A/N: This story is currently undergoing a few changes including some plot revisions. All chapters with a new title are completed. Others that are only listed as the Day # are incomplete and may not properly align with the rest of the story. For the best experience please wait until a chapter has been updated before reading it.
Day 1 - Brave New World
I've always been a morning person. Not out of personal choice. I often can't get back to sleep if I wake. Like now. So most days I start the day on my back, letting my eyes drift over the familiar cracks and chips of the paint on the ceiling. Just me and my thoughts and my bed for company. Small voices in the early hours.
Today's thoughts are unpleasant.
One year ago today, my best friend Volt was reaped for the 73rd Hunger Games. Nine days later he died of exposure to the icy cold air during the night. Alone. Shivering. Afraid. I can still hear the sound of his cannon sometimes when I'm in bed now. Reverberating over and over again. The more I try to not listen, the louder it gets.
The first few months were the worst of my entire life. It felt like I forgot what living felt like. I cried until I had no tears left. There was this weight on my chest that I could never shake off. My hands always felt so numb and empty. Often I would I turn around to tell him something, only to find that I was alone.
I think you need to be able to feel to cry. I cry less nowadays.
After Volt was returned, cold and white, the boy from District 1 went on to win. Volt was still wearing his token around his bloodless neck. It was a small cobalt-blue amulet I had given him for his birthday one year. A single deep blue marble and silver chain. It had cost me a month's wages, but he was turning sixteen and he deserved it. Sweet sixteen as people used to say, as though all other ages were bitter. Volt had explained its meaning during his interview.
"Her name's Alyssa Cobalt, so she thought it would be nice to give me a blue necklace for my birthday," he had said. "It was very sweet of her. Now I get to carry a little reminder with me."
The Gamemakers had interviewed me once he'd reached the top eight. They wanted to know if I thought Volt was in love with me, or if I loved him. I lied and said no. Maybe I should have said yes. Maybe that would have garnered him some sympathy from the Capitol and someone would have sponsored some matches or a sleeping bag. Maybe he'd still be here. The only thing that's given me any sense of peace is that Volt didn't die at the hands of another tribute or muttation. The Capitol wasn't able to cheer at the sight of his blood. A forgettable death, yes, but who wants a glorified death? There's no dignity in having your life reduced to blood sport. His legacy won't be a daytime rerun of a brutal death whilst commentators make matter-of-fact remarks. That's not what he would have wanted.
Nowadays, I don't have many other friends.
So... today is Reaping Day. I should get out of bed. There is light gleaming through the small window above my bed, making the dust in the air dance softly. It's calm. The calm before the storm. A storm of flashing cameras and weeping parents. Dread sinks into my stomach like cement. Why? I don't think I'm scared of Reaping Day anymore. Death is unavoidable. If I'm reaped, the best that I can hope for is that I die like Volt. Noiseless and bloodless and painless. The sooner one recognizes this, the sooner they can find some peace. Maybe it's my memories of the last year. All my regrets. Things that I never got to tell Volt. Like I said, my thoughts are like shadows. They're my constant companions.
I wonder a lot about Volt's stolen years. I picture him grown up, as a man. Would he have a wife and family to come home to each day? Sometimes I picture him as an old man, with paper-white hair, deep wrinkles and the toothiest of smiles. I think of all the things he will never do.
District 5 is the third wealthiest District in Panem. Volt's dad says that there are many people worse off than us, but to me, everything is relative. The outer districts are worse off than us. We're worse off than District 1. Even the poorest person in the Capitol has some privilege over the citizens of the Districts. It's all perspective. District 5 mostly generates power for the rest of Panem from the massive dam, but we have other smaller roles in energy. Oil refineries, nuclear generators, gas extraction, a little bit of mining here and there. I usually work in the refineries, helping to fix machines after school. I got picked especially for this job because I do well in school, I'm small enough to get into the hard to reach areas and I'm handy with tools. As a result, grease is my other constant companion.
