I stumble my way up to the stage after the mayor's speech. There's no point in me being here; everyone knows that I'm the laughing stock of District 12 so nobody takes me seriously and besides, what is there to say that won't get me killed by the Peacekeepers?
Well, I am here, I think to myself. Nothing I can do about that. May as well have some fun.
I finish staggering up the steps and nearly fall over. I can barely keep my balance with the alcohol clouding my mind and nobody here expects me to, anyway.
And then I see her. She's dressed in vivid green this year, with a pink wig that frames her face with luscious curls. They look soft, and my brain decides that I need to touch the softness, so I lurch towards her and end up falling into my chair instead. How convenient. She looks at me, not bothering to hide her disgust, and I have to admit that it hurts.
This is why you drink, Haymitch. No feelings when you're too drunk to care.
Evidently I haven't done a good enough job this year as my heart throbs painfully when she rejects my hug; admittedly, it was more of a collapse onto her, but still- the rejection stings.
The mayor announces her with a bright, forced smile: "Ladies and gents, Effie Trinket!" I smile to myself as she sashays her way to the microphone. The tailored dress suit does wonders for her figure and I find myself wondering what she looks like without all the fancy material... but I can't let my mind wander. That's what got me a slap last year.
Besides, she wouldn't take a second look at me.
By the time I've knocked myself out of my thoughts, there's a commotion going on offstage. It looks like... No. No, it can't be. A volunteer? What?
Effie escorts her to the stage as a smaller girl is led away, screaming and crying. The volunteer announces herself as Katniss Everdeen. I can't say that the name rings a bell, but then it never does. You don't make many friends when you're stinking rich and, well, just stinking.
And then something remarkable happens, something so awe-inspiring that I just know the Capitol will sensor it out: a salute to the girl on stage.
I blink a few times in astonishment and then look at the girl- Catherine? Katty?- who seems to be on the verge of tears, blinking rapidly to try to dry her eyes. Nuh-uh. That won't do if she's going to stay alive, so I have to intervene. I hoist myself up from my seat, against the mayor's pleas for me to sit back down, and reel over, drawing all attention to me so she has a chance to control her emotions.
"Look at her! Look at this one!" She's reined it in now and I sling my arm round her shoulders firmly. "Lots of..."
Effie is staring at me. Words desert me.
She wouldn't take a second look at me.
I find them again. "...spunk!" And then I do the most stupid thing I can think of to make sure the other tributes forget the girl's almost-cry. I point at the camera nearest me, going towards it, and yell at the top of my lungs, "More than you! More than you!"
You, the bastards who ruined my life, I want to add, but before I can the stage disappears from beneath me and suddenly I am on the cold, hard floor and blackness is threatening to overcome me.
The last thing I see is Effie Trinket's disgusted grimace.
No. She'd never take a second look at me now.