Part One
"Aurelia Iverson!"
I freeze. My feet seem to be stuck in the same spot. I gaze helplessly up at that tiny slip of paper that has changed my life. The lilac hands holding it are manicured perfectly; long talons coloured like a sunset gracing the end of those long fingers. The paper descends and eyes framed with long pink feathers glower at me, attempting to welcome me into this madness but I see through it. I look around nervously as I realise that everybody in front of me is staring: some consoling and comforting, some relieved that it's not them, and some succeeding in masking their emotions. These are all familiar faces but I am looking at one face in particular. Nicholas.
Finally I find him, and he is gazing back at me, pained. He can't volunteer for me because he can only take the place of the boy, and we can't go in this together because it could never end well. I see in his eyes that he is urging me to move forward, because I have to. So, I step one foot in front of me, and then I do that with the other foot. I have to order myself to move in this way, and I am around halfway to the stage when my hand is grabbed, I am spun around and given a long kiss that I know will be one of the last. "I love you," he says.
I can only nod because my throat is swollen – I start to wonder if I will be able to breathe for much longer. He knows that I love him. I don't need to tell him. I look into those deep blue eyes that have always comforted me as white gloved hands pull at his shoulders, but he grips onto my hand. I mouth 'Let go'.
He does.
I step onto the stage and Urzula Torelli shoves a microphone into my face. "Hello Penelope." She greets me in that strong outlandish Capitol accent.
I manage an almost-silent 'Hi'. My escort knows she is not going to get much else out of me so she leaves me. I stare longingly at Nicholas still, wishing just for yesterday, a day when I was free. I hardly acknowledge another boy walking onto the stage. He is just shorter than me, but I am tall for a girl, and seems to be around fifteen years old. I recognize him and I suspect his name is Howard.
I am taken, whilst surrounded by Peacekeepers, to the room where I will say my final goodbyes. First, my brother and sister burst through the door and make a beeline to me to give me a huge embrace, which gives comfort in that I can share all this confusion with them. Both are older than me and have passed their reaping days. In fact, I almost had. I'm eighteen now so all I had to do was pass this year and then I could have been free of the fear.
My father is next. He kisses me on the forehead and we sit down together. His lined face tenses into familiar creases, his eyebrows furrowed in upset and in thought. "I love you, sweetie," he says. "You know how to fight so you can defend yourself. You can kill animals – you've had plenty of experience with that." This is District Ten, of which the main industry is livestock. I have helped my dad with farming the animals all my life so I know how to hunt and eat them. He also gave me lessons in self-defence as a child so I could stand up for myself. There are some areas in this district where violence seems to be the answer, and being the youngest, I have always been looked at as the innocent and vulnerable one. My father just never wanted me to get hurt. "Use your time to learn how survival skills and how to use a weapon. Maybe a knife," He orders. "You're coming back to us, you know that?" he says weakly, attempting a smile but instead presenting a grimace. A tear kick starts the threat of an outpour of emotion. I have only seen my father cry once before, just after my mother died. He seemed so helpless, and I couldn't find it in myself to comfort him, only being ten years old. I find myself in the same situation now.
"Of course I will," I lie. I know I'm not coming back. I can bet now that there is a line of tributes that are bigger and stronger and more threatening than me. I don't stand a chance.
I hug him, but he leaves soon after. I don't blame him for how he is feeling: dreading the moment when he will have to watch his youngest daughter murdered live on television, for the whole of Panem to see.
When Nicholas walks through that door I fling myself at him. He kisses me on the cheek and then pulls away. His hand is outstretched, palm up, in front of me. In the centre of that palm sits a simple wooden ball, the size of a coin.
"Take it," he says. "It means I love you."
I pick it up between my thumb and forefinger and look at it. Suddenly, a memory floods back to me. Where Nicholas and I sit in a field on a pleasant summer's day, making shapes out of the clouds and sharing our wildest dreams. We had been together for almost a year then. I gave him that wooden ball as a token of my love – it's a tradition in District Ten that you give your love a small and simple token to tell them you love them.
I have a suspicion that he knows that this is the end too. Having regained the ability to speak, I say, "I love you so much." I give him a kiss with the ball clutched in my hand. I will never let go of this. Not until my final moment.
"There's one more person that wants to see you," he whispers in my ear. He kisses my cheek and then walks out the door. I see through the gap that he has sat down, his head in his hands. I let one tear escape. I sit down on the sofa to compose myself. I can't let anybody see me this weak.
A woman, around forty-five years old, walks in. It's Aunt Imelda, my mother's sister, who has been like a mum ever since my one died. She sits down next to me and I hug her.
She strokes my hair comfortingly. "Don't be afraid of them, Aury. Don't run. Make sure you give them a lasting impression," she whispers.
When I pull away, she wears a small comforting smile.
