Chapter 3: Flare
I awoke to a loud banging on my door, presumably by Effie. Today was my day with the stylists and I wasn't looking forward to it to be perfectly honest. They charged into my room equipped with scissors, makeup, combs, razors and all kinds of products that made me shiver at the thought of being covered in them. Surprisingly though they didn't do too much to me, thanks to my lead stylist Halern. He was a nice chirpy man who just loved to gossip about things happening around the districts but he was also very down to earth. They combed my hair into a style similar to my fathers and dressed me in a colourful suit and an open shirt. It seemed as though stylists had come to their senses in terms of what looks good. Most of the weird transformations had gone out of style in the Capitol although people were still all kinds of colours.
We pulled into the station in the Capitol and it was just like the old days. The world had moved on but apparently the possibility of seeing twenty four kids killing each other still had drawing power. We disembarked in a hurricane of camera flashes and people screaming our names. In no time we were in our accommodation. Our parents had told us about this place before but it was a lot more impressive in real life. We had every luxury. We went through the usual routine; settling in, having dinner, preparing for various events. Before we knew it we were in the clutches of our stylists again, being dressed for the parade. I liked my stylist. He had some good ideas. As I expected we were going to be the focus of the tribute parade and with our outfits we were definitely going to make a splash.
Standing backstage we got a few final words from Halern and were given just one small thing to hold. A match. We boarded our chariot and took a look around at all the other tributes, who all seemed to be no older me. A few of them were twelve, the youngest you could be in the games. I felt sorry for them. A year ago they needn't have worried but now they were forced to kill or be killed. One by one the chariots left to applause from the crowd. I could imagine an old Caesar Flickerman in the commentary box talking to everyone in Panem. At last it was our turn and as we came out into the open I could sense the disappointment in the crowd. I turn to my sister and we both share a look of understanding. We raise our matches in the air and light them by scraping a patch on our thumbs along them. I see the excitement in the eyes of the audience, as we lower the matches to our head. As we were putting on our black costumes that had a red and orange glow we were told to put a substance on our hair. It was only before we went out that we found out what it was for. The matches lit our hair in a whoosh that could be heard around the stadium and the flames caught on our costumes, creating two lines of fire going from our shoulders, down our arms and to our hands. I caught a glimpse of us on the big screen. We looked like gods; our hair and our wingspan alight.
We pulled up at the end of the long stretch in two rows of six chariots and saw President Ignatius take his place at the podium ready to give his speech. All I could think of was how the citizens of Panem and the government itself could let this happen again. We all thought that the days of watching children die were over but now here we were, stood on a chariot being dictated to by the inhabitants of the Capitol.
"Our esteemed guests," said Ignatius high above us. "We welcome you here for our one off special of the Hunger Games. We hope that this contest will be the best one ever."
There was a mixed reception to this. Many of the people present had fully accepted this pageant was once again open and it was quite frightening how easy they had slipped back into the old way of thinking. All it took was one mention of a comeback and everyone reverted back to how they used to be all those years ago. President Ignatius continued with his speech.
"This test of strength, bravery and determination has been resurrected for the anniversary of the fall of the old regime. You may ask why we would repeat the most gruesome part of our history but the answer is a simple one. To remember and experience once again how these games affect the general public is to give ourselves the greatest incentive to never return to the old ways permanently ever again."
Everybody clapped except from the tributes. Many were scared, some were confused and I was embarrassed. I was embarrassed to think that these people witnessed what happened all those years ago and still think that this was a good idea. His speech was executed with flare and panache but it made no sense. He was twisting himself in knots and his plan was idiotic. He had an ulterior motive for sure.
When we returned to our top floor apartment we were exhausted but the ever excitable Effie was still rabbiting on about us and how we're bound to win. I went to bed after half an hour. It wasn't a good night for me. Half the night was spent dreaming about the dead; everyone who fell at the hands of the Capitol. In the Hunger Games alone it was over one thousand seven hundred if my math was correct. In the war it must have been ten times that. More probably. Our parents had eventually recounted all the tales of the dead. The ones that they knew anyway. I think they wanted us to know about them so that we could keep their memories alive. Plus, if the next generation isn't aware of the past it may become their future. Our mother had told us the story of how she had met Rue and we had even watched the tape. Father had told us about the allies they made, and lost, during their time being part of the rebellion. But the biggest loss of all to our family was that of Prim. I couldn't imagine that happening to my sister so I couldn't begin to know how my mother had felt. Prim hadn't been a protagonist, she had never harmed a fly and yet she was stolen way, while trying to help people too. But that's what war does; it takes away the ones who should never have left us in the first place. Not at that age. I drift off into a long and disturbing sleep, but not before vowing that I will hunt down Ignatius and make him pay. If he wants to send children into a warzone then we'll become soldiers, and overthrow his regime.
