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Description
Éponine and Enjolras are picked as their District’s Tributes for the Hunger Games.
(sequel: silhouette01.deviantart.com/ar…

After my name was called, everything became hazy and surreal. I couldn’t see beyond a blur, and I couldn’t hear anything except the heartbeat in my ears. How I made it onto the dais, I don’t know. The woman from the Capitol kept talking. She selected a male Tribute. She talked of the honour of the Games. I listened to the blood pounding in my ears.

I’d never been good at math - not at school, and never after - I couldn’t work out the percentages, but I did know that there were twelve districts and that two tributes came from each one. I was one of them, and only one of them ever came out alive. The chances that it would be me were pretty much non-existent.

I had never been more afraid in my life.

Deep down inside I already knew I was dead. Twenty-three other Tributes - and one of them was standing right next to me. Today we were compatriots, bound together by our mutual fear and dread - in just a few weeks from now we would be forced to be mortal enemies. Fearfully, I managed to turn my head slightly so that I could see him, certain that I would see on his face the same terror I was sure was mirrored on mine. To my great surprise, I did not. He didn’t look in the least bit afraid. In stark contrast to my cringing posture and terror-frozen face, he stood proud and perfectly straight, his shoulders thrown back, his head held high, and on his face an expression of contemptuous defiance.

I know full well that whenever I draw directly onto the tablet, whatever it is I’m drawing sucks. End of story. And yet for some reason, I persist in doing exactly that. Maybe because drawing on the tablet has stress-relieving properties that outweigh the suckiness of the final product, who knows. All I know is, that, except for Éponine’s expression, I think I may just be improving.

Description
Éponine and Enjolras are picked as their District’s Tributes for the Hunger Games.
(sequel: silhouette01.deviantart.com/ar…

After my name was called, everything became hazy and surreal. I couldn’t see beyond a blur, and I couldn’t hear anything except the heartbeat in my ears. How I made it onto the dais, I don’t know. The woman from the Capitol kept talking. She selected a male Tribute. She talked of the honour of the Games. I listened to the blood pounding in my ears.

I’d never been good at math - not at school, and never after - I couldn’t work out the percentages, but I did know that there were twelve districts and that two tributes came from each one. I was one of them, and only one of them ever came out alive. The chances that it would be me were pretty much non-existent.

I had never been more afraid in my life.

Deep down inside I already knew I was dead. Twenty-three other Tributes - and one of them was standing right next to me. Today we were compatriots, bound together by our mutual fear and dread - in just a few weeks from now we would be forced to be mortal enemies. Fearfully, I managed to turn my head slightly so that I could see him, certain that I would see on his face the same terror I was sure was mirrored on mine. To my great surprise, I did not. He didn’t look in the least bit afraid. In stark contrast to my cringing posture and terror-frozen face, he stood proud and perfectly straight, his shoulders thrown back, his head held high, and on his face an expression of contemptuous defiance.

I know full well that whenever I draw directly onto the tablet, whatever it is I’m drawing sucks. End of story. And yet for some reason, I persist in doing exactly that. Maybe because drawing on the tablet has stress-relieving properties that outweigh the suckiness of the final product, who knows. All I know is, that, except for Éponine’s expression, I think I may just be improving.