Chapter 2: The Capitol
I am so stunned I can't move. My mouth hangs a little open, probably in shock. My eyes are wide, and I feel like a thick layer of ice has settled upon me, locking me in the cold prison. My vision starts to blur, and I panic, because it feels like I'm going blind. Eventually, someone pushes me, and I start to make my way to the stage in tiny steps, my vision still fading. When I mount the stage, it's so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Somehow I make out my mother in the sea of fizzy images, and she's crying silently. My father stands beside her, hugging her. The crowd is blocking Briyu and the others, but I feel like I can hear their sobs. They're not quite old enough to understand the reaping, but they know bad things happen to the people selected each year. They also picked up on the fact that most of the people that are picked are never seen again.
"Any volunteers?" Keli asks, still as cheerful as ever. It amazes me how this woman can sound so naturally happy while standing before a crowd filled with dead silence. All you can hear is the wind, rustling through the trees.
Then they take us into custody, and escort us to some opulent room, where the seats are lined with a soft material I've never touched before, and colours so beautiful I want to stare at them forever. This is the part where our families and friends are supposed to come and say goodbye. The door creaks, and in steps my family. Kile and Jaana come crying hysterically, crushing me in surprisingly strong hugs. My mother also sweeps me into a hug, and my father, too. There's nothing much to say. We all just silently shed tears.
And then they're gone. They are my only visitors, and I sit there for about five minutes before someone comes to take me to the train. I wipe my tears on my sleeve and hope my eyes aren't too red. At the station I witness the longest train I have ever seen in my entire life. There are the bright flashes of cameras taking my pictures, but I can't seem to notice them. The train takes my breath away. Are we really going to ride that to the Capitol?
"Come, Rue!" Keli pulls me into the train.
Soon, it starts to move. The speed is breathtaking, but I let nothing show on my face. When Keli shows me to my chamber, which is bigger than our entire house, I don't say anything, and go quietly to sit on the bed. I notice so many buttons around the room, all with different purposes, and I know that the closet, the drawers, and the shelves must contain all sorts of things, but I don't want to move. So I end up sitting here, for two whole hours, staring at a blank point on the wall, until Keli comes and calls me to dinner.
I follow her slowly, as if in a trance. I don't snap out of it until we reach the dining room. The aroma and the sight! I've never seen so much food in my life, ever! I stare for a little bit, wide eyed and probably looking silly. Sitting down at the table, I stare at the food uncertainly, still unable to believe that this is the kind of meal that tributes get before the arena. Thresh, who is sitting in front of me, must be surprised too, but if he is, he's doing a good job of hiding it.
Keli tells us to start eating already, and I finish my plate in record time. This is even better than butter on bread, which itself is already a barely-affordable luxury for my family. How beautiful the Capitol must be, then! I frown, though. They are so selfish. There are people in the Districts who are starving and dying from it, but they get more than enough to eat every day? Shouldn't everyone be equal? If so, then why is butter such a specialty for my family…when in the Capitol it's less than nothing?
I don't spend much time frustrating over this, because then, another plate of food is slid onto the table in front of me. Confused, I look up. Two meals within one? This one looks even richer and tastier than the last. Just how much do they eat in the Capitol? That must be why their people look so plump and healthy, while most people in District 11 and 12 are skin and bones. Most, but not all. Take Thresh, for example. He's so muscular; the exact opposite of what you would expect a regular person in District 11 to look like. His sister's tall and strong, too. Perhaps it runs in his family.
I eat the second plate of food hesitantly, watching everyone else. Thresh must be confused, too, but he doesn't let it show. Keli and Lorey (our mentor), don't seem surprised at all, however, so I just go back to concentrating on eating. After I finish, I feel so full—I've never eaten this much before. But as I'm about to ask to be excused from the table, a third plate arrives in front of me.
"What the—" I start.
"The meal comes in courses." Lorey responds, sounding bored. "In case you haven't realized."
"Courses?"
"Yeah."
"Why would you need to eat in courses?" I ask. "Isn't one course enough?"
"Don't question it, kid. It's just the way things are."
I scowl, unsatisfied with the answer. A second so-called course was surely enough to make anyone full. Just how many courses do they have in one meal? I leave the table without excusing myself. Normally, I would not be so ill-tempered, but for some reason this situation makes me angry. So all that food we plant and harvest back in District 11, is this where it all goes to? We spend so much time tending to the crops, but why do we do it, anyway? If it's never us who gets to taste it in the end, but the greedy citizens of the Capitol? I storm back to my room, and slam the door shut as hard as I could with the bit of strength I have. The banging sound satisfies me, but not quite enough. I turn off all the lights and crawl into bed, pulling the covers up to my chin, even though I'm just sitting. I stare out the window at the stars, which, although we're going at such a high speed, don't seem to move at all. I love stars. I pull out my necklace from under my shirt—the one I've had since I was a baby. It's a chain made of grass, with a carved wooden star bead hanging from it.
