A/N
Herro guys c: Just me with another short chapter... I'm having my gracious spring break next week so you're in for a few long chapters these following days! :D
Also, I don't know if I already said this before but , I
SADLEHHH don't own the AH-MAY-ZINGGG Hunger Games trilogy .): ): ): Makes meh even moh sad to admit it . On the internet. Poo -,-
Anyway . Enjoi~


The family room feels dangerously foreign. Like I'm not even in my house. The dormant lamps perched here and there are burning light bulbs through cream colored shades, the television is buzzing with actual life and the scorching flames dancing in the fireplace give off strange warmth this one particular night. Mom is passing out mugs of steaming peppermint cocoa to Dad, me and Arella Hamilton, Zion's girlfriend that Mom insisted on coming over for dinner.

I fervently inhale the sweet aroma wafting from the hot drink handed to me. It smells good, relaxing even, and for a second, I feel as if the reason why I'm sitting here with a part of my family is not to celebrate the 49th Hunger Games.

I bury myself deeper into the stiff and firm cushions of the rocking chair I'm seated in. As much as I hate hard furniture, I bear with this; the tautness reminds me of Zion's arms whenever he hugs me.

"Wonder what costumes the stylists have planned for District Twelve tonight," Mom sighs as she parks herself on the sofa between Dad and red eyed Arella.

Dad brings his drink to his lips. "I guarantee that it'll be those clichéd and blasted coal miner suits."

Shuffling from beside my mother's side, a small smile etches onto Arella's lips when she says, "Zion will look good in anything."

"Of course he will," Mom gives Arella a brief and reassuring pat on the shoulder before turning to me. "Drink up Ethelyn, it's going to get cold."

I don't think it'll be getting cold anytime soon. The cocoa blisters through the lacquered mug and leaves red scalding marks on my palm, but I don't even pay attention. Instead, I spit bitterly to my parents, "Shouldn't you guys be sad?"

Fortunately, they don't scold my disrespectful comment. They could see how I'm much more despaired than Arella.

"Well, Ethelyn dear, people are mournful when loved ones go into the arena because they probably don't have faith that they will win," Dad answers tersely. "Your mother and I have confidence that our son will return safely back to us. Seems to me that you don't have much trust in your older brother."

I swallow. Because stinging bile has crawled its way up my throat. How dare my father say that I don't have faith in my brother? Before I can back-talk, Arella is speaking.

Her face seems to have lightened up from Dad's short-lived speech and her voice sounds like honey, like at all times, but there's still a trace of hoarseness from excessive crying. "Besides, the Capitol will probably rig the Games so that Zion will have an even better chance of coming back home. He's receiving an extremely important job there, anyway." Her sapphire eyes flicker around and she ducks her head in embarrassment. A few strands of blonde hair are drawn to her mouth. She nibbles nervously.

"Yes, now they want him to bring even more honor to the family… On live TV," Mom enthuses, setting her mug onto the coffee table. She clasps her hands together when she continues. "It's as if the Capitol is reading our minds!"

I'm about to say "Wouldn't be surprised if they could see us right now", when Claudius Templesmith is on our TV screen with a bunch of commentators seated at a glittering table. Cesar Flickerman is among them.

"Well, good evening Panem! You're about to watch the live broadcasting of the 49th annual Hunger Games opening ceremony! Now let me introduce myself to those of you who don't know me." He flashes a blinding white smile and whoops in that legendary voice, "I'm Claudius Templesmith, your worldwide known host for the Hunger Games!" He spins in his chair and gestures at Cesar Flickerman. "And here's our very own and favorite Cesar Flickerman the interviewer. May I say Cesar—you look tremendously charming this night."

Cesar radiates with his reassuring yet jovial grin as he pulls at the sparkly yellow collar of his suit.

"Why, thank you, Claudius. Wanted to get into the whole sunny spring spirit. Recently seen many ladies out here in the Capitol practically glowing in this marvelous lemon fashion." His wink to the camera sparks a deafening applause from the audience. "Back to you Claudius."

Soon they're through with introducing all the commentators in the limelight this year and the screen is now covered in a beautiful view of the city circle in front of President Snow's mansion. There are more people in the stands than there are here in District Twelve.

I take a sip of my peppermint cocoa without even acknowledging it, disappointed at the lukewarm temperature it has become.

On the television, the commentators' voices still linger, but almost at the point of being inaudible, because the District One chariot has just been pulled out of the building by purely white horses.

The crowd goes wild.

A close up of the two glistening tributes' faces our shown. They're beautiful, shimmering in silver dust and beaming like they're truly happy to be there. The volume of the commentators' voices only increase when they say their names.

"Our lovely tributes from District One—Trina DuPrau and Comet Castillo! Now Claudius, just look at that gown dear Trina's assembled in. Isn't it just exquisite?"

A rumble of agreement from the other commentators confirms that this Trina girl has already caught the attention of wealthy sponsors. I don't know why but suddenly my stomach churns in anxiety and rage. What if all the other tributes are amazing? Or worse, what if Zion can't hold a candle out to them?

The next Districts blur by. The scene is the same as ever: better than the last, or just plain degrading. I only hold my breath after District Eleven has rolled out from the doors.

"Here it comes," Mom whispers. "Here comes our big boy!"

My mug slips from my hands and crashes to my feet. A spray of warm cocoa splashes onto the carpet and soaks into my socks just as the slivers of shattered clay do. Obviously, no one has noticed. What we seen on the TV screen is just outrageous.

Zion and Shay Kimble are naked. Stark-naked. The only thing that covers them is the chalky black coal dust worn as a very sheer cloak. Shay's face is pitiful. But Zion's grinning, and the crowd's grown even crazier than before. Maybe because of their lack of clothes, maybe because my brother is so painfully attractive. Either way, I turn from the screen. I've seen many nude men and women from those occasional days in the apothecary, but this is different. Very different. Arella's expression is undeniably in shock and anger.

"They… did… not…" Mom utters.

Dad gets up and flicks the television off. "The coal miner outfits would've been better. I would've actually have liked it too." He heads up the stairs. "Call me when dinner's ready."

"Very well darling," Mom rises from the sofa and hurries to where I am. She kneels onto the soggy carpet as she does a half-done job of picking up the flakes of broken clay. "Ethelyn, clean this mess up and Arella, do you wish to have any more cocoa?" She stands up.

Arella shakes her head. "Oh no, I'll help you with preparing supper."

Mom smiles. "You are a golden child." She cuts her eyes at me. "Hurry, I don't want our white carpet stained."

That night, our meal is awkward and silent. The only sound we hear is the frequent "would you please pass the carrots" or a clink of a fork.

I laugh when Maysilee calls, screaming about the ceremonies.

As I get into bed, I wonder if Zion's exposing of skin has won him sponsors, or have diminished them completely.

We'll just have to wait and see.


c:

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