The 53rd Hunger Games- Two Words

11. Worries

Dinner is a different affair to breakfast. Tule is in a far more sociable mood, laughing and joking, just like the first time we met her on the train. She has heard nothing of the conversations Hadrian and I shared today. Even Wade is smiling, something he does very rarely. Velia is at the table, as well as Marcille and Gladius's stylists, who introduces herself as Elnar. All of us are either from the Capitol or District Eight, so we are able to talk about what we live and breathe; textiles. Marcille and Elnar say they both requested District Eight because of its industry.

I am caught up in the happy air, forgetting about the other tributes for the first time since I set foot in the Capitol. Most of them, anyway. It's hard not to consider Gladius's plans when he sits across the table. I eat properly, not picking at my food like I did this morning and last night. We stay at the table long enough to see the sun go from hanging over the Capitol to it sinking below the horizon, to it disappearing. The Capitol isn't dark, though. The extraordinary colours of the lights burn brightly. You can't see the stars, because the city is so bright. We sit comfortably, bathed in soft yellow light. I've changed out of my training uniform, and into a rose coloured dress.

I feel normal for once. It's like I'm far away from the Games. Like I'll be watching a different set of tributes fight it out, and I'll be safe at home.

I almost manage to convince myself, until the conversation takes a turn.

"What a shame you won't be able to enjoy the splendour of the Capitol for much longer!" Velia says. "It's only a few days until you go into the arena!"

Everyone at the table, aside from Gladius and myself has had too much to drink, so none of them detect anything wrong with Velia's comment.

She's right, it isn't long. Tomorrow is the last day of training as a group. The next day is individual sessions. Then come the interviews, followed by the actual Games.

Against my will, I am brought back into a world of blood and gore, and dominance. Until we set foot in the arena, the Games are remarkably similar to pageants that air almost all the time on Capitol television. Whoever is the best looking and the most skilful will win over sponsors. When we are in the arena, the sponsors who haven't made their mind up yet see which ones are able to kill. The tributes will see too, only it'll be too late for them. Some of the tributes appear weak, but then murder viciously. There is a reason why no one remain untainted and wins.

My family will be forced to see me engage in bloody combat. Which would be more painful for them to watch; me taking an innocent life, or dying? I've stopped wishing that I hadn't volunteered. There is no rewind, no way to undo my mistake. I'm not as forgiving or trusting as Silvia, which gives me an advantage. Also, I have handled blades before. The closest she's ever come is stitching delicate embroidery.

What is winning worth? Wealth, safety, respect, a District that doesn't starve, if only for a year. Then there is the scarring, and not only the type that is visible. Haymitch, who is now District Twelve's mentor, has turned to alcohol. Some other mentors and victors are hooked on the same, or morphling. Would I become like that?

Gladius and I are ushered off to bed when the clock strikes ten. The overly loud laughter and voices carry down the hall. They tell of things that Gladius and I aren't meant to know.

"-the odds?For her?"

It's Marcille's voice, and she can't be talking about anyone but me. I hear Tule suck in her breath.

"One in thirteen. Not exactly a lucky number, is it?"

"The boy?"

"Hadrian or Gladius?"