This is an excerpt from Suzanne Collins' The Hunger Games from the point of view of Glimmer, District One's female tribute.
.Glimmer .
I can't open my eyes. I try and try, but they won't budge. It's not that I'm tired; I literally cannot open them. They're glued together by the heavy make up from last night's opening ceremony. I knew I should have washed it off before I went to bed, but I was just so exhausted. And disappointed.
The lights last night were blinding and the screams from the crowd, deafening. Being in District One has its perks. We get the first applause. The crowds are most attentive to us. Generally, after about the sixth district, they lose their interest and get bored upon seeing the same thing over and over again.
When I stepped out of the car, I felt a surge of energy I've never felt before. The clapping and yelling was addictive. The feeling of adoration was only a step down from pure ecstasy. Looking back now, I realize that it's not real adoration. They do not love me. In just a week, they'll be watching me fight for my life. Many of my so-called "fans" will, in fact, find themselves cheering for my executioner. Not that I plan to die. I hope.
Lying here, momentarily blinded, I continue to dissect the events of last night. No matter how hard I try to focus on the crowd's reaction to me, how they swooned over my diamond-studded ensemble, my memory is filled with fire. Their fire. I could feel the exact moment when the crowd's favor fell from my clutches. I turned and found myself looking at the most sickeningly exquisite view one's eyes could possibly hold. District Twelve's tributes were on fire! Their heads and backs were aflame. My first feeling was one of panic, of a need to call for help, but that rapidly morphed into extreme disgust. How dare they show me up! I'm from District One! We've got diamonds and gems galore. How could a pair of coal miners' children take away the adoration I deserve? It was repulsive, really.
Suddenly, snapping me out of my rueful recollection, there is a loud banging on the door. I'm startled into a still-blinded, seated position.
"Get up! Get dressed! Get ready!" It's the unmistakable voice of Jailene, District One's escort. If that woman needs anything, it's a vacation. I've never in my life met a more stressed out, uptight person in all my life, which is saying a lot considering I live surrounded by the most cross people in all of Panem.
I wriggle my way out from under the covers without responding. Such a response would be a waste of words for I know Jailene is already on the other end of the hall by now. I scoot to the side of the bed and peer over the edge. My request for a step ladder has been denied twice. Although I am but an inch from six-feet-tall, I experience tremendous difficulties when climbing into bed at night, even more so when sliding out, come morning. The Capitol has always been the leading frontier of "fashion over function", "pretty before practical", and the like. There is no better definition of this absurdity than one relayed by a single look at my monstrous bed.
The task of dismounting said colossal bed is especially tricky without the aid of my vision. Difficulties aside, one foot after the other, I slither down to the cool, wooden floor. I make it safely to the ground and feel my way around in search of the bathroom. In my quest, I successfully trip over a chair and stub my toe on a bookshelf. The doorway to the bathroom is also disproportionately large in comparison to my above-average height, so I stay to the right side, feeling my way in by use of the doorframe, my toe continuing to throb from its previous misadventures. God, why does this room have to be so confusing? I want to go home. To my room and my mom. And my normal-sized bed.
Because I'm not paying attention, I run into the step that lead up to the sink, sending a sharp pain through my shins. Great. The other tributes won't even have to kill me, now. I'm doing a pretty good job myself. Both my toe and shin throb in agreement with my thoughts.
As I trudge up the stairs, I can't help but become irritated at the fact that I'm actually going up stairs to reach the sink! Doesn't the Capitol realize how impractical this is? Well, of course they do. It's the Capitol. They know everything, right? Come on, we aren't giants! Therefore, our rooms should not be furnished as though we were. I want to ask Theon what his room is like, but we aren't exactly buddy, buddy enough for that. I don't even know him. The idea of us holding hands like those tributes from District 12 is preposterous. Ugh, District Twelve. Ugh, my huge bed. Ugh, my aching body. Ugh, my blindness. Ugh, the Hunger Games. Ugh, ugh, ugh.
Now I'm fuming and I feel ridiculous because I realize I've stopped walking. I've only taken about two steps. I curse my wandering mind and jog up the last five steps or so.
