LAURA KINGSWOOD – DISTRICT 7
Jesus Christ, when are these people going to stop obsessing over us? For the past half an hour or so, I've been sat in a limo with my district partner, Leon. Every single opportunity they get, the Capitol residents are all over us, and I'm feeling seriously drained already. I haven't even been in the Capitol for an hour yet and I already want to go home. Not that I even wanted to come here in the first place, but y'know.
As the limo drives smoothly through the urban streets, I turn to Leon, who's staring out of his own window. "You've made extra effort with your hair today, haven't you?" I remarked, looking at his long, spiked brown hair. Anyone would think it was naturally that way, you can't tell it's styled at all. He raises his eyebrows at me and smiles – or, at least, the eyebrow which I can actually see. The other is covered by his fringe. "Are you gonna let the Capitol see your eyes or not, mister?" I jeered.
"Excuse me, you're hardly in a position to joke about that," he says, nodding towards me. He was right – my full fringe almost covered my eyes too. At least he has one visible eye, I had something more like two half-eyes.
"Alright, I get it. Still, we need to make some sort of an impression while we're here. A sponsorship gift or two could save our lives in the arena," I mention to him.
"Yeah, I know. But I can't help but feel like some sort of interesting object they're all passing around to each other to gawp at."
"We're in the Hunger Games, Leon – we became objects owned by the Capitol the second they read out our names. I still can't believe they picked the two of us, though."
"I guess the odds weren't particularly in our favour," he replies, turning his attention back to the moving scenery outside the window. "Can I tell you something? If one of us dies, I want us both to die. Neither of us deserves the suffering of losing our best friend."
There is a long pause. "I see where you're coming from... but what are we gonna do, then? Have some sort of device that stops our hearts when the other dies?"
"Ew, no. That sounds horrible. Can you imagine your heart suddenly stopping? You'd just drop to the ground and-"
"Don't inform me of any gory details!" I snap at him. "We'll just have to stick together while we're in there."
"I guess so. But we're not in the arena yet, we ought to focus on the positives," he says.
"What positives? The only positive here is the food," I reply, taking a cracker out of my pocket that I'd stolen from the train. No use in putting good food to waste. Leon looked to the cracker, then to me and let out a little laugh.
"Trust you to do that," he says, clearly jealous of my amazing food stealing skills. "You might wanna put it away for now though, I think the limo's stopping..."
I'm a little too interested in my cracker to hear what he said, but it registers when the limo suddenly halts and our doors swing open. I quickly stuff the cracker into my pocket and prepare myself for the camera flashes, but none come. We step out of the vehicle and look at each other, clearly both very confused. The limo is about to drive off when the passenger seat's door flies open and our district's escort steps out, whose name I can't seem to remember. She flips her long yellow hair and takes out her mint green parasol, despite the fact it's not sunny whatsoever.
"What is this place?" Leon asks. Our escort turns around and glares at him, evidently a little disappointed that he doesn't know where we are. I have no idea either, but I pretend I know and join her in shaking my head at him.
"You don't know? This is where you're going to get spruced up and ready for all of Panem to see," she replies, ending her sentence with a stuck-up grunt. She turns around and starts walking typical Capitol-style towards the building near us. It resembles a giant theatre, but we must be at the back of it because there's nobody here.
"What do you bet they're going to dye our hair bright green and make us parade around in tree costumes?" I ask Leon as we start following our escort.
"They'd be pretty stupid to do that, we'd stand out like penguins in the desert when we got into the arena," he replies.
"I suppose so, but still, they've done some pretty crazy stuff in the past."
"I'm sure I can cajole them into giving us something a little more... sensible. I wouldn't mind being dressed up as an axe murderer. I mean, we use axes back home, surely that'd be acceptable?"
"Maybe up until the point where we drop the axe on some poor Capitol resident in the crowd, yes," I say, laughing. He laughs too, and we both enter through the door of the theatre-looking building. Once we're inside, we're in a darkened corridor with many doors on each side. Each one seems to be marked with a different number, and I'm assuming they go up to twelve. Before I have a chance to say anything, however, I'm practically shoved through a door by my escort and find myself in a room somewhat resembling a hospital ward.
"Ah, here you are? Laura is the name, correct? Laura Kingswood, yes, take a seat right here, if you will, hehe." I have no idea where the voice is coming from, but I'm soon answered where a very flamboyant-looking man skips out from behind a curtain and leads me to something similar to a dentist chair. I sit down in it and the man skips away again. He's knocking on some door, and a few seconds later a team of about five people walks out in an orderly line, and surrounds me. They're armed with clipboards and are each holding a pen, and they're all whispering to each other and scribbling down things on their notepads. This is making me feel really uncomfortable, because I hate being judged in any shape or form. And right now, it looks like they're judging my appearance, and that's one of the worst things they could be doing.
"What are you doing?" I ask them, but they don't seem to respond. One of them walks off and comes back with a tray full of beauty products, and hands several of them out before going off to get some more. I'm fairly sure the next hour or so is going to be one of the most humiliating of my life, so I close my eyes and just wait for it to be over.
I wake up some time later and attempt to lift my head, but all I feel is a gloved hand pushing it back down again. Since when do they drug tributes before they start the makeover procedure? It must be a new rule after some boy last year freaked out when he was being given some Botox shots. I can't say I blame him.
I feel a little too groggy to do anything for the next 10 minutes, but I can feel some people clipping away at my toenails and waxing any remaining hairs off my leg. It's painful, but I'm not really in the mood for screaming and yelling. I'm guessing they'd started at my head and worked down to my feet, and were just finishing off. I must have woken up a little earlier than they were expecting me to.
