Don't Overthink

Why me?

Out of all the five-hundred-and-something girls between ages 12-18 in Panem District 12,  why pick me for the 45th annual Hunger Games? Those were my only thoughts when I first picked up the bow. 

We’d been training for two days already, the majority of that time had been dedicated to rope courses, hurling knives and dodging daggers that flew at you. I was rather proud to say that I could dodge knives and skimmy up ropes exceptionally well. Hurling knives was a rather tricky skill to master but with the help of my partner Bastian, I had moreover gotten the hang of it. 

But I hadn’t been worried about those parts. My sole anxiety was pinned on archery. 

I had a pathetic aim, which was partly the reason why I performed so poorly with knife hurling. But even then, I had handled a knife before, and at least knew the feel and grip of it. I had never touched a bow and arrow in my life. At home, my sister would do the hunting, and I would help my mother cook. So it wouldn’t be a surprise if archery was my downfall. 

Smirks and glares from the boisterous candidates of District 1 met me as I walked into the gymnasium that day with Bastian. We had learnt to grow accustomed to it, but that didn’t make it any less bothering, and on that particular day, it didn’t so much as ease the nerves in my stomach. 

Truth be told, I was about to vomit. I tried my utmost not to display my vulnerability to the other candidates. I didn’t want to be seen as a weakling. But I could feel the bile rising slowly up my throat as I walked in. I could feel my palms sweating in huge torrents as I heard the snickers from everyone else. My heart began to hammer in my chest as we all filed in. 

At least Bastian could hunt. 

He strode in with confidence, slung the bow and arrow around his neck and began shooting at the dummies. He was remarkably accurate, and this just made me squirm more inside. With horror, I realised that everybody was quite accurate with their shots. What if I was the worst one? With this competition, it was all about how you appeared in the training sessions that people judged you upon. In the training sessions, you could deduce your biggest competitors, the people who you had to look out for, what people’s strengths and weaknesses were. And which people were weak and would be easy targets. I didn’t want to be an easy target. 

After Bastian had had his turn, he beckoned me forward. I hesitantly stepped towards the table. There was a rich array of arrows with carefully honed feathers and tips that shone in the light. I selected one and slung my bow. The bow was heavier than I expected it to be, and my shoulder crumpled a little. I think Bastian could sense my nervousness. 

“You aren’t scared of it, are you Cynthia?” he asked. 

“No!” I exclaimed a little too quickly. 

“Have you ever hunted before?” he asked. My face went red. 

“No,” I answered. His face softened at this, I think. 

“Just make sure to release, and follow-through,” he said. I nodded and closed my eyes. I pictured the arrow going straight through the dummy. 

Deep breath in. Deep breath out. I could do this. 

Release and follow through. Release and follow through. Release and follow through. 

Release and follow through. Release and follow through. 

The arrow didn’t even get five yards. 

Mocking laughter sounded from the District 1 candidates. I didn’t look at them as I bent down to pick up the arrow and try again. 

“Try not to overthink it too much,” said Bastian. Sweat began to sprout from my forehead, dribbling down my cheeks. 

“You can’t be scared of archery, Cynthia,” he said, making me feel worse. “You gotta learn it one way or another.” 

“I know,” I countered frustratedly. I cocked my bow to my ear. 

Don’t overthink. Don’t overthink. Don’t overthink. Don’t overthink. Don’t overthink. Don’t overthink. Don’t overthink. But oh how my shoulder hurt. 

The arrow sailed upwards to the sky and bounded back down not more than ten yards in front of me. My face fell as I saw in clatter to the ground in front of me. 

Now, all the other candidates were closing in upon me in a large semi-circle. Laughing at me. All watching me. Hell, even Bastian, my own partner, looked close to laughing. 

“Wuss!” someone screamed. 

Just try again, Cynth. Don’t listen to them. 

I picked up the bow and arrow, taking a couple of deep, calming breaths. Tears were now pearling at the bottom of my eyes. Hastily, I blinked them away. I could not be crying right now. I think somebody must have seen my face. 

“She’s crying!” they screamed. I looked up. It was a district 1 candidate. She was the worst one. The one who always laughed the loudest.

“What a wuss!” she yelled again. Uproarious snickers filled the edges of the arena. I put on a brave face that looked pathetic with how red my cheeks were. 

“Hey, can you get out of my way?” I said in a placidly cool voice. “You’ll get hit.” 

“Not with your aim,” she said in the same placidly cool tone. 

“Wuss, wuss, wuss, wuss, wuss,” she started chanting, and everybody in the arena starting chanting too. Not chanting, catcalling. All except Bastian, who stood grim-lipped, observing the scene. 

I don’t know how it happened. I still don’t remember what I was feeling. All I remember was all the sadness I had turned into anger. I remember thinking I would show that girl how good my aim really was. I had to show her I wasn’t weak. My bow rose. I cocked my arrow towards the target. All I remember was shooting so fast, I didn’t even see she was still standing right in the way of the target. 

Don’t overthink. Well, I definitely didn’t.