My quarters on the train are even more luxurious than the Justice Building. Effie tells me that I can wear any clothes I want, as they are at my disposal. My reaping dress clings to my body, soaked in nervous sweat. So I decide to have a shower to freshen up first.
This is the first hot shower I've ever had – the seam doesn't receive running hot water. It's the most amazing experience of my life and I spend an hour in there, letting the water soothe my sore muscles from training in the woods. I put on the plainest blue shirt and black trousers I can find. The rest of the clothes are brightly striped, spotted, glittery or frilly. I could never begin to understand the Capitols taste.
I'm called for dinner and Effie Trinket leads be down a narrow, rocking corridor. We pass through what looks like a lounge room, with a large television. Haymitch is slouched in an armchair, his head tilted upwards and mouth open, fast asleep. I gag at the toxic smell of alcohol as I pass him. "Well, it has been an exhausting day," Effie excuses him.
We finally reach the dining room. It's filled with delicious aromas and I salivate in anticipation of hot food. Peeta sits at the dining table and I hurry to take the seat beside him. I still need to ask him why he volunteered.
Any questions for Peeta I may have had quickly fly out the window when the first course is brought out. I gorge on the thick pea soup with crusty bread, burning my mouth and tongue but never ceasing to pause, unless to take a drink. I've never tasted anything so indulgent in my life. It's followed by lamb chops covered in some unusual and incredibly hot spices, a hot red curry, cheese fondue, with some fruit to cool off and finally a chocolate cake.
My mouth is still on fire. Our meals at home very rarely contain any spices and I'm not quite used to it. Nevertheless, I ate every last bit of each meal, surprised every time another one followed.
I'm filled to the brim and decline a second slice of cake. I have to fight to keep the food down and when I stand, I quickly sit back down, feeling dizzy and nauseous. Peeta helps me up and tries to assist me to the living space. But I nudge him off me, refusing his help. I manage to make it to the next carriage and collapse into the couch. Now I know how Haymitch feels. This couch is even more comfortable than the one in the Justice Building. I could curl into a ball right now and go straight to sleep, but Effie turns the television on to the recap of the reapings.
Peeta takes a seat next to me, and Effie beside him. We watch the reapings in silence, Haymitch waking up every so often, slurring things that don't make any sense and falling back to sleep. I focus my hearing forward to block out the sound of his loud snores.
The reapings play out, one by one, the commentators already making their predictions based on appearances. The first is a beautiful girl with a ridiculous sounding name. Only in District 1 do you name your child Glimmer. The male Tribute's name is Marvel. Both volunteered, much to the reaped children's disgust. I'll never comprehend the careers lust for the games. They have a better chance of winning, but still there's usually five other career tributes in the arena with them, who just as easily could win. Thus leaving them dead and forgotten. It's rather pointless if you ask me.
The biggest threat I note is the male tribute from District 2, he's large, muscular and downright bloodthirsty. The next threat I note is Thresh, the male tribute from 11. He's not a career – he was reaped – but he is tall, strong and deadly nonetheless. The female tribute from 11 is a twelve year old, who looks small, fragile and frightened. I can't help but hope that she dies quickly.
I look away during out reaping, not wanting to be reminded of the terrible moment that my life changed forever. A wave of nausea rushes over me and I start sweating even though I feel cold.
"Katniss, are you okay?" Peeta asks, noticing me squirming in my seat. I grip the arm of the couch, and what appears to be the arm of my fellow tribute, feeling incredibly dizzy, like I'm falling into an abyss.
"What's wrong with her?" Effie says now standing over me. She feels my forehead, "Oh, she's burning up."
My vision is blurred and I can't move my body. I can't even speak. Any noise coming from the people around me is muffled. I close my eyes, wanting so bad to be home right now where Hazelle would know how to make me feel better. Within a second, my body starts producing an intense heat that sears my skin.
"Someone get a doctor!" A woman screams. I can only guess that it's Effie by the shrill in her voice.
Someone lifts me up and carries me. I cling to them, the movement making me even more nauseous. They place me down on a bed and as soon as my head hits the cool pillow, I feel a little better. I manage to open my eyes. A hand caresses the side of my face, before the blurred figure leaves my bedside.
I succumb to the darkness, only to be awoken by a pain in the crook of my elbow. A white figure removes a needle from my arm. As soon as the cool liquid enters my system, I no longer feel the burning sensation under my skin. This relief is short lived, and my blood begins to boil. At the end of my bed stands pink, grey and white blurs. I close my eyes and listen to their conversation.
"Will she be okay?" Effie asks, "We have a big, big, big day tomorrow and we can't afford to waste time," she says cheerfully. I'm so sorry for being such a big inconvenience. Maybe being ill will excuse me from the games. But I'm sure the Capitol isn't that sympathetic.
