Jeopardy: The Fourth Quarter Quell

Scars - Jay

Jay

"Looking good," I say, and the boy looking back at me nods approvingly. His hair is slicked away from his face, even twisted into a small quiff for decoration, and though his shirt cuffs are halfway up his forearms he is at least clean and uncreased. There should be tell-tale worry lines digging into his forehead, but there aren't. A niggling pimple lurks on his chin, angry red. It wasn't there yesterday. I scowl and prod at it.

The train bumps and my reflection wobbles. Somewhere a shrill voice is shouting for Aspen and I; our escort, Maia. Apparently we're nearing the Capitol. Curiosity fires up inside me, but I only saunter over to the window to get my first view of the place that runs my life.

I had imagined somewhere like a bigger version of our district Center, with houses crammed one after the other and narrow paths, sprawling out endlessly until the buildings we see on screen once a year suddenly jut up out of the mess.

But what I actually see knocks the wind from me.

The Capitol doesn't stretch very far out because it stretches up instead. Windows upon windows are stacked into the sky, each building a slightly different shade, every single colour I've ever seen and some I didn't even know existed. Even the smallest would dwarf the trees back home. And they glitter! The sun is poking itself of the distant, shadowy hills and it's making them shine and sparkle. There's no moss to soften the sharp edges. No trees. No plants.

And across the plateau, another train streaks in, colours dashed down its sides, too far away for me to see any faces or even if there's a number on the side. I think we've travelled south but we could have turned during the night and now I'm not sure. So it's hard to tell where the other train comes from.

As we draw closer, the train slows down. Faces blur into place, pointing out of windows. There are even people crowded into the streets. The train passes above them, heading directly for the center. From the inside I can see the incredible, chilling order of the place. Each road is straight, the whole place formed on a grid. Every so often a seemingly needless arch rises out of the ground, twirled in gold - the Capitol colour, matching the colour of every district, including our dull dark green - and painted with people. I barely get the chance to glimpse them before they've vanished again behind another building and more grinning, eager faces. I can only gawp at them. Some have pointed ears, others vile coloured skin. I even think that I see somebody with glimmering scales. It's amazing and disgusting at the same time.

They're cheering. Clapping and cheering and smiling. They don't know anything about me and already they're waving at me. I wave back, nodding at them as I nodded to my reflection. This isn't impossible, not by a long shot. And if they want to see me die, why do they look so happy to see me?

My own reflection looks back at me. His eyes are bright, his waving confident. I give him a quick grin and turn my attention back to the crowd.

May as well give them a show. At the end of the day, that's what I'm here for.

Iona shrieks so loudly that it brings Melody running and forces me to crouch down with my hands over my ears, wincing. My shirt flaps around my arms; I was halfway through taking it off so she could decide just how she's going to torture me. Her girls - my prep team, as I should probably think of them - are squeaking excitably.

“What’s the problem?” Melody demands from the door. I shrug and stand up straight. There’s no mice here, no spiders, nothing to have suddenly set them off.

“I have no idea,” I reply. “She just started shrieking.” Melody looks around the room, taking in the trolley of torture objects and the various crinkled clothes laid out on the bed and the shuddering prep team, her face stern. It’s already obvious that she doesn’t like fuss. She’s refused to wear Capitol clothes and instead is dressed in a tunic and faded jacket, similar to what a lot of girls back home wear to the reapings. Everything else here is so unlike home. The room is the size of my house, almost, and the walls are smooth and coloured where they aren’t glass, though at the moment that’s covered with strips of heavy fabric rather than shutters. Even the people don’t really look like people. Their faces are too perfect and their colours too unnatural. The air smells clean and sharp and the light is painfully bright and the room is the perfect temperature.