrive at a small room that will be my entrance into the Games.

I shower in the nearby room and when I exit, Coyra brushes my hair and arranges it into a high ponytail. She dresses me in my arena clothes. This year it's a white long sleeve shirt, a fleece-lined black jacket, black pants, and white boots that reach just below my knee. She pulls my stone heart out of her pocket and gives it to me. I tuck it into an inside pocket and zip up the jacket.

She orders me to move around and stretch to warm up before the Games. I comply, stretching first my legs, then arms, then head, and finally my torso. But I can do nothing for the butterflies that threaten to destroy me from the inside out.

Finally, a voice comes over the monitor. It's time for me to go. Coyra moves me to a red circle on the floor. I stand in the exact center. My whole body is trembling with anticipation. I can't control anything now. I just have to wait. Over and over, in my head, I repeat facts. I could be dead in two seconds flat. I could die slowly. I could be devoured by a horrible monster. I could be killed at the very end. I could, I could, I could-

A glass casing descends around me. I search the room frantically for Coyra with my eyes, only to find that she is standing right in front of me, her nose pressed almost to the glass. She blows on it, creating a fog. Her finger writes a backwards message to me.

You could win.

Before I can do more than read the message, the cylinder starts to rise. I'm in darkness now, and I start to panic. Fear floods me from all sides. But the darkness lifts, to be replaced by blinding white. White and brown and black. A brown mountain, a white sky, black trees. And the golden Cornucopia glistening in front of me, piled high with everything a tribute could want in these Games.

I'm too stunned to notice that my cylinder has retracted again until I hear a loud voice around me. Claudius Templesmith. He's the announcer for the Games. "Ladies and gentlemen, let the Sixty-eighth Hunger Games begin!"