When I am led through the back door to the awaiting car that will transport us to the train, I start to cry, partly because I will miss my family so much, but mostly because I realised what my mother meant when she said that District 12 might finally have a winner. She hadn't meant me, she had meant Katniss. Part of me knew that she stood a fairly good chance in The Hunger Games but the other part was suppressing it. That part was saying I was angry at my mother, that she didn't believe in me, that she didn't love me anymore. I knew it was petty but I dint really care. So when I arrive at the train station, I don't bother to hide my face from the swarm of cameramen and reporters zooming in on me. I am oblivious to the shouts and calls from different people. Though I'm sure this probably looks rather odd. Years of lifting hundred pound sacks of flour and coal for the oven in the bakery have left me broad shouldered and strong so seeing me crying would probably come as quite a shock.

Effie has us stand in the doorway of the train to wait for the cameras to soak up our images before we can finally leave. I have my head down the entire time so I do not realise we have started moving until I am nearly knocked off my feet by the speed of the train. I wonder how many kilometres we were going per hour. Two hundred? Three hundred? I wouldn't know, I've never been on a train before.

We're not allowed to travel between the Districts unless we're transporting coal or, rarely, something else. But this isn't a goods train. They lumber along at walking pace, this train is a Capitol designed train: smooth polished metal, doors that slide into hidden slots on silent hinges and speeds of around 250 miles per hour. At that speed, we will approximately arrive at the Capitol in just a day.

I wonder about what my family will do when my body is sent back in a crate, face ghostly white, when the end comes in the arena. Or maybe someone will turn out to be a cannibal and there'll be nothing left of me to send home like in one of the earlier Hunger Games. He really was hungry in the Hunger Games, I think without humour. I wonder what it will be like fighting face to face in the games. I wonder about a lot of things I had never thought about because I didn't have enough time to waste, solving problems that I thought would never, ever occur to me in the future. Trivial thinking would not bake and sell bread, or calculate the amount of profit we made in a day.

Now I have been reaped my mind travels from one thought to the next, trying to distract me from the present. Although I try my hardest to backpedal every time I think about the history of the Dark Days, it pushes at the back of my mind until I relive the information they have fed us at school. I think about how teachers told us that after the victory of the Capitol, we were swamped in an everlasting debt. That they are the people and government that nourishes our land and we turned on them like animals so this is our punishment: The Hunger Games. It's really just propaganda, about how we owe them everything, even after 74 years. Come to think of it, it feels like our teachers have been force fed, never wanting to accept it but having it shoved down their throats anyway.

Impossibly, but unmistakably, the tribute train is even fancier than the velvet clad room in the Justice Building. Katniss and I each have our own room with a wardrobe so huge you can walk in it and a bath tub and shower so enormous, it could be classified as a lake. Effie tells us we can do anything and wear anything we want just as long as we are ready for dinner in an hour.

I really want to explore everything but first I decide to take a bath. The control panel in the shower looks less confusing with less buttons so I decide to take a shower instead. The panel is divided into sections: one I do not understand, one with different shampoo scents and shower gels and one with set modes. I select a random button on set modes and find myself battered up and down, right to left and I come out smelling like roses. Deciding to never do that again, I spend the rest of my hour of freedom to scour the room from table to lamp, eating up everything and I finally decide to dress in a comfortable shirt and dark grey trousers.

I have a few minutes left before I need to get to the dining car but I have nothing left to do so I arrive early, sitting patiently. While I sit, I look around. Everything is crystal and mahogany and what isn't is either silver or gold. The looks exquisite but I can only place a few things here and there, while the other drinks and snacks remain a mystery to me. I'm so tempted to bite into everything on the table but I hold back and wait for Katniss, Effie and Haymitch.

"Where's Haymitch?" Effie asks me.

"Last time I saw him, he said he was going to take a nap," I reply. Effie looks relieved when she says

"Well, it's been an exhausting day!" they take their places and dinner is served in thick, creamy courses. We start off with a flavourful carrot soup, the lamb chops and mashed potatoes, cheese and fruit which I thought was an odd thing to serve and we wrapped it up with a rich chocolate cake. Effie tells us to not eat too much because there's more to come. I couldn't bear to waste any food so I gorged myself on lamb chops and chocolate cake.

"At least you two have decent manners," says Effie as we're finishing the main course. "The pair last year ate everything with their hands like a couple of savages. It completely upset my digestion."

That was so unfair. Effie said it upset her digestion, but the pair last year probably never got to digest a full meal in their whole lives, so table manners probably didn't seem to be the first thing on their list when they saw their plates laden with food. Of course, since I'm a baker's son I have table manners and Katniss' mum used to work in an apothecary so she probably taught Katniss how to eat with a knife and fork. The comment probably angers Katniss as well because she makes a show of eating with her fingers for the rest of the meal. At the end, she wipes her fingers clean on the tablecloth. I stifle a laugh while Effie purses her lips in irritation. We leave to watch the Reapings before she can give us a lecture.

We stagger through District 1 through to District 12. I see the Careers eagerly lunge forward to volunteer, then in District 11 a small twelve-year-old girl who looks about eight with huge pitiful eyes and dark brown skin. I become slightly angry when no one volunteers to take her place, that they'd let the little girl die. Finally, we watch our Reaping.

When Prim is called and Katniss runs out the crowd to volunteer, there's no masking the desperation that clouds her voice. There's no mistaking the protectiveness she feels over Prim as she pushes her behind herself as if to shield her from oncoming attacks. In the silence that follows the commentators don't know what to say. As if to spare Katniss from extra camera time, Haymitch falls off stage and they groan about how he's always so drunk. Effie complains about her lopsided wig.

"Your mentor has a lot to learn about presentation. A lot about televised behaviour!" I laugh because I find it funny how she thinks Haymitch can have his crooked ways mended by a tutorial on how to be 'Prim and Proper' by Effie Trinket.

"He was drunk," I say. "He's drunk every year."

"Every day," Katniss smirks.

"Yes, how odd you two find it amusing. You know your mentor is your lifeline in these Games. The one who advises you, lines up your sponsors, and dictates the presentation of any gifts. Haymitch can well be the difference between your life and your death!" that stops me smiling as I start to see the seriousness of it all. At that moment, Haymitch comes in and manages to say

"I miss supper?" just before he vomits all over the carpet and falls in to it. I probably would have laughed if I hadn't been thinking about the situation.

"So laugh away!" Effie says as she skips around Haymitch and his the mess he has made and scampers away from the carriage.