From my position at the Reaping, I have a perfect view of the Justice building and therefore our district escort. I can't let myself down now. I've waited too long.
Our ridiculously dressed escort reads out the name of the tribute for District 2 – some girl called Lou – and I know that now is the time that I must act fast. Many girls of my age look eager to volunteer, but I will do it first. I have to. It will bring honour to my family. Just as the first girl walks arrogantly towards the stage, I jump in front – "I volunteer!" The escort, Bunty Hessleworth, looks relieved as I move to the stage with a victorious smile. This is the first step to winning for me.
Bunty has barely started onto the male tribute's name when a boy who I live near – Cato, I believe – strides towards the stage. I have only ever seen him stroll down my street, but up close I can safely say he is the largest human being I have ever met in my whole life. As we shake hands, we both grip on firmly to the other, determined to show strength. I will wait until we say our goodbyes to flex my hand; I think he crushed it in the process.
Inside the Justice Building (which is rather inaccurately named), I wait for my parents and brother to arrive. My father enters first and pats my shoulder. "Well done. Do us proud," he murmurs and then he is gone. We have never been much good at conversation. My mother, who is equally as large and muscular as my father, enters second. She pulls me in for a quick embrace and examines my hair, saying, "Should have put it up neater. Need to look nice for the cameras," and tuts slightly. This is as far as the relationship with my parents will ever go. My brother comes in third and we have a long, meaningful hug. He is the kindest and therefore most different of the family. He kisses my cheek and then he is gone too. I think he is the only person who will actually miss me enough to not care about bringing shame to the district. But I will win, I know it. I was born for this.
The train ride has been tedious and unimportant, with none of us talking to eachother. Bunty is remarkably silent for someone usually so loud. It's more of a snooty silence though; she probably doesn't want to mix with people from outside of the Capitol.
I am stripped of bodily hair, manicured, pedicured, and checked for headlice by strange-looking people who appear as alien to me as I do to them. My stylist, a woman with a tiny waist named Hilda, powders my cheek with gold flecks and outlines my brilliant-blue eyes with a deep, unforgiving black. My lips are painted gold and my cheekbones and jaw enhanced with a stronger, coppery-gold. I look deadly; ready to wield an axe at anybody in the room. I wear a bronze gladiators outfit equipped with an ornate Roman-style headpiece. When Cato and I meet again to step into the chariots, I see he is the same.
We glare at the other tributes menacingly, eager to set an impression at the very start. The chariots roll forward and the crowd watch greedily. We blow kisses, roaring at the crowd which welcomes an extra round of cheers. We are golden and dazzling. Until the cameras redirect to the pair from District 12. What are they wearing? I whip around and see the pair holding hands, contaminated by a flickering flame that entices all.
"Turn around," Cato hisses beside me, but he glares too.
I stare at him. "But 12 is stealing all our sponsors," I retort.
"And you're helping to lose them by focusing on them too. So turn around," he orders. I can only obey and smile to hide my fury. How dare they steal our crown! Well, just wait 'til we steal it right back.