CHAPTER ONE
It's that time of year again.
The Hunger Games have come around. It's the 74th annual Hunger Games this year, and I'm not looking forward to it at all.
Of course, my dread is nothing to that of the people in the districts. This week, we'll find out who the unlucky ones are. The ones who have a 23/24 chance of dying this year.
I live in the Capitol, so I'm spared. As long as I pretend to love it, pretend to be brainwashed by President Snow and the system of Panem, then I'm safe. I've heard what Snow does to rebels. Every so often, a plot for an uprising is revealed. You see the accused led away in chains. They walk through the streets, stripped of their colours. They get led into the president's mansion. I don't know what happens there, but nobody has ever come out.
I wake up and the announcement for the Games is on the television. 'Oh, Caesar Flickerman does make me laugh,' says my mother as she bustled into the kitchen. She is in her pink and white striped dress with pink and black tiger print leggings and her floral slippers.
In the Capitol, we have to wear an outfit themed on our family colours – that is, until we reach the age of 16. The Bellwood family colour is blue, so me and my brother always have to wear blue. On the last day of the year, all the sixteen year olds in the area go to a huge celebration and they can wear whatever they wish. I am 13, so I have another three years to wait. My brother was 15 last month, so he is only next year.
After breakfast, my mother prepares me. I like the makeup I wear, actually. I usually have light blue eyeshadow (all across my eye sockets, of course) and blue jewels decorated there, with a few navy blue streaks. The only thing I don't like about it is the way my face is dyed completely paper white, but with a slight blue tinge. My hair is dyed every shade of blue there is, with all different highlights. I wear a long blue top over baby blue leggings that are ripped artfully and high heels.
'All ready now, Artella,' my mother says. 'Your brother is nearly ready, too.'
Within the Capitol, we have different areas. Ours is called Thathyst (we're in the south western area), but there is also Lorcothal (a more northern area), Jemthorn (the largest, which stretches from the north eastern parts right to the south eastern) and one in the centre, nearest to President Snow's house, Lupanity. All the government officials, important people and Gamemakers live in Lupanity, right near to President Snow. He has a sort of circle of very, very rich estates and that's where all his favourites live. The government officials he doesn't like, can't be bothered to sentence to death or the new ones stay to take care of Thathyst, Lorcothal or Jemthorn.
My brother is ready. His hair is messy, but of course it is dyed blue, and he is in bright blue skinny jeans, a navy blue t-shirt and blue boots. His face is coloured paler, too.
'You ready, Artella?' he says.
'Yes,' I tell him. He takes his school bag (which is blue) and I take mine (which is also blue). In fact, nearly everything I own is blue. That's why it's kind of refreshing to get out of the house and into school.
I have a group of friends. Alnathia's family colours are orange; she wears similar things to me, but coloured orange. Westia's family colours are pink. Here, the boys just don't protest. They try to make it work. I think Westia's brother does pull it off. He's two years above us in school. Again, he dresses similar to my brother, just in pink. Vilenna's colour is purple. She always manages to sport some highly fashionable look in purple. It mystifies everyone. Whatever she wears, she looks very good in it. It's different to what everyone else wears, but it somehow works and she looks very beautiful. Well, her outfit does. Nobody can tell whether anyone looks beautiful – we are all so heavily covered in makeup and colours that our natural selves are lost.
We arrive at the gates. It's funny; everyone in the Capitol dresses, eats, celebrates and lives very extravagantly, but the buildings are very grey and dull. The gates are black iron and the school is brown brick. Around this area of Thathyst, most of the houses are terraced, and they're all grey and brown. The people are like a splash of colour on the otherwise deadly boring town. My uncle says that this is probably what the districts look like – except with the people all grey and dull, too.
All the pupils have to wait outside before they let us in. There are three classes in each year, so there is a large crowd. As I am in my second year at this school, I am in class 2J. "J" stands for some Capitol person who died in the Dark Days, nobody can remember his name.
