Light Them Up
AN: Before you read this, this is tied to a Dutch syot story, but you can read this separately. All you need to know is that this is about Kevin Jones, a district 5 tribute and this takes place after the Interviews, the day before the Bloodbath.
The bad TL-light was reflected by the shiny metal work, constantly drawing my attention to the polished cigarette lighter that was held between the interrogator's nimble fingers. He toyed with it, let the light catch all the sides and reflect on the dull, claustrophobic walls that enclosed us. My eyes were naturally drawn to it, like a magpie to a shiny object, and I found the interrogator's smug smile grow ever more so whenever I did. He was provoking me.
"I know this wasn't yours," he told me, his fingers never stopping their constant toying with the lighter. I licked my lips and willed my eyes away from the object, choosing instead to stare at a gray wall. "They found Mable wailing about losing it to the Dirtcrawlers. Really Kevin, stealing from a Morhpling that is still talking about muttations as if she were in the Arena? Quite low for someone who thinks he has morals as high as yours."
My eyes flashed to his smug expression, his clean shaved face and his impeccable clothing and I couldn't stop the next words from flowing out like poison. "Might be that stealing from a Morhpling isn't the greatest thing to do, but who put her in that state to begin with? Who made her wail about Dirtcrawlers and other horrors only found in labs and Arenas? That was the Capitol. Between you and me, if you're talking about morals, I doubt stealing a lighter holds a candle to utterly destroying people and murdering children."
The interrogator sighed. "Really, Kevin, if that is what you think of us... You sound like quite the rebel."
Cold steel eyes met mine, the dangerous 'rebel' word hanging between us like an electric current.
"Maybe I don't just sound like one," I told him, and the toying with the lighter stopped with a clink as the lighter was put down on the table. "I suppose lighting the flag of the Capitol on fire was a dead giveaway."
"Yes, quite unsightly in front of thousands of people and cameras. Proud of your handiwork?"
"Tremendously so." And I couldn't stop the smile that was tugging at the corners of my lips to stop from showing.
There was a heavy silence, one in which I was observed with a calculating stare. "What am I going to do with you, Kevin? I can't keep you here."
"You mean you can't murder me, because I'm a tribute," I stated coldly. "Be blunt here, interrogator, you can't murder me because the public would know something was amiss. But we both know I don't have much chance of winning the Hunger Games. Either you end me now, or let me die in the Arena. The Arena seems like a much better option if you don't want to miss a tribute at the Bloodbath tomorrow."
The man picked up the lighter again, toying with it and letting it catch the harsh light. I had to make an effort not to get transfixed by the hypnotizing movement. I licked my lips again.
"What if you did win?" the interrogator asked. "I'd have you running around, playing the hero and lighting Capitol flags on fire. We don't want that, Kevin."
I sighed, for that was where he was wrong.
"No, you would have me wailing about Dirtcrawlers, while my brain was slowly deteriorating from overuse on Morphling. Winners never come out with their mind intact, that is common knowledge, and Mable is a prime example of that."
We both stared at the lighter, which once belonged, or did still depending how you looked at it, to Mable. "So what do you suggest? That I let you go and risk you winning the Games?"
I held my breath, cut my gaze away from the lighter and coolly met the interrogator's eyes. "Exactly. You need me for the Bloodbath. You need twenty-four tributes to start tomorrow. I'm not worth to be killed now when I could be dead tomorrow by the hands of a Career. You can't start any rumors."
It was quiet for a long time, while the lighter kept reflecting the TL-light as nimble fingers turned it over and over. And then the man leaned back in his metal chair, never once losing the rhythm he had developed.
"It's a pity I don't smoke, since I can't give this back to you or Mable," he eventually said. "It's a shiny little thing."
I smirked. "Perhaps you can use it to set district flags on fire. One with a nice '5' would do, wouldn't you think? I think my district friends would enjoy that."
That got me a raised eyebrow. "Don't get too cocky now, I'm not about to start a trend."
"You say that now," I countered.
"Yes, I do. Now, have fun with the Bloodbath tomorrow." His voice was ice-cold. "I hope you find it just as exhilarating as the public will find it."
"Perhaps I will," I told him through clenched teeth.
With a last look and a nod, he left me in a metal chair without a lighter, under the harsh TL-light, enclosed by gray walls, and all I could think about was how I would one day be lucky enough to wail about Dirtcrawlers, for then I would still be alive. Crazed, but alive, and that beat lying in a coffin any day.
AN: So yeah, that was it! I hope you enjoyed and please leave a review!
Voor de Nederlanders: Ik kreeg het idee samen met Jade Lammourgy (kevin is van de 68ste Hongerspelen) en kon zelf niet wachten met schrijven haha, dus vandaar. Mijn Kevin is nogal anders, maar dat komt omdat ik natuurlijk nooit met hem geschreven heb of iets.