I've never had a problem with money and it's what I'm the most grateful for in life. My parents died in a refinery accident when I was ten. I was given compensation by Mayor Tesla and then shipped off to the orphanage, but I also had what was left of my parent's money and a friend whose parents pitied me and didn't mind me staying over. "No boys allowed at sleepovers!" say the Moms on those bad teen drama shows we get broadcast from the Capitol. The girls giggle and roll their eyes. I wonder what that kind of luxury feels like. The only time people giggle in District 5 is if they're drunk.
By the end of the first month after my relocation to the orphanage I was spending every night with Volt - and I've never gone back. I gave as much as I could to his family and ensured they never had to spend anything on me. I was determined that Volt and I would never have to collect tesserae.
There's a gentle knock on the door that disturbs my thoughts. Volt's mother enters and I sit up, pushing the hair out of my face. She's carrying a tray filled with food. A bowl of hot porridge and honey, a roll with butter and jam, and a mug of steaming tea. Her hands are trembling. This day is far worse for her than it is for me.
"It's Reaping Day," she says, barely disguising the tremor in her overly-sprightly voice. She sets the tray on my lap and wrings her hands. "I thought that it might be nice for you to have something special." She tries to smile at me and I return a small one. She's already dressed - brown hair tied up, wearing a floral-print cotton dress, red lipstick applied carefully. Today she'll be getting stares as well, sympathy smiles from people who remember what she had to go through this past year. She needs to look like she's holding her life together.
"I'll get you your dress," she says and leaves. I eat in silence, trying to block out the world around me. I do this often. Volt and I used to have silent conversations all the time, feeling each other's company without speaking. I liked to read when he was around. I could see the even rhythm of his breathing from the corner of my eye. It made me feel safe.
My mind is elsewhere and I haven't paid attention to tasting the food as I eat. I'm full, but also guilty, because I can imagine how much this must have cost Volt's mother. Usually we just have toast. Volt's father is in District 3, repairing some power lines. He won't be back until the end of the month. I've already said my goodbyes to him.
Volt's mother returns with my reaping dress. It is my favorite thing left of my mother. The dress is a beautiful cornflower blue color, but it's frayed in some areas, and too large for me. She used to wear it in the summer when we went out of family picnics by the dam. One of the most vivid memories I have of her is in this dress and sunglasses, the summer breeze playing with her fiery red hair, laughing. I wish I could be like that.
"I've run you a bath, Alyssa," Volt's mother says.
I get up and walk to the bathroom. She's sprinkled a few lavender petals into the steamy water – a rare but welcome gesture. I undress and soak until the water turns cold, then dress in my mother's clothes and arrange my long, deep red hair into a thin braid that frames my face. Volt always said I look like I'm plotting something. My face is sharp and defined, with a long, snout-like nose and large amber eyes. If I smiled I could be pretty. Normally I look apathetic.
As a finishing touch I put on the Volt's necklace. It will be my token should I be reaped. This time I will carry Volt with me.
I drain the bathwater and enter the living room. Volt's mother is there, pacing and rearranging the furnishings as though she's expecting visitors. I suspect that if she didn't keep her hands occupied she would cry into them
"How are you feeling, sweetie?" Volt's mother asks.
"I'm fine," I say. What else can I say?
We stare at the clock in the kitchen until it's 11:30. Even though the Reaping doesn't actually start until noon, it would be prudent to be early.
When it's time, she takes my hand and leads me out the door. We walk like this through the streets, following the other families like sheep. We cross the dam. It's popular with suicide jumpers. I spent a lot of time there when Volt died.
The town square looms into view. Behind it you can see the massive, hourglass-shaped structures of the nuclear plant, white smoke puffing out. There are already hundreds of people here and more filing in. A number of Intimidating Peacekeepers roam the area, their fingers wrapped tentatively around their batons. I give Volt's mother a long, lingering hug, and then I'm ushered away to the identity checkpoints. A woman pricks my finger with a needle and takes a sample of blood. I barely notice the pain.
"Next please," she calls and lets me past. I wait in line for the Reaping to start, forcing my breathing to slow. Classmates who I've known since childhood glide past. The fear in their eyes is palpable. Two of them I will never see again. My palms secrete sweat, and claustrophobia sets in with everyone crowding around me. The minutes pass by slowly. Five. Ten. Fifteen. My eyes dart to the reaping bowls. In one of them, my name has been entered 15 times in neat cursive. Alyssa Cobalt. My tokens to death. I'm at a low risk of being selected. There are others who don't have a choice but to sign up for tesserae. The girl who was reaped the year before last had seven siblings. She took tesserae for each of them every year.
