The train ride was long and uneventful. Quince was unnaturally silent, chewing his food with such precaution. I decided to join him, excluding myself from the small talk at out able. Dinner was served in courses, eleven in all. The first was well-done steak, mashed potatoes and corn. The drink they served was a pink soda-like substance. I questioned my escort and she told me it was called bubbly water. "Well isn't water supposed to be clear?" Fiske, my mentor butted in. "The capitol meals are as extreme as they can make it." I nodded absently. After 3 plates over the meal, I was stuffed. It was a feeling I had never experienced. I excused myself and found the door that had my name imprinted on it. Ivy King. I traced my fingers over the wood. It was cold and cruel, like Gamemakers. Like the Hunger Games. Ivy King is dead. She is alive, she will stay alive, win the Hunger Games. In two weeks. I stumbled into the suite. The room itself was larger than my entire house. I took a minute to take in my surroundings. It felt so wrong. The closet was so far away. It took a solid minute to walk to it. I chose a long, flowing nightgown. It was tinted pink and had the designs of berries from my district on it. I felt at home wearing it. I quickly picked up my outfit and stuffed it In my bag. Then made my way to my bed and fell onto it gratefully. That night I had a dream. I walked through my meadows at home, white fields stretching over miles and miles, flowers blooming white. The sun was the best part; it was white like the fields, beautiful. I smiled, because it was the only thing I could manage. I was so upset deep down, so all I could manage was a fake smile. A pretend one.
Sometimes the clouds seem far away
Sometimes I feel so alone
Whenever the day comes to and end
Is it enough to smile?
Whene-
I faltered, a single tear streamed down m face. I sat straight up and the world returned to its normal dreay place. I closed my eyes and the world drifted to blackness.
