Last hours

The last day in the Capitol is a flight of fancy for me. Of course, I'm still a little frustrated at not getting the highest score in training, but I'm proud of my interview at the same time. Proud to have kept my composure - both with Cassia with her 11, Saylor with his strong attempt to win over the sponsors, and with all of Panem when the Capitol showed the film of my mother's death. I know I gave it my all. Next up is just the arena and then I can go home. In peace.

But as good as I feel, around me the glow of the Capitol has dimmed a bit. The Games now seem less like my path to a future without a shadow over it, and more like the need to prove myself. After Mirabella Brunel's death in the 50th Hunger Games, District 5 experienced something of a general uproar. The fact that a pregnant girl was killed in the arena outraged people. And most of all, it outraged my grandparents. When the District's uproar died down, May and Edison Brunel kept their hard feelings and passed them on to me. There was no anger, no, it was skepticism, general distrust of the Capitol. What kind of people could they be that were behind such a horrible murder? But as my abilities grew over the years and, with the help of my grandparents, I created the Alys Brunel who can win the Hunger Games, all that distrust faded. I focused on myself. When I entered the Capitol last week, I even let myself be lulled by its beauty, even though I knew what I was facing.

Now all that is gone. The beautiful rooms seem more bare, the decorations less delicate, the clothes of the people here less colorful. For now I have experienced firsthand the cruelties of which my grandparents were so sure. Really saw myself as the entertainment tool that the Capitol makes tributes to be.

"You're a message. Nothing but a message!" My grandmother's words echo in my head. Now I really understand them.

And the realization fills me with more confidence and will to beat the Games than all my training over the years ever has.

I don't tell Porter or Spudnell anything about my thoughts. Since I've been haranguing Spud to not just worry about me, he's actually been busy with Tic. How honestly, I can't tell. Probably he's more hoping that I'll see him in a better light through feigned effort. Still, the last thing I want to do is criticize the system just before the Hunger Games begin, completely destroying my relationship with the two mentors. For now, it's simply certain that they don't like me any more than I like them, but we tolerate each other. Need each other.

What they do notice, however, is that I stroll through the corridors in an even better mood than in the previous days, spurred on by my thirst for victory. As I'm writing my victory speech in my mind, Porter takes me aside.

"Hey - what?" it escapes me in surprise.

"Put that attitude down."

I look at her, frowning. She doesn't reflect my surprise at all, though; rather, she looks angry - that dangerous kind of anger that only burns on the inside. I don't back away, but lean toward her as she approaches. Porter keeps a straight face as she speaks.

"I've watched you strut around the Capitol long enough now. But you've only got," she looks at her watch, "two hours now until the Games start. You should begin to understand the gravity of the situation."

"I got it!" I say in a firm voice.

"You're too cocky!" hisses Porter.

"Spud says I'm doing pretty well with so far with my strategy," I retort coolly, crossing my arms in front of my chest.

Porter raises her eyebrows. "Maybe in the eyes of the sponsors. But it looks to me like your posturing has already gone to your head. And if there's one thing I know, it's that in the arena it can bring about your downfall just as easily as a pregnancy!"

With these words she wanted to hit me and I react exactly as she expected. I stamp my foot and raise my finger threateningly in her direction. "Don't you dare -"

"What, make you angry?" Porter takes a stiff step backward, but it doesn't look like a retreat. Rather, it mocks my lackadaisical attack. "The other tributes will, too. If you let feelings guide you, your attention will suffer. You will die, Alys."

"I will win!", I contradict, but lower my hand. "Win, do you hear me?"

"Possibly. But for that, you have to stop acting like you're something better than the other tributes. You aren't. You're merely the most proven in terms of your demeanor, your image, the whole show you're putting on. Combat-wise, you haven't proven anything yet!"

"I've been training."

"Yes. And you are good. Tic told me about your training." She hesitates for a moment, then her eyes narrow again and her voice becomes even more forceful, "But there are killers among the others as well. You have twenty-three opponents in the arena - yes, twenty-three, even Tic is your opponent, though you like to suppress the fact that he is inevitably in your way! - and none of these twenty-three opponents will let a few snappy remarks to Caesar Flickerman stop them! They're out to kill you, especially the ones from the career districts. This Cassia girl has an 11, the Gamemakers gave Saylor a 10. Both showed them fighting techniques for all we know, so you can't really compare them to your assessment at all. As far as I know, they have high numbers and you weren't rated at all in fighting. Don't you underestimate them!"

"I'm not!", I say petulantly. "But they're so many, there -"

"Wrong!" exclaims Porter. "Yes, they are many, but they are also individually dangerous! Get that through your head!"

"You're like Spud with Tic!", I snap at her, even though her words hurt me - precisely because her words hurt me. "You don't believe in me. You don't believe I'll be alive in a few weeks."

"I know you won't be alive in a few weeks if you're confident of victory and inattentive to tributes like Saylor or Cassia!" By now Porter is shouting, anger blazing in her usually sober voice. "This is life and death, your life and death! This isn't about your mother, this isn't about what your family indoctrinated you with either!" For a moment she looks like she's going to hit me, but then she merely runs her hand up the support on her neck. "In the arena, it's all about you. You may think of it as a game, but you only get one shot in there. One misstep and you're done. You've got to be careful, Alys, do you understand me? You've been skipping the coaching sessions with me all week, but listen to me at least this once!"

As her voice trails off, I realize she's just trying to mask fear with her anger. Fear for me? Or does she share Spud's interest more?

"Fuck you," I say softly. I'd show her what I can do yet. She may be right that I shouldn't underestimate career tributes, but I'm not going to let go of my certainty of victory. Not now. Not this close to the arena.

And yet, I don't speak another word after I tear myself away from her. I spend my breakfast quietly in the company of my team. I quietly let the prep team wash me and comb my hair. I quietly allow Obethia to supervise as I am squeezed into a tan jumpsuit. And just as silently, I stand on the platform in the catacombs beneath the arena and wait for the glass tube to close around me.