When I reach the top, I reach for the faucet handle. Upon falling forward, reaching no such knob, I'm less-than-astonished by the bathtub-sized sink that catches me. I expected as much. I climb clumsily into the counter, slipping in a wet spot and tumbling into my doom, also known as the sink. I gain my footing again and feel around for the handle, which, of course, simply to contradict my expectations, it normal-sized. I turn the knob slowly, half-expecting to be washed away by a raging flood of water from the faucet I know is around here somewhere. The sound of water swelling in the pipes is very audible, and I am infinitely relieved when I feel the water slowly pool around my feet.
At this point, I'm beyond aggravated with my inability to see, and I waste no time in dipping my hands into the cool water around my ankles. I splash my face, and scrub furiously at the paste-like makeup. Since there is no chance of finding the soap in my condition, so I make do and rub my eyes raw until they burn. With one final splash of icy water, I open my eyes, and wipe them on the only dry spot left on my gown.
Then I see her. She's beautiful, regardless of the raccoon-type mask left by an unsuccessful attempt at washing her face. Her hair is tangled and matted, and yet, it shines in its golden splendor, nonetheless. Even knee-deep in a bathtub, she stands elegantly tall, her lengthy figure perfectly proportioned. Her hazel eyes glimmer with a seductive twinkle even without the help of the sunshine. Glimmer. Me.
I stare at myself for a moment longer and then look away as my thoughts become less flattering and more critical. I reach over a turn off the still-running water, which has now filled the sink entirely with frigid water. I slosh across the length of the marble pond to the bottle of soap I had spotted out of the corner of my eye while I examined myself. I grab the bottle and pour an ample amount into my free hand. Without hesitation, I lather my face with the lavender-scented liquid, polishing my porcelain skin clean of the black residue. I don't stop at that. I pour myself another handful of the purple goop and massage it into a frothy mess in my hair. I was unaware, until now, of the vast quantities of hairspray clinging to every strand. How good it feels to get clean.
Again, without wavering, I shimmy out of my nightgown and sling it over the edge of the counter. I splash into the mercilessly chilly water, rinsing the foam from my face and divine tresses. Although I'm used to warm showers daily in District One, there is something delightfully wonderful about this particular "bath". I feel renewed with every bracing lick of the water on my skin. I never want this moment to end. In this exact instant, I can almost forget about the Games and the hell that lies ahead of me. Almost.
I know I've taken much too long, and when I cannot possibly stay in the comfortingly bitter water any longer, I scramble out. When the surrounding air embraces my body, a shiver violently darts through me. The sharp, short-lived pain snaps me back into reality and I scamper down the stairs and across the bathroom to a conveniently inviting towel rack. I wrap myself snuggly in a fluffy yellow one as I continue to shudder sporadically. As my body temperature begins to regulate, the shivers die down and are soon but an unpleasant memory. Well, at least they have good taste in towels.
I mosey back into the main room. God, it's even more vomit-inducing when observing it with the entirety of my vision. The only thing that's normal sized is the door, which gives the illusion that a miniature world is behind it in comparison to the monstrosities lining every wall around me. I look around for something to wear, as my outfits have been laid out for me every day thus far. On the short flight of stairs leading to the vanity mirror, I see a neatly folded ensemble, presumably my outfit of the day. I drag myself across the room and reach for the stack.
The article I hold up is a sheer golden tunic. It's very soft, yet durable, I can tell. I look through the pile for an undershirt to go with it, but there isn't one. Of course there isn't. Wow. Way to be subtle about my angle, Taryn. Seriously? Today is the start of training and she's put me in a see through gold top and an exceptionally tight pair of black pants. Surely there must be times when even the stylist in wrong, because this certainly does not seem right. Well, at least the pants are stretchy. I hate that I saw this coming. Even though my open ceremony outfit was a bit revealing, I still clung to hope that I wouldn't be labeled as "The Sexy One". Everybody knows "The Sexy One" is considered a weak link. Then again, perhaps that's better. Then I can turn around and get them when they least expect it.
It's not that I deny my dashing good looks; I just wish they weren't the only thing people noticed or remembered about me. I'm a smart girl. Well, smart enough. I'm strong, too. I am more than just a pretty face, and I plan to use my skills to defeat all who come my way.
