Read Aloud the Text Content

This audio was created by Woord's Text to Speech service by content creators from all around the world.

Text Content or SSML code:

The door opens and a young man who must be Cinna enters. I’m taken aback by how normal he looks. Most of the stylists they interview on television are so dyed, stenciled, and surgically altered they’re grotesque. But Cinna’s close-cropped hair appears to be its natural shade of brown. He’s in a simple black shirt and pants. The only concession to self-alteration seems to be metallic gold eyeliner that has been applied with a light hand. It brings out the flecks of gold in his green eyes. And, despite my disgust with the Capitol and their hideous fashions, I can’t help thinking how attractive it looks. “Hello, Katniss. I’m Cinna, your stylist,” he says in a quiet voice somewhat lacking in the Capitol’s affectations. “Hello,” I venture cautiously. “Just give me a moment, all right?” he asks. He walks around my naked body, not touching me, but taking in every inch of it with his eyes. I resist the impulse to cross my arms over my chest. “Who did your hair?” "******ebook converter DEMO - www.ebook- “My mother,” I say. “It’s beautiful. Classic really. And in almost perfect balance with your profile. She has very clever fingers,” he says. I had expected someone flamboyant, someone older trying desperately to look young, someone who viewed me as a piece of meat to be prepared for a platter. Cinna has met none of these expectations. “You’re new, aren’t you? I don’t think I’ve seen you before,” I say. Most of the stylists are familiar, constants in the ever- changing pool of tributes. Some have been around my whole life. “Yes, this is my first year in the Games,” says Cinna. “So they gave you District Twelve,” I say. Newcomers generally end up with us, the least desirable district. “I asked for District Twelve,” he says without further explanation. “Why don’t you put on your robe and we’ll have a chat.” Pulling on my robe, I follow him through a door into a "******ebook converter DEMO - www.ebook- sitting room. Two red couches face off over a low table. Three walls are blank, the fourth is entirely glass, providing a window to the city. I can see by the light that it must be around noon, although the sunny sky has turned overcast. Cinna invites me to sit on one of the couches and takes his place across from me. He presses a button on the side of the table. The top splits and from below rises a second tabletop that holds our lunch. Chicken and chunks of oranges cooked in a creamy sauce laid on a bed of pearly white grain, tiny green peas and onions, rolls shaped like flowers, and for dessert, a pudding the color of honey. I try to imagine assembling this meal myself back home. Chickens are too expensive, but I could make do with a wild turkey. I’d need to shoot a second turkey to trade for an orange. Goat’s milk would have to substitute for cream. We can grow peas in the garden. I’d have to get wild onions from the woods. I don’t recognize the grain, our own tessera ration cooks down to an unattractive brown mush. Fancy rolls would mean another "******ebook converter DEMO - www.ebook- trade with the baker, perhaps for two or three squirrels. As for the pudding, I can’t even guess what’s in it. Days of hunting and gathering for this one meal and even then it would be a poor substitution for the Capitol version. What must it be like, I wonder, to live in a world where food appears at the press of a button? How would I spend the hours I now commit to combing the woods for sustenance if it were so easy to come by? What do they do all day, these people in the Capitol, besides decorating their bodies and waiting around for a new shipment of tributes to roll in and die for their entertainment? I look up and find Cinna’s eyes trained on mine. “How despicable we must seem to you,” he says. Has he seen this in my face or somehow read my thoughts? He’s right, though. The whole rotten lot of them is despicable. “No matter,” says Cinna. “So, Katniss, about your costume for the opening ceremonies. My partner, Portia, is the stylist for "******ebook converter DEMO - www.ebook- your fellow tribute, Peeta. And our current thought is to dress you in complementary costumes,” says Cinna. “As you know, it’s customary to reflect the flavor of the district.” For the opening ceremonies, you’re supposed to wear something that suggests your district’s principal industry. District 11, agriculture. District 4, fishing. District 3, factories. This means that coming from District 12, Peeta and I will be in some kind of coal miner’s getup. Since the baggy miner’s jumpsuits are not particularly becoming, our tributes usually end up in skimpy outfits and hats with headlamps. One year, our tributes were stark naked and covered in black powder to represent coal dust. It’s always dreadful and does nothing to win favor with the crowd. I prepare myself for the worst. “So, I’ll be in a coal miner outfit?” I ask, hoping