Into The Wilderness: A Hunger Games Story

4: Feel Like A Victor

I awaken the next morning due to Effie Trinket throwing my bedroom door open and chirping, "It's going to be a big big day!" This is probably the most annoying thing at... What... 6 am? I groan and throw the pillow back over my head in any attempt to desperately grab onto the edges of the sleep that is quickly evaporating.

Today is the tribute parade. Today, all day, I will be in the hands of my stylists. I don't know how I'll turn out, but I have a pretty good idea. One year, all the stylists did was cover naked tributes in black dust to represent coal. I shudder at the inevitable embarrassment I will most likely be put through tonight.

I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and force myself from the clutches of its comfort. I drag my tired body over to the closet where I throw on a similar outfit to the one I had on yesterday - a comfortable T-Shirt and sweatpants.

Since I'm not really that hungry, I force down a half an egg, a piece of toast, and a glass of orange juice before going off to the stylists.

When I get there, I'm asked to strip and put on a flimsy robe until they come back in to rid me of my hair and grime. While they pluck away, despite all the pain, I slowly drift off to sleep.

When I awaken to the stylists shaking me furiously what seems like hours later, I'm groggy and disoriented and I can't remember where I am. I shoot up and look around with wild eyes for a second before I bring myself to calm down as I remember where I am and what I am doing. And I wistfully recall how much better it was to be asleep.

After a few minutes, my stylist comes in and introduces himself as Cinna. He sits me down and I think of how different he is from all the other Capitol citizens with their frilly outfits and crazy hair. All he has is gold eyeliner that seems to bring out the hazel flecks in his eyes in a complementary way. It's simple, but it completes him nonetheless.

He tells me how sorry he is for what I'm going through and I welcome the sympathy eagerly. I am so sick and tired of people congratulating me for what I realize is my horrible fate. As we talk over lunch, I can feel myself get more and more at ease with him.

After we eat our amazing Capitol food, he tells me to take off my robe so he can dress me. Oddly enough, I don't even flinch as he circles my naked body, taking measurements with his eyes. Instead, I close my eyes and try to relax for the time being.

He guides me gently into this silky-feeling outfit. I don't know what it is, but based on the last few hours, I'm struck by the odd certainty that it's genius. He tells me to remain with my eyes closed as he braids back my hair in its usual style and highlights my face with some makeup.

After he's done with whatever he's doing, he guides me to what I think is probably a full length mirror, and tells me to open my eyes. And when I finally do, all I can do is gasp in amazement.

He has made me look like the darkest of angels. He has contoured my face with the most delicate of hands and braided my hair in the most intricate of ways. My outfit, oh my outfit, is this amazing dark, silky thing that hugs my shape perfectly. It gives me a shape I never knew existed.

"Oh Cinna," I gasp. "Thank you." I turn and hug him tightly, and my eyes tear up, and without even looking he says, "There there, Prim, don't smear your makeup." I give a teary chuckle and pull away, sniffling and wiping under my eyes to catch any stray makeup. Already this man seems to know me better than I know myself. Has it really only been a few hours since we met? It certainly doesn't feel like it.

We are finally waiting in the area with the horses are, and this all takes a twist I'm not expecting. Cinna raises an eyebrow and looks at Peeta and I. "Are you afraid of fire?" Peeta and I exchange a worried glance and shrug. "I guess not," Peeta responds for both of us. Cinna holds up a match-type thing. I'm about to open my mouth and ask him what in the world he's thinking when he hushes me, his words overlapping my unspoken question. "It's synthetic. You won't feel a thing. Portia and I have spent days on this, so don't worry about it – there's no reason to." I sigh, and say with somewhat trusting resignation, "Then light us up already."

Cato's P.O.V.

It's the day of the Tribute Parade.

Clove couldn't be more exited - in her own, strange way, that is – whereas I, I'm a bit more reserved about all this. If, of course, you mean a permanent scowl set on my face, then there you have my definition of 'reserved.' We're all in the holding area where the tributes wait with their prep teams and their horses before riding out on their chariots.

Already I see District One hop up onto theirs, and I gotta admit, that blonde is pretty easy on the eyes. 

District One pulls out onto the runway and immediately the crowd erupts into cheers. I smirk, thinking of how crazy they'll go when we come out. We jerk forward, and suddenly the crowd is so deafening, it's all I can do not to cover my ears. But Cato Hadley is not a coward. So I suck it up and wave to them as they shout my name.

Then, all of a sudden, when we're halfway down the aisle, a hush falls over the crowd. I don't want to turn around, so I keep smirking and waving like an idiot. Whatever.

I sneak what I know is a risky glance at the screen, and I see tongues of fire encasing the District Twelve tributes. My initial reaction is shock, then fury as the crowd starts screaming what I think to be "Prim!" and "Peeta!" Instead of my smirk, I scowl, and I turn and see Clove's face is nearly identical to mine.

What makes this whole thing worse, is that they're holding hands. How stupid.

Great. I haven't even met her yet, and I already can't stand her. How perfect is this.

Prim's P.O.V.

I love it. They love it. They're screaming our names. Hopefully, this is how they'll be during the Games; tripping over their own feet to be able to sponsor us.

I sneak a glance up at the screen, and see two completely breathtaking people that I barely recognize. We are engulfed by fire, and it illuminates our faces perfectly, giving us this...amazing look and air of desirability. Then, this magical moment is nearly ruined when I see the District Two boy tribute glaring at both of us. I glare at him back defiantly, and I'm surprised by my own actions. I'm not usually like this.

This brute of a boy seems to be taken aback by my actions and scowls and looks away. I turn my nose back to the crowd and wave smirking.

I haven't even entered the Games yet, and I already feel like a victor.