Extravagance.
This is what hits me more than anything. Everything surrounding us is simply the finest, even by Capitol standards.
Apparently it's not always like this. While tributes have always been treated with a level of respect and fascination and been provided for, this year is different since it's a "Quarter Quell".
I'm starting to get really sick of that term.
Nothing but the best food. Nothing but the best quarters. Nothing but the best instructors from the best Games.
"You're special," everyone says to us. "You were chosen to be here."
As if I could ever forget.
But the one thing I have trouble getting used to more than anything else is all the people surrounding us whenever we step outside our quarters. There are fans and reporters who poke and prod and stare at us every waking moment. It gives me the strangest feeling that we are cattle.
The 1st Quarter Quell. It's going to be a Games no one is ever going to forget. Or at least, that's what the Capitol keeps saying.
I'm too afraid they might be right.
"So if you just pull it up like then the person will be trapped."
"Uh-huh." My fingers are working the snare even if my mind isn't.
Out of all of the tributes in the training center, I am the only one always alone. Most of the others are either with their district partner or are already forming alliances with the other tributes.
But I don't want to. I don't want to know any of their faces or names when they're all going to die.
Not even the boy from District 4 called Danila who is the youngest of us all.
But that's not what's making my mind wander right now. What is are those throwing knives over there, the ones that shimmer with the light and end with the sharpest points. I have seen a few tributes go over there and try their hand at it but none have accuracy or skill. None were meant to hold them.
None except me.
So far, I have spent all of my time in training learning different snare ties or survival skills – not that I really need to learn how to survive, I am from District 12 after all. I haven't gone near any weapons. I keep telling myself that I can survive on these snares, that maybe I can just set up traps in the arena and if other tributes get caught in them and die, well, it isn't my problem. But I also know that's bullshit and that if I want to survive, I need to learn how to use those knives.
Even if a knife in my hand would destroy me.
My thoughts are interrupted by lunch being served. Most of the kids rush immediately to it, gorging themselves on the food they'd never had in life. I hang back. I may not have that many ways to look tough but I can in this. Plus I know from experience that eating too much after having so little will just come right back up.
And I'm right.
But my little act of strength doesn't impress the Careers.
"Hey 12," says District 1's tribute; a boy I've heard the others call Flicker. "Be careful around that food. Wouldn't want you to trip up and ruin it for the rest of us."
The other Careers snicker. All, that is, except Killian who doesn't do anything at all. Come to think of it, he doesn't really do anything ever, so unlike the enthusiastic boy he was when he was reaped. He barely speaks and when he does it's in two word sentences. I've rarely seen him work with any of the instructors. The only thing he ever does seem to do is stare at the world like he's trying to piece it all together. Like he's doing to me right now.
I don't respond to their remark knowing antagonizing them will get me nowhere. But that doesn't mean it should be ignored. I decide not to eat at all, opting to walk towards the throwing knives, to the instructor who has had nothing to do all this morning.
"Teach me how to throw knives," I say to her and with everyone eating lunch, they can all see and hear me.
She lazily looks me up and down. I expect her to say some petty remark about my size and strength but she just jerks her head over to the targets and I follow.
She explains about grip and grab and gravity, doing a demonstration for me and by extension, for the entire group of tributes.
"That's great," I say, "but, um, I'm left-handed. Would I still use the same stance but opposite?"
"Yes," she says. "But then your job becomes more difficult. A right-handed person can just throw straight ahead and reach the other person's heart. However, you will have to throw diagonally to achieve the same goal. As well, it should be noted that throwing knives, especially ones as high quality as these usually have a natural disposition to the left since it is assumed the person throwing it will be right-handed and will naturally throw more to the right."
"That's fine," I say. "I'm ready to try it now."
I line myself up and the room falls into sputters of conversation. I know that most of them are watching me. I know I have one shot. I take into account all she has said and then I throw, the moment feeling wonderful and sickening as I hear it hit the target with a satisfying thud.
It takes me a moment to realize I have hit the center.
Everything is deadly silent now as I line up for my next throw. But whether it's because everyone's attention is on me now or the mechanisms within the knife forcing me to fail with my left-handedness or even the other throw just being beginner's luck, this time I fail. I don't even hit the target. I'm not even close to hitting the target.
I hear laughs from the Careers and then chatter fill the room as everyone ignores me and my obvious failure.
I throw again. And again. And again.
Nothing.
I leave the station, vowing never to return. But someone catches my eye as I do so.
Killian. Still watching me.
It was a bad idea to ever even think of learning how to throw knives. They invade my every thought now, my every deed and action. Nothing feels so complete as when I have them in my hands and as the days pass, I find myself going back again and again. Just to hold them. Just to throw them one more time.
Mags seems pleased or maybe it's just because I finally have a skill to show the Gamemakers. Even so, it's still mixed with that perpetual pity and kindness she seems to have for me no matter what I do.
The day of evaluations comes far too quickly for my liking as does the call for all the districts before Anna and I. When my turn comes, I stand, sigh, and try to look as intimidating as I can.
"Hey," Anna says behind me and I turn around expecting her to say something snide and mean to throw me off my game. Instead, she just smiles. "Show them how we do it in 12."
