Post by Trinket O'Hara on Jun 4, 2012 17:19:41 GMT -5
Trinket held her breath; it was almost as if she could feel it coming. She clenched her fist and prayed to whatever powers would listen. ‘Please not me, please not me.’ She begged, but it was all in vain she knew it would not do any good. She had dreamed it, she could just since that it was going to happen. She could picture it so clearly in her mind.
“TRINKET O’HARA!” the escort called, happily plucking the first tribute name from the large glass ball. Her name had been placed into the reaping ball too many times, for far too many years. She never believed she would be lucky enough to escape it. Her breath caught in her throat. No matter how many times she had seen this coming, it still surprised her. Her worst fear was finally realized. She clamped her eyes shut and waited for the peace keepers to come and escort her up the steps. She refused to cry, she would give no one the satisfaction. In one swift motion she smoothed her dress out, and pulled her hair down over her shoulders. She wanted to look decent if she was going to the capitol. Trinket knew that she was small, and had the appearance of someone very fragile, and physically she was. She had no strength, no special skills, and she had instantly come to terms with her death. However, emotionally Trinket was bullet proof. Those watching her would only see the face of a resolved young woman who was unafraid. Oddly enough she was over the fear, now that it was over she felt less tense. She did not have to worry any more. There was nothing she could do, it was out of her hands. The lack of control made her calm. She knew what was coming, and Trinket was not a fool. The faces of the two already chosen victors reminded her of that.
Not only were tributes going into the arena, but victors as well. 24 victors who had killed, survived, and knew how to play the game better that anyone. Her odds had dropped to zero instantly. Trinket was not a killer, she was far to gentle for that. Her days were spent tending to the sheep before they were sheered for wool. She belonged with animals, not with bloodthirsty killers. There was nothing she could do but wait. At least the food was something to look forward to, the victor from the previous year had even said that the food was delicious. Trinket would not give up, she would still do her best to survive, but she knew the odds were against her. Why not try and enjoy what final few days she had left. She heard the cheers, and a few sobs from some of the local women she traded with. Many of them knew her when she came to town to trade what little wool she had for food. Everyone had always told her how sweet she was, maybe she could win a few sponsors on that alone.
She gave a week smile to the crowd once she had made it to the stage. She looked out over the crowd, and the sight of her grandmother caught her eye. Trinket could clearly hear her grandmother’s voice in her head. ‘Chin up darling, don’t let them think they have beat you yet.’ So Trinket gathered her strength and forced herself to wave at the crowd. She had always been told she was lovely. Perhaps someone out there might think so too, someone with a lot of money that could help her. It was her only hope, but one she would cling too. She took a step back as the escort reached into the bowl to pluck out the name of the boy tribute.
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