A little hope is effective.

The beginning of the nightmare.

My scream wakes me as I fight too free myself from my drug fuelled sleep- sweat beads on my neck and my hands grip the duvet till my knuckles are white. My eyes open violently and I breathe heavily...

How did it all change? The Hunger Games...the barbaric, blood hungry games; who ever thought that it was a good idea? Who ever thought I'd win it?

Not me.

And now I have to be a mentor... yet I still can't forget my games... and still can't forget the horrors...

When my name was picked from the ball my heart stopped, I couldn't breathe; for me it was a death sentence. I'd never really watched the games; they were on in the background of my life. I was 15 and coming from District Four agile in water and that's about it. I was small although muscled from the sea, and pretty much unremarkable apart from my luminous emerald eyes and my mothers' fortunate looks- at 5-foot-tall and not even 100 pounds my chances were none... I was the youngest girl to ever be reaped from district four, and when I left on the train I thought I'd never come home.

My mentor was a woman named Mags, a lovely older lady who was so very kind; she held me like my mother when I sobbed, brokenheartedly on the train. She hummed to me under her breath, and despite everything she made me feel so very, very safe. She spoke softly and soothingly, murmuring sweet words to me. My District partner was an 18-year-old, called Marsh; he was huge all 6-foot- 5' of him was heavily muscled and he was lethal as a killer- almost instantly he was a favourite to win.

The capital was like nothing I'd ever seen before in my life. The grotesque disguises of those mutilated by the capital were enticing, I'd never seen anything like it and it was made all the more extreme and all the more wonderful. The colour; the vibrancy; I was in awe of the peculiar match work that was life in this bustling city, that had never known what it was like to work hard and go hungry. As much as I hated that it had sentenced me to death, driving to the training centre made me envious of the safety and fun that seemed to ooze from every pore of every citizen, of every building...

My prep team were outrageous but mostly more than complimentary. Polly, a plump young woman with spiked magenta hair and gold patterns inked into her forehead 'oohed' and 'ahhed' at my eyes, rambling away about how such a beautiful thing could come from a 'district'. Elsa, a small willowy character with inch long golden nails kept touching my long curtain of naturally curly blonde hair; almost unintelligible as she spoke in glee about all the things the capital could do. My hair covered me to mid-thigh, curly and beautiful; the only thing that I thought was truly beautiful inside of me. Tee was the only part of my prep team who wasn't as complimentary, he ripped out my leg hair with a face that was like disgust; murmuring away to himself and tutting when I yelped in pain. It was hours of scrubs, shampoos, waxing and shaving then came the plucking and a hose down or two. By the time I was through with my prep-team I wanted nothing more than to submerge myself into the sea back home, and swim far away... instead I got to meet my stylist.

Axel came into the room, and was a surprise. His long hair was tied up to show his strong jawline and cheekbones, and he had very few capital changes. The most on show was two hoops on his left nostril, thick metal hoops that were pierced into his nose and interlocked; the second of which was the selection of hoops that went all the way up his ear- a mixture of gold, silver and bronze. All of this didn't change the look in his eyes or disguise the youth that was more than apparent. Axel was new, he was young and he was very much beautiful. He spoke with reverence and didn't try to sugar coat the whole thing. We ate lunch together that day and he spoke none stop about his dream and ambition, he made me think past what was to come. For the chariot parade he prepped me himself, braiding my long hair pinning pieces up and adorning it with seaweed, nets and pieces of the sea- my face changed and was given tone- I was aged with the use of highlighters and random make-up pallets. When I'd looked in the mirror I hadn't even recognised myself: the strong brows, the outlined eyes, even my lips weren't my own. He donned me in fabric so soft, it rippled in the wind and reminded me of the sea I loved so much. The skirt flowed along the floor, covering me from my waist in rippling sheets of home. Marsh was dressed in the same fabric as me except his outfit consisted of just pants, it was obvious that his stylist was playing the heart throb card. I only caught glimpses of myself that night but people watched me, and it was the first time I'd felt truly ill in my time at the capital.