Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It just seemed easier to hide in my room most days. As long as the door was closed, it brought along a sense of freedom that was occasionally quite difficult to find anywhere else. At least my family had the decency to knock before entering, which was nice. It gave me a chance to anticipate their arrival and hope nothing bad had happened. But for all purposes, my bedroom was my safe space. It was where I kept all my belongings, and where I could be alone. I actually did like being alone, when I chose it. Sometimes, it felt like all I was good at being.

There was an argument between my mom and my brother last night, the tension of it still permeating the air of our home. My brother wanted to use the family car again. That seemed to be a topic of much debate lately. We were fairly lucky, to actually have access to a vehicle in the vehicle-making district. That was a luxury reserved for only the wealthier. But gas and potential repairs were not cheap. And as far as my mom was concerned, that car was her third child.

She didn’t like the joke when I told it to her. I guess it wasn’t as funny as I thought.

Sitting in my room, drawing the same few characters over and over, a touch of jealousy stirred up within me. I knew how to drive too. Why was I always the one stuck walking everywhere instead? Okay fine, it wasn’t like I needed the car. And if it was my brother driving me somewhere, I really wanted to avoid riding with him as much as possible.

Lately, he seemed moody and easy to anger. That was admittedly a little bit terrifying. Those irrational thoughts were coming back in full force again. Those were scary thoughts to have. Wasn’t family supposed to make you feel loved and safe? I always felt like I was doing something wrong, feeling scared about being around my brother and filling my head with worry that he might do something to me, even if I knew it was all a load of bullshit.

But I knew I couldn’t hide in my room forever. Today was my turn to put away the cleaned dishes from last night, a chore that I was never particularly fond of but did anyways because the five minutes of inconvenience was preferable to my mom’s meltdown if things weren’t fair. Huh. Fairness. How could it be that my parents’ obsession with fairness could sometimes feel…a little unfair?

Anyways, today I didn’t have to work. That was nice. So I headed downstairs and began pulling clean dishes out of the rack and putting them away in cupboards. There was a note on the table. My mom wanted me to head to the market in the afternoon and buy some meat to roast for dinner. Okay. That was fine. And then I was also in charge of figuring out lunch for both myself and ideally my brother, if he was home.

That felt…less fine. In fact, the idea of it was just plain dreadful. Just talking to my brother lately seemed to spike some strange instinct within me, a voice in my head that desperately wanted to flee from the possibility of conflict or being yelled at. It stung.

I just sighed and chucked the note into the garbage.

Lunch for myself was easy. I just made a small sandwich with some leftover sliced meat and cheese in the ice box. That seemed healthy enough, without going too overboard. Just because my family was a lucky one, didn’t mean that we had to flaunt our wealth and fortune. Something simple was usually good enough for me, and easy for me to eat without feeling guilty.

But the guilt was always there every time I ate. Mainly, it manifested in the fear of wasting food. Things I didn’t eat, that could be potentially thrown out, when they would’ve been perfectly fine in someone else's stomach.

But there was the debate: which was better? To look appealing or to not waste food? I couldn’t help but stare down at my stomach when I ate, the way it budged over from under my breasts. I had my mother’s figure, and she never seemed to like hers. She was never quiet about how "naughty" she felt whenever she ate, how she hated the roundness of her stomach, and the constant need to burn off calories. Once more, the guilt returned in full force as I tried to calculate in my head how much dinner I could eat without making that stomach grow rounder.

It sucked. But it was all I could think about sometimes. Food, and the way it ruined my body. There came that stupidly selfish thought again, of how I wished I was in a poorer district. Where food was a luxury, not an everyday occurrence. On TV during the Games, I could catch glimpses of other districts and how skinny the girls there were. Oh how I desired to look like them.

And I always felt so shameful for thinking like that. For ignoring my privilege and prestige. How horrible of me.

With my lunch now taken care of, I prepared mentally for a quite monumental task: figuring out what my brother wanted to eat.

To say that Hermes Kuiper and I were polar opposites might be a bit of an understatement. We were wildly different, and those differences were only exacerbated as we both grew up and became difficult teens. To say I was jealous of Hermes might also suffice too. He just seemed to have it so much easier. Even with constant arguments with my mom over the silliest of things, I felt like she just still seemed to prefer him. I always had the reputation of “emotional and difficult child” looming over me, and it seemed to cloud everything about my position in the family. Logical parents who were good at what they did. A brother who really could become a Peacekeeper in a few years. And then there was little old Adi.

Wasting food gnawed at me and made it a monumental task to accept my hunger. Hermes never seemed to care. He was picky, to put it lightly. 

I braced myself for impact and knocked on his door.

“Yes?” I heard him call from inside his bedroom. Okay, so he seemed to be in a good mood. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. I pushed the door open and stepped inside. No huffs of exasperation. Thank God.

“I just wanted to know what you’d like for lunch.” I had already rehearsed my tone and words in my head. Hopefully this sounded pleasant enough with just a touch of urgency to help him make a decision soon. “Don’t worry about me, I already ate.”

“What did you eat?” he asked me, and despite the innocence of the question, I couldn’t help but feel my heart race. Shit. This seemed like a trap. I had been so sure Hermes didn’t really care for most of the food I usually ate, so he’d have no reason to snap if I took it for myself. It wasn’t like his name was on it. I was well aware of the foods he liked and I usually left those alone, even if I really wanted some for myself. But I didn’t want an argument, so letting him have his way was easier.

“I just made a sandwich.” Keep the tone light, don’t freak out. You got this, Adi. “Some cheese, bread, the last of the turkey, some lettuce-”

“I wanted the turkey.”

“Oh.” There was an odd sensation in my stomach. “Sorry, I…I didn’t know that. Um, we have some ham or salami if you want?”

“Fine,” Hermes huffed. I quickly dashed to my room, but I still managed to hear him mutter a last comment under his breath. “Of fucking course she always does this. Idiot.”

The rest of the afternoon was shaky and I could just feel that whole conversation weighing down on me. I just squeezed my eyes shut and went back to drawing in my sketchbook, hoping that it would provide enough of a distraction from the daily struggles of just trying to eat food in a house with Hermes. I hated that he had such a profound effect on me.

After dinner, Mom hunkered down in the basement to look over reports from the factory. Hermes had taken the car to visit his girlfriend, to nobody’s surprise. Dad was probably going to leave soon to join his trainspotting group.

I wondered if I should say something.

“I don’t get why Hermes is so snappy lately,” I finally muttered, after a minute of agonizing in my head over the pros and cons of bringing things up.

