Flashes haunt me. A little piece here, a bigger piece there fit into a puzzle that represents the nightmare that my life is. Or was, I should say. Because of these Games, my life is going to change some way or another in the arena. Either I die like 23 others or I win and go back to a district that holds everything I both hold dear and everything that I detest at the same time. While torturing me with every passing day, every passing customer, every passing Peacekeeper, it held me in its heart, soothed me on my worst days, and gave me a reason to fight, an enemy to beat, a heart to rip from a chest, a purpose in life.
I turn and lay on my back, staring up at the ceiling of the train that's carrying me away from the only home I've ever known. These silk sheets are stifling and hot, ridding me of any comfort their luxury might give. There's no way I can fall asleep with these awful memories running through my head. But I'll need every second of rest I can get once I get to the Capitol. So I try to close my eyes and relax into the soft bedding. But every time I let the darkness surround me, I see his eyes watching me, looking down on me, his weight pressing down on mine and I start gasping like a fish out of water. The breath in my lungs leaves at once, and I choke as the panic descends on me again. After a while, I give up and just pick a point in the distance and stare till the point is drenched in sunlight and I know morning has come.
Most mornings have been the same since I was assaulted by the Head Peacekeeper of my District 1. Romulus Thread was his name, he said. Soon enough, he had me and my blonde-haired, green-eyed "lady-like privileges" sold to every Peacekeeper within the district. Of course, there was nothing I could do, as the Peacekeepers were the authority, and my family's life was in jeopardy if I went to the mayor or any other official. So I shut up and bore the pain.
Usually, days were just bad. But occasionally, I had really bad ones. And those really bad days, my mind went to the easiest form of release: suicide. I knew other girls who had committed suicide; I wasn't the only one who was bought and sold like chattel for the nightly pleasures required by men who weren't allowed to have commitments for 20 long years. But the other girls had the strength, the courage, to deliberately take their own lives. We'd hear about them the next day, they'd used a kitchen knife or hung themselves by the infamous old hanging tree on the outskirts of the district. Only, I'd never had the bravery to commit such an act. I still don't to this very day.
Instead of resorting to the most extreme form of relief, I threw myself headlong into the few other things that held my attention. My favorite was training. We all knew training for the Hunger Games beforehand was illegal, but no one cared enough to not break the law. And everyone wanted to get out of our dump of a district, despite the enormous risk it took to get there. Including me. Every day after school got out, I would head over to the old building where training was held and work until I was pouring sweat and my body was exhausted. I'd sit down for a minute to catch my breath and then stand back up, using training as an avenue for all the pain, all the anger, all the fear I'd felt as a result of my abuse. It didn't make the abuse go away, but it helped me deal with it. At least I told myself it did.
Before long, I was the top in my class, the best with daggers. My instructor had informed me that I was to volunteer as tribute in the 74th Hunger Games.
By the time reaping day came around, I was 17 years old. It had been 4 years since I had begun to practice my services, and I was ready to put an end to it, once and for all. So when some 12-year-old was called from the reaping ball, I stepped up, full to the brim with confidence. Not only from my standing as a Career, but also with the knowledge that my agony will come to an end some way or another today.
And here I am, lying on overly extravagant bed sheets, on a train that is driving me to face whatever may become of me. When morning comes around, I pull myself out the bed and take a shower. With the water running over me, I try to gather my thoughts and prepare myself for the insanity the next few weeks will bring. I then slip on a light dress and go to the food train where I begin breakfast.
Cashmere, a victor who I am somewhat familiar with, walks in and serves herself. She would occasionally come to training and give the children some tips. I don't remember her Games too well, except that she had played her good looks for all they were worth, the ultimate seductress. She had never portrayed such an attitude when she came to training; instead she seemed very reserved, almost secluded. But as a victim of exploitation myself, I could tell by the pain in her eyes that she had been abused too.
For a while, we eat in silence, neither of us wanting to say anything. Then I find a ring being slid across the table toward me, a large diamond.
"Twist it," she tells me. I do so, and a spike pops out. I look up, confused.
"Do you have your district token yet?" she asks. I shake my head, slowly starting to comprehend.
"I…sometimes…use it…when customers get too bad. The poison doesn't kill, just gives them enough of a little shock to let go, they need a few moments to clear their head. It might…help, a little." I am touched by her kindness, but even more by the knowledge that she has noticed what I try so hard to hide.
"Thank you," I tell her. "I'll use it."