A Peacekeeper enters to tell us our time is up. The next few moments flash by alarmingly quickly and soon I am boarding a train that will take us to the Capitol, and ultimately, to our deaths. The train is so clean, and it is filled with a sweet floral scent. I am shown to my room. There is a large bed, made up with many velvety cushions and silk sheets. There are some drawers, and I look in there to find many clothes. There is a knock on the door so I turn quickly. The head of Urzula peeks around the door, topped with a large lemon-yellow wig adorned with daisies.
"Dinner is in an hour!" she says, and then leaves, clicking the door into place behind her. All the way to the station I had kept an extremely firm grasp on that little ball. I leave it on the table and then open another door to find a shower, a bath, a toilet and a sink. Hanging up on a rail are soft white towels. I strip down and take a quick shower, washing myself thoroughly, and when I come out I choose to wear a silky purple dress, pinched in at the waist and flowing down to my knees. I dry my short brown hair with a strange contraption, resembling a gun but blowing out hot air instead of bullets.
I nervously walk down the hallway to what must be the dining room. I am given some minced beef mixed with vegetables and topped with slices of something I don't recognize. There is a sauce on top that is creamy and cheesy, balancing out the rich beef. The vegetables with it are served with herbs and garlic. The whole dish is the most delicious thing I have ever tasted. I drink some juice that tastes like apples, and I ponder on how the juice could possibly come out of an apple.
I talk to my mentors. The woman is called Melanie, around twenty-five years old, with long brown hair and big eyes, who I remember watching when I was eight. The man, Grant, is about forty, and must have won the Games before I was born. They tell us about what to expect in the Capitol: crazy people in strange fashions intrigued by us, and we will be preened and groomed as soon as we get there for the opening ceremony. They tell us that it won't be pleasant.
I look over at Howard, who is still eating, and he looks down at his plate. He seems to be listening though, because sometimes his face shows a reaction to what the mentors are saying.
"Can I… read books?" I ask. "I mean survival books? Do you have any of those?"
"Yes, I'm sure we can find you some, Aurelia," says Melanie encouragingly.
Grant says to both of us, "If there's anything you need, just ask."
I nod. Conversation continues, and every so often I ask a question about what's going to happen and about basic survival tips. We watch the rest of the reapings on a big TV attached to the wall, and the tributes are what I had been expecting. From Districts 1, 2 and 4 there are huge volunteer tributes who have been waiting for the moment their whole life. However, the boy with bronze hair and sea green eyes from District 4 looks big and strong, but there is a fear in his eyes that makes me suspect that he does not want to be fighting for his life in the games. There are two twelve year olds, one boy and one girl, from Districts 6 and 8, and the rest are average-looking children, fraught with fear and dreading the next few weeks.
Soon I leave for my room, and I change into a nightgown and climb into the mass of material that makes up my bed. However, I can't sleep. I keep thinking of my father crying, and Nicholas breaking down outside that door. I keep thinking over what Imelda said. Don't be afraid of them, Aury. Don't run. Make sure you give them a lasting impression. Imelda has never had a violent nature and has never been confrontational like this so it seems unusual for her to say such a thing. Surely she should be telling me to run? I am not going to be able to fight off huge career tributes with swords and knives and spears so my only idea is to run. Run until I can't be found.
However, 'a lasting impression' seems to make sense. The only way I can get sponsors is if I make the audience remember me. Those silver parachutes can be the difference between life and death.
I imagine Nicholas lying next to me right now, and it gives me comfort. This is the only thing I find that sends me to sleep.
The next morning, I change into a skirt and shirt and slip my ball into my pocket, and soon we have arrived at the station of the Capitol. There are so many flashes of cameras and it is extremely overwhelming. The next thing I know, I have been sent to the Remake Centre, to be plucked like a chicken. I close my eyes for most of the experience, keeping the token of Nicholas' love safe in my hand. The next time I open them, I stand naked in front of a woman that gives off a pearlescent glow and has pointed ears that remind me of a pixie that you see in a storybook. She holds her hand out. "Hello, I am Nerissa. I am your stylist." She has a strong Capitol accent.
I shake her hand, and as I look into her eyes, I see they are a shimmery silver colour. She doesn't waste any more time and dresses me in a floor-length white dress, layered and flowing, splotched with black, resembling a cow hide. I don't make any comment, but the only thing I can think of in my head is 'at least I'm not naked'. My hair is tamed into bouncy curls, and then sprayed with something that shimmers. On top of my head, there is a garish head dress. It is large, and has strange gold spirals twirling out in various directions, and the main part is a large cow-patterned fan, tilted slightly on my head. I am doubtful, but when I look in the mirror I look like some other strange alien person. My make-up has been applied to perfection: exaggerating my eyes and plumping my lips, chiseling out cheekbones and erasing imperfections. I smile at my stylist. "Thank you, Nerissa. This is great." She smiles and then leads me downstairs where I meet with Howard and we both step onto the chariot.
My stomach churns nervously. I have never been good in front of people, and I'm not sure it will be much better if they are screaming and being excitable. Either way, I wave at the sea of unusual and distorted Capitol faces. I look around, relieved that my outfit isn't too strange compared with the others.