The Hunger Games

I feel stunning, my stylist might be completely crazy but damn can she make a dress. I’m wearing a long, strapless dress that goes from blue to navy to black from top the bottom. When she turns it on I shine like the night sky, or how she puts it “like the capitol skyline looks after a few drinks, thanks to the power plants in your district.” The top has a few lights sprinkled here and there and the bottom is so lit up it seems like there is no fabric underneath. Adam jokes that it looks like she got lazy and just grabbed the night sky and make it into a dress. At least this will boost my confidence in the chariot ride because I’ve already thrown up every day since leaving district 5, what will they do without me? No food, money, a few of my friends promised to take care of my family but still.

As we board the chariot I am feeling strangely good, like nothing can hurt me, odd for someone who has 23 plus people wanting her dead. Then with a sudden jolt we’re off, we go through a tunnel and enter the large square. Instantly I find myself waving with a huge smile on my face and stealing glimpses of the other tributes. I decide to look into the crowd just for fun and there they are. My parents.

Instantly I am thrown back to my childhood in district 4, training for the Hunger Games I would no doubt participate in when I turned 12. I was the shining star out of all the children I knew. “Swim like a fish, run like a cheetah, that’s my girl!” my father use to say. I detested them, they made me do their job while they sat around and drank, i had to cook, clean, train anything they told me with no questions asked. I ever complained I would be left out on the beach the entire night, they preferred to do it in the winter.

One day soon after my twin brothers were born I heard that a train was passing through district 4 to send parts into district 5. Late in the night I packed up everything I could carry, grabbed my brothers and sneaked onto the train to meet my grandparents in district 5. I never looked back after that day and here they were, staring back at me with their chilling grin and devious eyes. Then it hit me like a tonne of bricks. They want my brothers. Of course, they were so happy when they had boys. They could train them into great fighters and finally live in one of the victors houses. When I die they’ll go to district 5 and take them, those monsters! And It looks like they know someone higher up if they’re in the Capitol now. 

Finally the ride comes to an end, I realize my fists had been clenched since I saw those two. I relax and try to hide the burning inferno inside of me, I match the district to the outfits and calm myself looking for allies, if I don’t keep my head in the game it will be over for me soon.

(There was a mix up, so I am awarding this piece 10 point for the trouble.)

Our chariot pulls along the streets of the Capitol. The people are cheering at us like we are some sort of heros when the fact is that we are not. This does anger me, so when I catch a glimpse of myself across the screens; I am frowning and then I just look bored. Bored with the façade of the fact that they are cheering for me when in fact us lower districts bore them. We are not winners; we are contestants that they will soon forget the names of until they show the re-runs and then nothing.

District ten is livestock so our clothes have to represent the livestock in some way. I am wearing a simple white knee length cotton dress with a headpiece that has me looking like some sort of sheep. I hate it but I have to deal with it.  My shoes are again simple; they are black leather and match the leather belt that goes around my waist. I can hardly breathe because my stylist has put it on too tight. It brings out my chest area really well which I think was the plan all along.

I’m going to end up looking something like The Beast from Beauty and the Beast. Horns, mane, everything. Just like a wild animal. I’ll have a mane like buffalo so, big horns, fangs, and claws. It’s horrible really, they’re making me into some kind of animal, just like the livestock they kill off for others to eat. But, in a different sense it’s kind of awesome. I get to be a ferocious beast, one with power, force, something any normal person would fear. It’s not so bad I suppose. I’ll just be ferocious. Not like a tame cow or lame bull, no, I’ll be a beast. A beast so terrifying, yet so fascinating that no one can take their eyes off of me.

There’s hardly a thought in my mind as I’m lead silently towards the chariot, taking care not to step on the fine hem of my dress. It feels ironic somehow, to be so clean and proper very nights before being tossed into a fight to the death. But the Capitol is all about display, the very Games themselves are just a display. A display of power over the districts, reminding everyone just how helpless they are to protect their children. And yet, here I am behind two horses as golden as the wheat in the fields I’ve run through since childhood. I can hardly recognize myself; my dark hair curling down to my shoulders to where the first translucent bits of fabric were carefully draped. The sparkling silver-blue dress scarcely reached my knees before dissolving into delicate and feather adorned netting. But the real bit of wonder, what made everything somehow seem to fit, were the silk wheat stalks embroidered into the golden tulle that draped across my shoulders, to be cinched ever so daintily at my waist, to flow to just above my simply black boots. “You are the land darling, the fields and the sky. You are the very essence of life,” my stylist had whispered in my ear as he positioned the final few curls about my face, and swept a shimmering golden powder across my eyelids. And I felt it. Even as the progression went on, and I gazed across the other chariots at the other tributes, there was something keeping the stifling fear at bay. I was life, and I would live.

To represent my district I wear a light brown suit.

I remember when they came.

There was no warning, no sign of danger. It was just like any other night. It was raining really hard, though. I guess rain is kind of a bad omen.

They broke the door. I was sitting on the floor with Chim, trying to learn how to play an old game called Chess, when they threw it open so hard it flew off of it’s hinges. If Chim hadn’t knocked me out of the way, it would have flattened me.

