I don't own The Hunger Games, Suzanne Collins does.
Just a bit of an introduction to give my main character some me-time.
I'll try and update at least once a week, maybe more :D
Review for love :D
I knew. Of course I knew. Grandpa Snow was far too charming, too slippery to be a nice guy. I guess everyone knew how malicious he was, they were scared of speaking out. I've grown up in a bubble, pampered, servants attending to me night and day. Only in fear of my name I suppose. Because I was Grandpa's little darling.
It was almost two years ago now I watched on the screens a flaming Katniss Everdeen parade around on her chariot. With one hand waving to the people and blowing kisses, the other tightly in Peeta Mellark's grip she smiled and cheered. Her fake smiles made me laugh and shout at the time, but looking back on it they seem more like grimaces. My friends and I almost feinted when we heard Peeta declare his love for her, as giggling 14 year olds we followed their relationship intently with morbid fascination as we all agreed it was cute, but would end tragically.
Mama said we shouldn't concern ourselves with the hunger games she said they were "just trivial amusements to please the hoi polloi and remind them of their place". She told me I should only think of sweet and lovely things like dressing up and hair styles.
I can remember Grandpa coming over for dinner one evening, a week or so after Katniss and Peeta had been declared joint winners of the 74th hunger games. He snapped at Mama, whom he usually adored, and wouldn't even talk to my father, his own son, except to give a bland complement on the weather. I don't like Grandpa when he's angry; he's always very silent, like an angered street cat, frozen with its back to a wall, ready to pounce at any second.
A year later I watched the screening of the quarter quell on TV, I thought it was really unfair to let Mags, the frail old lady, compete, but Mama said she hadn't many years left in her anyway. We oohed and ahed as Finnick Odair appeared, his head held high. Mother had been talking about him for years, saying how when he won a few years ago, the women of the capitol collectively sobbed when they realised he was only fourteen at the time. I can see why Mama liked him, his floppy copper hair and flirtatious smile made us both giggle.
The Seventy Fifth Hunger Games were quite enjoyable, but they'd been over hyped and there was a noticeable tension right from the interviews. It was almost painful to watch people who had been friends forced to tear each other apart.
Then the transmissions ended. I knew something was wrong; it was tangible in the way my parents acted. My seldom seen father had to go away on "important business" more and more often. Mama said she was struggling to get particular items from the shops, but assured me that we had to get them. That's what Mama loved about being married to the president's son, the allusion of power over everyone, the feeling that she was loved and respected by them. No one knew her anymore as the slimy socialite who would say anything to anyone if it gave her status.
"Mama, Esmeralda says she can't get any new dresses at the moment, why not?" I asked her one evening as she came into my room to say good night.
"Because the nasty little people in District 8 don't want to make the cloth anymore. It will be fine though darling, Daddy's doing his job and the bad workers will.." She hesitated. "Change their minds". This is how she usually spoke to me, like a five year old, as if I couldn't handle the real world.
"Mother. I'm not a little kid, I'm nearly 16. You can tell me the truth. I've heard people talking about a District rebellion in the shops today."
"That's not true, of course not darling. Like I said, it's only a minor problem; it'll be sorted out in a few days. Don't you go listening to the rubbish the riff raff in the shops are saying."
Satisfied she'd answered my question, she kissed my head and left my room. I wanted to go on, I wanted to ask more, but frankly, I don't think she knew anymore. Why would the government want to entrust secrets to a loose tongued social climber?
In the following weeks, people really started to notice things happening outside of the Capitol. There were all sorts of rumours flying around; district 6 had been obliterated, 3 had developed its own stash of nuclear weapons, everything was fine, mutations had run rampage over 9, our water supply was being poisoned, you get the picture. No one seemed to believe any of this, and still behaved as normal, but people had started to adopt a hushed voice they only used when they were talking of the possibility of an ongoing rebellion.
Of course I heard none of this myself, Mama was allowing me out of the house on my own less and less, but I did still get to see my friends, and they assured me this was true.
