I am standing on the roof of the Training Centre. Right by the edge. The Capitol glimmers beneath my feet like a mess of Christmas lights which have been left tangled upon the floor. I will never understand this place and these people. The decadence, the materialism. Effie is the best of a bad bunch. We're all meant to be citizens of Panem but standing here I can see we're worlds apart. Maybe I hate this place so much because I'm here now, ready and waiting to be the object of their much hungered over entertainment. I didn't want to believe it would be like this. Back home in 12 the Capitol was just a myth which no one knew whether to believe or not, because there was no one to tell us otherwise. Apart from Haymitch; although he was always so full of liquor everyone took what he said with a pinch of salt, and that was only when he actually emerged from his house and interacted with the sober world.

I still don't know why Cinna showed me up here. But I can think for once, which is sort of a novelty. The wind is so loud but it's calming, a white noise. Like the static that's left on the television screens at home after President Snow's face has disappeared. And it blocks out the sounds finding its way up from the party which is going on in the streets below, so I'm grateful. Sometimes the wind blocks out all other thoughts so that I can think clearly, sometimes it's blocks out everything so that for once I can get as near to relaxing as I'll ever get here. There's always something else going on here, so to find a place which is entirely my own for once is reassuring. The irony is I never had a place like this at home. With my mother around there was no chance to stop working really. I suppose here for me is like when I hear Katniss talking about the meadow back home or the lake that she visited with her father.

I think maybe Cinna has decided to take me under his wing, like I know Haymitch has taken Katniss under his. That annoys me really, he's meant to be our mentor, ours. But that says something really. Speaks volumes. 'Peeta, you're as good as dead already. In the arena you won't make it past the Cornucopia. You're not worth my time and effort.' If Haymitch had a chance I'm sure that's what he'd say to me, but Effie would scold him, saying its bad manners to bring that up in front of me. Not that he would care. Not that he needs to say. I already know it's true.

Cinna talked to me. Maybe out of earshot of everybody else for a reason. Or maybe just to get my true opinion. I think he noticed right from the beginning that I've always liked Katniss. Loved her. Maybe he's seen a glimmer of affection on her side too; maybe. I won't get my hopes up. I'm going to die remember. Either way, we've decided together to play that angle in the interviews. It's my only shot at staying alive. And as much as I don't want to ruin Haymitch's plan of trying to stay away from me, Cinna said it would be best if I run this by him before I declare my love to the whole of Panem without his say so.
'You can imagine Haymitch's reaction if your interview doesn't quite go to plan because of this. The least we can do is run the idea by him so that if anything does go wrong, it's still his fault,' Cinna had said. As he left he added, 'Oh and it's all your idea remember, if anyone asks. After all, I'm only a stylist. What do I know?' With that he left with his trademark smile plastered on his face. I couldn't help but smile too. Now I knew why Katniss liked him so much. He helped you look your best on the main stage, but behind the scenes he helped give you a chance to live. For once I felt the only hope I had felt in a long time. It was a rare emotion but a welcome one. I had only encountered it once before really. When Katniss sang the Valley Song and all the birds outside stopped singing to listen. A hope that my life could be better, if I set my heart on something.

A thought at the back of my mind fights its way to the front. Me staying alive goes against the plan I've had from the start. To make sure Katniss gets out of that arena. But I need to be alive to do that, I tell myself. And Cinna's given me that chance. With that I push the thought out of my mind, the white noise provided by the wind helping me.
Up here on the roof the darkness provides me with cover, the garden behind me gives me some feel for nature in this building ridden place. The noises surrounding me no longer sound like my requiem, instead I focus on the lack of birdsong, and rather than put this down to my being in the Capitol, I choose to think that this means I do have hope; a genuine kind of hope.