Our year dominates the right corner of the wall. That's just where we go. The first years keep to the front of the gates, third years have the left corner, fourth years a good few metres from the gates (that's my brother and Westia's brother's year), and the fifth, sixth and seventh years stand very far away. It's one of those rules that aren't written down, but that's just where you stand to chat when you arrive.
As usual, the outside of the school looks like a canvas that has had every shade of every colour randomly tipped on to it. Sometimes it gives me a headache, sometimes it just looks beautiful. I join Alnathia, Westia, Vilenna and the others.
'Artella! How are you?' says Westia. She's in a bright pink top and a hot pink skirt with baby pink stripes with a bow at the waist. She wears high heels, too, and she can hardly walk in them. Her hair is curled into ringlets and dyed baby pink.
'Fine, I'm good,' I say. 'What about you?'
'I'm a bit tired, to be honest. I didn't get hardly any sleep,' she says, biting her lip.
'She's stressing over the music situation,' says Alnathia, rolling her eyes. I notice that even her eyelashes are dyed orange today.
'Westia, you'll do very well,' I say. Westia is doing a piano and singing performance for the class, but she's throwing in some dancing at the end. 'You're a fantastic singer, pianist, and dancer. Miss Lartham will love it.'
'What if something goes wrong? My mother would kill me,' says Westia.
'I'm sure she won't. And she doesn't even have to know,' I say. Westia gives me a horrified look. I roll my eyes. She is the sort of person who disapproves of any rule-breaking, skulduggery, or general fun.
Just then, a boy in our class (his colour is red – his hair is dyed dark red, and he dresses in bright red skinny jeans, the same colour t-shirt and dark red boots, but with no makeup, which is probably good as I don't think it would quite work with red on boys) called Dauleth comes round with some sweets.
'Artella? Alnathia? Westia? Want any?' he asks.
'Yes please,' I say, but the other two refuse. It's irritating when they do that. He offered, its fine to say yes.
Vilenna arrives, dressed in a beautiful silky dress with purple sequins. She is covered in eyeshadow, purple blusher, purple eyeliner, again has her eyelashes dyed purple, her long hair dyed dark purple, but she also has random streaks of purple on her face. It looks weird, but annoyingly, it works.
Ten minutes later, the gates creak open. Everybody lines up in order. Because my last name is Bellwood, I'm quite near the front of my class. We are led into our separate classrooms, where we are registered. My teacher is using the ability to wear whatever colour she likes to her liberty and she always does. She is in every colour of the rainbow today, in order. Literally. Her hair is red, her makeup is orange, and so on until her shoes are violet.
I walk over to my history class with Alnathia. There is a large picture of President Snow hanging over the school gates, bearing a motto in some strange language I don't know. Something about that man scares me a lot. On the outside, he looks nice. When I look at the picture, it shows an old man in a suit with a slight smile on his face. But there is something dangerous about him, and I know it.
English is boring. We are paired up by the teacher and I am with a yellow girl named Begana. She's nice enough, to be honest.
Of course in our school we have the popularity system. The popular ones in our class are Delefria Trenamisty and her gang, and the boys have Urvan Bythorne and his gang. Still, there are more unpopular than popular, so I suppose I'm in the majority.
At lunchtime we sit outside in the courtyard on a bench under a willow tree. Dauleth and a few friends sit not too far from us. Begana joins us for the last half hour before we go back to geography.
We basically study a map of Panem and the political relationships between the areas. There isn't too much enmity, though. We're allowed to visit the others whenever we like, as in – the borders aren't guarded with anything apart from 'WELCOME TO THATHYST' signs or whatever.
I meet my brother after school and we walk home in silence. We don't have much to say to each other. We just think over what happened that day for us.
When we arrive home, my mother has hot chocolate ready for us. She is flicking through a recipe book to find something to cook for dinner.
'Tomorrow I'll cook something better, your uncle is coming,' she says.
I grin. I love my uncle. He's a very wise man. He always has opinions on things, and they're nearly always the best informed you can get.
I run up the stairs, but as I go, I hear that the District 1 tributes have been chosen. I stop and sit down. I feel sick.
Today, two young people were as good as sentenced to death.