wake up and hitch a ride | d6 train [88th]

[d6a georgie cham 🍓🐢 frankel]

FLYNN GARNER
88th Hunger Games

Has it really been a whole year? A whole three hundred and sixty-five days? I am fourteen now, not that it is a great number. Two years until my sweet-sixteen and four years until I hit that dreaded eighteen. A whole year has really swung by so quickly. Everything has settled down. I have spent months back at school and now the parade has rocked back into District Six.

I live closer to the justice building now, gone are the days of the dreaded long work. Except it is still a dreaded walk, just a little shorter. I am no longer a name in that glass bowl but now one of my sisters is eligible. The reaping has never held back on plucking the relative of a victor. Or even a friend. I have not done anything to deserve such a nightmare so hopefully, the glistening halo I carried throughout the victory tour will be enough to keep Dorothy and the Dares Club safe for another year.

Though it seems I really must have been a good boy in the past year. One name familiar but not familiar enough the rip another nice piece of trauma into me. For the entire time on stage, I have stuck close by to Teddy, like a puppy dog in training. I really do not know what I am doing. I try not to smile; I try not to frown. It is hard balance knowing that for every year now, I am going to leading two kids to their graves.

Last year, the first thing Teddy asked me on the train was why did you volunteer? Well, I can’t repeat that this year. I sit in the same seat as twelve months ago. Close to the window, tucked away on the table filled with food. Though should I really sit here? Is this a seat reserved for the walking dead?

Orange juice fills the glass in front of me, nice, cold, and fresh and with some fruity bits floating in it. The citrusy spike bites at my throat as I take a sip, waiting for the tributes to board. The boy with the familiar name is close to my age. I felt sorry for him, standing on that stage alone while they switched on the girl. Now that is a new low for District Six. I have been told she was in a medically induced coma, only to be awoken because her name was called. Why preserve a life like that for it to be thrown into the pits of the Hunger Games? It must be a Capitol thing.

”Sit next to me Robin!” I pat the vacant seat next to me when Robin boards. I do not know how, but I will help him. Teddy can work on Willa, one is enough to work with. ”Uhmm, how are you feeling?” I hope that is the right question to open with. It is like one of the Quest’s therapy interrogations.

[Wonder]

robin keeni, district 6

Game Theory 101.

No one wants to see the same guy win twice. And the existence of Flynn Garner assured that this would be Robin's first and last trip to the Capitol.

At fourteen, with shaggy brown hair, standing eye to eye with Robin was the braver, bolder, more cunning version of what he could have turned out to be. A sharpshooter, a volunteer, a victor. Flynn's hollowed district features mirrored his own but with healthy cheeks and confident brows. Robin followed timidly as Flynn led the crew familiarly through the train car, a pair of peacekeepers ushering his District partner alongside.

Flynn was unbearably similar in stature to Robin, except with the dreaded curse of being an extrovert (so it seemed.) It seemed as though he hummed with every step, as though this adventure was a new dance to him that he was excited to choreograph. Robin couldn't help but loathe every time his foot touched the ground a little too excitedly for his liking.

It's a curse. It's a curse being reaped in the spot of the previous victor. Statistics don't lie and the studies were there! The chances of back-to-back winners from Districts was low enough out of the Careers, but the same gendered spot? For District 6? What story did Robin have to tell that Flynn hadn't already told better? And he couldn't even -

The worst part was -

"Sit next to me Robin!" As much as he seethed at the comforting smile on his face, Robin could not hate Flynn Garner. It wasn't his fault that Robin was here. And it certainly wasn't Flynn's fault that the Capitol audience won't be able to distinguish two boys from the same District. But it was those very biases that left an almost guarantee, Robin was certain he was going to die.

He shuffled nervously towards the supportive mentor and sat directly beside him. Robin had barely taken the time to look up, concentrating so fiercely on Flynn's footsteps, he'd hardly noticed the lavish decor of the train. Silver dish trays, glass flutes for drinks, forks with every prong still attached and unbent, all luxuries beyond what Robin had ever known.

Draperies, fancy pillows, and a girl - his district partner.

This was the first time he'd been able to see his District mate in all her glory: groggy and feet dragging. She looked as though the train had run her over on its way to the reaping that morning. Delirious and drowsy, she seemed even more disoriented about the situation than Robin was. Sure, his untimely death had led him spitting at the heels of Flynn on the way to the train, but Willa Copeland looked as though she wasn't going to make it out of the training center alive.

”Uhmm, how are you feeling?” Typical, Flynn had thought to ask her how she was doing first. Of course, he'd noticed her first.

"Yeah." Ditto. Robin was asking that too. Shit, no wait, maybe they'll think he's answering the question and think he's self - "Are you okay? I was wondering too, I guess." His mumbles trailing off the end of the sentence as he sheathes back into his neck. Robin worked better not saying much.

