'Wake up!' I am jolted awake by someone roughly shaking my arm. I groggily open my eyes. The back of the van is opened up to reveal humid orangey light. I realise its evening and am surprised by how long I slept. 'We had to sedate you when we were on the train,' explains the rebel, as if reading my thoughts. Train? What train? Where am I? I wipe the sleep from my ears, smearing blue mascara down my cheek and onto my sleeve. Do I care? Not one bit. The guard looks at me with the distaste and nudges my back, as if to make me move forwards. I start walking and take in my surroundings. We are in a courtyard, about the size of a tennis court. The floor is cobbled with uneven stones, giving the impression of age and use. Brightly coloured flowers creep um the four walls and with the evening sunset light pouring through the metal gates, the scene is quite beautiful.
'The temporary training centre,' says the mind-reading guard behind me. 'The original was burnt down in the conflict a couple of weeks ago, and we had to find an abandoned house at such short notice, the only suitable one was this one. The location is not ideal, but -,' he trails off as we enter the Training Centre. 'Your room is this way,' barks the guard, leading me down a cushy, richly decorated corridor to a smallish room, containing a bed and wardrobe and an en suite bathroom. 'Supper will be delivered to your door. Tomorrow morning you will meet your stylist and prepare for the final parade.' He shuts the door quietly behind him. I hear the definite click of a lock and sigh. I decide to watch TV to take my mind off the next few weeks of my pathetic existence.
I flick through the twenty-one different channels, not staying on one for more than a minute. Occasionally, a newsflash pops up on the screen. There are several replays of the reapings, and this time I pay close attention to the names of my rivals. Oh no, I'm not going down without a fight. I might as well delay the inevitable of die trying. I dimly recognise about half of the names Coin announces, either because we have met or they are the offspring of ex-Capitol officials. There are no pictures of the tributes and I feel blind and ignorant of my opposition. In the old Hunger Games, the whole of Panem got to see every single tribute walk up onto the stage.
It soon becomes apparent over the course of my sleepless night that the other tributes are also being held here in the Training Centre. About an hour after my arrival, I hear a van pulling into the drive and a scuffle. A guard yells there's a buzz. A body falls to the floor.
'Only stunned him,' calls the guard cheerily to his colleagues. In the next couple of hours, more and more vans arrive and unload. Some children scream and cry for mercy, others are silent and I wonder whether the van is delivering supplies. Some shout and mouth off at the rebels, but that only earns them a taste of the Taser.
I plug the ear buds they so thoughtfully left on the dressing table and scrunch up my eyes, trying desperately to drift off to sleep and forget the horrors that await me in the morning.
But how wrong I was. My restless sleep is torn apart by violent, twisted, vivid images of what I'd seen in the arena from the sitting room at home. My parents' faces keep popping up, shimmering and shaking with silver tears. I am lying on the bank of the river where last year Katniss and Peeta – the star crossed lovers from District 12 – teamed up. I dip my toes into the cool stream and close my eyes, glad of the peace. Then the water suddenly becomes lukewarm and thicker. My toes are sticky when I rub them together so I look down at them. And scream. The crystal clear water has turned into a gushing river of blood. Body parts, hands, feet, legs float down the river. A boat is sailing amongst them with a blood curdling, all too familiar figure controlling the oars. The Mockingjay. Her face is black and menacing, her coal black eyes bore right into me, simmering like embers on a dying fire. I scream again and pinch myself to wake me up. Wake up, wake up! I think desperately.
I sit up, drenched in perspiration. I'm trembling violently. With a shaky sigh of relief I wrap the duvet around me and settle back onto the mattress. The image is still burning against my eyelids at dawn and I find sleep impossible.