Chapter Eleven
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters that were in the original Hunger Games; those belong to Suzanne Collins
Rated M for Language and Violence
Thank you all for reading! R&R please!
The time I got to spend with Finnick was over much too quickly. As always we left right after dinner. All of us gave quick and hurried goodbyes to him and were back on the train within a matter of minutes.
Seeing him in person seemed to have given me a new confidence that I actually could get through this. There were only three more Districts left and then two days in the Capitol. In five days it would all be over and I would be able to go home for good. Then I would be able to contribute all of my attention to the rebellion and hopefully forget about the Games.
District 3 went by smoothly. None of us had killed anyone from there so the parents' anger wasn't directed towards us. They simply would stare at us, probably imagining their son or daughter in our place. As always I couldn't blame them.
Today, however, I was petrified. This is the day that we arrive in District 2. Cato, one of the tributes, had been my final and the final kill of the Hunger Games. He was so close to winning and realistically he should have won. I had been preparing myself not for the sadness of his parents but their anger. I could not imagine the parents of a Career crying over their child, at least not for long. I can only imagine the anger and shame they would feel.
In District 2 especially the Hunger Games are viewed differently. Instead of something they should dread they treat it as something to be proud of. They have volunteers almost every year, and each one of wants to be the one to win and bring honor to their District. Because of this their tributes actually train to become killers; naturally, they win almost every year as well.
But not this year, this year Katniss, Peeta, and I brought an end to their winning streak. And I was the one to kill their prized fighter.
Now I pace around the train, trying to distract myself. I wipe my perspiring hands on my sweat pants. My stomach is constantly flipping with anxiety, causing me to feel like I'm going to vomit. Haymitch, Cynthia, and even Effie try to calm me down, but their attempts are futile. The confidence that I had received after seeing Finnick is completely gone.
When Cynthia collects me to get dressed I am ghostly pale and look as though I might faint. I sit stiffly in a black chair while Cynthia applies my makeup and fixes my hair. It is of no shock to me that when I see my reflection I have become the Woman of Death.
In some ways I am thankful for this. The intimidating disguise might be enough to frighten the people just enough so that they don't kill me. My dress is jet black with long sleeves. Unfortunately, the skirt only touches a few inches above my knees. Having my bare legs exposed like seems to slightly increase my anxiety. My hair is pulled up into a pony tail; the look is simple but profound.
"Claire they're not going to do anything to you, I promise," Cynthia states while she straightens out my dress.
"But how can you be sure?" I ask. "If these people are heartless enough to praise their tributes like that how can you be sure they won't hurt me?"
"This is not the first time I've been here Claire, they aren't going to do that, trust me," she assures me.
"I'm just so scared," I cry.
"I know, but I promise you I will never leave you," she says. "And the guards will keep you safe trust me."
I didn't have any more time to protest since Effie came in right after Cynthia finished speaking. I try to get control over myself and calm down, but I barely was able to stabilize my breathing.
During the car ride to the Justice Building all of us were tense. This was the most dangerous and intimidating District in Panem. Their Justice Building is the largest one we've seen. It's black, metallic structure looms over us like an executioner. The place makes me feel even smaller than I already do. The building seems to be waiting for us, as though it knew we were coming and as though it's been preparing for this day.
The inside is a combination of blood red colors and black. It gives off the essence of a medieval castle. Large sets of armor are placed in every hallway. Each one of them has some kind of deadly weapon that seems to be so precariously set that it will fall on me if I even breathe on it.
Sooner that I had hoped the doors open in front of me and I step out into the daylight. Dark clouds cover the horizon and a sea of stone faced people stand in front of me. I am taken aback by how neutral they look. I stare at them more intently, but I can't make out any kind of emotion in their eyes.
Their mayor actually smiles as he hands me my plaque and bouquet of black roses. The angst I had been feeling just moments ago has now been replaced by pure and utter confusion. These people are actually treating me like a guest…not a killer. Part of me is relieved but the other part is upset. They should be furious with me. The should want to kill me like I killed Cato.
Before long I am being ushered inside like I have been so many times before. The regular routine returns, and Cynthia takes me upstairs to get ready for dinner. While she's dressing me I ask her, "Why aren't they mad?"
"District 2 does not mourn the loss of their dead, at least not for long. They simply move on. Especially with their tributes, the tributes know that they will probably die when they volunteer, and the parents are the same. They just accept the fact that they lost," Cynthia explains. "And yes, to this the Hunger Games is just a game to them. It's awful."
"You mean they're not even sad?" I gasp.
"If they are they don't show it," she answers mournfully.
"That's just terrible," I exclaim.
"I know, but that's just how they live," she says. Soon I'm ready, my hair has been left the same, but my makeup has been done with blacks and golds. My dress is straight and jet black. Diamonds of fabric connect the front of the dress to the back. The material is heavy and has a slit up the side of my leg.
Cynthia and I leave the room and join the rest of the group. We stand and wait for our orders to walk down the stairs. Effie is bustling around getting us all in order and making sure everything is just so. Once she's satisfied we begin the macabre march down the stairs.
As I'm walking down the stair I try to wrap my mind around the concept of not mourning your lost loved once. I can't, from experience I know that I could never do that. I have a new understanding of how Cato was able to kill so effortlessly. Death was not a big deal here so killing wouldn't either.
After I get off the stairs I sit down in a foreboding dining chair. Across the table sit Cato's parents. His father has the same blonde hair that Cato did, while his mother's hang down is raven waves. They don't glare at me like the other parents did they simply inspect me. I can feel their eyes watching me, trying to see if I was worthy enough to bring down their son.
"Where did you learn to throw like that?" Cato's father asks.
"Excuse me?" I ask, not once has a parent asked me about what I did in the Games. It isn't just the question that catches me off guard; it's the fact that he says it like he admired me.
"Where did you learn to throw knives?" he repeats.
"Um, I started when I was twelve. I taught myself," I answer cautiously.
"It doesn't make sense," he says to his wife. "Cato started when he was nine."
"He was weak," comments his mother.
"How can you say that?" I exclaim.
"I'm sorry?" she inquires.
"How can you say that about your own son? He's dead you should at least try to show him some respect, and he wasn't weak. I saw what he did and he was anything but weak," I yell.
"If you were able to take him down than he was," his father explains defensively.
"Let's be honest, you shouldn't have won," sneers his mother.
"You people are heartless!" I scream. "I cry for months over the fact that I have become a murderer and you don't even seem to care that you own son is dead!"
"Claire," Haymitch gives me a warning look. Grudgingly I sit back down and stare in disgust at Cato's parents. I can't stand to be near these people. Even though I killed Cato and that I hated him, his death does not deserve to be ignored. Just like everyone else he was a person.