“Dunno,” Dad replied, putting on his jacket.

“He got mad at me for eating lunch today.”

“Well, the way I see it, you two need to both work it out.” And just like that, Dad was off. I wanted to slap myself silly, for expecting a different reaction. It was always that, or “you need to be nicer to your brother, Adi.” Or “you’re the older one, Adi, so you should act like it.” A very sad pattern. I just glared at the front door after my father closed it, feeling tears prick my eyes again. I wanted to smash something.

I had no idea how I was supposed to work things out if nobody wanted to help me do it.

Chapter Text

Reaping Day was always tainted with a sense of sadness and despair, as well as the period that followed after. For good reason too, I would say. Very few people in District 6 enjoyed the Hunger Games. Why would we? District 6 never made it far. We only had a single Victor in the thirty-two years since its conception and our tributes rarely made it to the top eight, let alone out of the initial carnage on the first day.

Whenever I saw Ivo Lockhearst on the street, I just felt bad for him. When morphling first made its appearance in the district and people fell victim to its addictive prowess, there seemed to be nobody that could stop the wealthiest man in 6 from grabbing the needle.

It must’ve been hard, I supposed. Watching child after child die for almost eleven years and not being able to stop that. No wonder he turned to drugs. Sometimes, I thought of the urge to pick up a needle myself and just float away in a haze forever. It seemed so much easier than dealing with reality.

But…that would kill me in the end, wouldn’t it? I didn’t really want to die. My mom’s constant shit-talking of the drug addicts of our districts was enough to embarrass me into staying away from morphling, at least for now.

But today, the gloominess of the Reaping had completely killed any drive I had to wake up in the morning. The only reason I did get out of bed was because my dad told me to come downstairs for breakfast. Even though most businesses and vendors closed up for Reaping Day, Mom was still hunkered away in the basement. Working. As per usual.

Honestly, she was going to die hunched over that desk and I’d probably say “I told you so” before I started mourning. But that was a really mean thought to have about my own mother, so I decided not to joke about it.

I really didn’t want to eat breakfast. Dad was right there, though, and he’d probably feel bad if I didn’t enjoy any of the food he had prepared for us. Hermes hadn’t come downstairs yet, so it was only the two of us at the table. Which meant Dad would probably notice if I took too little food. Shit.

I took two pancakes and put some strawberry jam on them. That was probably enough, right? Dad disappeared to go wake up Hermes again, so I quickly scarfed down the food and put my plate in the sink.

I still felt hungry afterwards. But that was fine. I’d be fine. Hunger was a good thing, right? It meant I’d lose weight. And that was what I so desperately wanted.

After breakfast, I wasn’t sure what to do until the Reaping started at noon. Normally I’d go hang out with a writing group, but I was on thin ice with the people there. Sad as it was, I knew I couldn’t blame them after I had repeatedly made a fool out of myself over and over and over.

Keeping relationships always felt like an uphill battle. I didn’t understand how other people could do it no problem. It always seemed like I was one major misstep from losing everything and I never had anybody to blame but myself. I said the wrong thing, made the wrong judgement, and it always came crashing down. All that was left behind was the guilt and self-hatred.

Maybe it’s because you’re too fat and ugly, a voice whispered in my head. I squeezed my eyes shut and threw myself onto my bed, shoving my head under my pillow. The salty tears stung my eyelids.

Lunch was a slog to get through for several reasons. For starters, Mom finally joined us at the table, not without a ton of complaining about how stupid her coworkers were and how she was constantly taking on their workloads. The Reaping would start in an hour, much to everyone's dismay. And Hermes was pissed that he couldn’t go hang out with his girlfriend because her parents wanted to spend the day with her instead.

I quickly shoveled down my food so nobody would notice once I left. Then came the question of what to wear. Nicer clothing was customary, but I didn’t really like dressing up. I had to decide whether or not going in more comfy clothes was worth my mom being bitter and snide the whole time because I didn’t wear what she wanted me to. Of course, Herms would look like a slob and get away with it. That didn’t seem fair. Why did girls always have to look their best, but boys could wear whatever they wanted?

I settled for a compromise of a nicer shirt and pants. They weren’t too wrinkled or faded from years of daily activities, so they could probably slip through just fine. There. Now everybody was happy. I grit my teeth as I brushed my hair out, suddenly feeling really upset that there were all these rules for me but nobody else.

I was still grumpy as hell when I headed downstairs. Unsurprisingly, only my dad was ready. Hermes was probably playing a game of “no, you hang up!” on the phone with his girlfriend…okay, in all seriousness, he was probably still getting changed. It just felt easier to pretend he was doing something annoying so I had something to keep being angry at. But then he joined us downstairs too and started lacing his boots up.

That just left Mom. Always the last one. I rolled my eyes and picked at the laces on my boots. There was still time to walk to the square, and it wasn’t like there was really any better seating when we were all crammed together.

Mercifully, she came downstairs after a few minutes and we were ready to head out. I trailed behind my family, not really in a hurry to get anywhere. I was just so exhausted. Everything felt exhausting lately. It was annoying.

“Adi,” Dad suddenly said. “Time to go. We’ll see you two kids after.”

I nodded mutely and stood in line with the other eligible kids that were getting their identification verified by Peacekeepers. This part unnerved me just as much as the actual Reaping process. I knew it was really nothing to be afraid of, but I had a really shitty pain tolerance which made getting poked with needles…not fun to say the least.

At least the Peacekeeper didn’t react when I squeezed my eyes shut as they poked the tip of my finger to draw a tiny amount of blood. Small victories.

I let myself be directed to the 17 year-old’s pen, closer to the front but not quite there yet. It was quite chatty due to all the teenagers pressed together. I didn’t recognize anyone near me and admittedly, I was okay with that. All my friends were on the other side of the district anyways, and probably hadn’t arrived yet. I genuinely wasn’t sure if any of them would come stand with me. But it was fine. I didn’t need anyone to stand next to me. I had made it through five Reapings and would make it through this one too.

Would it be terrifying? Oh, no doubt. But I’d be fine. And then I could go home and take a nap, putting this all behind me for another year.

At 12 o’clock sharp, the Reaping began. It was pretty much the same spiel we were all used to. That kinda gory opening video that used to give me nightmares as a child, the mayor reading the Treaty of Treason, the escort being introduced alongside Ivo.

