Gaelyn escorts me to a private room in the Justice Building, where I have exactly ten minutes to say my goodbyes. My face hardens when my parents walk in, jack-o-lantern-like grins spreading across their faces, but my heart aches when my siblings rush over to me, clutching onto me and covering my face with kisses. I breathe deeply—holding back tears—as Rhiannon walks in, assessing my reddened nose.
"You're about to cry? Really? Oh my God. I can't believe that you got chosen for the Games and you don't even want to go." Rhi says, disappointment evident in her voice. I start to say, "I'm sorry," but then I realize I have nothing to be sorry about. I don't want to die like stupid Rhiannon and Marvel and Glimmer. I wasn't trying to condemn myself by being chosen. As my fate would have it, though, coincidentally, I was chosen.
My father scolds me. "Be happy you were chosen, you ungrateful little thing. Many people would kill to be in your position right now. You need to win so that you can finally bring honor upon this family."
My own father has betrayed me, but it's nothing new. He had wanted to be in the Games himself, when he was younger, but had never been chosen, and therefore had lost his own parents' love. I suppose that it is bitterness (and vicarious living) that drives his desire for me to be chosen and win the Hunger Games.
It is with these bitter remarks that I part from my friends and family, leaving behind all of the people I "love" and enter into this new perilous world I will encounter as a tribute. But first things first; my short train ride to the Capitol.
The ride takes a total of five nerve-wracking hours, and I am scared because I've never been on a train. The night is sleepless, and Gaelyn wakes me early in the day to tell me that I have a busy day ahead of me. I slide on a bright, luxuriously soft orange cashmere sweater and a pair of cropped black pants with a sharp crease down the center of the leg. I then slide on some black flats that I found in the armoire. My stomach turns as I tie my auburn hair back with a ponytail-holder. I can picture my different possible deaths now: a spear through my stomach, a knife across my throat, a pack of rabid animals eating me, starvation, and many more possibilities. My heart aches at breakfast as Marvel shoves food down his throat.
It is when I get to the Capitol when I forget about the games. It is when I look up around me at the beautiful, odd, brightly colored buildings and the citizens with their hideous fashion styles. It all looks like one big freak show to me. I begin to laugh quietly as Gaelyn quickly switches her voice back to her normal, Capitol accent, gushing to my stylists over my natural beauty and easiness to work with. And she would know…how?
My styling team surrounds Marvel and I, rushing us to separate rooms where they strip me completely naked and leave. I stand staring at my bare body in the mirror, my eyes skating over the long waves of my tresses, the curve of my small waist, the shape of my hips. Then the door opens suddenly, startling me so much that I immediately cover my bare breasts. A stylist dressed in an outlandish sky blue and green jumpsuit surveys my body for at least ten minutes. "My name is Uman," he finally starts in his thick accent. "You are going to be so easy to work with, Breelle."
After some waxing and plucking and poking and prodding, I glance in the mirror at myself. Uman did a great job playing up my assets, but the look is not original. Everything about me is red; I am wearing a floor-length, cherry-colored gown with thin straps and gold sparkles—much of my ample cleavage is showing. My hair hangs down my back in dark red ringlets. My eyes are covered in a shimmery gold shadow that emphasizes the reds in my brown irises, while my lips are painted cherry red. My nails are a pretty shade of gold—the same as my high heels; but I knew this look wasn't original, since I had heard that another District would be doing the same.
After making my appearance on the carpet with Marvel (who looked dashing in a red tuxedo), I saw it. No, not it, him. The most marvelous boy I had ever seen. He was from District 12, and I was clearly not the only one staring at him and his female partner. The two's costumes literally had the appearance of being on fire, and I knew when I saw the boy, my heart had been searching for him all along—though I couldn't put my finger on what made him so special…
Love at first sight, I guess you could say; but there's no room for love in the Hunger Games. He must die.