With that, I quickly slip into my all-displaying ensemble. I find it completely unnecessary to climb another pointless set of stairs to reach the mirror to check that I look alright. As soon as I walk out, Taryn will rush towards me to fix it again, anyway. As I head for the door, I realize how dreadful my hair probably looks. I didn't do anything to it following getting out of the sink, so I'm sure it's quite a sight to behold. Again, I dismiss the thought considering the minute I step into the hall, I'll be ambushed by a team of deranged beauticians.
I turn the door know with ease and slip into the hall as quietly as possible, hoping to delay the unavoidable waylay. The coast is clear. Comfort sweeps over me as I creep down the normal-sized hallway. I'm glad to be away from the land of the giants. It's amazing that each district gets its own level in this hotel. I mean, sure it's a huge event, but an entire floor is gargantuan. It's nice being on the bottom floor, but it's not much for a view. I scorn myself for thinking of such foolish trivialities. This is the Huger Games. Hotel view should be the last of my worries. I wonder who else stays on this floor other than Me, Asa, Jailene, our stylists Taryn and Qin, and the three stooges, who seem to have no purpose other than to create a general feeling of annoyance wheresoever's they may be at a particular moment in time. Surely there should be more people taking up the copious amounts of space this floor has to offer.
My thoughts are brought to an abrupt halt upon my entering the dining room. Suddenly, I desperately wish I had combed my hair. Who is THAT? Someone please tell me who this god is standing between Jailene and Theon? Tell me now or I will tackle him and wring the answer out of him myself. Although, I'm certain I would do that anyway, should the opportunity present itself.
Jailene, hopefully not sensing my thoughts, says, "Good morning, slow poke. This is your mentor, Asa." Asa. What a nice name. What a nice face. I bet he's every bit as beautiful on the inside as the outside. His tall, dark stature. His rugged brown hair. And those eyes! A perfect complement to mine. Now, Theon and I had been told that our mentor would be a day or two late, a fact that, at the time, had seriously pissed me off. How dare MY mentor show up late! Clearly MY survival means nothing to him! But now, staring at this divine being standing in front of me, all of those past emotions have transformed. Into love.
"Hello, Glimmer," says this deity. He puts his hand out to shake mine, but my thoughts are so jumbled, I don't recognize the gesture and I just stand here, looking foolishly at his outstretched hand. "Fabulous," he sarcastically sings, "That's two retarded tributes this year."
Theon shoots him a dirty look, but refrains from acting on his irritation. Surely Theon must've done something stupid to warrant such a comment. I just stand here, dumbfounded, still unspeaking.
"Uh, hey," I croak. I remember that this is the first time I've spoken since I woke up. If only I'd taken a moment to clear my throat! My words come out cracked and squeaky. Curse this day!
"Charming," Asa rolls his eyes and walks to the table. He takes his seat, and in an adolescent haste, I scramble to the chair directly to his right. I curse under my breath. Why am I such a girl? I scorn myself yet again for my teenaged naivety and take my seat. Everyone else follows suit. My show seems to have gone unnoticed among them, but I'm certain Asa was aware.
An uncomfortable silence takes over during the entirety of breakfast. My thoughts circulate; most of them are meaningless recollections mingled with fantasies about my left side neighbor. I fumble with the tablecloth hanging in my lap, attempting to inconspicuously dry my fatefully sweaty palms. As I'm looking down, something comes to my attention. My blouse. It's see through. Asa did not look even once! And I was unable to charm him with my eyes. And my shapely legs have gone unnoticed! Surely this means nothing. It can't. Oh no…he can't be! He just can't be… No. I can't even bring myself to say it. Not even in my head. My hands are sweating even more, but now in response to a completely different emotion. That must be it. He's gay.
I feel brainless for having gone crazy over him upon our first encounter. However, I am grateful that I figured it out so soon and such affections were short-lived. Otherwise, unfortunate events may have ensued. Whew! For once, I silently applaud my attentiveness.
"So, is anyone else's room super huge?" I slice through the silence, my confidence freshly boosted. Jailene looks up as though the sound of a human voice is an unfamiliar phenomenon. Asa, still mind-numbingly attractive, yet even more off-limits now, continues to eat as though I have not spoken. "Guess not," I mumble.
Taryn changes the subject quickly with, "What on earth have you done to your hair?"
