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The Fitter	By : sawahhaych Category: G through L > The Hunger Games Trilogy Views: 2384 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not Own the Huger Games or make any money from this fic

Chapter List
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I wake hours later, feeling too hot and still tired. Sunlight is streaming though the windows, I should have shut the curtains before I went to sleep. I turn to my side away from the window and close my eyes trying, without success to fall back to sleep. My back aches from the soft mattress and the whole room smells of a plethora of cleaning products all mingling together to give off the most hideous scent.
I give up on sleep and take this opportunity to explore my section of the train, in my room is the large bed, a wardrobe, a huge TV and a door which leads to the biggest bathroom I have ever seen. Although I am resigned to the fact that I will be gone from this earth in a matter of weeks I feel I should grasp all the luxuries I can whilst I am able.
I throw my clothes off unceremoniously and turn random dials on the shower until the water comes out hot and steamy. Then step into the jets, letting them blast away a lifetime of coal dust and inadequate hygiene. And by God it feels good. I stand under the torrent of hot liquid until the beating of the water becomes painful, my fingers and toes are wrinkly and I have never felt this relaxed in my life.
My happy mood is interrupted by a harsh, quick knocking on my door. “Get up! Time for breakfast.” I ignore the shrill voice and slump back onto the bed. There is a pause and then the knocking starts anew, louder. “Do not make me come in there and get you girl.” I scowl at the closed door.
“I'm getting dressed!” I shout back. The knocking stops again and I hear heavy steps walking away from the door, down the train.
After hauling myself off the bed I go to the wardrobe, I find some comfortable looking clothes in muted colours, a shirt and some brown slacks. I forgo socks and shoes. After combing my fingers through my dull dark hair I unlock the door and head towards the smell of food.
The fat man whose name I still haven't caught is sitting on one side of the table with a woman who must have been the one to disturb me earlier, also on that side of the table is my fellow tribute, finally a name comes to mind, Robin, I don’t know his last name. This leaves me to sit alone on the other side of the table, I am as usual being segregated from the rest of the 'normal' people.
On their side of the table there are huge bowls and plates filled with food, on mine there is one plate piled high and two other bowls with enough vegetables in to feed one person. Well we cant have our food mixing now can we?
I sigh quietly to myself as I sit, with no grace whatsoever I start eating, shovelling food steadily into my waiting mouth. This gets me pointed looks from the others but I couldn’t care less, they don’t see me as a real person anyway, why disappoint?
The food is exquisite and contrary to appearance I am savouring every morsel, half of the food I have never seen before, the rest has never tasted this good in the Seam. I drink from all the bottles laid before me, some taste foul in a way that leaves your mouth dry and stinging, others are pleasantly fruity and refreshing.
The fat man clears his throat. “Now children...” I roll my eyes at this, whilst I am young I am by no stretch of the imagination a child, hardly anyone of any age in the seam can be called such. “...as your district has no surviving victor you will be mentored by myself and Miss Sapphire here.” he says gesturing to the woman sat next to him.
Robin pipes up at this. “But neither of you have ever been victors” he protests. This is a huge disadvantage for Robin, if we have been appointed mentors who are from outside our district then what motivation do they have to ensure we win? And who is to stop them actually trying to sabotage us so their district can be named victorious?
The shrill voice of Miss Sapphire cuts through the air. “You should be grateful you are getting a mentor at all, let alone two.” She states with clear disdain. “My grandfather won the games for our glorious first district so I have some experience in the area of the games, I am more than qualified to be your mentor having trained for the games in my youth.”
Great, a perky, annoying, wannabe career tribute from district one is our mentor, if I was actually going into these games as a serious tribute I would probably laugh in her face before demanding to see the game organisers to rectify this heinous error in appointing this women as our lifeline. As it is Robin looks a little green around the edges, I grin at him and raise my eyebrows before saluting him with my fork.
The next few days pass pleasantly for me, I speak to no one, Robin is usually off in another section of the train with our two mentors, the fat man I have finally learned is called Pike and is from district four and in true ironic style he wont eat any of the sea food but that doesn’t mean he wont eat anything else in sight. Whilst Robin gets prepared for the games I am left unattended, I eat when I want to which is a lot, I sleep when I want to, which is also quite frequently and I avoid the huge room off the dining carriage which holds the overly big TV constantly playing re caps of the reapings over and over again.