"Yeah," I say, flashing my own smile. "Let's."
But the Gamemakers aren't interested in 12. They hardly look at me the whole time. And the nervousness and guilt that I've been feeling for the past couple of days boils over. I hit the center only once, most just barely reach the target, and a few don't even do that. They let me leave after just six throws.
"A 5?" I say incredulously. I expected a bad score but I didn't expect one as low as that.
Anna's face appears next with her number of 7.
I groan. This was my one chance to gain sponsors, to show I was worth someone's attention. We were forgettable in the Tributes' Parade, I was forgettable in training, and now I'm utterly forgettable in the evaluations.
"They didn't give you low scores because you preformed badly," Mags says and we both look up from the screen. "They gave you bad scores because you're from District 12. They gave you a worse score, Jay, because you're left-handed. Almost all the weapons in the Cornucopia are going to have a lean towards those who are right-handed. And no one left-handed has ever won the Games."
"Great," I say. It seems that all the odds are against me.
But then the thought comes just as quickly: I am a mockingjay who has no right to exist in the first place. I seem to thrive when the odds are against me. Maybe I can win. Maybe I really can. I try to think it even though there is no hope in my heart.
Maybe.
Interviews.
This is something completely different, something totally unexpected. There have never been interviews before but I guess because this is a "Quarter Quell" there needs to be.
In years past, tributes were discussed and thought of, but never actually talked to – I suppose as a way for Capitol citizens to keep a barrier between their fantasy and the actual reality of the Games – at least until these tributes became victors and were in no danger of dying. But now interviews are going to be done with every tribute prior to the Games and by the looks of how excited the Capitol citizens are, they may make this permanent.
It's one last chance for me. One last chance to gain sponsors and some sort of edge.
This is worse than anything that has happened to me so far and quite possibly all that will. Now I have to laugh and talk and pretend to be friendly while I sit in this suit that could have fed my family for the past ten years and forget the fact that I may very well die tomorrow.
The one thing I'm allowed to have that I'm grateful for is my mockingjay pin, stuck to the front of my collar. At least my district back home can know who I am if no one else.
The interviewer in question is Caesar Flickerman, a man, no, a boy practically no older than ourselves with wide eyes and a jumpy sort of manner. Rumours circulate that he is actually from the districts and was saved from certain death when President Laurent realized the boy could be useful. But those are just rumours and who knows what is true in this Capitol.
Regardless, the boy is agitated, fliting his eyes from the audience back to his tributes as we come up one by one and it is certain by the way he looks so normal and does not talk in the same accent as those of the Capitol that he is at least new here.
He goes in order, female then male, talking to every tribute. For the first time, they open up about their lives and their districts for the Capitol to see. To a point, of course. Everything they say they are obviously playing for the Games.
District 1, a girl named Ruby who plays an innocent, one who practically volunteered to save others from being selected as tribute. The boy, Flicker, who is charming as he and this boy interviewer both joke on the similarities of their names. And then District 2's female, Philomena, and male, Shard, who revel in their strength and ferocity.
But the one who steals the show, the one who will always steal the show, is Killian. Dressed in an electrical suit which changes colours depending on what he says and all of the Capitol laughing and cheering on his every word, he is definitely unforgettable.
"So, Killain," says Caesar who at least seems to have gotten a rhythm going, "I've been hearing a lot about you lately. It seems that you are all anyone's talking about when it comes to the Games. Would you like to share?"
"Well, I am a tribute, so yes, my name is going to come up in conjunction with the Games," he says and people in the audience laugh. "Or did you want me to be more specific, like that District 3 did just win last year's Games or that I am the only tribute to have gotten an 11?"
"Whatever you like," the boy replies. "Though I suppose the last is most impressive."
"It can be. But what does that matter if at the end of the day I am still dead?"
"Very true, very true. But I don't think that will be a problem for you. Which is why your district chose you as a tribute, am I correct?"
"Of course," he says with a smile and his suit flashing silver to match. He is perhaps the only person in the world who manages not to sound arrogant with such a statement.
"But even so it must be hard for you, leaving your district. Is there anyone there who will be rooting for your inevitable win?"
It is then and only then that Killian hesitates, takes a moment to reply while his suit fizzles out for a moment, his energy gone. But then he is back again, smiling and laughing.
"I think a better question would be: Who isn't rooting for me back in District 3?"
Caesar throws back his head and laughs but on his young frame, it doesn't look quite believable. "Right you are. I wish you all the best."
The interviews following are certainly not as impressive and they begin to blur together in my mind, though I do note a shy and quiet District 4 Danila. It gives me a pang of guilt though too. Tomorrow, some of these kids will be dead and no one will really remember or care. They seem just like me; lost, apprehensive.
But at least they don't dream of killing people.
Then it is my turn, the very last tribute. I hear my name announced and I walk onto the stage. I planned on smiling and looking amiable but when I'm finally up there, everything fades except for the knowledge that this will be the first time since leaving 12 that my family or Yondrie or Kit will get to see me.
Somehow I'm standing beside Flickerman and all cameras are on me.
