May the Odds Be Ever in Your Favor

After Octavian’s greeting, I was escorted to the President’s building by a group of five peacekeepers. I didn’t think five was necessary but all of the tributes were surrounded by them. I caught a glimpse of Grap walking by himself to the building without a single peacekeeper. I have to admit, I was jealous. The peacekeepers were making me nervous. I felt like I was going to get attacked at any second.

Once we reached the large glass doors to the building, one of the peacekeepers gave me directions to my room. Once I entered the building, the peacekeepers abandoned me. I started walking on the instructed path and I saw a room with three peacekeepers laughing about something and eating doughnuts. It changed my view of peacekeepers. I had always thought of them as heartless.

A few months ago, someone in my grade got whipped by a peacekeeper. He was playing football and didn’t see the “DO NOT TOUCH GRASS” sign. The rules in Panem are really strict and that boy thought so from that point on too.

I thought I heard someone calling “James!” I turned around and saw three people in a doorway. One was a woman that had really common features. She had blue eyes and silver hair. She was about fifty years old and everything about her was completely average. It creeped me out a little. With her were two men that resembled each other way too much. I would be willing to bet they were twins. The only difference was that one had green hair and the other had red hair.

I must have been so deep in thought that I missed my prep room and I walked right past it. I turned around and headed back. The three nearly pulled me inside the room. It was about ten foot by ten foot. In the corner there was a shower and the water was already turned on. In the opposite corner there was a door that led to another room and next to it was a mirror and a bunch of hair cutting supplies.

“Take off your clothes and get in,” one of the men said. It was the one with green hair and he was really mean when he said it.

Without any argument, I took off my clothes and got into the shower. The water was scolding. I held in a scream but just washed quickly. I got out and put on the robe they handed me. They immediately threw me in a chair and started hacking away at my hair. They were surprisingly laconic. I expected them to be like most stylists, very talkative. The only words they said were short comments about my hair.

By the time they finished, the floor was covered in my hair. I didn’t know I had that much hair, but it took them an hour to get it all off. They also quickly shaved my chin, my stubble having apparently had a lot of time to grow over the past day.

After finished with my hair, they left, and I was alone for a minute. Then, a short man with long brown hair walked in. He was wearing a black tuxedo with a red pocket handkerchief.
“My name is Bale. I’m your stylist.” There was an odd cheeriness in his voice that seemed way too friendly.

“As I’m sure you know, I’m James Viero. I’ll probably die in a few days, though, so it won’t matter.”