I hate the word reaped. It makes us sound like we're a commodity. Reaping the fruits of your labor. Reaping rewards. Reaping the seeds you sow.
Once everyone has arrived, the District 5 escort, Florentina Levine, emerges from the Justice Building. For these Games she's wearing a lime green pencil dress and a painfully bright pink feather boa. Her aquamarine hair looks like an over-sized beehive and it's topped with a huge floppy black hat with peacock and flamingo feathers that bounce and jiggle every time she totters forward with her tiny feet. Mayor Tesla, his wife and District 5's five living victors take their place on the platform behind Florentina.
"Good afternoon, District 5! May the Odds be Ever in Your Favour! I'm delighted to be here this glorious afternoon!"
I can never tell if she's being genuine or not. If Volt had won last year, she would probably have been promoted to a Career District but as far as Districts go, 5 isn't the worst. We're by no means Careers, but we've definitely had more than our fair share of victors and wealth compared to the others. Some people call us Career-Lite, or Diet Careers, like we're a flavor of soda. Florentina has definitely had worse districts though. I heard that she used to escort District 10 but got bumped up after they won a decade or so ago.
"I know you're all excited to find out who will be competing in this year's Games, but first I invite you to focus your attention on the screen here as we watch this very special film about our great nation's noble history!"
She turns and gestures to a large screen that has been put in place by the Peacekeepers. The film begins to play, reminding us of the punishment for the uprising and the signing of Treaty of Treason. The same film is shown every year, so I ordinarily would just tune it out, but this year is different. As I watch the footage, I am reminded of Volt. This is what he died for. The film calls his death 'a sacrifice for the greater good of Panem' but this is a lie. There is no greater good. There is only the murder of the innocent - of children. The film finishes grandly and Florentina bounces up to the microphone again and adjusts her hot pink cat-eye glasses. Her hat threatens to fly off and she has to keep it in place with one of her hands.
"Well then, ladies and gentlemen, I suppose that there's no point drawing things out any longer. You must all be so excited. I know I am!"
Florentina reaches her jewel encrusted-hand into the girl's bowl.
"The courageous young lady who will represent District 5 is…"
You can hear everyone holding their breath.
"Alyssa Cobalt!"
My name rings out across the square, echoing in the silence like a cannon going off. A wave of sighs resonates through the crowd, but I feel like the air has been knocked out of me. My mind is flat and white like a blank piece of paper. The irony is so thick it almost makes me want to laugh. Yes, I want to laugh and cry at the same time. A woman's scream pierces the air like a knife, right into my gut. I instantly block Volt's mother from my thoughts. If I think about her, I know I will break down. People stare at me as I move one foot after the other up to the stage like a robot. I'm following almost literally in Volt's footsteps. I wonder if the Capitol will recognize me from the interview. They probably had this whole thing rigged. Rigged... or the most unlikely of coincidences.
I step quietly but staunchly up to Florentina while she calls for volunteers. Any? Of course not. I am the weird girl who's shut everyone in her life out for a year. I am nobody. Eventually I reach the platform and turn on the spot to stare at the entire population of District 5. Suddenly I feel queasy and my head spins. I can't stand crowds. Everyone's eyes are stapled upon me. I can see every possible emotion at once. Pity. Relief. Shame. Anger. Sadness. Joy.
"Congratulations darling," Florentina whispers. She smells like fake flowers and the dirty odor of make-up. "Let's see who will be joining Alyssa." Florentina picks up a name. "Kevin Faraday!"
I know this boy - Kevin Faraday. He breaks away from the crowd with an absolutely thunderstruck expression on his face. Kevin's in my year and one of the most popular guys at school - always surrounded by a horde of disciples. Some of the girls have started to wail and scream. One of them even dissociates into a complete panic attack and collapses. I usually detest this kind of melodramatic behavior, but now... it seems justified - and genuine. Their friend has just been sentenced to death. I know what that feels like. Kevin is petrified and it takes several people nudging him to get him to shuffle up to the stage. I've never seen him like this. Usually he's making loud and immature jokes.