I brood, I mentally prepare for my death and enjoy myself as much as possible. One of my favourite past times is to scare my three companions. I walk close to them whenever I can, brush past them and after a rather rousing speech by Pike about how I am to stay away from the others, not touch anything they may come into contact with and to be fully dressed, down to wearing gloves and shoes at all times to stop the chance of me contaminating anything I step up to him, keeping toe to toe, as he back peddles until he hits the wall I lick his face with the flat of my tongue from his jaw right up to his forehead before sauntering off to my room with a plate full of glorious steak.
After that little scene I wasn't allowed in the same room as them anymore.
We arrive at the capitol and I am escorted off the train by a tall, blonde peace keeper. From there I am ushered into another building, bigger and grander than the Justice building back home but with the same clinical feeling. I am shoved into a large room containing a padded table and a chair in front of a mirror. This will be where the torture begins.
Three people sweep into the room, a tall pointy looking woman with too many teeth at the front, followed by two vacant looking, red haired twins. “So this is the one we have been warned about ladies.” She says appraising me as if I cant see her. After a minute or two she locks her violet eyes with mine and says with a scowl. “You will do exactly as directed, you will not endanger me or my staff with your disease and you will hold your tongue.”
So that is how it goes, for two whole days I am poked, prodded, waxed, dyed and simultaneously ignored by the sado twins until my whole body is perfect by their standards.
On the third day is it time for me to find out what my 'outfit' will be. I use the term 'outfit' in the loosest way possible. A mere hour before myself and Robin will be paraded around the capitol in chariots I am coated in a thick layer of black dust followed by an extra dusting on my face in a slightly lighter shade of grey. I look at myself in the mirror, I look like I have just escaped a cave in at the mines. My hair is wild and back combed, my eyes the only point of light. Luckily the make up covering my body is so thick that I don’t really feel like I am really naked.
Robin distances himself as far away form me as possible on the small platform of the chariot. Our horses whinny occasionally as we wait in silence for the parade to start. I take no notice of those around me, other tributes or the crowd, I don’t wave or smile, I stare off into the distance repeating to myself over and over that this is temporary, it will be over soon. I will be at peace.
The chariots stop in a semi circle, I keep my eyes fixed on my black feet. The announcer is telling everyone all our names and which districts we are from, each tribute waves as their name is called.
I automatically look up as my name is called, my eyes meet the blue of the girl across from me, she can be no older than twelve or thirteen, her hair is sleek and black falling in ringlets down her shoulders. She stands like a little girl, one hand grasping her skirt, the other held naturally at her side. She bites the corner of her lower lip, appearing to gnaw on it gently, a habit I know all too well. I close my eyes against the pain, I will not cry here. It isn't her, it isn't my Willow, she is gone, dead. Killed by the same cretin who gave me my illness.
I stand like that for I don’t know how long, repeating in my head that it isn’t her! Pull yourself together Hazel! Do not appear weak! You will not cry in front of the whole of Panem! You will not let your parents see you cry! After a few minutes of this and some deep breathes I find I am able to open my eyes, the girl is gone, her chariot being led away to the training area nine chariots ahead of mine.
I hold it together right until we reach what will be my room for the next two weeks whilst I train for the games. I fly through the room leaving black smudges all over the cream coloured carpet, I enclose myself in the shower stall, start the water and slide down the tiles until I am sitting under the spray, arms hugging my knees.
It wasn't her. She just looked like her, stood like her, chewed her lip like her. My head lolls forward, hair cascading over my face. I hope my parents missed seeing the girl. I throw my head back and rest it against the wall, what district was she? What I can remember of her, nothing seemed to give away where she was from but then again I was so focused on her face I could have easily missed something. She was wearing black to match her hair and there were lights on her. The best idea I can come up with is that she is from district three where they make machines and electrical equipment, every Television in the seam came from district three.
I slowly unfold my body and stand, trying to clear my mind of the girl. It will do me no good to dwell on her now. I grab a wash cloth and start the long process of washing off my 'costume', taking a moment to dread what the hell I will be made to 'wear' for my final foray into the public eye in two weeks time for my interview.
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The Fitter