"So Jay," Caesar begins, "why do you think you were chosen as tribute for District 12?"
"I…" I say and then freeze. I don't know what to say. I should though. Every other tribute has been asked this. Why didn't I work out an answer?
"I don't know, really."
Yeah, that's sure to win me sponsors. Let's form a line right now.
"That's okay, I understand," he says. "You just have so many talents, it's hard to figure out which ones blew your district away, am I correct?"
I nod my head, thankful at least that he cares enough about his own skin to make me look good.
"And am I correct in assuming this pin you are wearing is from your district?"
"It was my grandfather's." I touch the pin, my one piece of strength.
"Aha, a family heirloom. What does it represent exactly?"
I wince inwardly. I didn't imagine I'd be great but I certainly didn't imagine it would go this badly. "It…it's kind of like a family crest, I guess."
No response from the audience but at least I didn't commit treason. I decide to snap my mouth shut for the remainder of this interview in the hopes that will curb the damage I incur.
"So tell me about these people," he says, "who are watching you at home, rooting for you."
When I don't reply he prods, "Your parents, I assume?"
I nod my head and try not to look straight at the cameras.
"And perhaps a girlfriend? There was certainly a girl who caught your eye during the Reaping."
I nod my head and then before I know what I'm doing, I'm saying, "Well, not girlfriend anymore I suppose. We are to be married."
Gasps go up from the crowd and I realize I have finally done something right.
"Married?" He seems incredulous.
"Yes," I ramble on. I'm not supposed to be talking, I don't want them to know all these things about me, but once I've mentioned Yondrie I can't seem to stop. "She wanted to get marry sooner. But I wouldn't let her. Because of the Games."
More gasps from the crowd and sighs and never have I felt more awkward. But maybe this at least means sponsors.
"Well then," he says finally, "I am sure you will do all that is in your power to get back to her."
I nod my head. "I will."
A lie. It always has been a lie. I will try but I can't do everything. I can't.
The timer dings. I walk offstage amidst applause. The interviews are finished.
Now the Games begin.
I am unable to sleep.
Instead, I sit at the dinner table eating as the sun rises for the Games. I can't help myself. My half-dreams are filled with blood and I'm tired of pretending I'm not hungry. I eat everything in sight. It's probably going to be the last time I even get to eat anyways.
"Can't sleep?"
Startled, I look up to see Mags at the doorway. I nod my head.
She sits down across from me, picking up one of the chocolate covered strawberries. "Well, can't say I blame you if you're giving it up to eat. Say what you want about the Capitol, they make simply the best food there is."
I have nothing to say to this so we sit in silence for a few moments, me trying to avoid her gaze that always seems to know everything about me.
"Are you frightened?"
I look up and try to look casual. "Yeah."
She shakes her head. "No. You're not."
I stop eating and watch her nervously.
She waits a few moments before answering. "I've seen you, you know. In the training room. Watching the previous Games. When you almost fell off the stage back in 12. I've seen that look on tributes' faces before. Mostly, though, I've seen it on victors' faces."
"And what exactly is that?"
"Excitement. Bloodlust."
The first time anyone has ever said it out loud. I hang my head. "So now you know. My worst secret."
"This is wonderful news," she says, practically smiling.
That just makes me angry. "How can you say that? Just because in your Games you…"
I trail off and almost blush at the humiliation of what I almost accused her of.
She sighs. "Jay, I know what you must have heard. And I won't deny it. But you have to understand that what I did in the Games was not who I was. I killed, but I did it to survive. Of course I feel guilt and of course I regret it but if I hadn't, someone else would have won, someone who would have probably cared a lot less that they had killed people."
I shake my head. "This changes nothing. I'm not letting my district, my family, see that side of me. I won't kill people to win."
"Then think about your district. District 12 has never had a victor. Think about the hope it would give them if they did, not to mention the free shipments of food they would receive as well."
"Great, I'll be inspiring the kids of my district to die in the Games. That makes me feel so much better."
"Jay," she says and she says it with such intensity that I stop resisting. "No matter what you do, you will destroy something you love. Either you go home to your family by killing people or you die and leave the people you love devastated. It's your choice."
I feel stunned, unable to respond. Her words, though she probably didn't mean for it to be so, remind me so much of what my father told me, of the Hanging Tree. My rebel ancestors had to make difficult decisions like this during the rebellion. My great-grandfather decided to let himself be captured and that must have devastated his family. His son chose a different path, decided to play the Capitol's Game and survive. But which one was right and which one was wrong?
No. This is completely different from what I'm going through right now.
…is it?
This must play on my face because next she says, and gentler this time, "I believe you can win, Jay. And I haven't thought that about a District 12 tribute ever. But you have to let yourself go. It's the only way."
I put my head in my hands and let out a groan of frustration, for everything I've been forced and will be forced to do. But when I open my eyes, I've made my decision.
"Fine," I say. "I'll do what you want. It's what my father wants and it's probably what Yondrie wants too. I'll do everything in my power to survive. Everything."
I feel apprehension and guilt but I shove it all aside. I'm going to do this. I'm going to win.
And this time, it's not a lie.
Mags just smiles. "You will."