"Congratulations Alyssa and Kevin, the tributes from District 5!"
We shake hands awkwardly, avoiding each other's eyes entirely. His hand is sweaty. I can see him blink back his tears rapidly. We turn to face the crowd one last time as Florentina makes her closing remarks. The reality sinks in as we stare into a sea of faces that we will never see again. I am going to the arena. I am going to die.
Florentina ushers us into the Justice Building as the anthem finishes. I am led to a small room where family and friends say goodbye. Since I have no friends, I sit on a rickety red chair and twirl the blue marble necklace nervously. Kevin must have at least twelve or thirteen people with him at the moment. It makes me jealous. He will be missed and I won't. When I said goodbye to Volt for the last time I didn't know what to do, so I just hugged him for ten minutes in what was to be the last of our silent conversations. Finally, I gave him a kiss goodbye and left without saying a word. Now my deepest regret is that I wish I had said something, even if it was just gibberish. I have fantasized endlessly over this last imaginary conversation of ours. Sometimes it even ends with us breaking out of the Justice Building and escaping into the wilderness.
I want to hear his voice so badly.
I brace myself for his mother to arrive, inevitably soaked with tears. I rub my palms together nervously. The sweat congeals and makes them sticky. The door swings open and Volt's mother collapses into my arms. Her chest heaves with sobs and in moments my dress is drenched. She blubbers something inaudible.
"Take the money. Everything that I have is yours," I say, struggling to hold back tears of my own.
"I can't lose you. Not after what happened last year. Please don't go!" she cries, shaking with tears. "Let's run away", she says manically, her hands on my cheeks. "I'll go home and pack and come back for you and we can escape. They can't take you from me, Alyssa! Not again!"
"Shh, I love you," I say wrapping my arms tightly around her. "Even after I'm gone. And please be there for William when he gets home. You two will need each other."
"I'm so sorry this has happened to you, Alyssa. I would do anything to keep you here. You've got to at least try to win."
"Don't worry," I lie. "It's my intention to."
A Peacekeeper enters without knocking.
"Let's get going," he says.
"Hey, I'll give your love to Volt," I say.
"Alyssa. I love you. I will always love you."
"I love you too. Goodbye."
The Peacekeeper pulls Volt's mother away from me. She buries her face in her hands and looks like she's on the verge of collapse. I hope that they don't hurt her.
The door slams and I'm left alone. The room is deathly still. The word 'dead' keeps repeating in my head until it just becomes white noise. Numbness settles on me, unfeeling and detached. Finally, after what seems like hours, some Peacekeepers arrive and take me by my arms to the high-speed train to the Capitol, as though I'm being arrested. Theoretically, all tributes are supposed to arrive in the Capitol around the same time so that the Capitol citizens don't have to wait around and become bored, so they have to program the trains to arrive at the same time. District 5 isn't that far away from the Capitol, so we have to wait for some of the other trains to get a head start. Outer districts get faster trains, inner get slower. We should be in the Capitol by late tomorrow morning.
Kevin looks like he has been crying and he covers this up as we board the silver train. I'm glad I was able to compose myself before. From this point onward, every decision I make - no matter how trivial - needs to be strategic. The camera flashes are blinding. Florentina and District 5's victors - our future mentors - follow us. The train door slides open and I'm overwhelmed with a wave of warm, rich, aromatic air, as though sticking out my tongue could let me taste the smell.
"Now, you each have your own compartment of course, but there's also the dining cart, the bar cart, the entertainment cart and a lounge cart as well as the carts for your mentors and myself. Make yourselves at home, of course. There's only that much time for you to enjoy. If you need me I'll be with the conductor, otherwise I'm sure we'll be getting to know each other very soon," Florentina says.
I'm too mesmerized to process what she's said. The whole train is so shiny and clean that it looks unnatural and sterile. The luxurious furniture and artistic décor is alien. The colors are too extreme. The metals gleam too brightly. But the most unusual thing is the food. An entire table dedicated to little covered pots of hot dishes and trays of pastries. The cupcakes are as candy-colored as the Capitol itself and there liquor cabinet has as many bottles as there are stars in the sky. More food than I've ever seen at one time.
