The Hunger Games (Peeta's Point of View)

Chapter Twenty Seven

For a moment I am deafened by the sound of the Capitol anthem, that before heralded the faces of the dead tributes, that now heralds the winning ones. There is little difference, really. Then it's the host, Caesar Flickerman, introducing the show and the guests, and acknowledging the audience. He always puts his guests at ease, and I wonder how he'll play it this time. Probably all emotional at our star-crossed lovers thing. I can never tell if he's being genuine, or he's just acting for the benefit of the Capitol- Caesar certainly is dressed like just another of the lucky ones, yet there is something in the way he speaks that suggests he's on the Gamemaker's side. He must be affiliated with them in some way, anyhow. They'd never let just anyone present the show that supports their greatest method of control.

Then he presents our teams, and the cheering of the crowd sends rumbles through the floor, reaching me in my little dingy area under the stage. Strangely, I am happy for them. My prep team and Effie- they've never really known success, at least not like this, and the way my prep team were bubbling over with excitement about all the events they'd be able to attend now- well, they must be having kittens up on the stage. Portia and Cinna receive an even louder cheer, which is fair because their outfits have said the things we couldn't say ourselves; the sponsors they gained us effectively kept us alive, I'm sure. But Haymitch earns the most rampant applause of all- five minutes straight. It's funny to think that Haymitch, looking all sullen and trussed up like a turkey in his suit and bow tie, is getting most of the adoration. But not as much as Katniss and I will get, in three, two, one-

The metal plate lifts me up above the stage, where the lights are dazzling, white, and artificial. The crowd goes wild. This is about the first time I've ever received such adulation and I'm completely bowled over. I flash the audience a smile, because even though everything's so horrible, they believe in me. They're happy that we're alive, and they want us to stay that way. 

Squinting through the light, I search for her. She finds me first. She hurtles across the stage and suddenly she's in my arms, so pretty and clean and innocent in a dress the same colour as my shirt that it's hard to believe she's the same girl who was in the arena. The impact sends me staggering back, and I dig the cane into the stage floor to steady myself. She buries her head in my chest and I kiss her, longing to stay this way forever, illuminated under the lights. Her radiating heat spreads through me like the sun's rays. Caesar Flickerman taps me on my shoulder, presumably so the show can begin, but I'm not interested. I push him aside- he can't interrupt us- and the audience loves it.

Haymitch is next to try and break us up, and I let him, because I trust him. He steers us towards the victor's chair, which is now a red velvet sofa that is just big enough for the two of us; before it would be one ornate chair, but there are two victors, now. From that, we will watch the Games' highlights. Inwardly, I smile at their choice of colour: cherry red, the connotations of it perfect for us. Although you could call it blood red. I place my feet firmly on the floor, because it's the only position that I'm sure isn't awkward with my prosthetic leg. The velvet is extremely comfortable to sit on. Even more so when Katniss tucks in her feet and leans her head on my shoulder. Protectively, I wrap my arm around her.

As usual, the host cracks a plethora of jokes before introducing the compiled collection of highlights from this year's Hunger Games. I realise that a lot of this will include dying tributes. Being forced to watch this is cruel enough, but when you too are being watched- every emotion scrutinised- it seems unbearable. So I steel myself, clinging to the thought that I've made it this far so I can get through this, imagining that the screen is an emotional as well as physical barrier that separates me from the hell it shows. I squint so the image of the Capitol's seal is blurry and almost shiny, like the highlights are nothing but a hallucination caused by tracker-jacker venom. But there's no way I can keep that up for almost three whole hours. As the seal fades, Katniss' hands- which form a shell around my own- gives the most subtlest of squeezes, reassuring me that this can't last forever, and stopping me from running away from here, as far as I can. To District 13 if I have to.