Let the winner take the reigns.

After all, he'd cursed them both. Sigh.

[d6a georgie cham 🍓🐢 frankel]

FLYNN GARNER
88th Hunger Games

I have not had the conversation with Teddy yet. This really a learning on the job moment. What am I meant to say to them? Where is the job description for being a mentor? I would never listen to some naive kid younger than me, barely into the early stages of being a teenager. Definitely not for something like this. This crazy life and death shitshow that I am now contracted to every year. There is nothing I can promise them. There is really nothing I can do.

Every burden and every grudge force all their faces to flash up. The reasons for my punishment, all led by Tommy. I just need to suck it up and get on with the rest of my life. Whatever exactly that may be.

My eyes follow Willa, the spectacle, a nice narrative for the Capitol. Though I have been told to keep quiet, to edit the truth just like they have the reaping recording. Nice, now this is an easy first day as a mentor…

I just grip onto the tall cold glass of juice with both hands as Robin answers my question with a question aimed at Willa. I must not have been clear. Great, now that is just a good start, I would never be a good therapist candidate like Quest.

”Uhh Robin…” I say fixing my eyes onto his as turn to where he sits next to me, just making extra sure that he knows I am talking him. ”I was asking how you are feeling. What is going through your mind right now?” That might be too big of a question. I am definitely doing this wrong. I drop both of my palms flat onto the surface of the table, exhaling as I quickly try butt in before Robin has the chance to answer. ”But you don’t have to tell me now, if it is too much… how about a drink?” I exclaim, reaching over the width of the table to the jug filled with the juice that I am drinking.

My eyes plant onto the senior victor across the carriage. Calling for help. Calling to say, am I doing this right?

[Wonder]

robin keeni, district 6

"Oh, me?" Oh, him?

It hadn't even occurred to Robin that someone would take the time to check in on him. Willa was the showstopper here: missing from the reaping, dragged dramatically through the train - you know, pretty. Robin had selfishly tagged in on the gossip but never even thought twice that Flynn was asking about how he was holding up.

Robin pulls nervously at the front of his hair, brushing it to the side in the process. How was he feeling? The thought hadn't even occurred to him since it all started. The ends of his hair feeling the tug from his anxious pull. At first, scared, for sure. Mostly because everyone was looking at him, seeing him for the very first time. Every second that passed felt like an eternity, and their eyes.. he would remember every figure in vivid detail for the rest of his short life.

Then maybe, from there on, nothing? Had Robin felt emotional when they rushed his weary body off the stage? Exasperated, certainly. But once the crowds were out of sight and the only sounds were syncopated footsteps along gravel sidewalks to the Justice Building, there was no fear. When Arachne, someone Robin only knew in passing, was the only person they could find to come to say goodbye, he didn't feel alone, or upset - it all felt inevitable.

Robin couldn't help but look up towards the roof of the train, a habit he'd picked up when he was uncomfortable. (Also the worst habit a pickpocket could have.) He scratched nervously at his throat as if looking away was enough to divert Flynn's gaze. He'd certainly felt bad when he'd first seen Willa, but that was basic empathy. The heat he felt towards Flynn was more frustration than anything but -

How did Robin feel? Flynn's nervous gait kept him mumbling through questions and statements. "I - uh," the hesitation immediately clamors up his throat, an anxious bubble latching onto his voicebox and taking hold. Around them was a series of what Robin could only describe as unrealistic luxuries when this morning he'd woken up to burlap curtains and a piece of toast. Fresh orange juice was right there, within fingers' reach. The last time he'd had fresh fruit, God, he couldn't remember. Robin was on a high-speed moving train to a place no kid ever wanted to go to or come back from, the vibrating of the tracks pulsing beneath his feet making him feel nauseous with every slight turn. Yet the only thing that kept repeating through his thoughts like a broken record was -

"I know I'm going to die." It was true. There was no way he'd be able to win these Games. Careers were deadly enough, but there'd been more and more volunteers of children from other Districts with killer instincts in recent years. Hell, look at sharpshooter Flynn. How the hell was he so damn good with a gun at fourteen? It was ridiculous. Robin was by no means special. He didn't secretly wield some skill that would translate to an innate ability with a trident. Sure, he'd read years of medical pamphlets, but none of those covered flora or fauna, or any of the poisonous entrapments the arena was prone to. Ribs protruding, his body wasn't built to last through to point of starvation. What was he going to do, define some words and their etymologies at other tributes? Have them all quake in fear of his mighty adverbs! Ridiculous.

The truth was, ever since Robin had gotten off that stage all he'd felt was the inevitability. Robin Keeni was going to die.

The question was: how long did he need to prolong the inevitable?