The Hunger Games: A re-telling

I paced around the room, waiting for the arrival of my stylist, and play back the events of the last 12 hours; has it really only been that long?

Volunteering for Prim at the Reaping...unwanted memories resurfacing when Peeta's name was drawn...shoved into a train and whisked away to the Capitol...and the worst of the lot; stripped naked by a bunch of strangers and plucked like a turkey.

They'd worked on me for what felt like hours. Ripping my body hair out at the roots; hosing me down with cold water; tidying up my eyebrows and hair; rubbing a strange lotion into every inch of my skin; and applying liberal amounts of makeup to my face, and more bewildering, my chest.

When they were finally done, I felt cold and humiliated.

They'd painfully removed every follicle of body hair, not stopping whenever I cried out in pain. My shyness at being nude either went unnoticed, or they simply didn't care.

I hated being naked. Prim and my mother were both amused by how **** I was to be seen nude in front of them, and I didn't even dare risk stripping off when I got hot and sweaty in the woods; what if someone saw me, and stole my clothes?!

But whatever hang ups I had, clearly didn't exist in the Capitol. They had no problem with stripping an 18-year-old girl down to her birthday suit without her permission, nor did they hesitate in massaging their hands all over her body. They got a laugh out of how ticklish I was (my bare feet had always been a weakness), but at least the lotion reduced the pain my tender skin was feeling.

I hated how my body reacted to their delicate touches to my chest, and inner thighs. My face glowed as they remarked on how all the boys must chase me back home, and how lucky my boyfriend was.

I didn't have a boyfriend. I'd always seen Gale more as a brother, and I had no time for silly things like that when every day was a fight for survival. Heck, I'd barely explored down there myself!

Once my team had departed, I began padding around the room in an attempt to dispel the unwanted sexual energy that had built up, and also to try to work some warmth into my body.

It would take some time to adapt to not having that reassuring fuzz of hair, the absence of which was already making me colder before the room temperature and the cold shower were factored in. Couldn't they have at least left me a robe to wear?

I throw my arms across my torso when the door opened, and my stylist, Cinna, entered.

"Hello, Katniss," he smiles at me. "Please lower your arms, there's no need to be shy."

Dropping my gaze to my bare feet, I relax my arms. Cinna walks around me, touching me here, poking me there. He gently squeezes my right breast, and lightly taps my left buttock. Facing me once more, Cinna's hand shot out and briefly touched me between my legs.

"Let's go sit down and have a chat."

Cinna led the way over to a pair of couches. I fight the urge to throw my hands back over my chest, remembering Haymitch's instructions to do whatever my design team asked me without complaint. As a compromise, I fold my hands in my lap, and squeeze my thighs together; I didn't care what Haymitch said, the Capitol were NOT going to see between my legs!

I start to relax as Cinna asks me questions about my life back in District 12, my relationship with my family, and volunteering for my sister. However, my constant shivering, and the soft cushions beneath my bare buttocks, made it impossible to completely forget that I was nude.

Before long, it was time to get ready for the Tribute Parade, when all 24 tributes would be presented to the Capitol for the first time.

I stand awkwardly as Cinna plaited my still damp hair, in the same style my mother had done that morning.

"Katniss," he says as he works. "I need to ask you a personal question. Am I right in thinking that you're a virgin?"

My face, which had been bright red, was suddenly drained of all colour.

"Err..." my mouth felt dry, and my palms were sweaty.

"It's OK, Katniss," Cinna laughs kindly. "Everyone develops at their own pace. A beautiful woman like yourself, with very little sexual experience; the sponsors will love it."

He stepped away, leaving me to contemplate the meaning of his words. I didn't want the whole Capitol, and by extension, the entire country, knowing that I had never had sex!

When Cinna returns, I was relieved to see him carrying my outfit in his arms. I'd been starkers for long enough!

But my relief was short-lived. While the skirt came down to just above my knees, there was nothing else. No shirt, no underwear, no shoes or socks.

"Err...where's the rest of it?" I ask, a blush back on my face.

"If we're going to win over sponsors, we need to give a good first impression. When they see a young woman proud to be displaying her body, not embarrassed about being naked, you'll have an immediate leg up on the competition."

"But-" I start to say, but Cinna was making his final adjustments and ushering me from the room.

Did I really give off the impression of being so uninteresting that the only way to make me likeable was to strut around half naked?! I WAS embarrassed about being naked, but I instinctively knew the humiliated little girl act wouldn't do me any favours. As we walk down a long, cold corridor (was everywhere here cold?), and heard muffled voices growing louder by the second, I told myself to be brave.

If being naked on live national television kept me alive, it may just be worth it.