Two Sides of a Coin

Chapter 4:

"Rise and shine! Today will be the best day of your life - you get to witness first-hand the glory of the Capitol!" I am rudely awoken by the high-pitched chatter of a person who is not in my good books right now.
Reluctantly, I untangle myself from the swathes of satin covers and chips of broken plates, and swing my legs out of bed, grumbling incoherently about axes and scarlet hair. I move to grab whatever clothes first make contact with my hands, but drop them instantly and wince.
At a closer inspection I have a gash running the length of my right palm to my wrist. Fragments of glass are embedded in my skin, where I must have thrust my hand through broken glass, and crusted blood holds them in place. I know I cannot pull them out without re-opening the wound, which would be both extremely painful and extremely stupid.
I rush to the bathroom, and open the cabinet. I am lucky I am left handed. After thoroughly exploring the contents of the bathroom cabinet, I find nothing useful apart from a few wads of gauze and painkillers.
Stumbling, due to lack of sleep and moving 200 miles per hour on a train, I scan the main room for anything that could help me. I am just about to give up, and find Xanthe so she can tell me where the nearest medical assistant is, when my eyes rest on a discreet call button above the headboard of my bed. I slam my good hand into it, and wait patiently on the edge of the mattress.
Seconds later, an Avox with short brown hair, who could be no older than me, hurries into the room, and stops short at the sight of the mess I haven't bothered to clear up. Alarmed, she turns to me, obviously concerned for my safety.
"Its okay," I assure her, "I, er, got a bit frustrated."
She recovers quickly, and moves to clean it up.
"Oh, um, actually that wasn't what I needed somebody for. I need a needle and thread and antiseptic," I motion to my injury and give her a little wave with my right hand.
She shakes her head a little. I'm not allowed to do that.
"Please," I beg, "I can't tell them. I would have to explain how I received it."
My Avox deliberates for a few seconds before nodding and retreating, sending me a look as she exits. If I get caught I'm not taking the blame.
I wouldn't expect anything else.

Fifteen agonizing minutes later I sit with my teeth gritted as I thread uneven stitches through my palm. First-aid was never one of my strong points, and the painkillers haven't kicked in yet. The antiseptic makes it worse, but if it gets infected I'm done for. Bandaging my hand with the strips of white gauze, I tape it down and place my amateur healing kit on the bedside table.
My Avox still stands to attention, having escaped the wrath of the medical staff. She cleared up the broken mess while I fixed my hand.
I sigh in relief as the fire starts to ebb. My pain threshold is extremely bad, something I'll have to get over in the next few weeks.
"Thank you," I say.
She shrugs, and I realise this is what she has gotten used to, being bossed around without any reward. I try to think of someway to repay her, when she almost knocks over the tray of cakes on her way to the door.
"Wait!" I shout, and join her by the mahogany table. I pick up a chocolate cake and a plain one with pink frosting. I check all the possible destinations for security cameras, and see a tiny red light in one corner. So they already know about my fit of rage, but I'm hoping they think it was just a frustrated tribute. But I'm guessing they will give us privacy in the bathroom.
Keeping the cakes bidding from the view of the camera, I beckon her to the bathroom. "I need help to reorganize the cabinet," I explain in a loud voice. She seems sceptical, but follows me nonetheless.
I shut the door, and brandish the food. Her face is twisted in confusion, but when I offer her the pink cake, her eyes grow wide and she shakes her head.
"Don't worry," I whisper, "I won't tell."
Incredulously, she plucks the dainty cupcake from my hand and peels back the wrapper. She looks up at me, as if to ask my permission.
"Go ahead." I smile, and take a bite out of my own.
The enjoyment on her face is absolutely worth the risk.