Without giving a reason, they stormed in. I sat there, frozen, as they started to yell at my mother. My mother, with her kind eyes and small frame. She looked so fragile, but I knew she was strong. Strong enough to break the law.

I remember how one of the Peacekeepers grabbed her arm with such force that she cried out in pain. And then, to quiet her, the Peacekeeper slapped her across the face. She spit out blood.

I was so afraid. I tried to stumble towards her but Felix held me back. I reached my arms out as far as I could, trying to grasp her hand, but couldn’t. Felix was trying to protect me, and he knew that if I went to her they would kill me too. I would have been aiding a criminal.

My father was pleading them to not hurt us. He said he was the only one responsible, and to take only him. But they wouldn’t have that.

Sia began to cry as well. Sia was only three at the time, and she didn’t yet know how to cry quietly. This made Tucker-the youngest boy-cry as well, and it began to get louder, and louder. The sound was sickening to hear.

As Chim tried to quiet them-and Felix told me to hide behind the one chair we had-the Peacekeepers threw our small, but thick rug aside, revealing a door in the floor. I never even knew it was there. But apparently, Felix did.

“No!”he had yelled, charging at one of them. Chim screamed at him not to, and Sia and Tucker began to cry again. I cried too.

They opened the door and pulled out a girl by her blond hair, and then threw her down. She looked about Felix’s age. And sadly, Felix knew her.

“Mia!” he cried. “Mia get up! Run! MIA!”

I had no idea this girl even existed. But when she looked at my brother with love in her eyes, I began to cry. I knew she was going to die.

They slit her throat in front of us, and her blood stained the floor.

I always thought that that was the scariest moment of my life. But now, as I stand in an extremely fancy chariot, I know that I was wrong. This was the scariest moment of my life. I know that when my name gets called it will become a life or death moment. If I fail to impress, I will surely die. If I do impress, I’ll live long enough to try to win. This was all about impressing future sponsors. Life or death.

I have little ones to live for. Sia and Tucker needed food. Chim and Felix needed money to buy that food. I have to live for them. And I’m terrified.

It means nothing that I looks beautiful tonight. Though, the dress will help with the impressing. It’s actually really fantastic, the dress. Made from textiles of my district, and sewn together with the loveliest of string. My hair is natural, with only a few added curls to make my waves look nice. There’s silvery metal tinsle weaved into my hair, which catch in the light. My makeup, which is gorgeous and makes it look like I’m naturally pretty, also makes me look innocent. And I really need to look innocent. Who would sponsor the child of criminals?

I don’t know how to feel about my attire. I’ve never been so pretty before. I love the feeling, how I could get an guy in this dress, but it also makes me feel uncomfortable. People are starving back home, and I’m thinking about how pretty I look in this dress? Pathetic.

At least I have Marisa to talk to. He looks amazing tonight, with an adorable button up shirt that highlights his muscles just right. Though, the necklace around his neck takes away from the manliness. But it’s a beautiful piece of jewelry. A necklace made of metal intricately woven into an eight. It takes my breath away.

And his face! I swear he looks better than ever. Except, is that glitter on his face? Glitter?

Marisa has to be the gayest man I have ever met. Sure, he looks as straight as a board, but if you offered him the prettiest woman in our district, he’d politely refuse and wink at her father. And he can’t possibly want that broadcasted to all of Panem. Sponsors want strong fighters, and a lot of times they all think that being gay takes that away from you. But still, I can’t help but smile.

When he responds with a laugh, a wave of nostalgia hits me. I remember when we were younger, and we’d sit at lunch and laugh at how others could be. I remember when the winters were harsh, or Marisa would bring my family clothes without even being asked. And I miss those times, even if they are filled with hunger and sorrow.

Marisa has been a close friend of mine for a long time now. When we first met, it was kind of a bad time, I suppose. I was walking home, when I noticed that a group of boys had cornered Marisa and poured scraps of cloth over him. Marisa looked so scared! I had to do something.

They were older than me, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t going to just let them bully him! I yelled at them to stop, and threatened to get the Peacekeepers if they didn’t. It was an empty threat, seeing as I’m afraid of the Peacekeepers myself, but it worked. They left and Marisa and I became instant friends.

And now, we were riding to our doom together. I wish someone else had been chosen. Someone who I don’t know, someone I could kill easily. But wishing never does anything.

                I am stroking the nose of one of the black horses that will be pulling my chariot through the streets of the Capitol in just moments. I feel the pounding of my heart in my hands so strong that is making my fingers shake. The softness of the horses muzzle is the only thing keeping me grounded. My stylist showed me how to feed her sugar cubes and I continue to, from the pocket of my pants. I hate wearing pants; I almost got out of it too. My stylist thought it would be a great idea for me to wear a dress to my interview. She said it would certainly make it unforgettable. She’s sweet, I like her. The way she dressed me is pretty great, so much so that I don’t really mind the pants. I bite the inside of my cheek as I place my hand gently on the horse’s cheek, I can feel the powerful muscles under the black fun chewing the sugar cube and it reminds me just how small and insignificant I am to these people in the Capitol. Not even a real human, just a toy to be bought and a prize to be won (or destroyed trying). Thinking that makes my fingers shake again and I rest my head on the horse’s nose. The mare nibbles the corners of my brown hair (which has been cut, much to my dismay).