Ivo barely seemed awake. He slumped over to one side, mouth slightly opened, eyes fluttering rapidly as he fought to stay conscious. Our escort’s name was Marcallas Porcelain, and he was probably the same age as Ivo. Marcallas was also the only person making an effort to smile, but even that felt incredibly forced. His shaggy red hair covered his left eye, his right one a brilliant golden colour. Even Marcallas’s skin had a rather unnatural bronze sheen to it.

Capitolites and their crazy appearances. How did they even have the patience for this stuff?

“May the odds be ever in your favour,” Marcallas announced, way too cheerily for the occasion. “It’s a pleasure to be here back in District 6. I’ve been away for far too long and I have truly missed you all. I wish each and every one of you a happy Hunger Games.”

“Get on with it!” A teenager yelled from the front, which got a few giggles from the crowd. Marcallas blushed a bit, which was quite striking against his shiny skin. But he cleared his throat and recomposed himself.

“Right, my apologies. Well, I won’t keep anyone waiting any longer! Our first tribute…our male tribute…is…”

Marcallas drew a name from the first glass bowl. I just hoped it wasn’t anyone I knew.

“Detroit Sando!”

Nope. Nobody I knew. I had never even heard of this person before. The name appeared to belong to a 14 year-old boy with blond hair, pale skin, and green eyes. His shirt and trousers looked neatly ironed. Detroit Sando must’ve been from the nicest area of District 6, Gearlocke County, if he could afford an iron. Not even my own family had one.

Poor dude, I thought to myself as Detroit climbed the stage. That pity didn’t last very long when Marcallas called the next name.

“Adiona Kuiper!”

Chapter Text

At first, I thought I misheard him.

There was no possible way that my name had been called. I had only six slips, one for each year I was eligible. Given the size of the glass bowl, it had to be full of thousands. District 6 was huge. The odds were quite literally in my favour.

Until they weren’t.

“Adiona Kuiper,” Marcallas announced again. “Please come to the stage.”

My heart began to pound and tears stung my eyes. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. I robotically moved from the crowd and towards the stage. Each step felt heavy. My lips threatened to quirk into a twisted smile at the pure audacity of everything. Because this wasn’t fucking real.

The second I stood on the stage, my entire body felt weak. I wanted to faint right then and there. The embarrassment that would come from doing so kept me standing upright. Besides, it wasn’t like fainting would magically excuse me from my fate.

Marcallas was asking for volunteers. As much as I wanted to hope, I knew that deep down, I was doomed. To enter the Hunger Games in District 6 was a death sentence. To volunteer was a ridiculous suicide plan. Who would be stupid enough to make such a sacrifice?

Who would be stupid enough to make it for me?

I opened my mouth to scream but no sound emerged. It was like my voice had died in my throat, along with my spirits and hopes.

I was going to die.

The Justice Building must’ve been renovated recently because it was quite nice here. I wasn’t sure why I thought about that. Maybe pretending this wasn’t happening would save me from my fate. I knew that was silly, though. At some point or another, I would have to wake up and face reality, as much as I loathed it.

I was fucking terrified, to put it lightly.

My heart had not calmed down in the slightest. The door creaked open, and three people walked into the room. I squinted at them in confusion. They ranged from about my age to maybe six or seven years older. Two women and a third with black hair who presented more androgynous. They all looked familiar, yet I still couldn't place where I knew them from.

“Um, hi, Adi,” the the black-haired person spoke. They waved at me. “Do you remember us? From the writing group. I’m Minsch. This is Flore and Cessna. We came to see you before you had to leave.”

I blinked, as the memories came flooding back. The first two words out of my mouth were “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Flore said, fidgeting on the spot. Her eyes were wet and I wondered if she had been crying. That just added to the knot in my stomach. I haven’t even considered that people would be just as upset as me.

“Yeah I do,” I mumbled. None of us were really looking at each other. For me, it was mostly out of shame and guilt. “I was a bit of a dick to you guys.”

Cessna laughed weakly. “Honestly, you can’t be any more of a dick than I am sometimes. We understand. Things happen and sometimes life gets hard. Doesn’t mean it has to be stuck that way.”

I flopped backwards on the couch and sighed. “What do I do now?”

"You do your best,” Minsch said, although they seemed to phrase it as more of a question. The obvious kinda hung in the air. How the hell was someone from the shithole of the Panem supposed to do their best when we were fighting an uphill battle? I nodded anyway. Minsch was clearly trying to cheer me up with the little resources they had. Nobody wanted to admit the grim truth.

“I can tell you how to choke someone,” Cessna offered. Flore and Minsch both grimaced at her, but she shrugged. “What? It’s best she knows. She’ll have to get her hands dirty if she wants to stand a chance.”

Gory, but I knew Cessna was right. “Tell me,” I commanded. I needed to take every advantage I could get, starting now.

The rest of our time together was spent with Cessna, Flore, and Minsch loading me up with as much advice as possible. Minsch’s parents owned the factory my mom was an overseer at, and Flore’s family ran the only pet shop in 6. They promised that they would try to raise funds to buy me sponsor gifts. I didn’t want to think about how much money that would cost.

Eventually, it was everyone’s time to go. Minsch crept forward and wrapped me in a massive hug before they followed the girls out the door. The room was cold.

Then my family came rushing in. Dad was holding something out to me: a very familiar stuffed cow. Once pastel green and purple, it had since been faded and roughed up by years upon years of cuddling. They must’ve quickly run home to grab him for me.

“For your token,” Dad told me. “Big Cow will keep you safe.”

Instinctively, I squeezed the plushie to my chest and buried my face in its stomach, the way I always had when I was a kid. Mom sat next to me and rubbed my back. Hermes lingered at the door, arms folded and face cloudy. I had no clue what he could be thinking.

“We love you, Adi,” Mom said. “We just want you to know that. You’ll always be my baby girl.”

My vision was clouded by tears again as I continued to clutch onto Big Cow like a lifeline. As strained as my relationship with my family was, I really didn’t want them to watch me die. I wanted my space, yes, but I didn’t want to be torn from everything for good.

There was a nagging sensation in the back of my head: could I have avoided this by being a better daughter or a better sister? Maybe this was a divine punishment for being so selfish and keeping everything bottled up. I found it hard to speak again, just nodding to whatever my family was saying before they too had to leave.

That was it, right? That was all the visitors I was going to get. Now they were going to stick me on a train and I’d leave District 6 forever.

Then the door opened and there was a teenage boy my age standing there. That nearly made me jump. Okay, I hadn’t been expecting that at all.

“Aaron!?”

“Hey, Adi!” Aaron shoved his hands in his pockets and sat in the chair at the desk next to me. I studied his appearance and realized he was still wearing half of the diamond necklace that we had been sharing ever since we were kids. I had put my half in a box in my closet, unable to face it after walking away from the writing group…and from him.

