Time stops. The wind freezes. The murmuring voices of the people standing near me quiets. All I can hear is my name, spoken in Kelly Matridox's Capitol-hinted accent, resounding and echoing in my ears for eternity.

My stomach clenches into an unbreakable pretzel. Every horrible memory I've ever had vanishes from my brain. My eyes lose their color. I become monotonous.

My life flashes before my eyes. I see no color, only the flickering splashes of black and grey. Many things I could've done – married, maybe had kids, gotten a dog, possibly, lived out my life in old age.

But now, all that's changed. I'm going to be forced into an arena, only to be killed by some person I probably won't even know.

I hear screaming, and color returns to my world. I turn to see my mother being forced back by some Peacekeepers, with another holding my brother. She's crying, trying to get to me, to stop them from taking me away, to keep me here, with her.

A nearby Peacekeeper grabs my arm and starts pulling me to the front. I don't say a word, just walk. I can hear Rachel sobbing loudly. I look back to see her sitting on the ground, her make-up dripping down her face, blending with her tears. Some others are trying to comfort her, but to no avail.

I turn back and see Luke give me a hauntingly sick smile. There's a play-like sparkle in his eyes. I glare angrily. If I'm going to die, I'm not going to let him do it. I'd rather commit suicide.

I'm forced onstage, where Kelly promptly comes over. "Well, aren't you so pretty? I love your hair, Kat. What color is it?"

She holds the microphone to me. My throat clogs up. I can't speak. I only look at her.

She pulls the microphone away. "Well, I guess we could say the cat got her tongue. Kat, Luke, why don't you shake hands?" Kelly steps back.

I turn and look at Luke. He has a rough hand outstretched, that God awful grin on his face. I decide to make a scene out of this one.

I shake his hand. He doesn't hold my hand tightly, but I scream, "OW!" really loudly and yank my hand back, holding it.

The crowd looks at Luke, who's sweating with nervousness. "Um, heh, sorry Kat."

On the outside I glare, but on the inside, I'm laughing at myself. Considering that I usually do some pretty dumb stuff, this one was pretty good.

Kelly steps forward before things get bad. "W-Well, District 4, how about a round of applause for our two Tributes, Kat Smith and Luke Willow?" She holds our hands up as the crowd claps and cheers.

I wish I could kill myself right now.

The meeting with family and Rachel were both… tearful.

My mother had to be dragged out of the room, kicking and screaming. I couldn't help but let the tears just stream down my face. There was nothing I could do.

Rachel would barely let go of me during our meeting. She was sobbing so roughly, her speech was incoherent. After I pulled her together, she reached behind her hair and took off her necklace.

"Rachel, what are you…"

"Kat." She looks at me seriously, her eyes puffy and red. "This necklace means the world to me. I remember how much I lit up when I got it. But…" she almost starts crying. "I'm going to miss you, and I want you to be safe, so take it."

Before I could reject (that necklace was expensive!), she has it draped around my neck. She looks at me and burst into tears again, hugging me. "Kat, please try to win. I don't want to see you die. Please, win."

"Rachel, Rachel, calm down. I'll… I'll be fine." I try to reassure her, but my words are shallow lies. There's no way I could win this thing. I'll be dead by Day 1.

I just hope my brother doesn't watch me get murdered.

The car ride was bleak, full of Kelly filling the silence by informing us about every goddamn thing that ever existed in this world. I wanted to smack her ugly face and tell her to can it, but that would be bad for me.

We arrive at the Capitol luxury train. It's huge – it's probably bigger than my whole house. It's stocked full with food that I wouldn't even believe existed on this planet. There are bedrooms for everyone, each with their own personal bathroom. I head off right to my room.

"Wait, Kat." Kelly comes up to me. "Don't you want to come eat? We've got tons of food."

"No thanks, I'm fine." I duck past the door, into my room.

It's amazing. The bed is huge – my whole family times 2 could fit on it. The bathroom has a tub big enough to fit a sumo wrestler. I resist the urge to shower. I'm too tired, and I don't want to fall asleep and turn into a raisin.

I curl up on the bed and pull the comforter over my. I close my eyes, and sleep hits me instantly.

I dream of my mom, and Rachel. Poor Rachel. I miss her already.

I wake up 3 hours later. It's become slightly dark. The sun must be setting.

I push the blankets away and stand up, stretching my arms far above my head. I head over to my suitcase they let me bring. I pull out my favorite sweatshirt and replace the hideous pink one with it. It feels soft.

I'm about to open the door and try to leave, but I'm forcefully shoved back into my room, falling on the ground. Some one storms in, shutting the door behind them, and locking it.

I scramble away, but the person grabs me and pulls me to my feet, restraining my arms. I hear a familiar, hated voice.

"What was that at the Reaping?"

It's Luke. He's decided to take his revenge on me for my little stunt I pulled at the Reaping. Big surprise there. "You hurt my hand." I lie.

