Chapter 4
Over the next few days, things start to improve for me. I still have a red swollen patch on my cheek but, apart from the physical side of it, I'm feeling a lot less pain.
It has been three days since the escapade at dinner, and I have been relieved to find that I have caused no major damage. They have still let me eat at mealtimes, and I am gradually becoming accustomed to using the pitchfork and bladed handle, which I must now call 'knife and fork' or 'cutlery.' It's very irritable but I cannot deny that I am feeling much better fed than ever before, even if the rich foodstuffs do give me the worst stomach cramps. Unfortunately, both Fesh and Reed are acting very coolly towards me, and I'm starting to wonder how much mentoring I'm going to get.
We have finally reached the Capitol, and it's true that the television footage they show of it is as accurate; the city really is dazzling. No, more; the small amount of it that I've seen so far has literally blown my mind. Thousands of these odd, ludicrous people wandering round, piping in their silly Capitol accent about the latest make-ups, or about the first parade, which is taking place very soon. And, surrounding them, are the buildings. Fifty stories high, shining white with hundreds of windows dotted around them. Even the pavements appear to be sparkling; they look almost plastic, not at all like the rough tracks and wooden huts we have.
And there's not a blade of grass in sight. No vegetation, no crops, trees, no nothing. They travel around in machines, not horses, so even animals are unsighted. As much as I loathe the system of the districts, especially what they've done to the poorest districts, and as astounded as I am by the light of the famous Capitol, I can't help thinking what a dismal place it must be to live in. To me, I mean. These people can spend their time getting metal stuck into their body, or having their nose altered, skin dyed, tattoo's added. Or watch us all fight to our deaths. They have plenty to do. I wonder what I'd be like if I had of been brought up in the Capitol?
Thresh is being a little friendlier, too. He came into my room last night when I woke up screaming after seeing Fesh throw a proper pitchfork in my direction whist Reed was holding me against the wall. He calmed me down and actually told me it would be "all right." Some imagination he's got. But the words did sooth me. I wonder if he has nightmares? I can't imagine him having any weaknesses; he seems so tough and fearless. I truly believe he will be the one who wins the games.
Today, the prep teams are "preparing" us for the parade. First, my body will be "prepared" before my stylist will sort me out a costume. Our costumes are always dreadful, nearly as bad as District 12's. We have to wear something that reflects our district. And we're Agriculture, so the odds are that I'll being walking out there as a tomato. I can't wait.
Around 10 o'clock, just after breakfast (why do the Capitol people get out of bed so tiresomely late?) the prep team ushers me out into a small, square room, entirely painted white. I find myself squinting as they lead me in; it's so bright. There are three of them: they introduce themselves as Whilessa, Veninam and Begdanon. Both of the last two are male, which makes me feel very awkward. Each of them have coloured skin, dyed hair and some ridiculous number of tattoo's piercings and the rest. I long to tell them how sick they make me feel, but I force myself to clamp my mouth shut as they remove the yellow dress I found in my bedroom wardrobe. There were all sorts of clothes there, from slinky black evening dresses to frilly pink party ones. But there were no trousers. Nothing at all that I would usually wear. I was hoping to find a tunic of some sort, or maybe a thick, rug-like dress, or some comfortable trousers, but there's nothing but dresses in there. So I chose the most practical. It's lighter than my usual dresses, and much more flimsy. It made me feel quite vulnerable at first. It came with matching shoes, but shoes have never been my thing so I didn't put them on. Over the last few days, I have come to like the dress and I have not even taken it off to wash. So it is almost a disappointment when this odd, turquoise Capitol man slips on tight, white gloves that make a cracking sound like a whip and he snaps them onto his wrists, and pulls it right over my head, leaving me standing in front of them all, naked, feeling very self conscious. At least the people in District 11 have heard of modesty.