I miss my family.
To drown out my sadness, I try to think of little ditties and songs we sing back at home. I sing them in my head, but eventually, without realizing it, I begin to sing out loud.
An apple from the tree, the tree, the tree
So plump and red, don't you see, don't you see?
Climb the highest on the tree, the tree, the tree
The whole world is waiting, don't you see, don't you see?
That is a song that all the children of District 11 know. I sang it countless times when I was a little, and the words and the tune have been seared into my brain. There's also a second part to the song, but no one dares sing it out loud. It's not so sweet as the first part.
Can you see the Capitol, the capital of Panem?
They chain us to suffering, to death we are condemned
The little bit of freedom, the snips of glory we own
They take it from us; from our blood and our bones
No one dares utter a word from the second verse. If the Peacekeepers heard it, we'd be dead. Dead, or worse. If anyone heard that second verse, the person who sang it would wish to be dead, lest they prefer painful punishment.
I fall asleep. I am still sitting, still clutching the wooden star around my neck, the covers still pulled up to my chin. The wooden star. It's my only connection to home.
"Rue! Wake up!" There's a knock on my door. It's Keli, coming to remind me of a busy day ahead.
I don't respond, but I slide off the bed and walk to the bathroom. I would love to take a bath, but I don't want to figure out all those buttons on the panel near the bath tub. So instead, I just wash my face, brush my teeth, and leave.
Lorey is not at breakfast when I get there. Perhaps she slept in? Most likely, as she is known for her love of sleep. As a victor, she doesn't need to work like the rest of us, which means that she can get up at whatever time she wants, ever day, whether that time be morning, noon, or afternoon.
Turning to look at the food, I wince. Breakfast better not be served in courses, too. As I sit down, I get a big plate of hash browns, fried ham, bacon, toast, and eggs. I eat all of it, even though I still feel full from last night's meal. I probably should try to gain a few pounds before the Games start, even though I won't have too much trouble if I'm out of food. Going hungry is something I'm used to.
An orange liquid is poured into the tall glass in front of me. I frown. Is it safe? I don't trust that bright orange. I sniff it cautiously, and it doesn't smell bad. More like sweet. A sour-sweet, actually. I take a sip of it, surprised at the taste. What is this juice made of? I drain my cup, and then ask for more. I don't ask or any more food, but I've drank five glasses of that orange-coloured juice by the time breakfast is over.
"You really seem to like orange juice." Keli comments, eyeing me.
"The juice is named after its colour?" I ask, confused.
"No. It's named after the fruit, orange. Orange juice."
"There's a fruit called orange?" I giggle.
"Yes." Keli answers patiently, smiling. She walks over to me, and picks up a round fruit whose skin is the same shade of the juice from the tub filled with ice at the center of the table. "This is an orange."
"So this fruit is named after the colour, then?"
"Maybe, or the other way around."
"How do they get the juice from it?"
"Well…" Keli says, looking puzzled. "I'm not sure, actually. They extract the juice from the fruit. Perhaps they squeeze it."
"Oh."
The rest of the morning is spent (for me) studying oranges, and occasionally asking for another glass of orange juice. I had to use the bathroom three times in two hours, but the juice is so delicious, I want to keep drinking it. At noon, though, it is evident that we are nearing the Capitol. At about 1:00, we pass through a dark tunnel. It's a very tunnel, as it goes through a mountain. I am amused by the thought of all that dirt above us. Everything on the train is silent, so silent. My heart pounds, because I know that the moment we exit this tunnel, we will be in the Capitol. My veins throb at the excitement. I don't know what the Capitol will look like.
And then, there it is. My eyes widen, and my breath is taken away. The buildings are so tall, thirty times taller than the tallest tree in the Orchard. They look so unwelcoming, all steel and glass. But if I look below, I see so many colours! The pinks and blues are yellow are almost painful to look at; they are so bright. Everything looks so shiny and new, so polished and futuristic. And oh, the people! The people are hilarious. What ridiculous clothes they wear, and what hideous hairdos and makeup! Oh, and those etchings on their skin are a laugh, too. They look even more ridiculous than Keli, and she is already ludicrous. I find myself laughing, laughing so hard at everything. I am still crying out with laughter, but inside, my heart is given a painful twist. These are the people who will watch me die. These people will enjoy watching me die. These people are devils. They take everything we work for from us, and they will watch children fight each other to a bloody, gory end.
And I just stand there, still laughing, tears of despair rushing down my face.