*~Sugar Cane ~*
Zayn Malik was his name. You know who I'm talking about, right? Only a self-assertive, mystifying man could fit that criteria. And it was oddly suitable for the Hunger Games. Ever since the muse of deciding which District 7 native would be reaped for the Games. Conner, was his side-kick's name? Carter.. Collin...Carver! This inessential straw-like piece of plastic fastened to my veins and had an unfamiliar air to it that it was foreign to me. I recall sugar canes being alike in shape. But the similarities stopped there. A lucid liquid traveled through the alien pipe, uninvitingly blending with my blood stream. I wasn't doped up enough to realize they assumed I had psychiatric problems. From an outsider, they could conclude I was suicidal. All I wanted was my family back.
In the infirmary halls, A duo that consisted of the two other criminals that paraded in with Zayn was there all along. Carver, which was apparently the older brother persuaded his death ridden sister into accepting all of this will be okay. But, even in his eyes. Oh, those crestfallen eyes, he knew he was bending the facts. How that blameless face nodded with each word. As if silently saying: "Trust Carver. My brother knows what's right. The Games will be fine."
I was startled to discover the criminal, Zayn slipping the tiny sugar cane from my artery. I would guess it didn't hurt as much as it did going in. Then again I was conked out during that part. We held our breath in an underwater silence with my nerves off their reins.
"I'm Zayn, how about yourself?"
"You're vain? I guess confidence runs strong in 7."
He chortled for a bit, indulging himself to a giggling facepalm.
"Zayn, my friend. With a Z." his finger motioned a zig-zag pattern to resemble to letter. I didn't want to admit it but this convict calling me his friend didn't sit right with me. I'll call him my friend when a bomb goes off and his face is stretched out in the sky. Either way, I took the friendly approach.
"My name is Niall...With an N." I mimicked his pattern with the first letter of my name. Zayn with a Z excused himself to say his final goodbye to his best friend. Who knows what will become of Carver? He can't be off the hook just because the odds were in his favor. My eyes were too indulged in him to realize a presence below me. Standing purely a foot and a half from me stood Coy Gladebrier. District 7 female tribute, Carver's little sister. What would she want with me? I caressed my tube free arm desiring I didn't come off as awkward. I had no background with children. She motioned with her pointer finger for me to dip to her level. And, it was like I was ogling into the eyes of Carver. For the second time today, sadness began to seep from my eyes. How could I kill this girl?
"My brother told me...to tell you...He trusts you."
Before Carver departed out the infirmary doors, He shot me a wink that could only mean, allies. I flinched when her finger traveled to my face and erased the saddness from my cheek. How did it get there?
I knew the moment wouldn't last long at all. An Asian lady with the get-up of a circus clown hauled me by the arm as if Coy was an Avox. Making it her point to demonstrate a look of revulsion. She motioned Zayn over to her reluctantly as if he'll lash out at any given moment. She presented herself as Ia.
"It's Zayn." the russet boy corrected her. Shooting bullets through his eyes as if she was a bad taste in the mouth.
"Zack, Coy, Feeling better I presume?"
Coy massaged her shoulder, indicating a tedious crink. Her delicate voice was almost speaking up before the shrew cut her off:
"Good, good. As you know it's the Tribute Parade, Niall, it's your lucky Game. Your with my team. Aster, the other tribute, is already preparing. "
As if just notices Zayn and Coy for the first time, she directs them to Columbae Overwhill, who, if you ask her, is the "black sheep" of the styling commitee. She was rather young, With a choppy lilac bob and 3 long braids wavering past her orignal hair. She beckoned the duo joyously out of the hopsital.
And, that left Ia and I to trot out of there as I mentally say farewell to my makeup- free face.