"I washed it," I say slightly annoyed. Yes, I know I look like Fido's rear end. I don't need Taryn to point it out to me in such a manner.
"You'd never know it," Asa cuts in condescendingly. He's getting less and less attractive by the minute. Why I was so attracted to him, I don't know. He's very clearly an insensitive bastard. I suppose my hormones got the best of me. I respond to his mockery with a livid sneer.
Once breakfast is over, it's all business. Taryn whisks me away to help me fix my dreadful hair. She shakes her head, making the occasional tsk as she attempts to make me presentable. With a dash of sparkling eye makeup here and a little rouge there, she spruces up my visage, which is no easy task. Now that Taryn has had her way with me, Jailene appears in the doorway. She motions for me to follow her and exits again as swiftly as she entered. I jog to catch up with her quick stride.
When we reach the sitting room, Theon is waiting for us on the couch. I take my place to his right as Jailene, without delay, asks us if we would like to be coached together or separately. Before I've even processed the question, Theon dives for door number two, leaving me no room to interject my own opinion. Not that ours differ. Theon is my opponent. I can't allow him to know my secrets.
Asa then proceeds to give us a few general words of advice for our first day of training. As he does so, I notice Theon's eyes flick down to my thinly veiled chest and back up again in an instant. Asa takes no such gander. Of course.
"Hold back," he advises. "Don't show them all you've got," and with that, he chuckles and gestures towards my tunic. Very funny. What a jokester. He's got charm AND humor. My irritation is swelling.
"Don't we want them to be intimidated by us, though?" questions Theon.
"You do, but they will already be intimated by your colossal size and Special Needs over here's dashing good looks." Dashing good looks? Well, at least he thinks I'm pretty. And retarded.
I can tell Theon doesn't completely trust Asa's advice. I'm not sure I do, either. I'll probably have to show off a little bit just to get the other tributes' knees shaking. Otherwise, they won't respect me as a serious competitor, especially if Tayrn continues to clothe me so scandalously.
As I'm listening to Asa, I get my first good look at Theon. He's big and gruff looking and his features match his name. Powerful. There's nothing particularly unusual about his looks other than one thing. A long, thin scar cuts through his left eyebrow, leaving a slim, bald streak in the middle. I'd like to ask him where it came from, but like I said, we aren't really friends, as is evident in the hardly five words we've said to each other since the reaping. Not that we were friends before. Although we hang with the same circle of friends, our paths just never seem to cross. Until now. It's not that I would mind being his friend, and I suppose he's even someone I would be attracted to, if he wasn't such a knucklehead. However, that seems like a moot point now, considering we're supposed to kill each other, and all.
Theon and I go our separate ways to further prepare ourselves for the first day of training; I with Asa, Theon with Jailene. I follow Asa back down the long, narrow hallway to a door at the very end of the passage. He opens the door and entreats my entry, giving me a short nod as we pass. The room is shockingly bare in comparison to the rest of the floor. White walls and carpeting set the backdrop for absolutely no furniture with the exception of two flowered chair and a small lamp stand, with its respective lamp, separating the chairs. I chose the chair on the right, as I do prefer being on the right.
"So," Asa grunts as his takes his seat across from me, "What are your skills? What are you good at?"Inexplicably, something about this room and this day is causing my mind to go blank as I search for the answer to his simple question. "Alright, are you going to try to work with me here or not? I'm trying to help you, so you need to cut out the whole 'cat's got your tongue' routine. Now."
"I'm sorry!" I snap, my ego a bit wounded by his remark."I don't know why I'm acting so strangely. Give me a break, will you? I'm essentially about to sacrifice myself to the almighty Capitol in a cruel, blood craving tradition. So, pardon me if my thoughts are a bit jumbled!"
Asa continues to stare at me as if I've said nothing.
"I'm good with a knife," I grumble.
"That's a good start. How good."
"Pretty good."
"Show me." He opens a small box on the lamp stand and pulls out a retractable knife. Upon pushing a button on the side of the contraption, the blade threateningly springs out. He hands me the knife, and with quick hands, I throw it at the opposing wall. Rather than the blade penetrating the wall, the handle end strikes the wall and bounces to rest on the floor, an obvious symbol of failure.
What's wrong with me? At home, I'm the best knife thrower of everyone. How did this just happen?
