Chapter 12. –Oak Peacewood
A tree. They dressed me up as a freaking tree. I am silent in my rage as I get on the elevator with Aldar. "Are you okay, Oak?" he asks. I ignore him until we get to the seventh floor, when I storm off and rip my headdress off my head; I throw it without looking and I hear something smash to the floor. "Oak, calm down!" Aldar calls after me. I whirl around. "I was just humiliated in front of all of Panem! I was dressed as a tree, when those District 1 idiots were sparkling their way through the Capitol, or those blinking light tributes from 3 were lighting up around the city!" I am furious, at my costume, at my humiliation, at the unfairness of the whole situation. I don't want to be in the Capitol, I want to go home. I look around and seize a bowl full of flowers and throw it at a wall. Suddenly that wall opens up and Orden, my stylist comes in. Actually I kind of like Orden, he's probably the only decent person I've met so far, despite the fact he put me into this ridiculous costume.
"Why so angry, Oak?" he asks, looking at the shards of glass on the floor. As much as I like him, I am furious at him now. I glare at Orden. "She's mad because she didn't like your costumes," Aldar says. "Sorry to hear that, Oak. But it's over now. I promise I won't make you a tree again." I look carefully at him. "Promise?" I ask, feeling like a pouting four year old. He smiles. "I promise." Just then Vibius, the idiot, walks in and claps his hands. "You were a smashing success tonight, tributes! Tomorrow you get to start training! Up early you two! It's going to be a long day tomorrow! Off to your rooms!" He claps his hands again and a girl in red materializes from the walls. "Follow her and she will take you to your quarters!" Vibius says, so I follow her.
My room is big, bigger than my house back home. There's a soft bed, a television, sofas and cushions, a door that leads into a high tech bathroom, a wardrobe… anything I could ever want. My rage disappears as I discover the machine in the corner. I tap the button on the front of it. "Good evening, what may I get you," says an automated voice. "A glass of water… please." In less than thirty seconds it appears before me, cold and with ice cubes in it. I look in wonder at the machine and press the button again, this time ordering a loaf of soft and light bread. I sit on the bed and pick up the remote, turning the television on. There's a recap of the tribute parade. Huh. I didn't actually look that bad, compared to the poor District 12 tributes. I sort of regret throwing more china, but at the same time it was very satisfying.
I start to dose off, and the half eaten bread falls on the bed. I get up, brushing the crumbs off the bed. In the wardrobe there's a panel with a selection of buttons representing clothes. I program it to give me pajamas, and they appear in no time, soft, warm, and amazingly covered in a pattern of pine trees. In the bathroom there's an actual toothbrush and toothpaste. Maybe this won't be so bad, I think as I climb into bed, instantly feeling its tremendous warmth. I may be killed soon, but at least I get this week to be pampered and fattened up. And why should I count myself out anyway? These are my thoughts as I drift into a blissful sleep, filled with dreams of trees and smashing glass.