"You're lying!" He shakes me. "I know you did that to make me look bad. That's not cool. I want these Capitol people to like me so I can win this."

"Let go of me."

"Shut up." He growls. His breath stinks. I want to vomit. Why can't anyone hear this? "I don't want to have to deal with you making me look like a bad person in front of these Capitol people. Now, either I look good, or it's your neck." He lets go of my now-sore wrists and leaves, slamming the door behind him.

I sigh and fix my hair. That's one of the real reasons I hate Luke. He might charm a girl, but he never treats them right. Rachel tells me all the time that she can change him, but that's a lie. He's going to use her for what she's worth, and then rid himself of her. It's sick, that game he plays.

I head towards the dining car. Despite the fact that probably won't eat, I don't want to be alone, and risk another showdown with Luke.

"Oh, look, there's that girl with that beautiful head of hair." Kelly greets. "Come, come, sit here." She pats the seat next to her. "Did you enjoy your bedroom?"

I thought of the smell of Luke's hideous breath on my face, his threatening eyes staring me down, his hands squeezing the bones in my wrist. I lie. "It was okay."

"Good, good. Here, try this chicken. It's simply delish!" She forks a small piece of peppered chicken on my plate. "You'll love it."

I take a single bite, and it feels like I'm eating flames. I cough a bit loudly and down a drink of water. Everyone's staring at me. "Uhm, it's… it's good…" I put another piece in my mouth to prove it, but I spit it into my napkin when no one's looking. "So… when are we going to arrive at the Capitol?"

"Some time around tomorrow." I look up to see that Micheal actually spoke a word. "This thing moves quickly."

"Oh it does! And you barely feel a thing! Isn't it wonderful?"

It makes me feel sick just thinking about it. "Thanks for brining that up, Kat. I forgot to tell you two about what's going to happen when we get to the Capitol. First, we-"

"Kelly." Micheal interrupts. "They know what happens. They get cleaned, waxed, shaved, whatever it is, and then they get dressed up in stupid costumes to parade around before their imminent death."

This guy's got his priorities in order. Plus one.

"Micheal, that's not even close to what happens!" Kelly argues.

"You know it's true!"

So, for the next 20 minutes, Kelly and Micheal argued about what actually happens when we get to the Capitol. Luke glared daggers at me and consumed pork roast. I sipped water and contemplated the universe.

I'm in hell.

Another day later, and here we are in the gleaming, the shining, the Capitol. I stand at the window and wave to the people. They seem to love it. Luke just sits in a chair, drinking a soda.

"Luke, you should go to a window and wave to the Capitol citizens. There could be sponsors that would love to see you. They love to see a happy tribute." Kelly explained.

"I'll pass."

"Yeah, it's not like anyone wants to see his face anyway." I add. I can feel Luke glaring at the back of my head, but I hear Micheal chuckle, so it's fine.

The train pulls into the station. There are paparazzi everywhere, snapping pictures. I shy away from the window. I'm not a camera person.

"Alright children, hustle now. We don't want to keep your stylists waiting. They aren't the most patient people…" Kelly mutters. "And besides, these paparazzi are just so annoying sometimes. Hustle."

Luke stands next to me as we leave. Kelly stands on my other side. Micheal stands on the other side of Luke. There are Peacekeepers holding back the screaming crowds. I flinch with every snap of the camera. Luke eats it up. He flashes smiles, gives thumbs up, shakes a hand or two.

Once inside, we're all taken to a hospital-like room, with "beds" for us to lie on. There are curtains that separate each Tribute. I see small children, huge teenagers, guys so tough they look like they could lift cars, girls so flirty they could woo any guy they want.

I fit in nowhere. With my small, lithe physique, and my dark crimson hair, I'm a stand-out. Luke could instantly fit in with the tougher guys from 1 and 2. He could easily become a hush-hush gossip topic for the girls. Me? They'd be debating if I could make it to Day 2. They'd wonder if I'd be too afraid to play and try to run away before the games.

I wish I could.

They want to wash out my hair dye. They want to bleach it, and make it blonde. This is the only thing they let me refuse. Waxing my legs? My face? My eyebrows? Coloring my nails? My toenails? None of that is in my control. They make the decisions.

They wash me in freezing water, coating me with a disgusting, horrible shampoo that stings badly. I refrain from rubbing my eyes. If it stings my skin this bad, it'd kill my eyes.

"Are we almost done?" I ask.

"Hush now." My first stylist says. "Darling, you're going to be gorgeous. Oh, if only you weren't so skinny. You need to eat."

"You sound like my mother."

"Maybe her manners could use some work, too." My second stylist says. "Honey, that's no way to talk to people who could decide your fate."

I suppress another sigh and let them scrub the hell out of my skin. Just when I want to scream for them to stop, they announce my cleanliness. My skin looks bright, but feels raw.

They wax me, removing any, quote, "unsatisfactory hair" from my body. It stings like the dickens on my newly-cleaned skin. I don't complain. I've done enough complaining for a few days.