"Help yourselves to refreshments," says Florentina before trotting off.
The Reaping went right through lunch so I'm very hungry. I cautiously pick up a lid off one of the silver pots and hot steam billows out and into my face, leaving a slightly sticky feeling behind. It's a deep purple broth that smells sweet and earthy.
Just then, three men enter. I recognize them as some of District 5's victors. Spark, Benjamin and Amp. They are drunkards, morphling addicts, athletes gone to seed. District 5 has had seven victors: three male, four female. Two of the female victors are dead, both of whom were Careers.
"You, boy, come with us. We need to talk." Benjamin beckons to Kevin.
"Can't I eat something first?"
"There'll be plenty of food later." They have to practically drag him away.
I sit down at the table and spoon myself some of the broth. It's quite possibly the most wonderful and satisfying thing I've ever eaten. I finish the first bowl in a minute and ladle myself another one when the door slides open again. The sound makes me jump and I slosh purple juice everywhere on the snow white tablecloth. Someone who cares enough about tablecloths is going to be furious.
The two women ignore this and take seats across the table from me instead. They're District 5's living female victors... and now my mentors, I guess. The first is the tallest woman I've ever seen in my life. She must be six-foot two. Her skin and eyes are dark brown and her long black curls are streaked with silver. She's broad-shouldered and tough-looking, and there's an intensity in her eyes. The second woman is about a foot shorter than her. She has pale brown, every-so-slightly yellowed skin, and long, limp, black hair. She probably once was very beautiful, but her beauty has been somewhat marred by her drooping, yellow-stained eyes, and deep-set wrinkles too old for her age. She emanates weariness. Morphling, most likely. Perhaps just trauma.
"Where's the boy?" demands the taller of the two.
"He's with his mentors," I say.
"Good. It's probably better if we talk in private." I move to get up but the shorter woman stops me.
"You can stay and eat if you like, honey," she hums. Her voice is light, soft, lilting and distant, like she's talking to someone but not paying attention to them. "The least we can do is wait for you to get some food into you." The taller woman lights up a cigarette and sighs.
"Right. Before we get into the good stuff, we've got a couple of terms we need to to agree to." She takes another puff. "We need you to understand that we may try the best that we can, but never get you out of the arena alive. We need you to listen to everything we tell you and obey all of our instructions, even f you disagree or don't like them. I've been doing this for 30 years. I did it for Corah here. Trust me, we know what I'm doing. Are we clear?"
I nod automatically. Part of me wants to question how good their mentoring has been if we haven't had a victor in over ten years, but I hold my tongue. They're not the enemy here, and antagonizing them will do me no good.
"Good. Now I suppose introductions are needed. I'm Cassandra and this is Corah." Corah nods at the mention of her name in a vague, distant way, as if she's daydreaming. "What's your name?"
"Alyssa. Alyssa Cobalt," I say.
"Well then Alyssa, eat up. You'll do well to put on as much weight as you can before you enter the arena," Cassandra says. "Some years the Games last over a month. That's an awful long time to go without food." She swaps my broth for a plate of fatty, golden pork, silky mashed potatoes with thick brown gravy and minted peas. Corah butters several rolls for me.
"I don't understand," I say. "I haven't been aboard this train for an hour and you're already preparing me for slaughter?"
The women stop and look at me.
"We're not preparing you for slaughter," says Corah. "We're trying to help you as much as we can. Getting as much training into you before the Games is-"
"You sound as though you think I have a chance to win."
Cassandra chuckles coldly. "We're the ones that have to live with your deaths on our hands so could you do us a favor and give us the chance to stop blaming ourselves. Let us feel as though we did everything we could do to help you survive. And if that means coaching you early - then we're going to coach you early."
I stare at Cassandra's beady eyes. I don't want to humor them. I don't know what I want.
"You should eat up too, Corah," says Cassandra. Corah ignores her. She's back in her trance. This is what awaits whoever wins the Games. Blocking out bad memories with alcohol or morphling. Wasting away year after year. Seeing children who they have come to know slaughtered and knowing that there's nothing they can do to stop it. It's a gruesome prospect.