I wanted to feel ashamed yet again, but something inside me held back. I could regret everything I wanted on the train, when I was alone.  “What are you doing here?”

“Saying goodbye,” Aaron replied, the unspoken duh-doy hanging in the air. “You really think I’d pass up on the chance to lose my favourite bestie of all time?”

I couldn’t help but smirk. Aaron’s family lived right across the street from mine and we had basically grown up together. As a matter of fact, we had even formed a stupid pact: if both of us were single by the time we were 30, we’d get married to each other to reap the housing benefits. A foolproof plan to game the system.

“Guess you’re gonna have to die alone now,” I mumbled. “Unless you manage to finally ask out-”

“Okay, even if that did happen…” Aaron briefly flushed red. “Anyways! I actually don’t think you’re gonna get yourself killed in there. Call it…an intuition.”

I rolled my eyes. “You and your intuition, dude.”

“No, for real! I mean it! And hey, even if I’m wrong, which I never am, I will march into the arena to grab your corpse and bring you back to life with the power of electricity!”

“That sounds good to me.” I chuckled and forced a smile, even if my heart felt heavy. I just watched the half diamond pendant swing around Aaron’s neck.

We shared one last hug, he patted Big Cow on the head, and for real all my visitors were done. There was no prolonging the inevitable. I just gathered up Big Cow in my arms and waited.

The Peacekeepers came to fetch me forty-five minutes later. Apparently, Detroit was still receiving visitors. I bit down my jealousy as we were finally led to the train that would rip me away from the only home I had ever known.

I didn’t bother hiding my terror. The next few days were gonna be hell.

Chapter Text

I spent maybe thirty minutes just staring at nothing, watching as District 6 grew smaller and smaller until it was little more than a speck in the distance. Then it was swallowed up by trees.

Finally, I retreated from the window and through the train, unsure of what to do. Ivo and Marcallas were sitting in a dining car. Marcallas was nursing a glass of wine, while Ivo was resting his head on the table. I had no idea where Detroit was, and admittedly, I didn’t really care.

Neither man had noticed me, and I felt like a nervous little kid asking the teacher if she could go to the bathroom. What did I even say to someone like Ivo? Or even Marcallas? He was a Capitolite! There was always this notion that Capitolites were on another level, walking on ground we district folk would never be able to touch.

Thankfully, Marcallas noticed me first. “Can I help you?”

I shuffled in place, feeling my hands get all sweaty. “Um…I guess since Ivo’s the mentor…I was wondering if he wanted to help me work my strategy…stuff?”

Marcallas winced ever so slightly, glancing over at Ivo. The man hadn’t been roused from his sleep in the slightest. “He’s a bit busy, dear.”

We both just stared at him for a moment. I could hear faint snoring.

“Guess he is,” I muttered, not really bothering to hide my disappointment. Part of me wanted to throw something at Ivo’s head. I was going to die in a week or so, and he was acting like it was just another Tuesday for him. Are you for fucking real? I wanted to snap, but I didn’t want to make a bad first impression in front of Marcallas, so I just left it.

“Why don’t you go watch some TV?” Marcallas suggested. “The Reapings, perhaps? Maybe you’ll find some allies there.”

I nodded and headed off. That was a better option than simply moping around.

I grabbed a notepad and a pen, then turned on the TV. There was Caesar Flickerman, a guy barely older than I was who had started hosting last Games, replacing his parent. His hair was a pastel green, almost mint in colour, as he began reviewing the tributes. I took notes as fast as I possibly could, as the recaps flashed across the screen and I met the other tributes for the first time.

District 1: Olivine and Calyx. Both volunteered. Calyx smiles a lot. She is pretty. Olivine scowled at the escort. Stay away from him.

District 2: Zosimus and Flavia. Both volunteered. Holding hands. Maybe they are dating. WIll probably work together.

District 3: Flash and Ohmelle. Flash looks very short for 15. Ohmelle was crying a lot. I feel bad for her.

District 4: Roen and Meribel. Roen reaped but Meribel volunteered. She got booed when she did. Even Roen looked upset.

District 5: Hertzon and Cattie. Both very young. Cattie fainted and Hertzon threw up all over the stage. Ew. I don’t think either of them will be helpful as allies. Maybe stay away.

District 6: Me and Detroit. :(

District 7: Thorn and Shasta. Both crying. Thorn was very insistent he would come home. Maybe he’s dangerous.

District 8: Toque and Panna. Panna hugged Toque when she got on the stage. They probably know each other.

District 9: Johnny and Semolina. Johnny looks very mad. Flipped off escort. Semolina looks bored. I wonder why.

District 10: Kobe and Fauna. Kobe got applause. He must be popular. Fauna looked upset at that.

District 11: Harvest and Tanga. Tanga had to get dragged up by Peacekeepers. Harvest seems quiet.

District 12: Rook and Salem. Holy fuck, Salem is tall. She seems scary. Rook was another little kid.

My notes didn’t really give me anything to go by, but at least I knew what my competition was. That helped a little bit, though I had no idea who would work as a potential ally. Did I even want allies? What if they tried to kill me in my sleep or something?

“Miss Kuiper?”

I glanced up. One of the train’s attendants was standing next to me. “Dinner is ready. If you could please follow me to the dining car?”

My stomach lurched at the mention of food, but I did so anyway. I was curious to see what food here looked like, and if it would be as fancy as the rest of the train.

At the dining car, only Marcallas and Detroit were seated. I had no idea where Ivo was. His absence was definitely annoying, as if he didn’t want to do anything with his tributes and just wanted to stay drugged the hell out of his mind. I knew I shouldn’t be rude to an addict, but it wasn’t like he was making an effort at all.

Detroit gasped as a large tray of roast beef was placed down in front of us. “Wow! This looks so good!”

I nodded and took my seat. The train attendant handed me a menu with a bunch of fancy lettering on it. “What would you like to drink, Miss Kuiper?”

Drink? There was more than one option? The menu had sections labelled “juice” or “sodas” and there was so much to pick from that my head began to hurt. I quickly mumbled “just water” under my breath and handed back the menu. Well, more like I shoved it in the attendant’s face. Oops.

The ice cold water was nice and refreshing, helping to ground me a little. Marcallas and Detroit already had food on their plates, which Detroit was eagerly wolfing down like he hadn’t had a proper meal in years. He was chewing with his mouth open, which was not helping my appetite in the slightest. I just continued to sip my water. 

