Isolated Together | Panem's Past Hunger Games

Chapter 6

Sheena

As soon as Penelope giggled the word "makeover" yesterday, I've been dreading this moment.

I wonder if my friends are, too. I doubt it. It's easy to see that their thoughts are revolving around the main attraction: the arena.

They're dreading the games while I worry about some make up. But I can't feel anything negative about this situation. I still don't feel like it's really happening to me.

Even the careers who have been training their whole lives for this opportunity must have a kernel of fear rooted inside them somewhere. A seed of doubt. A drop of the worry that the rest of us are drowning in. Everyone except me.

Something.

I remember watching the career kill Emily. It was brutal, sudden, horrific. Everything you'd think would make me feel some sort of loss at its occurrence. But no. It still felt... distant. Just like every other time a tribute's blood has spilled onto the ice, sand, dirt, stone, of the arena. It's not happening to me because there's a screen separating the arena and I.

I live in a different world to those tributes.

I still do. I'm not a tribute. I'm Sheena. I watch the games every year like everyone else, but the games were never something I considered I could be a part of.

And now, I'm standing in front of the building where it all begins.

We're away from the stage where they chose us. Miles upon miles separate us from our homes and our families. 

My family. The one that care for me. That love me. That would do anything for me.

Did I take them for granted?

The train that brought us here has already zoomed off towards its next destination.

Why am I not scared?

"Off we go, into the building where your journey begins!" Penelope sings.

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The stylists look like they're from another dimension. Another universe. I've seen them on screen before, but I never imagined seeing one in person. I definitely never imagined I'd have three prancing around me, poking at my skin and dabbing at my face.

The makeover takes a long time.

Finally, they finish and back away.

Soft footsteps echo through a nearby hallway and the slim door to my left gently swings open. A very small woman walks in. She's only slightly taller than me, and I'm not exactly the tallest person either. Her hair is pulled back into a tight bun of sleek brown, and she's wearing a metallic silver dress that hurts my eyes when the light catches on it.

Her dainty hand reaches towards me and I shake it.

"Hi, I'm Izzy. This is going to have to be quick because I have six times as many as usual to get through, but basically each of you will be wearing an outfit symbolizing a key element in what your district does best.

"One of your friends is symbolizing the earth that you plant your crops in, one is representing the rain that hydrates the farmers and the plants, one is the embodiment of the sunlight all farming depends on, and so on.

"For the chariots you'll be wearing jumpsuits and pants, and for the group interviews you'll be wearing dress versions of those outfits. You, Sheena, will be representing your people. The farmers. District Eleven. Here's your outfit," she says, thrusting me a grey dress bag, "and make sure that your stylists do your hair according to the instructions inside. Good luck out there," she finishes, drawing in a long breath and hurrying out the way she came.