                I love horses, though this is the first time I’ve ever seen one alive and up close, and probably the last time too. We don’t have them in District 8, and apart from the occasional cat we don’t have much of any animals, what would we need them for? The only time I’ve ever heard of horses or seen pictures of them is when we learned about District 10 at school. I was so enthralled by the running black horse in the photo that I secretly ripped the page out of the text book and hung it up in my room. My mother didn’t approve but she didn’t say anything.

                “Have you ever been allowed to run until you didn’t feel like it any longer?” I ask the horse, looking into one of it’s large brown eyes that looks so calm. “Of course not, you’re just part of the Capitol too, aren’t you?” I whisper with a sigh.

                When it’s finally time to go, I pull myself up into the chariot with Tara, it’s the first time we get a really good look at each other and she is dazzling. I’m envious of her brightly colored dress, though my smartly fitted dress pants and button shirt that’s rolled up to the elbows and a smart jacket over top is equally as bright and shocking. The tinsel in her hair is sparkling in the low light of the hole in which we’ve been placed. The tinsel around my neck is itchy and I think emphasizes the lack of broad muscles on my chest but the beautifully woven necklace is in the shape of an eight and I like that very much. I look down at it now, fiddling with it nervously. When I look up again Tarais smiling somewhat at me, smirking in that way that I know only means: you look good but do you have to be so obvious about being gay? It’s only going to draw attention to you.

                I start laughing to show her that here in the Capitol the choice to have silver body glimmer all over my face is probably good, a small coating of shimmer just enough to give me a pleasant glowing affect and hallowing out my cheeks. The silver eyeliner around my eyes brings out the two different colors in them. I look into the face of this girl, a few years younger than me, who has been my friend for years now. I couldn’t believe it when she volunteered. I understand why, her family needed it but now I feel the compulsion to protect her, though it’s always been her job to protect me, since the day we met.

                I was being cornered by a bunch of the boys from our school out behind the school, alone and frightened I covered my hands with my head and waited for the beatings to start. They taunted me and called me names, I felt my bag being ripped over my head and all the cloth that I had been working on sewing into a scarf (scraps that I took home with me from the factory) fell over me. I heard the rocks shift as the group approached and that’s when I heardTaracalling for these boys, older than her and bigger than her, to stop. When they ignored her and kept coming after me she threatened to get a Peacekeeper and this made them hesitate. They looked down at me and I finally looked back up at them, trying to look defiant but the tears shining on my face wasn’t very convincing. Finally, after a moment the decided to leave, calling me names on the way out.

               Tarawas kind to me, helping me up and putting my stuff away. After that we sat together at lunch and stood up for each other, I helped out with her family when I could and she did the same for mine. Though her family needed help a lot more than me. Sometimes I would knit her family clothes when the winters got harsh, fabrics of different colors, scraps that didn’t match. It reminds me of my outfit as we pull out into the streets. My jacket is made of two solid colors, split down the middle; one side is pink and the other purple, both in electrifying shades. The button up shirt I’m wearing is all different patch work cloths sewn together so expertly it makes me seethe with jealousy. The pants are the same, matching but not with all sorts of squares of different colors. Here it is not scraps, rescued from a factory by shoving them up my shirt or in my boot, but cut from pools of fabric I might’ve helped make. I feel at home in these clothes, like a gentle hug from everyone back home, lifting me and keeping me up.

                So when we break from the darkness of underneath and emerge in the streets I stick my chest out and wave so enthusiastically my whole body wiggles. I smile as wide as I can, showing my newly cleaned up teeth that are dazzling white. I blow kisses and I see one or two people return them. I chance a glance at Tara, who is doing the same thing on her side. We make a radiant pair of mismatched things if I do say so myself, and that is what we are. A 17 year old boy, scared out of his wits, but willing to try and protect the little girl at his side if it’s the last thing he does. He owes her that much but that doesn’t mean he won’t go down fighting. Taking everyone he can with him.

The overpowering sound of people cheering and yelling came over me as I stepped out of the car, thousands of faces stretched down the street for what seemed like miles. The dress I was wearing weighed me down. It was a strapless gown that was made of thick, layered fabric. The dress was a metallic chrome, reflecting off the thousands of tiny lights that covered it in red, green, and yellow. Someone told me that from far away, it looked like the dress was simply glowing. Despite the fact that it came down and covered my feet, I had a pair of heels on that was the exact color of the dress, just without the lights.

My fellow tribute was beside me, wearing a matching suit and tie. We were holding hands,    and I could feel his nervousness as I was almost positive he could feel mine as well. I saw people staring in awe at our outfits to the right of me, waving their hands and reaching out over the gate. I remembered what my mentor told me, “you look beautiful. Now act it.” I gave a tiny grin, looking people in the eye as we made our way past them. I had heard some people say they avoided eye contact, but I didn’t. Why? My mother once told me that the way into someone’s heart is through their eyes. I wanted to be remembered.