Florentina enters, having removed her silly, bobbing hat. Her bright blue eyes widen at the sight of the stained tablecloth.
"You silly tribute! Didn't you realize that this was the finest chantilly lace that District 8 has on offer? My emphasis, of course, being on the was. It'll take weeks to order some more, what with the backlog from that train accident!"
"Give her a break, Flo," says Cassandra. "Or at least take it out on her when I'm not around to hear it."
Florentina purses her lips and returns Cassandra's remark with her own rude one. As the profanities fly, Corah and I duck out silently. I pass Kevin and his mentors in the hall. Apparently I've interrupted a conversation. I slip past their stench of alcohol and morphling and into my own compartment where I curl up on the bed. After an hour of brooding and listening to the muffled sounds of Cassandra and Florentina shouting, the door opens and Cassandra and Corah enter.
"We wanted to talk to you about your training," Corah says.
"Can this wait?" I ask. I don't want to face my fate yet. I want to cling onto my freedom for as long as possible. I want to be alone.
"No," Cassandra says bluntly. "You don't have any time to feel sorry for yourself. Not if you want to say alive."
"What are your strengths?" asks Cassandra.
The back of my eyes hurt because I'm trying to hold back tears. Why won't they just piss off already to go and get drunk or high like a normal victor?
"This is no time to be modest, honey," Corah soothes. "If you've got strengths, we need to know about them."
I pause for a minute pretending to think. I have one valuable strength, and like Corah says, there's no time for modesty. Modesty gets you slaughtered in the bloodbath at the Cornucopia. Arrogance gets you into the Career pack.
"I'm smart."
Cassandra nods. "Good - never underestimate intelligence in the arena. Care to elaborate?"
"I do well in school," I say, slightly unsure of the question.
"Well, being book smart never hurt anybody. Sometimes it is actually useful to be able to recite every single goddamn plant and tell are poisonous and which are safe to eat. But that kind of intelligence isn't going to save you from being bludgeoned to death."
I take a moment to think. What would my teachers describe me as? What would Volt and his family say?
"I'm good at predicting things," I say.
Cassandra raises her eyebrows. "Predicting things?"
"Yeah, like... anticipation. I just seem to know when stuff's going to happen."
"Intuition," Corah whispers.
"I'm good at analyzing and evaluating things. I think quick on my feet. I'm adaptable and calculative. And it's the same with people. I know what kind of person they are. I can predict how they'll act and behave."
Cassandra nods along to what I'm saying. I can tell the gears in her head are turning.
"We can definitely work with that. Intuition is impossible to teach, but we can help you cover your weak points."
A small amount of relief fills me.
"Give us sometime to think it over. In the meantime, we'll watch a couple old Hunger Games highlights to get some ideas," Cassandra says and turns on the huge screen that covers an entire wall of my bedroom.
"They should help you to prepare mentally. We'll see what works with your personal skills," says Corah encouragingly.
"The first one is my Games," grunts Cassandra. Corah comes to sit next to me on my bed, but Cassandra chooses a fat armchair instead, lighting another cigarette even though I wish she wouldn't.
The film starts with Cassandra's Reaping. Even then she looks like she could take on most of the boys at her school, and easily overshadows the small thirteen-year-old who is called along with her. Then the tribute parade flashes by in which she's dressed as huge, neon-hued atom that flashes a hundred different colors. Finally, training scores are announced, in which she's given a 10 and then the interviews. Her stylists have obviously tried to make her look more appealing for the Capitol, but the magenta dress, layers of make-up and sleek hair do nothing to cover up her staunch presence. Even some of the Careers are intimidated by her. Finally the Games begin and Cassandra charges forward into the bloodbath, taking out the two smallest Careers and the boy from 8, and leaving with a huge pack and tent, an axe and a metal club. She has no trouble getting sponsors after that. Eventually, she runs into Blair, the girl from 10 and the two form an alliance. Together they take down another two Careers while two more tributes die of exposure and another is hunted down by the rapidly deteriorating Career pack. Then in the night when there's only five left, Cassandra smothers her ally with a pillow.