My stomach was at war with the rest of me again, the way it always was when I got hungry. The roast beef, rolls, and mashed potatoes all looked amazing, and I desperately wanted to try it. But weren’t carbs fattening? Wasn’t red meat technically not healthy? That was stuff my mom used to say, admonishing Hermes (and me, back when I could eat without guilt) for having too many snacks. This was too this and that was too that. I didn’t want to go into the Games looking like…like…

Probably best not to finish that sentence.

“Adiona.” Crap. Marcalas was staring at me in confusion. “Aren’t you going to have some dinner?”

Shit, shit, shit. My heart began to pound and I quickly drained the last of my water, nearly choking on it. “Um, no! I mean, I ate a lot this morning with my family, so I’m still super full from that. Sorry, I’ll just go to my room.”

Marcallas nodded. “Well, that’s alright.”

“Thanks,” I said quickly, getting up and dashing off to my room on the train without even bothering to tuck in my chair. I just wanted out as fast as possible.

Big Cow was sitting on my bed. I just flopped down next to him, then grabbed him and held him close. My stomach growled, and I forced myself to ignore it. I wanted to eat all the delicious looking foods set out for dinner, I really did. But something just wouldn’t let me. I could only think about how I looked on the TV, so much fatter than so many tributes. People would probably find that gross and hideous. And then nobody would want to sponsor me because I looked like that.

Supposedly when in the Capitol, tribute would be allowed to train. So I’d have to train as much as possible and lose as much weight as possible. That seemed like a plan. I hoped it would work out. I desperately wanted to give people a reason to root for me, other than obligation. I mean, yeah, my family and friends did want me to come home. But what if they were doing that just because they were my family and friends?

Ugh, this was stupid.

I was split right down the middle, two sides of me warring at each other. The first side was telling me that I was being stupid for thinking like that. The second side was telling me that I was being stupid because I was stupid. This wasn’t very fun.

At some point, I must’ve fallen asleep, because the next thing I knew, I was being shaken awake by a different train attendant. There was dried drool all over my pillow. Ew. My bad.

“Breakfast is ready, Miss. Kuiper. We will be arriving in the Capitol in about an hour.”

Great. More food I didn’t want to eat. I managed to talk myself into at least snacking on a banana, because I was hungry, and fruit was good for me anyways. The Capitol loomed in sight. Everything was so sleek, shiny, and colourful. A far cry from the mundane and depressing appearance of District 6. I suddenly got the sensation of being an outsider and from the look on Detroit’s face, he was feeling the same way.

We were drab little pigeons in a cage of brightly coloured birds. We could only hope we wouldn’t get our eyes pecked out.

DISTRICT 1: Olivine, 18; Calyx, 17

DISTRICT 2: Zosimus, 18; Flavia, 18

DISTRICT 3: Flash, 18; Ohmelle, 16

DISTRICT 4: Roe, 15; Meribel, 17

DISTRICT 5: Hertzon, 12; Cattie, 13

DISTRICT 6: Detroit, 14; Adiona, 17

DISTRICT 7: Thorn, 16; Shasta, 16

DISTRICT 8: Toque, 15; Panna, 18

DISTRICT 9: Johnny, 18; Semolina, 17

DISTRICT 10: Kobe, 17; Fauna, 17

DISTRICT 11: Harvest, 17; Tanga, 16

DISTRICT 12: Rook, 12; Salem, 18

Chapter Text

Because I didn’t have enough to feel self-conscious about already, the three women assigned to make me ready for the Tribute Parade wouldn’t shut the fuck up about body hair. Everything was making my discomfort skyrocket through the roof, and I wanted to scream for everyone to just stop it and leave me alone. Tears were threatening to spill out of my eyes from just how annoyed I was.

But I didn't want to cry and make a fool out of myself. Instead, I settled for a harsh grunt when another dried wax strip was ripped off my leg, taking a bunch of my hair with it. The pain wasn’t the worst thing in the world, but it was still annoying to have the ladies plant more wax on my legs, have it dry, then rip it off. My skin started to grow red with irritation, causing a middle aged woman with a teal mohawk to tut. As if that was somehow my fault.

Great. So now not only was I too fat, I was also too hairy. Things were definitely not coming up Adi. I squeezed my eyes shut to try and force back all the tears that were threatening to come out.

Mercifully, the waxing was done and the prep team disappeared to who knows where, leaving me behind with a thin white bathrobe. I tried not to stare at my stomach. I didn’t want to see how much it jutted out from underneath my breasts, like a hideous balloon. The room was really cold.

Then someone approached me. Another woman, probably older than my parents, with pale pink coiffed hair and bright turquoise eyes. In true Capitol fashion, she was dressed up quite nicely.

“Hi there!” she squeaked, voice surprisingly high pitched! “I’m Horatia, and I’ll be your stylist for the Games! You must be Adi, correct?”

I nodded, a bit too intimidated to speak. Thankfully, Horatia didn’t need much more, as she motioned me to get up and follow her. “A pleasure to meet you, dear! Let’s go get some lunch! And then I can show you all the amazing designs I have cooked up.”

I shut the robe and followed after her. Lunch was cheeseburgers, fries, and a large bowl of salad with tongs to serve it. My stomach growled, and I couldn’t help but cringe. Goddamn, this food looked good. And I loved a cheeseburger. My dad would make them back home sometimes and they were simple yet amazing.

Horatia was happily humming to herself as she fixed up a plate. I watched her, then grabbed a plate myself and put a helping of salad on it. The salad was healthy. Fries, less so. They were, well…fried. And I remembered all my mom’s lambasting about how gross for us fried food was when my dad tried to deep fry at home.

“Mmm, mmm, mmmmm!” Horatia nodded in approval as she bit into a fry. “Ooh, these are simply divine! You have to try them.”

I glanced over at the fries. They did look quite tasty. Horatia was chowing down on them like no tomorrow and she was pretty skinny. Probably skinnier than I was.

Just one fry? 

I gingerly picked one out of the platter and bit into it. This was definitely tastier than anything I could get at District 6’s few restaurants. Crisp outside, surprisingly fluffy interior, and perfectly salted. I couldn’t even taste the fry oil. I decided to let myself have one of the smaller cheeseburgers because if it was smaller, then maybe it was less calories and still technically healthy. Or something.

Horatia was more occupied with a sketchbook. “...and this year, I knew I absolutely had to go big or go home. Never again will I let that bitch Summershine outdo me, never again I say!” She fixed her eyes on me. “What do you think, my dearest?”

