With thanks to Glassgift, AbbyCoraby123, Katrace, and akuhilangditelanbumi for your reviews of the last chapters.
Y 184-08-31 T 21:00:03
Day 1
"-And with the death lists done and the sun gone, I too will sign off for the evening. But worry not, Panem- I leave you in the hands of my exceptionally capable collague, Dalton Roche, for the evening coverage of the first night of the Hunger Games. But for now, Panem, it's a goodbye from me, Caesar Flickerman, and a goodbye to the tributes. Goodnight, Panem."
The screens triumphantly announced 'Horn of Plenty' as it displayed the Capitol TV logo and faded into Dalton Roche's more subdued commentaries of the Games. Deaths flashed upon the screen.
Chal Detria's skull exploded with a steel bolt, fired all over again into his head, over and over. Loops of brain matter could be seen in the high definition, clinging to the steel spike emerging from the boy's forehead.
Sisyphia had to look away.
She had not loved Chal Detria, for all her insistence to sponsors that he was a wonderful tribute, really. She had not even afforded affection or respect for the boy; he seemed charming enough, but something in his countenance had presented a strong red flag to her mind. He had seemed too confident, too uncaring of his surroundings- something seemed almost emotionless in his tone.
And when he had stood over Elizabeth with an axe in his hand, Sisyphia could privately admit she felt hatred for him, for betraying his district partner and ally.
But when that spear had emerged from his head and blood had gushed from around the metal pole; Sisyphia could not, would not, watch. Chal had been wrong, had been callous, he had been to the end, but he was a child. God, he was- what? Half her age? Maybe even younger than that?
Sisyphia adusted her candy-pink jacket and deep green flowing skirt, at a loss of what else she could do. Around her, others seemed to understand where to go, what to do, how to smile at meeting a child and then watching them die- everyone else seemed to know.
The screens at the Training Center, she had been told later, were often given the same footage as the Gamesmakers, without a delay of thirty seconds, as often it was ideal for any major players working in the escort and prep teams to see their tributes in live action, without Flickerman's constant speech over the far more crucial alliance speeches the escorts needed to hear. Unfortunately, it also meant they didn't have the luxury of ignorance, and saw the brutality of Anna Corinna and the 'accident' Chal then went through.
Chal's injury hadn't been an accident. Chal's injury was as much accident as his eventual death was. Sisyphia didn't believe she had to watch a child get his throat cut and then watch Caesar Flickerman call it an accident. It felt like someone was mocking her, somewhere- that she had gotten up this high, into an escort position, and now she had to watch a bloodshed she hadn't signed up for.
She hadn't signed up for this.
"Hey, Sisyphia! Congratulations!" Someone called from what felt like underwater. She looked up from her blank stare at the screen, to a young assistant with a bottle of something.
"What?" She scraped out, before recognising that in present company a more formal response would be acceptable. "Oh, well," she managed to add in before he could respond, "I mean, I'm happy, thank you, but what is there to congratulate me about?"
She had watched her two tributes, one dying trying to kill the other; the other had reduced a boy to a quivering, moaning mass of blood and flesh, while blood matted into her hair. There was nothing to congratulate Sisyphia for; she had done nothing but damned these children to die.
"Well," a girl said from the crowd of prep team workers, "We got someone out- and with a weapon! Shame they went for each other, but they were quite uncivilised, these ones. It's great we're not left with Chal, too- Elizabeth's a fighter."
"Chal was better!" Interjected a young man excitedly.
"Woah, woah, no way-"
And Sisyphia was forgotten again as the tide of conversation swept over her again. She found, for once, she really didn't want to listen to what they had to say. It felt trivial. It felt mocking.
She stood, finding her muscles shivering uncontrollably. She smiled and made her exit, quickly, too quickly. She knew she would be talked about in suspicious tones he second the elevator doors shut behind her.
As the metal box sunk to the ground, she found she didn't care.
She walked out into the night, warm air flowing softly against her arms, muffled against her wig. She struggled for a moment, then threw propriety to the wind. Her wig followed suit, hanging in limp curls between her fingertips as she bared her own hair, kept in scrupulous, if shorter, curls, to the elements.
She could hear the calls outside the Presidential Mansion behind her, calls of triumph she had heard so many times before, since childhood. The calls of her people, celebrating the dead.
"Hunger! Hunger! Hunger!" The mantra rang, sung by the Capitol, her Capitol. They would party into the late hours tonight, gambling and drinking and eating and drinking more to throw up more to eat more and gamble more-
Sisyphia found herself standing in the middle of Victory Walk, wide and paved, beautiful and majestic. Around her, buildings towered, tall and monolithic, stone slabs covered in wide red sashes of colour and splashed with the seal of Panem.
She stood there, in silence, staring at the dark skies, the stone buildings watching her, the glass spires that towered beyond the granite.
This was her home.
And tonight, she had watched it bathed in blood.
Eventually, the rain came, and it ran in rivulets down her makeup, dragging black tears of mascara down her face, pulling her glossed lips into a fake grimace. She closed her eyes to the rain, feeling it patter against her face, trying not to think of where someone had stood in a direct copy of her city, her home, and felt a liquid of far more vital nature coat their face.
Sisyphia listened to her people chanting 'hunger' like it was their deliverance.
For the first time, she realised it was their sacrifice.
Thank you for being so supportive about my temporary absence- I'll endeavour not to do that again. In the meantime- the bloodbath and the recaps are now officially over. From here on in, it's open season structurally- we can move away from SYOT format as much as we want to. This is the part I've been waiting to start since we began.
As ever, thanks for reading this far.
Now- shall we?