Eventually, they let me sit up, and I find that I'm dressed in a gown that I wasn't in before. They must have hosed me down while I was asleep. The thought kind of disturbs me, but there's nothing I can do about it now. I stand up, and there's a full-length mirror right in front of me. I'm immediately stunned by the transformation – for one, they've cut my fringe a little, but it's made a huge difference. I can see both of my eyes, their dark brown colour staring back at me from my reflection. The rest of my long-ish hair feels much sleeker and straighter than before, and my skin looks almost perfect. It's kept its pale complexion, but there's not a blemish in sight. My nails have also been perfectly clipped and removed of any discoloration. I'm not sure whether to be amazed or horrified by what they've done to me, but I still feel like I've been changed against my will. Whatever, it's only my physical appearance. They're not going to change my opinion on them.
The next few hours are taken up by several people coming to examine me physically, making finishing touches and figuring out what the chariot costume is going to be for District 7. I think they've already got it all figured out, but they just like discussing this stuff. Eventually, I'm shown through to a room with a tanned man with royal blue hair is stood, with several pieces of clothing laid out on a table. I know immediately it's what I'm going to be wearing, and I feel sick at the sight of it. It's green and brown. I'm going to be a tree.
"Now now, don't be alarmed honey, you're not going to be a tree," he says, cocking his head arrogantly. Oh dear. My hopes have been shattered. I'm devastated. "This is a state of the art costume that's going to make you look like a hero. Why don't you give it a try?" I thought I might as well get this whole thing over with, and put on the clothes.
From the looks of it, they've gone for the idea that all District 7 children chop trees for a living. They couldn't be more wrong, to be honest, but I'll live. I'm dressed in a dark green, long leather tunic, and white tights. I have several brown belts tied around me that are lined with tools that we use commonly back home. To top all that off, I've been given a ridiculous green hat that looks like something out of a French fashion parade. It has a red feather attached. I think I look more like Robin Hood than a tree, and I can't figure out is worse. At least there's one positive, though – they must have overheard us in the limo or something, because there's a large axe that I'm required to hold in a particular way while I'm in the chariot. It's one of the hugest axes I've ever seen, and has a metallic, ridged handle. Several carvings on it suggest that it's supposed to look ancient.
"Just remember, no dropping the axe while you're out there. I know it's heavy, but you're only in that chariot for about two minutes. Break a leg, baby," he says, before turning around and walking out of the door. Eh? What's he just left me for? I realise a few seconds later when the entire wall on the other side of the room splits open, revealing a darkened room full of every single other tribute. I feel like collapsing out of embarrassment, but luckily Leon comes to the rescue and drags me out of the room before I faint. He's dressed very similarly, except he doesn't have a hat and his hair has been spiked in a way that makes it look like a series of tree branches.
"Jeez, they really went for the tree look with you," I say, laughing. He gives me a death glare, and I know not to say any more. Push the wrong buttons with him and you'll be dead on the floor in a minute.
"Don't say a word. Besides, you're not looking much better as an axe murderer," he retorts, indicating the large axe which I'd left on the floor. I pick up the axe again and attempt to haul it around, having to hold it with two hands. It's awkward enough being in a room filled with all the other tributes, attempting to hold a giant weapon at the same time isn't helping. I see that Leon has an axe too, but the careers have stolen it off him and are attempting to scare the younger tributes with it. It looks as if the District 4 male is about to slice off the District 11 girl's head, when the District 5 boy suddenly interferes and snatches the axe off him.
"Knock it off, Suriel," I hear the boy say as he takes the axe, returning it to Leon shortly after. It was scary how easily he'd lifted it. "Kitro Token, District 5. Nice to meet you," he says, before turning around and disappearing back into the sea of tributes. He certainly stood out among them, however – his bright blonde hair was noticeable from a mile away, and he also had a very odd scar all the way down his right arm. I could tell Leon had noticed this too, as he glances at me with a did-you-see-that-too look. I nod slowly before turning my attention to the twelve chariots that are lined up in this large room. Tributes are beginning to climb into them, so I start looking around for the appropriate one. I have no idea which one to get into, but I eventually find the right one by looking for Kitro, and then getting in the one that's two behind his. We both haul our gigantic axes into the chariot and stand up. Leon sighs as he looks ahead.
"This is where it all starts. This is where it all truly begins," he says, shuffling nervously. I say nothing but there's no need to, as a few moments later a dazzling light almost blinds us both, as a large curtain we hadn't even seen raised up, and the first chariot rode out onto the runway...
The flashing cameras are something I'm used to by now, but the mad screams and cheers of the crowd are almost unbearable. I do my best to hold up my axe and smile, but I'm too scared to do anything but look straight ahead. I don't even look towards Leon, but I assume he's doing a better job than me at holding up this gigantic weapon. The chariot ride seems over in a flash, and it's already pulling up into the large area where the President begins his speech. I zone out for most of it, but I'm brought back to reality by the cheering as he finishes, and the sound of Leon finally dropping his axe and hopping out of the chariot. I realise that my arms were practically dying from holding this thing for so long, so I drop mine too and hop out, allowing my poor arms to recover. Leon rushes over to me and smiles, looking around him at the still-flashing cameras.
"They loved it. They must have! Just listen to them!" he says excitedly. But all that's really on my mind is the real Games, and how we're now just puppets for the Capitol to control... on TV, they do a good job at making out the tributes are still in full control of themselves, but you can just see that some of the tributes, especially the careers, have already been brainwashed by the promise of fame and fortune. I just hope to God that Leon doesn't fall into this trap too. I want us to leave here with the same personality we came with, however difficult that may be...