“Um…”

“Never mind!” Horatia snapped her sketchbook shut. “We have a lot to do, and not a lot of time to do it. Let’s go!”

Horatia was a massive whirlwind of energy as she pulled me out of my chair and back to styling. Well, that saved me the conflict of whether or not it was okay to eat a second cheeseburger. I could probably skip it. If I was gonna be in front of everyone in the Capitol, I didn’t want them to think I was disgusting.

Horatia had me stand on a stool while she took measurements. “Let’s see here…” she trailed off as she wrapped a yellow tape around different parts of my body and I wanted to cry. She wasn’t saying anything, but I knew damn well what she was thinking.

“Sorry,” I finally mumbled, as my face burned up in shame.

Horatia stopped measuring and glanced up at me. “Sorry for what, darling?”

“For being so fat.”

“Fat? Fat!? You are not fat, dearest!” Horatia huffed. “And even if you were, that wouldn’t be a problem at all. I am a professional when it comes to fashion, and that means everyone will get a stellar outfit when I’m in town. As a matter of fact…”

She shoved the measuring tape into her pocket. “I can’t wait to dress you up. I’m gonna make you the star of the show, and you’ll be the talk of the Capitol for weeks! I’m gonna make Summershine piss her pants from how amazing you’ll look.”

I wasn’t really sure what to say to that.

“Do not tug, dearest! You’re wearing a bodysuit, there’s nothing to even be ashamed of. Your skin is such a lovely complexion and we need to show it off.”

I was staring at my reflection in the mirror. Horatia had dressed me up in a striped blue and white crop top, thankfully allowing me to wear a nude bodysuit underneath so I didn’t get cold. The skirt also had shorts under it which was nice, both a navy colour. Lastly, a black cap with a blue anchor was on my head. Horatia was currently fixing a red scarf around my neck.

“This feels more District 4,” I mumbled.

“Is sailing not a form of transportation?”

“I guess it is?”

“Then it’s right at home, darling. Summershine will blow a gasket when she sees you! Come on!”

Horatia practically shoved me onto the chariot, next to Detroit. He was also wearing a striped shirt and cap, but he had shorts on instead. He giggled when he saw me. “This is so silly!”

“We’re gonna be the laughingstock of the parade,” I grumbled.

Detroit shrugged. “But we’re gonna get to be on TV. That’s pretty awesome.”

I didn’t have a comeback to that. The first of the chariots were starting to pull out. I wanted to run back inside the Remake Centre and hide in a bathtub, but that wasn’t really an option, so I decided to just plaster a grin on my face and brave through.

Alright, Adi. Don’t sweat it. Just the entirety of Panem watching your every move. And it won’t even be the most difficult part of the Games! Everything is fine…oh, who am I kidding!

I just continued to smile and wave as all these flashing lights kept going off, loud music played, and Capitolites cheered. Nobody was laughing, which was a consolation. They seemed to enjoy my outfit. Detroit blew a kiss to some middle aged women in the front row and they gushed at him. He was way better than this at me.

The chariots did a little circle as they pulled up in front of a large balcony, allowing all of us tributes to view each other in the flesh for the first time. Meribel and Roen from District 4 were decorated in very gaudy fishnet shawls with blue bodysuits underneath. It looked quite cheaply made and hastily thrown together, as if their stylist hadn’t had time to come up with anything better.

I locked eyes with Meribel and all of a sudden, she proceeded to sneer. I found myself blinking in confusion as the chariot pulled around and we proceeded to line up in three rows of four in front of the balcony.

Had that sneer been directed at me?

President Domitian Calvary was a tall and formidable man in his early thirties, with jet black hair combed neatly back, and a dark purple suit. He was talking, addressing the tributes, but I found it difficult to focus on a single word he was saying. I just kept seeing Meribel’s face in my mind. Maybe she was just doing that to everybody? She had no reason to single me out in particular.

Yes. That had to be it.

I tried to convince myself of that more and more as the parade finished and Horatia helped me off the chariot. “You did amazing, dearest! Everybody around me was raving about your outfit!”

I nodded, mumbling a thank you under my breath. Marcallas and a very spaced out Ivo were waiting for Detroit and I by the elevators, so we followed them. But before we could step inside, a red-haired woman with orange skin grabbed Horatia’s wrist.

“Horatia.”

“Summershine?” Horatia blinked. “Can I help you, my friend?”

Summershine just growled. “I know your tricks, bitch. How dare you make a fool out of me by upstaging my own district, whom I worked so hard to get promoted to!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Horatia said with faux innocence, yanking her hand away as the elevator doors closed. It was then that I realized Meribel and Roen were standing behind Summershine.

Oh. Well, that explained a lot.

Chapter Text

After scrubbing all the makeup off my face and chucking Horatia’s now offending outfit on the floor, I slipped into a simple T-shirt and shorts before throwing myself on the bed. Way to fucking go, Adi. One day into the Capitol, and now you got dragged into a petty stylist feud. Nobody else does it like you.

I was so exhausted from everything that I slept straight through the night and probably would’ve stayed in bed had a young man in a red outfit not come to bang on my door the next morning. I forced myself into the bathroom to wash up, then outside into the rest of the floor.

At this point, I was too tired to panic, so I instinctively sat down at the table. I helped myself to a banana because I knew that fruit was a good sugar, and I liked them anyway. Marcallas said something about training days, so I figured that it would be okay to eat for now. I could burn everything off in training, right?

But all the clothes in the drawers seemed a lot smaller than what I was used to, and that was starting to make me worry again. Why was everything so tiny? Was I really that gross and large? I frantically flipped through everything, desperate to find something that wouldn’t make me want to break down and cry.

“Adi?” Marcallas was knowing on the door. “It’s time to go down for training.”

Crap. I just threw on the first T-shirt and pants that seemed to fit. They were a bit baggy on me, but that was fine. I liked baggy stuff. It hid how I really looked, and that was the important part.

There were so many stations that I didn’t know where to go first. The Careers, the tributes from 1, 2, and 4, had their minds made up immediately. Panna and Toque from 8 went to practice camouflage together. Detroit ran off to try an obstacle course. Eventually, the remaining tributes scattered too and only I was standing there like an idiot.

I immediately made a beeline for one of the few stations that had nobody nearby. It contained a bunch of circular weights, all neatly lined up on a wack. Oh. Weight training. Maybe it’d be a good idea to learn how to lift heavy stuff? I wasn’t quite sure. I just didn’t want to look like I wasn't putting in an effort.