"She just has a fever, she'll be better by tomorrow. I've given her some coolant and taken a blood sample," A deep male voice answers. "Upon analysis, I'll be able to determine the cause."
"Maybe it was something she ate?" Peeta suggests.
"Oh, no, no, no," Effie responds, "It can't have been our food, perhaps a poorly cooked meal from her home. After all, the hygiene standards in that district are highly questionable."
Her statement fills me with rage and I want to jump out of bed and get her in a choke hold, but the anger weakens me and my skin begins to burn again. The voices muffle before disappearing. The burning worsens and I begin to shake involuntarily. My hands feel as though they're going to explode. I try to control my breathing and this seems to help. The pain in my hands dims to a tingle. Just when I think I'll be fine, lightning strikes through my head. I get an extreme case of pins and needles in my hands. My palms feel like they're pressed against nails that were put in a furnace and heated until they were glowing. I don't think I can hold out much longer. I ball my hands into fists and grit my teeth. Tears well up in my eyes and I begin to sob. I don't want to live anymore. I'm going to die in the near future anyway, so why not have mercy on me and get it over and done with?
Finally, as though someone flicked a switch, I feel calmness run through my body, cooling my veins and sending me into slumber. I have a dreamless sleep, which feels as though only lasted a second. But the morning light shines through the curtains of the train.
I feel so much better. The clock on my bedside table reads 5:30. My body feels heavy and exhausted but what I want more than anything right now is to have a shower. I stumble to my feet and make my way into the bathroom. I don't know what happened to me last night, but I have never felt so sick in my entire life. I don't care what Effie says. It was definitely the food I ate last night. Maybe I ate too much or perhaps I had a bad reaction to the spices. I'm not going to let Effie get away with nasty comments about my district.
I turn the water on and wait for the warm water to soothe my skin. But it's freezing. So I turn it up to hot. The temperature rises but only feels lukewarm. I keep turning the temperature up, until the device reads Warning: Heat will scold skin. Yet the water doesn't reach anywhere near hot. I must have broken it yesterday. I settle for this temperature, wash my hair and jump out of the shower. While I'm dressing in a pair of jeans and a sweater, Effie knocks on my door, "Up, up, up! It's going to be a big, big, big day!" I open the door, to her surprise. "Oh Katniss! I'm so glad to have a punctual tribute this year!" I push past her, still pissed by her words last night.
I enter the dining car. Haymitch sits at the table, his eyes still puffy from the previous day's indulgences. "Sit down! Sit down!" he says, waving me over. "I heard you had a rather ill experience last night, was the Capitol food not to your liking?" he says mockingly in a Capitol accent. He then takes a sip of his red juice, while holding his pinkie finger out and smacking his lips.
I take a seat, ignoring his antics. Effie comes in, muttering obscenities under her breath at the sight of the still drunk mentor. Following close behind is Peeta, his eyes either red from lack of sleep or from shamelessly crying.
"How are you feeling?" He asks me.
"Fine," I say avoiding eye contact. I don't like that he saw me in a weak position. He's probably already plotting out ways to kill me.
A buffet of eggs, ham, fried potatoes, fruit, bread rolls and an assortment of drinks is served and everyone tucks in, except me. I'm wary of the food, but the aroma makes me salivate. I only fill up half of my plate, a little bit of everything, and take small bites. I eye a cup of rich brown liquid and Peeta notices. "They call it hot chocolate," he says, "It's good." I take a sip of the sweet creamy liquid and a shudder runs through me. It's delicious. But I wouldn't call it hot chocolate. The steam coming off it suggests that it is hot, but I'm just not feeling it. Perhaps this is just a symptom of whatever illness I had last night.
Haymitch dilutes his red juice with a clear liquid. Judging by the fumes, it's some kind of spirit. He'll be incoherent by the time we reach the Capitol.
"So, you're supposed to give us advice," I say to him, hoping to get some guidance before he becomes unstable and unreliable.
"Here's some advice. Stay alive," he says and then bursts out laughing. This infuriates me. He's the difference between my life and death. He's a mentor, meant to advise his tributes and help them during the arena with sponsors. The way he is behaving right now, ensures both mine and Peeta's death before the bloodbath even begins. I grip the tablecloth in my fists, and clench my hands really hard, trying to control my overwhelming anger. Haymitch grabs his glass and stands up, looking pleased with himself. The glass in his hand begins to shake, first weakly, then violently. Haymitch, with a terrified look on his face, lets go off the glass and it falls to the ground, shattering. The blood-red liquid runs towards the back of the train.
When Haymitch turns back to reach for the bottle of spirits, I drive my knife into the table between his hand and the bottle. Effie gasps, "That is mahogany!" she remarks.
"Yeah? Well wait 'til you see what I can do to a whole tree," I respond, glaring directly at Haymitch.
My absolute favourite chapter just for the last bit 3 I managed to get this up a day earlier than I promised!