The journey to District 10 almost made me want to give up hope. As soon as we left the Capitol, the roads became bumpy and hard, causing my body to pound against the sides of the lorry each time I tried to sleep. Several times, boxes of products slid sideways and hit my ribs, leaving me feeling beaten and battered. I closed my eyes and called it character building for myself. After all, whatever I would suffer in the arena would be ten times worse. I needed to learn to take a beating.

I had no sense of time during the journey. It was so dark that I couldn't even see a slither of sunlight to tell if it was daytime. The hours seemed long in the agonizing environment, but part of me was certain that I had only been travelling for a few days, even if they felt like years.

I kept waiting for a change in the environment. I presumed we would be transferred onto a train since the new railroad had been built to transport tributes from the Districts to the Capitol, but I remained stuck in the back of the truck the whole way to District 10. It was hot and stuffy, so much so that I felt like I had to keep gasping for air. Part of me was scared that I would run out of oxygen, but it was just the anxiety of the situation getting to me.

Then came the hunger. I hadn't been given any supplies to keep me going, though the driver did pass me some water twice a day. I didn't dare ask for more. I suspected if I wasn't being given food, it was because the President had requested it to make me suffer. I didn't want to beg for it and embarrass myself. Again, I saw it as a test of survival, even when the hunger gave me such bad cramps that I could do nothing, but lie still and ride it out.

Each time the truck stopped for gas, I was hopeful that we had reached the end of our journey, but it never came. I wondered if I was stuck in a loop, some continuous nightmare that might never end. But then, just as I felt like giving up hope entirely, the back of the truck opened for the first time since the journey began. The driver, who had been passing me supplies from his front seat, was finally stood in front of me. Outside, it was dark, but the sudden light of the moon was painful on my eyes. I sat up, shielding my eyes.

"Aren't you a sight for sore eyes," the driver said. "Get out. The President told me to tell you that the reaping is in a few days, and you should try and lay low until then. Fit in."

"We're at District 10?"

"Yes. Come on. Get out before someone notices you here."

My legs didn't want to work properly. They were aching and sort of jelly-like, as though all of the bones in my legs had dissolved. I felt like a toddler trying to walk for the first time as I stood up and wobbled to the edge of the truck with uncertainty. The driver offered me a hand down and I took it gratefully. It was nice to assume that not all of the President's workers were completely heartless. He even looked a little sympathetic as I hopped onto the wet grass and stared around me in fear.

My first impression of the District wasn't a good one. There was a strange smell, earthy and potent in the air. The driver smirked at me.

"That's manure you can smell," he told me in an amused tone. "You'll get used to the bad smells in the Districts. Especially here."

I tried not to let it bother me, but it felt odd after being in the Capitol, where everything smelt fresh and flowery. I know now that all of those things that seemed so familiar were completely artificial, but they reminded me of home. Tears stung my eyes as I looked around me. Nothing looked remotely familiar. I was surrounded by mud and dark skies while rain pounded down on my shoulders. In the distance, across fields of cows quietly grazing, I could see candlelit windows in wooden huts. It was a far cry from the mansions I knew in the Capitol, the luxurious gardens surrounding each one, and the generally better cared for city. It was no wonder the journey was bumpy when there were no proper roads. The whole District was just like a giant pile of mud.

"Good luck," the driver told me with a half-genuine smile before returning to his driver's seat. I wanted to ask him to stay, suddenly reverting back to the lost child I once was. I wanted someone to take my hand and show me the way. But I doubted anyone would ever hold my hand again. I was on my own.

As the truck disappeared into the night, I trudged across the field, wrapping my arms around myself. I had only been given a t-shirt to wear and the cold was already seeping into my bones. I thought it was best to head toward the huts and hope for the best, but when I reached them, I was at a loss as to what to do next.

I used to see beggars on the streets of the Capitol and turn my noses up at them. They were the people who had lost their high-flying jobs and hit rock bottom, or those who had escaped the Districts in hope of a better life, but ended up just as poor as they had been. I never gave money to them, preferring to think that I was above them. But that night as I wandered the lonely streets, I questioned why I had done those things. In that moment, I prayed someone might take me in and look after me, but I knew that the people of District 10 had enough problems without me adding to them.

