After the T.V turned off, I head to my room. I needed sleep, energy, for tomorrow. The Opening Ceremony, where I would be dressed up like a doll and displayed in front of the entire country like a newscast.

I slipped into a nightgown and climbed into bed. As I slept, images from past Hunger Games appeared in my head; images of people getting stabbed, starving to death, clawing at their throats as they choked on their own blood after getting their throats slit. But mainly, I saw that one picture, the one with my father, his head smashed in with a rock. But in my dream, it was moving, Amphitrite bringing the rock down again and again as my father screamed.

When I woke up in the morning, I couldn't be happier.

I rummaged through the dressers, finding the simplest items I could. I laid my mother's dress on my bed, along with a note telling whoever came for it to keep it somewhere. I hoped they did.

Then I walked to breakfast.

Malcolm, Minerva, and Vulcan were waiting for me, Minerva obviously stopping them from eating before I got there. The second I sat down, Malcolm and Vulcan dug into their food. Minerva looked at me and rolled her eyes, giving me the impression that she was saying boys in that exasperated way I'd heard girls say at school whenever a boy did something stupid.

I dug into my food, filling myself to the brim. If this is what Capitol people ate every day, I wondered how they stayed so thin.

"So, I suppose you two want advice," Vulcan said after Malcolm and I finished eating.

We looked at each other and shrugged.

"Yeah, that would be great," Malcolm said.

"Well, I'll get into semantics about the arena later," Vulcan said. "Today, the thing you need to be the most worried about is the opening ceremony."

"What is there to know about the opening ceremony?" Malcolm asked. "Don't you just wave at people?"

"Oh, no, there's much more to it than that," Vulcan said. "It's a way to get sponsors, which are very important once you get to the arena. You'll need to look confident, have perfect posture, and have some sort of image you want to display. You'll need your image to go with your outfit, so it's easier to display."

Vulcan spent the rest of the train ride giving us tips, which I tried to remember. I was amazed at how much he was trying to help us. After seeing eighteen people who you tried your hardest to help die, you'd think that he would've given up hope by now. Just like the victor before him, who hanged himself, unable to handle the grief of losing his son to the Games.

But I suppose he still has hope that someone will win, and that they will mentor the new tributes while he just relaxes.

An hour later, we were passing through the mountains surrounding the Capitol. The natural barrier played a huge role in the rebels losing the war, and, in turn, me being here today.

When we finally emerge from the tunnel, Malcolm and I rush to the windows. The Capitol is as beautiful as I imagined it. The buildings are painted different colors, and shine in the sunlight. People walk along the streets, dressed in colors I'd never even seen before, reminding me of the time an orphan girl splatter-painted a doll.

People point at us as we roll by. They sicken me. These people are excited to watch us die. Do they even think of us as human? And if they do, how can they cheer as they watch us die?

Malcolm shrinks away from the window the second people star pointing. I turn my attention to him. I hadn't socialized with him much, and knew very little about him. The only memory I have of him from District 3 was from fourth grade, when Nancy Bobofit teased him, calling him a loner who even his own mother didn't love. I remember him crying, and how I felt horrible after just watching it happen without doing something later that day.

"Do you remember the day Nancy broke her arm?" I ask him.

"Of course," The corner of his mouth lifts a little, the closest thing to a smile I've ever seen him do. "It was my favorite day of the year."

"Same," I replied, the memory fresh in my mind. She had fallen off the monkey bars, and had blamed her friend for it. It was the stupidest thing I'd ever seen. "She really is a bitch, isn't she."

This time, Malcolm really smiled. "You have no idea."

I tilted my head at him, suddenly wondering if Nancy had done more to him than insult him.

Suddenly, his expression changed. His smile melted into a frown, and he slunk off down the hall, leaving me bewildered. Either he's not used to talking to people or there's something outside the window that I can't see.

But when I look, there's nothing. Just a bunch of Capitol people, staring at me like I'm the one in the ridiculous getup, not them.

As we roll along, another train slides up, gliding on tracks a few meters next to us. It's another tribute train, with a 4 stamped on the side. It makes sense, I suppose, to have all the districts rails next to each other. I'm almost grateful; now the Capitol people can't see me.

That's when I see him.

The boy from District 4; Percy, I believe his name was. He's staring out his window, looking directly at me. Our eyes lock. On the T.V, he was attractive. Up close, he's gorgeous, with disheveled, jet black hair, swept to one side as if he just got a walk to the beach and sea-green eyes I could drown in.

We stare at each other for a few seconds, before he smiles and gives me a small wave. Something compels me to do the same thing, and I do. His smile was compelling, as if he was planning a huge prank on someone that was going to be hilarious. I wanted him to keep smiling.

Then he's gone, his train going a bit quicker than mine. A minute later, the entire train is in front of my window, and all I can see are the Capitol people again, ogling at me.

I'd never felt more alone.