Soon after I'd finished my home schooling for the day, they would all run up to me going "Oh Claudia, you will not believe what I have just heard..." This was standard practice; I got gossip from my friends because I was by now a reluctant hermit. Mama said it was for my own good that I wasn't seen in public, and that I did believe. Even before the trouble started, I still had to use a hood to cover my face and my sapphire blue hair (a classic that will never go out of fashion). There were people around who didn't like Snow, and the only way they could take much revenge against him was by hurting his family, so I didn't get to attend many public events.
The night of the first rebel broadcast was the last night I ever saw my father. He was back from controlling the Capitol's army for just over a day, and we were gathered on the sofa as a family, an event that hadn't happened for months. We were watching the news together on the wall sized television screen, the ageless broadcaster telling us not to fear, as the "minor problem" in the districts was all but over. Daddy was looking anxiously at the screen;
"It's all lies" He muttered. I asked him what he meant but Mama interrupted me.
"I think it's about time you were going to bed sweety, you mustn't make Daddy stay up, he has to go away again tomorrow." She said curtly. I reluctantly agreed and wished Daddy goodbye. I knew I probably wouldn't be up to see him the next morning, he tended to leave at dawn.
As I left the room, action shots of Katniss Everdeen began to come onto the screen. Mama tried to change the channel, but the rebel broadcast stayed. It even made the television stay on; eventually she had to unplug it at the wall. Her expression of anger was almost feral, she seemed to hate the rebels even more than Daddy, and he was the one fighting them.
If I had known I wasn't going to see him again, I would have stayed and told him what I truly thought of him. It may seem cruel but I would have told him how he was never there to see me grow up, how he was always in district two bossing peacekeepers around and at secret meetings with Grandpa Snow. I would have asked him why he married such a despicable, two faced woman. But I didn't, I just said goodnight.
Weeks later I found out that General Julius Snow was buried alive as he retreated from rebels in district two. They never even found his body.
I never had much time to grieve for my father, things moved too quickly towards the end of the war. Mama had just received a phone call from Grandpa to tell her that her husband had been dead for the past fortnight. She was distraught, when I heard her crying I knew something was wrong. She was a strong woman most of the time, and wouldn't cry this easily. But now her tough facade had shattered like a dropped wine glass.
She was just about to put the phone down, comfortable that no more bombshells were to be dropped, when Grandpa added the killer detail, the rebels were now assaulting the Capitol. We had to move from our expensive townhouse. As a proud woman, this is what practically broke her. She collapsed by the phone and when I found her she was being fanned by a maid.
We were at 'Auntie' Cassandra's house the night the rebels reached the Capitol. Cassandra was Mama's childhood friend who had contracted a terrible illness following her disagreeing with Grandpa at a family dinner party two years ago. Generously, she had left Mama her large apartment which was only a street away from our house, and therefore only two streets away from Grandpa's palace. We normally came here when we wanted to be out of the public eye, and it made an ideal safe-house for hiding from the rebels.
Within a few days it was all over, but we'd followed everything on the news, right down to the bombing of the children. I knew a lot of those faces, it was a terrible day. Mama burst into tears as it was announced on TV.
"That's those rebel's darling, sick dogs they are. Killing our children! How could they?"
It didn't feel the right time to mention the barbaric entertainment which our city initiated on the children of the Districts, but I couldn't help noticing the irony.
"So what do we do now?" I asked, fearing a bang on the door any minute, announcing a rebel victory and the assurance of our death by firing squad.
"Keep the lights down, and the television off. If anyone comes, we'll get in the wardrobe and keep quiet. They'll never find us there, they're un-civilised, and I doubt they even have built in wardrobes in their slums." She replied curtly, ever the posh snob. At this point I was a whimpering wreck, there's nothing like watching your friends being blown up to put a girl in high spirits.
"But, Mama, what if they find us, what will we do then?" I sobbed, knowing my questions were both useless and annoying.
She pulled the biggest knife I've ever seen out of one of her red stiletto boots.