A Tale of Two Cities
Chapter 1- Love at first sight
I sat impatiently, my hands tapping the oak table in front of me, when I saw it. On the huge flat screen above my head, a girl with long, auburn hair and a sky blue dress was running towards the stage, pushing a small blonde girl behind her. There had been rumours, but until now I hadn't actually believed it! A young volunteer from District 12 was now famous all through the Capitol! DISTRICT 12! FAMOUS! Unbelievable. Their first volunteer. And it was a young girl called Katniss Everdeen. I must admit though, she was one brave, brave soul, protecting her sister like that. Half of the people in Panem would mourn and then move on. A quarter of them would volunteer so that they would get their parents approval and not their sibling. But volunteering to protect her sister‽‽ Now that was something unexpected.
I saw her little sister getting pulled away from the Peacekeepers, tears pouring down her face. The man that carried her looked strong, a relative I think. The resemblance was good enough. He had the light grey eyes, the same athletic, hunter-like build as Katniss. At first glance, I thought they were siblings. But, looking carefully I could see slight change in build and actions that show other-wise. The shape of his nose, his strong arms and broad shoulders were different. Whereas Katniss was flittering towards the stage like a mockingjay, he was built like a predator, soaring through the crowd, a strong grip on his prey and a grim expression on his face. There's no doubt he'd be a career if he got reaped. Although, if he is as protective as he looks to be, the Careers wouldn't stand a chance, no matter who volunteered.
The child's mother was now weeping, her heart-wrenching sobs only making the girl in the man's arms cry harder. I almost cried myself, watching the little girl (Primrose? Yeah, Primrose) being pulled into a sobbing woman's arms. She was gorgeous. Even whilst crying, her eyes shone like lapis lazuli. It was obvious that she had the heart of an angel. It was tragic that people like her are being abused in this excruciating manner. Why does Snow do this? Torture everyone in Panem for his own entertainment? It's disgusting. But unfortunately, nobody can speak their mind here. Snow rules over Panem like Hitler ruled Germany in the folktales of the 'Old World'. In war and in pain.
"Mr Flickerman? We're ready for your commentary with Mr Crane," a voice said from behind the mahogany door as I jumped out of my skins. It's almost as if they know when somebody is defying him. I cringed pitifully at the thought of it. It's not unlikely. "Hurry UP Flickerman!" Claudius Templesmith shouts through the door. Damn Templesmith, he's such a lapdog. HE's oh so perfect, always following Crane's beck and call. "I'm coming!" I exclaimed sharply. I hate having to laugh and pretend to joke with him. The ignorant little sheep hasn't had an original idea since the day he was born. Ah well. I once again plastered the fake blue smile on my face, reapplied that ridiculous white makeup and walked out the door.
"Hello and welcome, people of Panem, to the 74th Annual Hunger Games! I'm Caesar Flickerman, and right beside me here is my co-host, Claudius Templesmith, and this year's Gamemaker, Seneca Crane. So Seneca, what is your opinion on the Hunger Games themselves?" I ask, grinning emotionlessly.
"Well Caesar, I think it's our tradition. The Hunger Games come out of a particularly painful part of our history," he starts.
"Yes, yes, definitely," Templesmith murmurs. Like I said previously, not a single thought of his own.
"But," Seneca continues, "It's been the way we've been able to heal. At first, it was a reminder of the rebellion; it was a price the districts had to pay. But I think it has grown from that, I think it's uh…something that knits us all together."
The audience claps and practically roars out their agreement. But of course they agree. They don't have to watch their children, their sisters, their brothers, get killed year after year without repentance. They don't have to watch as the sole victor then goes back home, only to fall to the nightmares that eat away at their very soul, collapsing in on their guilt, until all that is left is an empty shell, who then has to relive their horrors again and again, as they train their tributes, like pigs for slaughter.
I push back such apostate thoughts, and as the crowd finally calms down, I continue the interview. "So, Seneca, this is your third year as Gamemaker. What defines your personal signature?"
"Well Caesar, I like to think that all of the games I have conducted, and all of my future games, are special. All Gamemakers add a twist, something that makes the tributes remember why they are here. I like to take a look at the tributes for the year, and then analyse them. Find out their strengths, their weaknesses, and I like to play on them all. Of course, during training sessions I will tweak the arena slightly, and then I will do it again during the actual games. But, Caesar, Claudius, I like it up-close and personal." Templesmith and I both laugh with Seneca at this, but only one of us is sincere in our joy.
"Forgive me if I sound sadistic, but I love to see the look on the tributes faces when they realise that something has happened that can affect them and them only. I love seeing the agony on their faces as they realise that I know all of their deepest, darkest secrets, and when they realise that I have and continue to use them. It's brutal, but then again, aren't all of the people who go into the Hunger Games? I just help them to embrace the vicious, ruthlessness inside of them, so that they stand a better chance at winning. After all, a tribute who expects everything cannot be surprised."
The crowd goes wild again, and Templesmith throws his head back and thunders with laughter. He shakes Seneca's hand and then turns to the balcony at the back of the stage. He gestures to President Snow. "Well Seneca, you are doing a marvellous job! If you weren't you wouldn't be here!" Templesmith roars out. Snow inclines his head in a small, yet noticeable nod, and holds up his glass as the camera focuses on him for his reply. He smirks sinisterly before downing the rest of his drink, and motioning for his Avox to get him another. I can barely take any more of this barbarity. They are all sick.
"Well folks, that's all for now. Stay tuned in for the Tribute parade, and our thoughts on this year's tributes. Goodnight!" Templesmith hollers and the lights go out. Finally! I really need a drink…
A/N: I'm busy re-writing all of the chapters in this story in a probably vain attempt to get more reviews. If there's anything you would like to see in the story, or if there's any suggestions, please review or PM me xxx