They dressed up for the occasion, as was traditional. The Capitol decreed that it would be festive, regardless of how un-festive they felt. Some children had few chits in the drawing; baby klein was not one of those children.
The train ride was shocking but lonely. Never before had baby klein seen such luxury, such opulence, such... sunglasses.
She was small. She knew this could be an asset as well as a liability; the other Tributes might underestimate her prowess. Best to trust no one.
The arena was packed. It seemed the entire Capitol had turned out to watch their annual bloodsport.
"I'm Johnny," the boy said, and handed her a rock. Then he held out his hand to ask for the rock back. It was good to make a friend...
...but she knew only one of them would live.
They assembled around an arena, barely 100 feet on a side. It was bounded on all sides by a mud-filled trench sixteen inches wide. Cheering and chanting parents crowded for position as their baby Tributes prepared to do their duty for honor and glory. And then one lone harried Capitol official appeared - on her shoulder, THE CORNUCOPIA. (Not making any of this passage up - it was like fuckin' Toddler Thunderdome. . . -ed)
Eager Tributes and more eager parents started to jockey for position!
"May the odds be ever in your favor," said the stylists and coaches. They knew that the ensuing bloodbath would be bittersweet, but it would be glorious.
"Stand your ground!" said the Capitol slave. "We must not begin before the horn is sounded!" Yet the tributes (and their coaches) converged on the Cornucopia, her words unheeded. Smelling blood, the periphery followed the early advancement of the vanguard, the warnings of the slave unheard...
. . . and me and my daughter bailed instead of taking pictures of five hundred toddlers and a thousand parents converging on two garbage bags full of plastic eggs and Sweet Tarts. and they started a half hour late, and she had a cold. What a shitshow.
But fer real. Fuckin' Toddler Thunderdome up in this bitch. El Segundo, CA, Apr 19 2014 (a day that lives in infamy)