At this point I'm trying to figure out why Cassandra wanted to show me the film at all.
The next day, another tribute dies at the hands of the Careers and the final showdown begins. Armed with her club and axe, Cassandra comes charging out from behind a huge boulder. She sends her axe flying into the stomach of the girl from 2 but takes a knife to the leg from the other Career. Eventually, Cassandra manages to tackle the girl from 4 and beats her skull into a pulp with the club. Final interviews flash by where Cassandra is crowned.
There's a long pause as the film ends.
"You killed your ally…" I say eventually, my voice fading away. I shouldn't sound so judgmental. Everyone knows alliances are temporary. There has never been more than one victor and there never will be.
"Not a day goes by where I don't see her face in my sleep," says Cassandra. Her face is expressionless and hard, like stone. I don't know if I should say something. "The point of all of this is to show you the risks of making an alliance. You don't need them. You won't need them. You don't want them. People think that when it comes time to cut ties it will be easy. I'm here to tell you that it's not. No alliance has ever ended well. Especially those between different districts. Everyone always thinks that it will be easy to kill someone in self-defense or when their hand is forced. They're wrong."
I don't want to tell Cassandra that I've been thinking the other way around. That I tell myself I could never kill anyone, but that in reality I would find it all too easy.
"Corah and I think that your best chances for survival are to be non-confrontational and non-violent. You're no brawny Bessie, so hiding and waiting things out will be the best chance you have - preferably at night - unless you suddenly develop a talent for chucking axes or something. you ain't really up to fighting. Yes, it won't be glamorous and it might cost you sponsors, but I'm thinkin' you're smart enough to get food, water and shelter without them," Cassandra explains. "
I smirk coldly. "Seems you've got my whole future planned out."
"You got that right, girl", Cassandra says, returning the dry half-smile. "Next video then, shall we?"
The next Hunger Games turns out to be Corah's. I have a very vague memory of this one. She must have won when I was very little. At the Tribute Parade she's dressed in singed power plant worker's clothes with her hair teased and charcoal smudged on her face to make it look as if she's been electrocuted. She's given a 6 in training, and her interview flashes by before the actual Games start. She runs away from the bloodbath immediately and proves to be very resourceful, gathering edible plants and making her own weapons like clubs and spears from rocks and wood from what she learned in Training. Corah and her district partner both make the top eight before he is hunted down and killed by the Careers. The tension between the Careers arises because Corah has managed to escape every time they get close to catching her, and they end up fighting it out among themselves. The boy from 2 emerges victorious albeit pretty beaten up. Corah then lays a trap in which she creates a tripwire from some wire she stole a while back from the Careers. The boy from 2 spies her and chases her down with his mace until he trips over Corah's trap and falls down a ravine. Then Corah's announced the winner, she's crowned the victor and the screen goes dark.
"Maybe that's enough for one day. This must be pretty overwhelming for you," says Corah. I suspect that that wasn't meant for me.
"We want you to see how Corah outsmarted the Careers by being resourceful and waiting for them to destroy themselves so she only had to fight one at the end. If you can outlast the others, you'll stand a chance."
Night is approaching quickly out of the window. Time flies when you're having fun. Where do these expressions come from? Time is like a bird. Or maybe a herb. Thyme flies. That would be a sight to see. Thyme flies when you're having fun.
My stomach is rumbling, so we make our way to the dining cart and find Florentina filing her strawberry-pink nails as she's watching some sort of Capitol game show.
"Ah, Alyssa! I've been worried about you! Mentors working you hard, are they? You and Kevin both it seems."
I take up a seat opposite Kevin. We ignore each other and eat in silence. I guess that we're going to continue to act the same way as we did in District 5. Fine by me. Now is the worst time to make new friends. And Cassandra has said no allies.
All of the dishes have been uncovered and I'm overwhelmed once again by the sheer amount of food. The table seems to defy physics and remain standing despite the mountains of delicacies. I help myself to several paper-thin slices of honey-roasted ham, cranberry jelly and a thick, creamy risotto with wild mushrooms and small flakes of sort of earthy, black fungus that I've never seen before.