The next few hours are near to the worst of my life. These Capitol people to not bounce around and pipe in their funny accent like all the other's I have met. They are dead serious and do not talk to me at all as they rid my body of hair, grime and the likes. They use their coloured hands to force me into awkward positions as they smear cream after cream and yank hair after hair out of me. I grit my teeth and shut my eyes, waiting for all the embarrassment and pain to be over. These people see me as a machine and do not take any notice of how I am feeling. In some ways, this is comforting; after all, these people must do this year after year, so naked bodies can hardly mean anything to them. I try to fix this thought into my mind as they begin smearing something onto me that makes my whole body tingle and itch.
A little later, they work on my face and hair. Whilessa tells me in a bored voice that they can't do too much on my face before my stylist has agreed. This relieves me a little; I have been staring in horror at her blueberry skin and gold tattoos and praying for the best, and it gives me the boldness I need to ask if I can please put my dress back on whilst they do my face.
'No!' exclaims Veninam, looking as horrified as myself and, without giving me a reason for his rejection, sits me in a white chair and props my feet up on a stool. He forces my chin up and the three of them begin prodding my face with tweezers, plucking my eyebrows and painting my lips with red, which is then wiped off and replaces with pink, which is finally replaced my a browny-gold. I secretly quite like the colour, but do not give them the pleasure of hearing me say so. They also paint my face with the exact same brown as my skin, which seems rather pointless to me. They brush my teeth with an odd machine that goes whrrrrr. Then, they run some sort of comb through my eyelashes which leaves a gooey substance in them and I wrinkle my nose in disgust.
I was hoping they would leave my hair alone. It falls past my waist in a tangled, matted state, and looks thicker than it really is. I hate brushing it and I pray they'll leave it how it is. But Whilessa tells me I look like a wild animal. I tell her that is good but they force brush after brush through my hair, massage cream into it, rinse it and then yank more brushes through it with such force that my eyes begin to water. It is all I can do not to scream out Eventually, Begdanon takes a pair of scissors and cuta out two knots that they cannot undo. I can feel my hair against my skin now, sleek and silky.
They tell me to stand up and I try once again to sneak my dress back. Whilessa catches me and spits in my face.
'Stop it!' she shouts at me, yanking my hair and thrusting my face up to look into her own 'Stop it or we ask your stylist not to give you any clothes at all for the parade and you can walk out there stark naked like District 12, got it?'
I nod and she lets me go. How I wish I had some cheerful stylists. I wonder if they are all this brutal. But I leave my dress and tell myself that I must not touch it again. I picture myself walking through the Capitol with nothing on and decide that I would rather be naked in this small, white room than naked in the street with the whole of Panem watching. Besides, I remind myself, I can't afford to get into any more trouble.
So I stand still.
Whilessa pushes a full length mirror in front of me and I stare into it's shiny glass. At first I don't recognise the tiny, clean figure standing in it, but when I scratch my nose and it copies me, I realise that I am staring at Rue. Not me, but Different Rue.
Different Rue has brown skin, like a nut. But it is not as rough as a nutcase like my skin. It is smooth and looks a little artificial. It is hairless too, which makes it look lighter. The cream they have smeared on it is so thick around my ribcage that I can barely see the bones. I do not look like that; my ribs stick out of my skin like twigs. It also covers up all the scars and cuts and bruises on my back from every beating, strapping or whipping I have received. Different Rue still looks skinny, but not as thin and worn as I do. Her legs are not as spindly either. Even the bruise on her cheek is covered.
Different Rue has gold, glossy lips that reveal white, shiny teeth when they open. I have dry, cracked lips which reveal yellowing teeth. Not unhealthy, but not shining like these. My face does not shine, or glitter in the light either. Different Rue's does. Different Rue's eyes look big, with black around them like tiger eyes. I hate the tiger eyes. They look horrible. And Different Rue has long, black eyelashes too, and gold eyelids. I do not like Different Rue's eyes.
But the most obvious difference of all between Different Rue and I is the hair. My tangled mat is mirrored with glossy hair, dark brown that ripples when I move and reflects the white light. It falls right down to my knees. I did not realise my hair was so long.
I look at different Rue. I decide I do not like her much. I smile at her. She smiles back.
Uncertainly, with hatred in her eyes.