The Warmth of the Sun in the Winter

-5-

My prep team pokes, prods, and pulls at my body as I try my best to be completely still. They introduced themselves not long ago, but their names are so strange I have already forgotten them. In my head, I call them by what they are doing: Poke, Prod, and Pull.

"Are you alright, darling?" Poke asks in the annoying, high-pitched accent of the Capitol.  It wasn't that bad when it was only Jago talking like this, but being surrounded by three people with the silly tone makes me feel like I want to scream.

Instead of screaming, I say, "Yes, I'm fine," in a way I hope isn't too terse.

"That's great!" She screeches, tossing her striped purple hair behind her as she reaches towards a tool I've never seen before. I do not understand their fashion. I am starting to worry that my stylist will give me an outfit similar to theirs.

"Oh, you're looking glamorous already!" Pull says. His skin is completely blue, and he has bright blue gems embedded in his arms. I try not to imagine how the jewels got there.

"That's great," I say flatly in response to his comment, giving up on trying to pretend I'm happy in any sort of way. He doesn't seem to notice that the only reason I would care about looking glamorous would be to save my sister's life, and he flashes me a wide grin that looks more like a terrifying grimace before he comes at my eyebrows with a pair of tweezers. I suppress a shudder.

Prod is more reasonable. He works in silence while the other two chatter on. I start to wonder if he disagrees with the Games. Of course, I don't ask him that. He's part of the prep team anyways, so he's likely a fan of the Games too.

They dunk me in several baths, rip every last piece of hair out of my body, cover me in make-up, and do several other things that make me look "beautiful" to their eyes, and make me look more like the Capitol citizens to my eyes.

All the while, they are chatting away about meaningless, useless, and petty things: about parties, new perfumes, outfits, lipstick, and the Games themselves. They talk about the arena, the Quell, the reaping, the interviews, and everything like it is nothing more than a show. But it is not a show. It is not pretend. How can they not see that children are dying and that it is very, very real?

I almost feel bad for them. They are happy and full, but they are completely oblivious to reality. In the districts, people are starving, but they are aware. Is it better to be ignorant of terrible things or is it better to be conscious of them?

I don't know.

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My prep team is done with me.

I am left in a room, waiting for my stylist. The prep team took the necklace from my mother while they were making me "pretty", but they have given it back now. I turn it over in my hands, admiring the gleaming blue crystal. It promises that I will survive, that I will win.

The only problem is that I don't exactly want that.

There is a mirror at the end of the room, but I do not go to see my reflection. I try to tell myself I don't do this because I want to see myself only when my stylist is done with me, but I know the real reason I don't is because I'm afraid. Afraid that the Capitol has made me look like I'm not from the districts. Not from the districts, and therefore not from home.

I want to go home. I want to go home where people are starving in the streets. I want to go home; to the home where I worry whether or not we will be able to survive another day. I want to go to the home where my mother and my father are, and Brooklyn, and the small life I have made for myself.

I have been waiting all day. Waiting, anticipating. Waiting for my prep team to be done with me, waiting for my stylist to come in, anticipating the moment Melody and I ride past the Capitol. What will it be like? What if the Capitol citizens don't like us?