Having ushered my new friend out of the bathroom, I eventually get a chance to shower. I press some random buttons from the high-tech screen in front of me, and end up being pelted with huge balls of frozen water that explode upon contact. Giving up on the shower situation altogether, I dress, alternating between rubbing my left shoulder ruefully and glaring at the metal shower head.
Wafts of freshly cooked breakfasts hit my senses before I even reach the dining compartment, and when I sit down a huge platter of scrambled eggs, bacon and waffles is set on my place mat. I savour each mouthful, but still hungry I ladle soup into a bowl and grab a few deep-fried potato cakes.
Full, I sit back and assess the scene before me. Jakob and Lydia are still eating, and Xanthe is applying a fresh layer of indigo lipstick. My father is nowhere to be seen. I expect he had one of his episodes. I don't worry though, as they seem to be more frequent the closer the Games come, and this year they are sure to be worse. It makes me feel guilty, but I know that there is nothing I can do about it. On the rare occasions his medicine actually works properly, he always says that we must follow the paths that we, ourselves, chose. That we must not let any other person influence our decisions.
"What's the plan once we reach the Capitol?" I query.
Lydia responds, "Once we reach out destination, you will be placed in the hands of your stylists and prep teams. They will complete treatments that are uncomfortable, but don't resist. I've seen it before, if you upset your prep team, they will not do you justice, and we don't need you looking a fool in front of the whole nation. When your prep is finished, we will proceed to the Opening Ceremony. Smile, wave, gain the favours of the crowd. Sponsors will be there, considering possible tributes, and it is not often we are chosen, so do your best. After that we will discuss your strategies in our living quarters. Does that satisfy your curiosity?"
I can tell by her tone of voice that this is a speech prepared before hand, most likely used every year since she began mentoring.  I nod, even though I've barely processed half of what she has been saying, and stand up. Then I see it.
My first glimpse of the Capitol.
It is breathtakingly beautiful, like no mortal could ever be worthy of seeing its extravagant features. Candy coloured skyscrapers; paved roads painted with the emblem of the Capitol; a crystal clear river that circles the city, shimmering delicately in the early morning sunlight. Streaks of blue sky, the first signs of dawn, are only just emerging, yet floods of Capitolites already fill the streets with their bizarre adornments. I move to stand closer to the spectacle, but the Windows suddenly black out, and we are rolling into the train station. Clusters of Capitol citizens gather together in the hope of getting a look at the new batch of tributes before anyone else. They remind me of the clowns I have seen in history books, meant in theory to be funny and entertaining, but were creepy and garish in reality.
"It's time! Be dazzling, darlings!" Xanthe fusses with her beet red dress.
The train doors slide open, and we are released into crowds of adoring fans. I force my muscles to cooperate, and break into a falsely bright smile through gritted teeth. Waving, and even blowing a few kisses, to the despicable people who will bet on my life, we push our way to another car that will lead us to what will be our home and prison for the next few weeks. It will also lead us into the palms of our crazy stylists. I pity myself.
The car ride is uneventful. I black out my window using a complicated panel above my head, so I don't have to see them any more. Jakob copies me. By the look on his face, he feels the same way. He seems to have gotten over his shock, and is now staring stonily into thin air.
"She was my best friend, you know."
I stare at him, baffled. This is the first-time since the reaping I have heard him speak, yet I don't understand.
"Krystina," He adds, "Thank you. We both would have died in the arena, if you hadn't volunteered."
Krystina Fernando. The little girl in the pretty, yellow dress who came to visit me with her mother. The girl who's place I took at the reaping. Something about this doesn't sound right, and it makes me wonder if the reapings are rigged. It is unusual for our District to have two tributes so young, especially ones that are involved with each others personal lives. The average 18-year-old from District 9 has around 40 slips in the glass bowl, as the oldest child normally takes out the tesserae. It is unlikely that we will have two tributes that are picked in their first few reaping years. Yet it has happened, and in strange circumstances. It seems too much of a coincidence that best friends, lovers, family are simultaneously thrown into the arena. I guess it is a ploy to make the Games more interesting. That makes it worse.
"Here we are, darlings!" Xanthe announces with a flourish. I switch off the dark tint in the windows, and peep outside. A reflective, shiny black skyscraper towers above me, above everything else but the sky. It is beautiful yet sinister at the same time.
We have materialized before the training centre.

******

First of all, I need to apologize drastically. It's been over a month since I updated, and I unfortunately have no excuses apart from that I simply did not have enough time to go to school, complete homework, read, eat, sleep, write, plan and type all in one day.
But on the plus side I planned the next 6 chapters! :) Now all I have to do is edit them and type them up onto Wattpad, which in theory shouldn't take too long. But probably will anyway. I aim to update at least once a week, so thanks to the few people following this story for their everlasting patience.

Goodnight, Good Morning, Good Afternoon, Good Evening, whatever it is where you are.
Happy Hunger Games,

- Izzie :)