“Let’s start small,” the trainer said. She had bright pink hair pulled into pigtails and yellow bow-shaped clips in her bangs. “Once you feel that you can lift the ten-pounds with ease, I’ll move you up to the twelves.”

The ten-pound weights were okay. The trainer showed me how to do what she called reps, and I got the hang of it fairly quickly once she corrected my movements. But the twelve-pounds were heavy as hell. What a difference an extra two pounds could make.

Fuck. Maybe this wasn’t the station for me. But when I went to put the weight down and try something else, I looked across the room to lock eyes with Meribel yet again. She was carrying a trident, and glaring in my direction. Then, she lifted up her thumb to make a slitting notion across her throat.

That stirred something in me, and I picked up the twelve-pound weights again. I got myself into position and began lifting them the way the trainer showed me how to, fury and anger churning in my gut. How dare Meribel single me out like that. How dare she act like I was just meat to be skewered on her stupid trident. Like I was a nobody. Like I was-

“That’s enough.” The trainer was pulling the weights from my hands. My arms were burning, the way my fuse was. “Shall we try the fifteen-pounds?”

So, until lunchtime hit, that was all I did. Lift weights and try not to cry out of pure frustration. Just because my stylist outdid Meribel’s stylist, she wanted me dead? How was that fair!? I didn’t ask to get involved in all that crap! I just wanted to scream, but that would draw attention and make me look like a massive crybaby, so I didn’t.

Sore as hell and very out of breath, I stumbled into the lunchroom and stared at the metal serving trays all lined up against one wall. I didn’t want it. I didn’t want any of it. I didn’t want to eat in front of all these people and feel their judgmental eyes on their plate. As if they could tell from what I did or didn’t take how disgusting I was.

Detroit came skipping into the lunchroom. He was followed by Flash from 3. “Hi, Adi!” he chirped, waving. Flash, who looked exhausted, just nodded at me. I gave them both a halfhearted nod back.

I took another banana to eat, one of the few foods I felt like I could stomach without crying over, and a large glass of water. Some juice would've been nice, but that had sugar and sugar was bad. Also, it was a bit pricey to get back home, so it was apparently wrong to have juice all the time. My mom used to tell me that whenever I wanted juice with my dinner.

“You can’t drink juice all the time, Adi! It’ll make you fat! And we don’t have that kind of money to spend!”

I glanced up from my banana peel and my water cup. There was a whole carrot cake at the end of the table. Fuck, I loved carrot cake. Whenever it was my birthday, my parents would save up to buy us a small one for the four of us to share. Too bad it was never big enough for seconds, though. Not like my mom would’ve approved. If juice was bad for all its sugars, cake was even worse.

How badly I wanted to go and get a slice. Maybe just a tiny one? Just a little, teensy, weensy bitty piece of carrot cake. Enough so I could compare it to the carrot cake back home. I found myself slowly walking towards the table. The cake had already been touched by a few other tributes, so it wasn’t like I was committing a cardinal sin by being the first to cut into it. Heck, Salem, the tallest tribute here, had some on her plate. She was really skinny. If she was eating that much cake, maybe it’d be okay for me to have less than that?

Then I heard the laughter and my heart clenched up in fear. I didn’t dare look behind me, out of fear that I knew exactly what I’d see. The laughter was close by, a mocking sound. They were laughing at me, they had to be. I was alone. There was nobody else nearby to laugh at.

And then tears were brimming up in my eyes again and I pretended that I was ignoring the cake this whole time and headed for the water station instead. Stupid me thinking I deserved a luxury such as cake. Not with this body. And whoever had laughed knew that too.

I was feeling like shit by the time lunch was over and it was back to training. Maybe the bananas in the Capitol were genetically different or something, and thus they weren’t agreeing with me. Just perfect.

I wanted to go to the weight station and burn off the calories I had eaten at lunch, but Zosimus from 2 was already there, and he was lifting up the thirty-pound weights like they were practically nothing. Next to him, I’d look like a weak little idiot. So I walked right by and tried not to bristle that he had taken my station. Okay, fine. It didn’t belong to me. But the point still stood.

The obstacle course was empty, so I headed there next. It was located against one wall, likely because it was so long it needed a ton of space. The trainer explained that there were two variations. One was to just run the course normally and see how quickly I could get across. The other was to have the trainers swing at my feet with foam swords, and to try and dodge it, as if they were an attacking tribute. Seemed simple enough.

Running the course the first time wasn’t hard. I finished with a time of 1 minute, 34 seconds. The trainer pursed his lips together, and I could see the look on his face. Maybe I could do better? If I wanted to outrun my enemies, then I needed to do better.

Ignoring the way my heart was pounding and my head was oddly floaty, I jumped back on the course and tried again. It helped that I knew what I was getting into this time and I managed to knock 15 seconds off. Okay, not bad. Could I get my time under a minute?

I opted for the second variation this time. My heart was really racing now. I felt sweat dripping down my forehead and just climbing onto the course was a monumental task in itself. Okay, I could do this. I needed to be good at something here. Everyone else looked to be good at something.

I wobbled in place as the timer started, then I darted across the course. I tried jumping over the foam swords, nearly tumbling off the course as I did so. Don’t fall, don’t fall, don’t fall…

I made it to the end and bent over to try and catch my breath. I couldn’t hear anything else but my own panting. The room was spinning and I was struggling to keep from toppling over. Strange little spots were swimming around the room. I blinked rapidly in confusion.

“Hey!” Was that the trainer? “Are you alright?”

“Get her to sit down,” another trainer snapped. She sounded very far away. “Drusilla, go fetch a water bottle.”

“Miss, can you hear me?” Was that the first trainer again? Couldn't tell. The room was moving very fast, though. It hurt to look at. My head was pounding.

“Head hurts,” I grumbled. That was the last thing I recalled before the world went dark.

Chapter Text

I woke up in my bed in the Training Centre with a nasty headache and a very dry mouth. Two men in lab coats were standing over me. One seemed barely older than I was, the other was probably a bit older than my own father.

“Adiona,” the older man said. He had a brown beard streaked with orange. “I am Dr. Persimmon, the Training Centre’s resident psychiatrist. This is my assistant Cadmus Aurelius. Do you know where you are?”

“Yeah,” I mumbled. “In my room. Sorry, but I gotta get back to training.”

“You will do no such thing. You passed out. As is protocol, you are to be kept on bedrest for the remainder of the day, and we will assess tomorrow if you are fit to continue training.”

What.

“What!?” I blurted out. “But I need to get back to training, or I’m screwed.”