I decide to make conversation. "So… what was your guys' favorite Hunger Games?"

"Hmm, good question." My first stylist ponders. "I'd have to say, the 99th Games were smashing!"

"Oh, yes!" My second stylist agreed. "Remember when Jiovhan broke that one guy's neck? Oh, that was simply impressive!"

"Yes it was! What about—"

I space out for the rest of the conversation. I'm about to go into the Games; I don't need to know about the many deaths of the past tributes.

I'm sent to my head stylist. His name is Markus.

He's a medium-height man, with wavy brown hair and charcoal eyes. Light complexion, wears somewhat normal clothes, considering he comes from the Capitol. A guy I can stand to be around.

We sit at the room set aside just for him and his specific tribute. He carefully eyes me, takes note of everything about me: my hair, my eyes, my form and figure
(which, according to him, are two entirely different things), my toes, my fingers, my hands, my chin, my everything. I feel… exposed.

"So… what were your plans for our costumes?"

He chuckles. "Kat, Kat, please, relax. I realize how anxious you are. All of my tributes are. Please, just eat some food we've laid out. I need more time to mull over you and what would fit you and your partner well. You have a difficult persona to place, more difficult than any other Tribute I've had."

Nice to know that I'm difficult. Despite the fact that I was being stared at the entire time I ate, the food was, in the words of Kelly, "delish!" The baked chicken was amazing and soft; it practically fell apart in my mouth. The biscuits were soaked in butter. The split pea soup (my favorite dish anywhere) was stirred perfectly, and the peas – God! I actually felt sad when I was full.

"Okay, I'm done." I say, placing my empty soup bowl and spoon on the table. "Have you figured out my costume?"

"Yes. I have an idea."

"Good, let's hear it."

"Okay…" He stands up, like he's going to make a huge announcement, but then turns around and walks towards the window/wall thing. He stares out of it for a while, watching the colorful people in the streets below. "You're from District 4. You deal with fishing, correct?"

Ugh. I knew where this was going. Luke, the fisherman, and Kat, the fish. "Yes."

"Well, I was thinking, ocean. Swimming schools of fish. That got me thinking of something spectacular." He turns to me with a questioning glance. "Fish often react rapidly when touched. They dart away, swim in every direction, causing a… subtle, mayhemic beauty."

Well, that's a start; we're breaking away from fishermen. "That's true."

"I thought to myself, what if we design the costumes around that concept – fish reacting to touch."

I started to realize, this was not going to end well. "Uhm, sure."

"We could design a costume, showcasing the beauty of fish swimming, and upon the gentle poke—" he jabs the air with his finger, "—the fish come alive, dart about, create that beautiful mayhem, in an organized way that wows the audience."

I'm beginning to doubt this. "Sounds neat."

"Yes." He quickly sits back down, realizing that I've pretty much been, "lured in" (chuckle) by this idea. "This concept is what is going to make your costumes shine brighter than any other costume in the parade."

"So… what did you have in mind?"

Astonished is the only word that comes to mind when I see my dress.

It's a long one, form-fitting, sort of. It's designed to look like an ocean. Above my bust, my dress looks like the clear sky, with clouds literally drifting, the sun shining – my dress is alive with life. Below is the ocean. Scattered throughout it are many various fish lifeforms – trout, tuna, sharks, and an occasional piranha. Fish magically disappear and reappear, mimicking the way the ocean actually works.

The dress is, in a word, interactive. Poke my stomach, nearby fish swim away. Poke my shoulder, the sun get's brighter or darker, completely random. My shoes are the deepest part of the "ocean" on my body – they contain the dark-dwelling life. With every step, the fish scatter and flee. It's truly amazing – my body brings the dress to life.

"Markus, how did you do this?" I ask, turning to see myself better. The dress wraps around in the same continuing pattern as the front, turning me into the entire environment – I am the sky, I am the sea. I am life.

"It's complicated to explain." He takes my hand and twirls me, which actually makes the waves splash and the clouds wiffer. "The more you move, the more your dress reacts. Even the movement of your chest and stomach as you breath makes subtle interactions."

"This is great. Is Luke going to wear a tuxedo like this?"

"Yes, he will." He twirls me once again. "When you're on the carriage, though, you have to do something that I was told you would hate."

"What?" I ask, still absorbed in my dress.

"You have to hold Luke's hand."

I freeze solid. "What?"

"I know you don't like him. Micheal told me." Markus spins me to face him. "Listen, his stylist and I have programmed your outfits to create an incredible reaction to your hands touching. It's the showstopper. If you don't do it, they'll never remember you. Please do this."

I give him a solid stare. Every part of me wants me to not cooperate, but the sincerity in Markus' eyes forces my heart to say yes. "Okay. I'll do it."

"Thank you." He hugs me. The fish dart away everywhere. We both laugh at this.

I like this guy.