The scenes roll by in slow motion as the train zips through the rotten lot of Panem. We pass green blurs of familiar District 10, the rolling, swift yellow grasses of District 9, the smoking factories of District 8, and we are now surrounded by mountains a dark area of grey fog. We must be near District 2 now. And 2 is near the Capitol.

I don't look at my mentor until the fog of 2 completely takes over my view. When it does, I just simply turn my head toward my mentor, Raul Pellernan, a man of twenty nine with dark ruffled hair and angry turquoise-green eyes. He has a heavy wooden cigar in his mouth, thick smoke puffing out from it. His eyes are vacant and somewhere far away.

The boy next to me isn't helping either. His name is Remo Kinaj and he is the male tribute this year, but I would've believed anyone who said he was an Avox. He hasn't spoken a word since the Reaping. But then again I haven't either. But then again again, nobody visited me in the Justice Building.

I wasn't expecting my mother to, but I at least allowed some small part of me to hope. It was very wrong of me. What's left now in place of that hope is an emptiness that can never be filled again.

Speaking of empty, our mentor has wandered back to us, his piercing gaze now directly on me. In a low whisper that would make any girl jump, he asked, "What can you do?"

It doesn't sound a question. It sounds like a challenge.

Remo stares half paralyzed in shock for a moment and in the next he has burst into tears. Good thing his bloated little hands are covering his face so he couldn't see our mentor roll his eyes. "What about you, skinny one?"

He takes me by surprise, although I expected it to come. I sit up and look him straight in the eye. "I. Hunt." I said simply but ferociously. To my surprise, Raul comes to what is almost a shy smile. A gasping sob escapes from the person beside me.

I glance in disgust at Remo, who was trying to keep his fat cheeks with the rolling tears hidden. He is a boy of fourteen but he resembles a globular pig with acne. Little blue eyes sunken into his head which was covered in tufts of thick light-blonde hair and a few balding patches. A round stomach hung over his pants and his waistline was ginormous. I'm not making fun of his weight, but being fat in the Games isn't going to help you much. Then again being skinny for the wrong reason, which I am, is even worse.

I glance down at my stick-thin arms sprinkled with light freckles, my scabby, skinny legs that look more like twigs, and my two long, thin carroty braids. I have the most vivid hair in the arena, I must remember to tie it up, dye my hair, or camoflauge it in the arena. And without glancing in a mirror, I know my eyes are blue rimmed with an outer edge of gold, looking ridiculously out of place on my freckle-inherited face. I understand I'm unsightly, so I will need a great charm and personality to win me sponsors. Remo may be fat, but his cheeks kind of made him look like a pig, which the Capitol might consider cute. With me, I look like a living skeleton with red hair.

I scowl when I realize that Remo has probably been well fed all his life. He probably came from a wealthier family than mine. "I only took tesserae once," he bragged in my face. I shot him a look. "And look where that's gotten you," I reply venomously.

Remo's little eyes grow wide and at once he began bawling. I scowled at my mentor, expecting him to chew me out but he was howling with cruel laughter. "This one might last a day or two in the arena," he smiled at me, showing vicious, crooked yellow teeth. I frown at first, but then decided to grin back.


Raul may be cool, but he still made us watch the other tributes' reapings. District 1 and 2 lunge forward to volunteer. I make a mental note to keep an eye on them. The boy from 1 has towering muscles and a sly face. The girl has short black ringlets that fall in a curtain around her neck and bright amber eyes that glint like knives in the sun. I may also need to keep away from 2 because I had trouble telling which one was the girl. 3, 4, 5. They pass by in a blur. Oh, the 6 boy volunteers with a creepy grin on his face. He may be the mental one this year.

It goes by. Both from 7 are skinny, starving, and tearing up. 8. 9. When it comes to 10, I turn my head away so I won't have to relive my horribly unlucky reaping. The 11 girl is skinny and small and very quiet. The tributes from 12 weren't worth noticing. When the TV is off Raul turns his sharp gaze on us. "Well?" he whispered softly yet deadly. "See any danger or allies?" I only stared back, Remo's soft sobbing hovering in the background. I want no allies nor friends. They will only befriend you long enough to lose you, and then leave you there dying in the end.

"IWANNAGOHOME!" wailed Remo, hunched over and crying to the end of his tear glands. No matter how much we scowled at him or occasionally whispered to him to shut up, he wouldn't stop crying.

Raul doesn't seem very pleased, but then dinner is served so he says no more. I stare greedily at all the food displayed in front of me. There is an entire roast pig stuffed with savory fruits and nuts (at home I'm lucky to get entrails) and decorated in peacock feathers, hot chicken noodle soup that feels hearty going down (which is my all time favorite at home but the last time we were able to afford it was when I was three), lobster bathing in tangy butter sauce, mashed potatoes flavored with delicate herbs, blue shrimp, thick, juicy slices of half-raw beef, gooey tentacles and a spicy cocktail sauce to dip them in, golden rolls baked to perfection and filled with a fluffy cream, steaming platters of sweet artichoke with a thick gravy spread, blue robin eggs, creamy onion soup, sour watercress soup, pink birds draped with apple honey, and a layered white cake for dessert.

Remo's flabby arms are everywhere at once, getting this, grabbing that. He doesn't even use his utensils, instead grabbing the food from everywhere and then savagely stuffing them into his mouth. When his mouth is filled and a bit of drool races down his chin, that's when he begins to chew. He makes all sorts of slobbery and satisfied sounds, grunting and stuffing and inhaling the haul in his mouth. Our escort watches with a revolted look on her face. She pushes her own plate away and gets up walking out of the room without a word. I expect Raul to do the same, but he merely smirks at us. I'm trying everything, lobster, mashed potato, a bit of pig and fruit, tentacles, soup, even the birds. It is all still warm and so delicious and it just makes me hungry for more. I've never been able to eat as much as I liked. Food is hard to come by so whenever I have some I always save some for the next time just in case. But I don't stop to save any now. Instead, I haul down as much as I can, except I try to eat slowly. Sucks for Remo who's not going to keep anything in his stomach later.

When we are finished eating it is late at night. The stars assume their positions in the sky, twinkling and winking and grinning down below at us. I sit in my compartment with my eyes trained on them, wondering what it would be like if I was traveling on a star right now. Would I still have to live my crappy life? Or would I get to go somewhere that no other human has gone before?

I am so encrypted in my daydreams that I don't notice the Capitol at first. Suddenly there was a faraway gleam of the brightest lights I've ever seen. Pinks, yellows, neon greens, all shining against the velvet sky. They blind so that tears come to prickle the corners of my eyes, and I have to blink for several moments before I've realized where we are. As we near the Capitol it is filled with much whooping and music. Glowing blobs of color-capitol citizens- dance about in the streets, laughing, talking, and partying. It filled me with a strange envy to see them like this, how I could never be as happy as they are.

Raul bursts into my room and I have to hold back a startled yelp. He chuckles darkly and then makes a sweeping motion for me out the door with a mock bow. "Welcome to hell," he said softly, his eyes gleaming with a deadly, poisonous humor.