“Like I said, it’s protocol.” The doctor didn’t really sound sympathetic as he motioned to his colleague. Cadmus gave me a small smile. “We must check your vitals. Cadmus, can you bring the equipment, please?”

The next fifteen minutes were spent checking my vitals. It felt so awkward, listening to Dr. Persimmon and whoever this Cadmus guy was asking me questions about the fainting incident. That shouldn’t have happened. Was I really so out of shape? I knew it! I knew I was eating too much! I forced myself to hold back tears, not wanting to cry in front of two random strangers.

Then came the weighing and I intentionally avoided looking at the numbers. I didn’t wanna know. This was bad, this was so bad. I only had three days of training available and missing any of it could be detrimental to my survival. How could I compete with any of the tributes if I was being forced to stay on bedrest?

Then Cadmus spoke to me, sounding a lot like my dad. “Miss Kuiper, I have a few evaluations I want you to fill out for me.”

“Why?” I asked, not even bothering to hide my irritation. There were so many other things I’d rather be doing with my time right now. But Dr. Persimmon gave me a very judgmental look, as if offended that a tribute didn’t want to be stuck doing vitals when they had other things to prioritize. Like the whole “not dying” thing. Well, excuse me! I wanted to snap.

Cadmus didn’t seem offended, though. He simply pulled out a tablet and typed something on it. “Based on the questions we ask you during your vitals, about your mood and everything leading up to the fainting incident, we have reason to suspect a couple of mental disorders at play. Please be as truthful as possible.”

That completely knocked the wind out of my sails. I didn’t bother hiding the tears this time, weakly reaching out a hand to accept the tablet from Cadmus. Everything popped up as a hologram, which didn’t help at all. I didn’t want the doctors seeing my responses.

I found myself saying “highly likely” a lot to each of the responses. Maybe I should’ve lied to get me dismissed as soon as possible…but I couldn’t stop myself. It was like having a way to explain how I felt, those stupid emotions and fears finally put into words.

I was a wreck all over by the time Cadmus took the tablet away and checked the results. “Well, Miss Kuiper. It looks like you show major symptoms for three different disorders.”

“Which are…?” I asked nervously, not sure I wanted to hear the results. The idea that something could be so wrong with me, despite seeming like a forgone conclusion, was terrifying. The idea that I wasn’t normal. And that was a bad thing.

“Major depressive disorder, eating disorder, namely anorexia…and borderline personality disorder.” Dr. Persimmon rattled them off like he was listing the menu for dinner. I swore my heart skipped a beat. That first one…sounded like depression. Maybe it was just a fancy Capitol word for depression. I heard of people having that back home. There was no such thing as a cure; only medication to make it better and that was a luxury very few could afford. I wasn’t even sure my family could afford anti-depression medication.

“What do the other two mean?” I asked, not entirely sure I would like the answers.

“Anorexia and borderline personality disorder, or BPD, are both mental conditions,” Cadmus explained. “In the first one, your eating habits, or perhaps lack thereof in the case of anorexia, are severe enough to the point of causing you physical and mental harm. You’ve mentioned eating restrictions in your evaluations, and you scored very high on the evaluation for eating disorders.”

I thought about the guilt that always flared up within me, no matter how much or how little I ate. The idea that somehow, I could always eat less.

Cadmus continued. “And BPD affects the way you feel about yourself and others, to the point of significantly impacting your relationships and causing instability in them. Sometimes, tributes with BPD struggle with abandonment and being left alone.”

“Don’t tell anyone,” I blurted out, feeling my heart begin to race. I couldn’t let anyone know that there was something so inherently wrong with me, that I had such significant problems. I could already imagine the shitstorm that would follow if my family knew I was depressed, let alone not eating or had…person disorder? What did Cadmus call it?

BPD, a voice whispered in my head; it sounded strangely like the one always calling me fat. Bad Person Disorder. Because that’s what you are, huh?

“I don’t want anyone to know,” I said again, helplessness washing over me like a cold wave. Cadmus just smiled sadly, but Dr. Persimmon didn't react at all.

“We have to send our reports to the Gamemakers, but they will not be sharing it with anyone outside your circle.” Dr. Persimmon was stiff, as if this was just another day in his life…and maybe it was. He probably saw freaks like me all the time. “However, we are not permitted to share information with anyone else without your permission. Are you explicitly not giving us permission?”

“Yes,” I muttered. There was nobody I wanted to know about this. 

“Very well.” Dr. Persimmon and Cadmus gathered up all their equipment and left. The second Cadmus opened the door, he nearly walked straight into Detroit and knocked the boy over. “Hi-” Detroit tried to say, waving at me.

“Leave me alone,” I snapped, flopping down onto my bed and burying my face into a pillow.

Since I was on a mandated bedrest, I wasn’t allowed to leave the floor. So I decided to overcompensate by not leaving my room, period. No dinner, no midnight snack, nothing. Why not? It had already been determined I had problems. Now I was just proving the doctor’s point. What did I have to lose at this point?

I wondered if I should just give up and accept my fate. Ivo was pretty much useless and barely said anything. Marcallas was…well…he was just there. I didn’t care about Detroit. Nothing against him as a person, but he was just another tribute in the way, and so there was no time to worry about him.

And what did I have in store for me on the slim chance I did win the Games? Turning into another Ivo? What a bright and brilliant future. Every mom dreamed of their child becoming a druggie.

The point was, I was royally screwed. No matter which tunnel I looked into, there seemed to be no light waiting for me at the end. My life was already over, at the ripe old age of 17. And I had nothing to show for it. Nobody was going to remember me by the time the next Games began. I was just another dumb little tribute who got fucked over and buried six feet deep.

Squeezing Big Cow to my chest, I watched as the Sun set over the Capitol and the sky went black. In terms of shadows and silhouettes, there wasn’t much setting the Capitol and District 6 apart. In the darkness, I couldn’t tell which one was the glitzy den of glamour, and which one was the hellhole.

I buried my face as deep as possible in Big Cow’s stomach and closed my eyes. I didn’t want to do anything anymore. It was like the visit with the doctors had drained my will to survive out of me. Like I felt like giving up and just accepting my fate as the typical dose of District 6 cannon fodder. Maybe if I was smarter, I’d find a way to suck up and play the sympathy card with the Capitolite audience in hopes of getting them on my side…yeah, like that would work in a million years. Who’d wanna sponsor the freak when there were plenty of more tempting options on the table?

What should I do? The question bounced around in my brain, hitting every possible part of my skull that it could. No, seriously. What can I possibly do?

Of course, if I magically had the answer, I wouldn't be asking that at all.