I was weary from the lack of sleep and absolutely ravenous, but there seemed no way to get myself a good night's sleep or a decent meal. I had no money, and I wasn't even sure what the currency there was.

As I passed through what I assumed was the town square - centred around the Justice Building - I saw some Peacekeepers gathered outside an old tavern, laughing and joking with beers in their hands. I tried not to draw attention to myself. I might have had experiences with Peacekeepers before, but I knew Peacekeepers wouldn't be the same in the Districts. They were much harsher, there to keep people in line rather than to act as a policing service. As I walked on by, one wolf-whistled and I wrapped my arms tighter around myself.

"You lost there, girl?" one of them called out to me. "There's a curfew you know."
"I'm sorry," I said hastily. I didn't want to get in any trouble. "It's just...I have nowhere to go."

Some of the Peacekeepers laughed among themselves. It seemed so odd that they were making fun at my expense, but guilt crept into my stomach when I realized I had done it myself a million times. The man's eyes never left me as he smiled menacingly.

"Perhaps you should get yourself on down to the orphanage," he said with an edge to his tone, "Or pay some of my pals a visit inside the tavern. They'd pay good money for a girl like you. That might pay for a loaf of bread. How do you like the sound of that? Hey, where are you going?"

I sped up to a run, though my joints protested. My humiliation followed me as I ran away from their mocking laughter, into the streets so dark that I couldn't even see the outline of my own body in the dark. Tears were falling down my face and I slowed, scared of falling and hurting myself more. The environment scared me. I'd been brought up to be afraid of the Districts, the murderous kids from them and their hatred for people like me. I hadn't expected Peacekeepers to be part of the problem as well. But I guessed at that moment that my world had been turned upside down.

As I made my way through the town, I started to wonder if I'd made a mistake. Maybe the whole thing was just a waste of time. If I couldn't even survive in the District, how would I survive the Games?

I have to face it. I'm weak. These people living here have suffered long and hard to live this kind of life...

I thought back to the day when I'd run through the streets of the Capitol, looking to save my mother, thinking only of my hardships. I realized at that moment that my struggles were nothing compared to the lives of the citizens of District 10. I'd imagined that those people deserved it once, and yet, as I ran through the muddy streets, I began to feel as though I was looking at the lives of normal people. I was one of the lucky ones, not one of the damned. At least, up until then, that was the case.

I came to a clearing. In the dark, I could make out a metal archway. Behind it, there were a bunch of houses lined up in a row. They looked bigger than the other houses, though still quaint, and they seemed to look safer, somehow. The windows weren't dirty, and there were real electric lights inside the two houses closest to me. The others were dark, possibly empty. I decided that I had no choice, but to go begging and hope someone might be kind to me. With my hair shorn, I knew I looked younger than I was. I wasn't a helpless child, and yet my Capitol upbringing had made me innocent. It seemed crazy to me that only a week or so before, I'd been at my birthday party, gushing over the dollhouse that Cicero had gifted to me. I knew suddenly that the children of District 10 would never see such wonders. And to think, I would've been willing to let that gift collect dust in the corner of my room.

I approached the second house on the row. Something drew me to it more than the first. Perhaps I lost my courage by the first door. My legs were shaking from the effort of standing. During the time in the van, I'd lost a lot of the meat on my bones, though it was nothing compared to the malnourished children I'd seen in the town. I hoped that whoever opened the door to me might offer me something to eat, even if they had little to offer themselves...

I hesitated before I knocked on the front door. It occured to me that the person who owned the house owed me nothing. I wasn't even a member of their District, really, though they didn't know that. I felt I should turn away and bear my pain in silence, but as my stomach ached, I felt desperate. I waited, biting back my pride and hoping for a miracle.

The young man who answered the door to me was one I recognised. He was around my age and was striking in an odd way. He had dark curls that fell in front of his eyes at the front. He had sharp cheekbones and lips that looked as though they were permanently twisted in a smirk or in disapproval. I knew him well, though we'd never met. I remember the day I signed up to sponsor him when I was around the same age as he was. I'd wanted to give him a fighting chance in the arena. And it became clear very suddenly who he was.

"Drew Harper..."