Dear diary,
As I'm writing this I'm getting shipped off to the Capitol. It's a fancy train - real fancy as it's one of the tribute trains. I got my own chamber, which is almost the same size as our whole house back home. And the worst part is that I may never see that house ever again. Or Prim. Or Gale. Or Mother. I promised myself that I wouldn't cry today - not after the reaping, not in front of the cameras and not now - still, this paper is wet with tears and the ink scribbled out. I wonder if someone will be able to read this if they ever find my diary. 'The last words of a tribute with no chance what so ever to pick up the pen and write a entry after the one that's titled Tomorrow the games start'. If that's the case I hope Prim won't read it. She would be heartbroken to find out that I've already given up, with just my handwriting and long gone thoughts left to comfort her. I hope you don't read this, Prim. But if you do, I want you to know that I love you very, very much and that I will try my best. I just wish I could wipe your tears away.
Love, Katniss.