it won’t be indecent. “Not exactly. You see, Portia and I think that coal miner thing’s very overdone. No one will remember you in that. And "******ebook converter DEMO - www.ebook- we both see it as our job to make the District Twelve tributes unforgettable,” says Cinna. I’ll be naked for sure, I think. “So rather than focus on the coal mining itself, we’re going to focus on the coal,” says Cinna. Naked and covered in black dust, I think. “And what do we do with coal? We burn it,” says Cinna. “You’re not afraid of fire, are you, Katniss?” He sees my expression and grins. A few hours later, I am dressed in what will either be the most sensational or the deadliest costume in the opening ceremonies. I’m in a simple black unitard that covers me from ankle to neck. Shiny leather boots lace up to my knees. But it’s the fluttering cape made of streams of orange, yellow, and red and the matching headpiece that define this costume. Cinna plans to light them on fire just before our chariot rolls into the streets. “It’s not real flame, of course, just a little synthetic fire "******ebook converter DEMO - www.ebook- Portia and I came up with. You’ll be perfectly safe,” he says. But I’m not convinced I won’t be perfectly barbecued by the time we reach the city’s center. My face is relatively clear of makeup, just a bit of highlighting here and there. My hair has been brushed out and then braided down my back in my usual style. “I want the audience to recognize you when you’re in the arena,” says Cinna dreamily. “Katniss, the girl who was on fire.” It crosses my mind that Cinna’s calm and normal demeanor masks a complete madman. Despite this morning’s revelation about Peeta’s character, I’m actually relieved when he shows up, dressed in an identical costume. He should know about fire, being a baker’s son and all. His stylist, Portia, and her team accompany him, and everyone is absolutely giddy with excitement over what a splash we’ll make. Except Cinna. He just seems a bit weary as he accepts congratulations. "******ebook converter DEMO - www.ebook- We’re whisked down to the bottom level of the Remake Center, which is essentially a gigantic stable. The opening ceremonies are about to start. Pairs of tributes are being loaded into chariots pulled by teams of four horses. Ours are coal black. The animals are so well trained, no one even needs to guide their reins. Cinna and Portia direct us into the chariot and carefully arrange our body positions, the drape of our capes, before moving off to consult with each other. “What do you think?” I whisper to Peeta. “About the fire?” “I’ll rip off your cape if you’ll rip off mine,” he says through gritted teeth. “Deal,” I say. Maybe, if we can get them off soon enough, we’ll avoid the worst burns. It’s bad though. They’ll throw us into the arena no matter what condition we’re in. “I know we promised Haymitch we’d do exactly what they said, but I don’t think he considered this angle.” “Where is Haymitch, anyway? Isn’t he supposed to protect "******ebook converter DEMO - www.ebook- us from this sort of thing?” says Peeta. “With all that alcohol in him, it’s probably not advisable to have him around an open flame,” I say. And suddenly we’re both laughing. I guess we’re both so nervous about the Games and more pressingly, petrified of being turned into human torches, we’re not acting sensibly. The opening music begins. It’s easy to hear, blasted around the Capitol. Massive doors slide open revealing the crowd-lined streets. The ride lasts about twenty minutes and ends up at the City Circle, where they will welcome us, play the anthem, and escort us into the Training Center, which will be our home/prison until the Games begin. The tributes from District 1 ride out in a chariot pulled by snow-white horses. They look so beautiful, spray-painted silver, in tasteful tunics glittering with jewels. District 1 makes luxury items for the Capitol. You can hear the roar of the crowd. They are always favorites. "******ebook converter DEMO - www.ebook- District 2 gets into position to follow them. In no time at all, we are approaching the door and I can see that between the overcast sky and evening hour the light is turning gray. The tributes from District 11 are just rolling out when Cinna appears with a lighted torch. “Here we go then,” he says, and before we can react he sets our capes on fire. I gasp, waiting for the heat, but there is only a faint tickling sensation. Cinna climbs up before us and ignites our headdresses. He lets out a sigh of relief. “It works.” Then he gently tucks a hand under my chin. “Remember, heads high. Smiles. They’re going to love you!” Cinna jumps off the chariot and has one last idea. He shouts something up at us, but the music drowns him out. He shouts again and gestures. “What’s he saying?” I ask Peeta. For the first time, I look at him and realize that ablaze with the fake flames, he is dazzling. And I must be, too. “I think he said for us to hold hands,” says Peeta. He grabs