It takes until the next day to get to the Capitol, and I'm stuffing myself more than a Christmas turkey. Everything tastes so good, enhanced by the capitol chefs. I eat everything that's put in front of me when I'm forced to sit with Jame, Juno and our mentors Fleur and Cestro, but do it in silence, looking at the floor. Occasionally I let the tears run, knowing that the Capitol has cameras everywhere. Ill let them watch a starving community home girl eat what she's never had and will never have again in a couple of days. At least that's what they think. When I slink off back to my room I order another few courses, and indulge in deserts, anything from vanilla ice cream to a chocolate and raspberry soufflé for three. I need to get fat, put on some weight because I have no idea how to hunt, and my plant knowledge is scarce, and I doubt there'll be anything from home in that death trap they call an arena.
We get to the capitol in the early hours of the morning. Fleur has to jostle me awake, but I've been waiting for them for a while, and scream so loud in terror when they 'wake' me she jumps back startled. I have to stop myself from laughing at her face, her blue eyes are wide and her teeth are clamped together, lips stretched back like she's just tasted something horrid. For a games survivor I thought she would be a little more wary.
"I'll leave you to get dressed." She says, obviously shaken. I put on the clothes I wore when I got reaped, and shuffle to the train doors, but I can already see only a camera crew awaits our arrival, and some diehard lumber fans. But they're crying out for Jame, not me, and I just walk behind him sniffing. I meet my stylist, Lucia, who tells me I need surgery after thirty seconds of being introduced. I'm seriously offended by this woman, who has no hair except for bright green spikes on her head decreasing in size, and three cat whiskers implanted into each cheek. She doesn't even look human, looks so stupid I want to shout it at her. She wears a dress made of criss-crossing blue wires, and looks like she's being constantly electrocuted. The tears come again, and I whimper. She pats me on the head patronisingly, and ushers me into the big black contraption that's taking us to our rooms. I hear it's called a car, and can't think why they need it. They've got perfectly working legs right?
When we get to the rooms, my eyes are in so much pain I run up to my room and lock myself in there, and splash water on my face. This act is really taking it's toll, my eyes have a permanent redness around them, and I'm almost out of tears. Fuck's sake, I've still got days until I get in that arena, but I can hardly wait. I know that the cameras will never highlight me, like they did with all the other pathetic weaklings that have been in this bloodbath, until the careers find them and kill them. A lot of them actually make it to the final eight, but are killed off in less than a day. Then the careers fight it out amongst themselves.