"They're truffles! Aren't they marvelous?!" Florentina exclaims after I ask her what it is. There are several foods that I don't recognize and Florentina seems to pick up on this because in an instant she's gushing on about her knowledge about the Good Life of the Capitol.
"And you see, those little black balls are called caviar! We import it from District 4. Oh, and Alyssa, this is called a mango, you'll fall in love with it, mark my words! It's simply divine as a gelato or with passionfruit in a tropical parfait. Look Alyssa, they've even set out some chocolate!" she says, pointing to a large bowl of muddy brown glop that I'm very distrusting of to start with. I know what chocolate is, but I've never had it before. I've heard it's expensive even in the Capitol because it's so tricky to grow. I sample the sauce cautiously and decide that this is what liquid sunshine must taste like. I'm not completely sure how to eat it, so I end up just spooning it into a mug and drinking it by itself. Florentina resumes her inane babble with words that I've never heard of before, like 'ganache', 'bechamel' and 'tortellini'.
After dinner, Kevin and I join Florentina on the soft, fuzzy sofa to watch the recap of the Reapings. My heart is thumping like a drum. Both tributes from District 1 are volunteers, and I notice that the girl is unbelievably and almost impossibly beautiful, with long blonde hair and large, green eyes. The boy from 2 is also a volunteer and looks like he is made entirely of muscle. The girl from 3 has to be ripped from her mother's arms by Peacekeepers when she is reaped. Then there's me, looking stiff but… sly, cunning even. I wasn't even trying to do that. Then there's two almost identical-looking girls from 6 & 7 and a girl whose name is Demetria Roggen from District 9 who Kevin jokingly points out looks very similar to me.
I don't like it.
From the outer Districts there's a crippled boy from 10, a small, fairy-like, twelve-year-old girl from 11, and her huge, hulking, ox-like district partner who reminds me of Cassandra. Finally, there's another twelve-year old from District 12. No, wait. Someone's volunteered for her, her sister, I think. What did her escort call her? Catnip? Strange name. I can't help but feel a twinge of sadness towards Catnip. The girl who has to die to save her sister. If only I could have done that to save Volt. Finally, her partner is reaped and the recaps end.
"Oh, how delightful! I always love the Reapings! You get to see all the tributes for the first time!" Florentina declares excitedly. She suddenly notices me clutching the half-empty mug of chocolate. "No! No! No!" she screams, causing me to retract in fright like an animal that's been snuck up on. "You never drink chocolate sauce! That's what hot chocolate is for! Chocolate sauce is for strawberries or marshmallows or ice-cream." Florentina dunks a fluffy pink sponge into my mug and presses it between by lips. "Yes, that's right! Simply mouth-watering aren't they?"
I force myself to nod and smile. I don't know what I've just eaten, but it reminds me of the frilly pink dress that the gorgeous girl from 1 wore for her Reaping outfit. Silly and bland and disgustingly sweet. It's ruined the flavor of the chocolate.
"Would you like some hot chocolate, Kevin? I was just about to get some for Alyssa," Florentina asks. Volt's father says it's what the children in the Capitol and District 1 drink before they go to bed. Florentina serves us the warm, watery, pale brown liquid. It's tasty, but thin and bland compared to the other stuff.
Within the next half an hour it becomes apparent to me why Florentina said it was a bad idea to drink the chocolate sauce. I haven't thrown up in a long time and I don't intend to waste all that good food. Instead, I excuse myself and retire to my room, ignoring Florentina's goodnight. The bed could fit three or four people comfortably and it's softer than anything I could have dreamed of. I strip off my reaping dress and fold it gently onto the armchair. I hope it will find it's way back to District 5. Maybe they can bury me in it. I throw on the pale, silk pyjamas that have been laid out for me and let my hair out of the braid. I don't feel like myself anymore. I feel like I'm entering a brave new world. I think someone wrote a book about that, a long, long time ago. Yes, that's what it feel like. A new world I'm entering into, one where I have to be brave.
I snuggle up in the covers and bury my head under the sheets. A year's worth of tears comes spilling out of me all at once. I have to cry. If I don't, I'll have to be alone with my thoughts again, and they'll drag me down into hell. I know that no matter what Cassandra or Corah or Florentina say, I will never come home.