Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games
She was just a little girl, twelve years old and skinny as a rail. Her stylist hadn't cared though or maybe he was trying to make the poor girl look as ridiculous s as possible. He had obviously designed this outfit for an older tribute and decided not to make any alterations to it despite the fact that the girl wearing it was only twelve instead of seventeen. The dress was long and silver and should have been skin tight with coils of silver wire stitched into decorative patterns all over it including two on the chest where the girl's breasts would have been if she had any. But the girl wearing it was not yet developed enough to fill out the dress and it hung down ridiculously in the front. Couldn't they have found something more age appropriate for the kid? The child's dark hair had been coiled up in the same way as the wires on the dress and was sprayed with silver glitter. Though the prep team had slathered her face with makeup nothing could hide the fact that she had been crying, possibly for days and that her eyes were red and raw and her nose was swollen. She was crying now and black streaks were running down her face from her eyes and doing nothing to help her image. This poor girl was the definition of a bloodbath tribute. I would try and make this as short and painless as possible.
"Please welcome, from District 3, Elektra Barker!" I said trying to welcome her with my usual flourish and act as if her crying was nothing out of the ordinary or anything she should be ashamed of. It wasn't really out of the ordinary, but most tributes at least tried to hold it in and look strong for the cameras; not this girl.
The poor child wobbled onto the stage, obviously uncomfortable and not used to walking in high heels. Disaster struck before she even reached the chair; one minute she was walking and the next she was sprawled out on the floor after tripping over the too long hemline of her dress. The audience roared with laughter and I helped the sobbing girl to her feet. "Well, that was quite an entrance Elektra!" I said, trying to bring a smile to her face. She didn't think it was funny though and just sobbed even harder. These interviews were the worst, the ones where the tributes cried and nothing I could do would make them smile. This poor girl, she never even had a chance with that dress made for a young woman and not a little girl, those shoes she couldn't walk in. The mascara running down her face created an interesting effect though as it ran down in black trails and mixed with the silver glitter the stylists had painted on her cheeks which along with her black and red rimmed eyes made her look menacing but beautiful. Which was quite a feat since the girl was anything but threatening and not beautiful to begin with. Pure hatred and despair radiated from her soul through her dark, almost black eyes and the black and silver streaks only added to the menacing effect. Where the tearful black streams of makeup reached her painted red lips black rivulets settled in every crevice and the corners of her mouth.
After she settled down in her chair I tried to pat her back reassuringly but she flinched away from me. I started with my most basic question "How do you like life here in the Capitol?" No answer, she just turned her face towards the audience who drew in a collective gasp. Under the spotlights the black and silver mixed with the red of her lips and eyes made her look grotesquely evil; like a demon sitting on my stage instead of a terrified tribute. "Elektra, do you have a plan for the games? She turned and looked at me and nodded. Slowly she stood up and reached down the front of her oversized dress. "What in the world is she doing?" I wondered. I didn't have to wonder for long as she pulled out a large knife that she had smuggled onto the stage in her clothing and with a guttural, animal scream she plunged the knife through her heart killing herself instantly.
The next few minutes were chaos; everyone was screaming, the tributes were screaming, the audience was screaming I was screaming all hell had broken loose. I remember thinking "This must be what it's like at the cornucopia," as I stood watching everyone around me panic. I looked up into the audience and saw Beetee and Wiress, who had surely been her mentors holding each other up, each with a look of shock and horror on their faces. I turned my eyes to the dead girl lying there on the stage before the peace keepers carried her off and was surprised to find that in death she looked lovely, peaceful, a silver sparkling black and red death mask on her face, her blood soaking into the glittering silver fabric of her dress. It was beautiful and it was grotesque, but I couldn't look away.