It's the things we love most, that destroy us

The private training session

Night before :
I jump up from the bed, running with sweat and panting like a dog. I had that dream again ; the one with that crazy man who looks just like Coryo. If Coryo had a shaved head that is. Panicked, my eyes frantically race around my dark bedroom afraid someone might've broken in ; I sigh in relief and collapse back onto my bed when I realise no one's here ; it's just me and my sadistic thoughts. Urghhh I can't stay like this ; I need to do something. My mind is racing, I know I'm not going back to sleep anytime soon so I might as well make use of this time - besides I need to work out what I'm going to sing tomorrow at the training session. I slide out of my damp covers, that are literally sticking to my bare skin, grab a forest green jumper from the marble drawer and prudently walk over to the door - with attentive fingers I open it, wincing when it made it's click of unlocking. I feel like a traitorous thief, plodding down the hallway on my tip toes, straining my eyes against the dark gloom of the night ; Haymitch's loud snores echo behind, each one making my back go up a little bit more. I know he sleeps with a knife, which doesn't help my nerves, yet I don't blame him, I will probably be doing the same thing in 2 days.

After, for what seems like an eternity of trying to navigate my way through the murk, my knee hits something soft, my feet tread over something fuzzy and I hesitantly outstretch my hands in the direction of the objects. From feeling them with my fingers, I concluded I was in the sitting room ; once again by using my hands I feel for the curtains and when I grasp ahold of a cotton-like material, I swipe it to the side allowing the moonlight to generously flood into the space. The living room illuminates immediately, without awakening anyone from their slumber I might add, showing the daunting stack of cassette tapes sitting on the tea table ; just when Nathan last left them. I sit myself down on the sofa while sorting through the tapes, making a mental note of anything that catches my interest - when I come across one that is covered in a thick layer of dust, it seems extremely outdated and battered but all at the same time quite modern. Just by looking at the scratched out name on the side, I know it shouldn't be here nonetheless I find myself putting it into the cassette player and turning on the tv.

                                       <=><=>
The footage on the screen crackles and is really fuzzy, then again what should I expect from a tape with a scratched out name on the side. For all I know, it's some jokey highlight reel of Haymitch being drunk at the reapings, I could see Olybrius (Olly) Flickerman gaining a lot of money from showing that on one of his various tv programs here in the Capitol. Suddenly the anthem plays and the outdated seal of the Capitol pops on the grey, colourless screen with a 10 in the middle - must mean 10th Hunger Games ; I've seen that before, somewhere. My eyes blink a couple of times, trying to jog my memory to no avail. Mindlessly I naw at my nails, a bad habit I inherited from my mother, as the footage switches to the reapings.

Since, this was only 10 years after the rebellion, the citizens in the districts look more beaten up in their grimy and withered outfits, which resemble rags with holes more than actual clothes. All the tributes are malnourished, skeletal and have a starved look in their weary faces like the children back in the seam. Following tradition district 2 always provides the strongest tributes, in that year it was Marcus ; a boy of 18, who would probably tower above majority of the tributes and with those broad shoulders expectantly had a lot of physical strength. District 4 provided decent tributes as well, Coral and Mizzen, Coral had a ruthless look about her while Mizzen seemingly had a sneaky side. I feel sorry for the district 7 tribute though, Lamina, she broke down crying on the stage and collapsed to the floor begging to be spared when the peacekeepers arrived to collect them. I let out a snort when they announce the district 11 tribute, Reaper, but instantly regret it ; I find his name kinda creepy though and horribly ironic, I mean imagine calling your son Reaper and he gets reaped for the Hunger Games. His fellow tribute, Dill, has what we like to call the black lung or in more scientific terms tuberculosis - every few seconds she lets out a dry, chesty cough, which lasts for about a minute. I have a feeling in the arena, Reaper will protect Dill at all costs - she reminds me of my mother's late ally in her first games, little Rue.