"Well, I hope you have a plan B," Asa mocks.
"I don't need one."
"Not according to that lovely display of your incompetence. In any case, come up with a backup plan. That's what the training is for. Build your skills."
"But I'm good with a knife!" I protest.
"No according to that," he says, pointing to the lonely knife on the floor.
"It's just nerves."
"Just nerves!" I've obviously struck a bad note."If you're nervous right now, with just me sitting here, imagine how nervous you will be in front of the private session judges? How on earth do you plan to get a good score throwing like that? Imagine what you will do when you're face to face with death in the arena. Are you going to blame your slow, painful demise on your nerves? Listen, Sparkle-"
"Glimmer," I interrupt.
"Listen up, Glimmer. You mess up there, in that arena, and you're royally screwed."
"Fine! I'm not disagreeing with you that I need to learn more things, I just want you to know I DO have skill. I'm capable of more than posing for pictures and painting my nails."
"We'll see about that."
"You know, I get the feeling you want to see me die. You don't think I can win, do you?"
Asa laughs tauntingly as that and shakes his head. He stands up, chuckles breaking out sporadically, and walks to the door. He turns the doorknob and begins to walk out. Halfway out, he stops and turns back to me. "Try not to act and dumb as you look," he says, and with that, he shuts the door and I am left alone.
Not only was such a comment ridiculously offensive, it was based on but an hour-long acquaintanceship. He doesn't even know me.
Intruding into my thoughts, a voice comes on over the intercom, "Come on now. Don't let him get you down. It's time to start your training." It's Jailene. So she was watching? I look conspicuously for the hidden camera. I wonder if our entire meeting was broadcast to all of Panem. Well, of course the entire meeting wouldn't be put in for two reasons. One, I'm not nearly as interesting as those two goons from District Twelve. Two, The Capitol would never allow my rant about their cruelty to be aired. No doubt, the knife throwing bit made it onscreen. How embarrassing! Now, sponsors will think I'm weak and won't want to waste money on me. Oh no. I'll have to score outlandishly high in my private session now. Well, at least I can use this as motivation in training, as if my impending doom in the arena wasn't enough.
Damn my nerves. Damn training. Damn the Hunger Games.
I get up and storm through the door and into the hall. Suddenly, something grabs me. I feel a strong arm wrap around my body, constricting me. I attempt to scream, but a hand covers my mouth forcefully. I bite at the hand and squirm to break free of the firm, frightening grip. Tears well up in my eyes. My heart stops for a moment before going into overdrive. The thudding of my heart is ringing in my ears.
"Sh. Sh. It's just me," the voice is familiar. Asa. "Quiet," he angrily whispers. "Come with me."
I have no choice but to comply. His grip on my arm is unyielding and I can feel my fingers getting cold. He tightens the impossibly tight grip and pulls me across the hall. He fumbles with the doorknob of a room I assume is a closet. When we're inside, I see that my assumption was correct. I'm confused and frightened. What's going on? Asa released his hand from my mouth before opening the door, so I am free to make sound, but I know better. Whatever's going on, words won't help me now.
Asa shuts the door behind me, and in an instant, I've found myself pushed against it. I struggle to break away, but he's much stronger than I am. I build up the courage and without hesitation, let out a blood-curdling scream, but it doesn't last long. The air is knocked out of me by a blow to the stomach. He must have used his knee because his hands are still pinning my arms to the wall. I keep thinking, over and over again, you bastard. I've taken to kicking my legs out in hope of knocking him off of me, but it's clear that his anger is growing and providing him with more power.
"You see darlin', there are times for business," he grunts against my thrashing, "and there are times for pleasure. These Games just happen to be a place where I can mix the two together." He's smiling now. "If you'd stop wigglin' and squirmin', I'm sure we could make a nice, little arrangement." With that, I spit in his face, turning his sly smile into a much more terrifying frown.
"You bastard."
My head then hits the wall with such force I feel dizzy. He must've pushed me again, but everything is getting hazy. I feel nothing and it's almost as though I'm witnessing this event from outside of my body. "Fight!" my outer self says. "Get away!" But I'm blacking out and every grunt, every shuffle, is accompanied by a haunting echo.
I have a feeling I'm going to be late for training.