The applause as I step onto the small stage to greet Caesar is deafening, and makes me want to press my hands to my ears. I can hear them chanting my name and I watch stoically as they waft kisses in my direction. I wonder how watching children getting murdered counts as good television viewing for them. Or why a person who killed others is greeted with cheers from a Capitol audience. But before I can consider these thoughts further, I notice that Caesar has his hand outstretched and is waiting for me to shake it. I suppress a sigh and extend my hand. His palm feels smooth and his grip is strong, whereas my hands are already slick with sweat. Partly, I suppose, due to the strong lighting, but more caused by the nerves that are fizzing deep within me.
I force myself to push them down inside me and I take my seat on the stage. The chair is stiff and uncomfortable: the cushion can't quite mask the ridges on the back and they dig painfully into my spine. I quite like the pain though; it keeps me feeling lucid. Flickerman turns to me with an excited smile on his face, and even though I've seen it before, his lime green hair and make-up still give me a slight shock. No one at home would dream of looking like this willingly. But then again all anyone at home wants to do is blend in, whereas in the Capitol the citizens are desperate to stand out from the crowd. "So, Ryla," he begins, in a musical tone, "How does it feel to be the 69th champion of the Hunger Games?"
I wonder vaguely how I should answer this, and in the end I settle for the word, "Strange."
He tips his head back and laughs raucously – I had no idea I could be so amusing – and then says, "Come on, Ryla. I want to know how it really feels to win."
How it really feels to win? Why don't you have a go in the arena then? I think bitterly, before forcing my lips to turn upwards. "How it feels..." I press my index finger to my chin and pretend to think for a few moments. The audience groan as I keep them in suspense. "It's not something I can describe, because I suppose it hasn't really sunk in yet. At the moment, I'm just happy to be alive." There, that's the best I can do without outright lying. Thankfully it seems to keep him satisfied for now.
"With a six, I'm betting that no one ever really considered you as a serious competitor in these games. Do you have anything to say to them now?"
I shrug slightly, "Everyone knows how unpredictable the Hunger Games can be."
"Right," he looks slightly put out. I'm guessing he was expecting a slightly more emotional answer. But these past few weeks have drained all the emotion out of my body and so it's hard to work up any interesting response to his question.
"But I'm guessing you feel pretty proud of yourself." I almost want to hit him when he says this, because this is the one thing I cannot answer truthfully and keep the audience happy at the same time.
"Mmm, well I guess I did prove people wrong."
"Exactly!" Caesar exclaims loudly, "I bet no one predicted that a skinny little 17 year old like you would take the crown." I bristle in indignation about the fact that I've been referred to as a 'skinny little 17 year old.' I guess that's all I am, really, but there's no need for him to rub it in.
He obviously gets bored of this line of questioning, and so he moves on to ask me about my time in the arena. He starts off with pretty basic subjects, such as how hard it had been to find food and water and demands to know if I'd had a strategy early on in the Games. Then, he wants to get my opinions on the arena, "So, as we all know, the arena this year was a complex system of caves. Ryla, was it hard finding your way around? There were certainly plenty of tributes who got lost." The audience laughs at this, and I try very hard to stop myself from clenching my fists.
"Well, it was definitely confusing. I lost my way a couple of times. But then again, it wasn't like I was really trying to get anywhere specific, so I wasn't technically lost." Cue another chuckle from the audience. "It was a bit of a shock when we first got into the arena."
"Were you scared? Because I guess all you could see was a vast maze of caves. What was your plan when you realised where you were?"
A lot of questions, and I'm not really sure how to answer them. He seems to be under the belief that I was operating under some ingenious strategy right from the beginning. "Yeah, I was scared," the caves were the least of my problems, I can't help thinking. I had been more terrified of the other tributes than the layout of the arena. "I guess I was too scared to think of a plan. I just panicked and grabbed any supplies within my reach. Then I ran." This won't interest the audience at all, because they saw all this on their screens. Obviously they felt it was a plan of some kind. This idea makes me want to laugh – fear had turned my brains to mush by this point, and I had barely even been capable of running, let alone been able to come up with a game plan.
"So, you just wanted to get away from the other tributes? Give yourself a chance to recuperate and plan your next move?"
"Umm," I falter at this, "I suppose."
At this point Caesar decides that he wants to start questioning me about the injuries I had sustained in the arena. He starts off mildly, with the bruises and the grazes that came from climbing. Then he moves onto the acid burns I had received when the Gamemakers had decided I was being too dull to hold the audience's interest. And finally of course, the bruises round my neck, and my first kill. It's strange really, but I hear myself describing the pain with a dull voice. Almost as if my words weren't conjuring up the pain afresh in my mind.
"But things didn't really start happening for you until you made your alliance with Kloe. Tell me, how did it feel to have an ally to help you out in the arena?" He looks at me inquisitively, leaning forward so that I am tempted to lean away from him.
I dig my nails into the palms of my hand; the pain keeps the memories from overwhelming me, and I take a deep breath before saying, "It was easier, having an ally. It meant you could sleep without being scared someone would find you whilst you were unconscious. It meant that you had someone to talk to." I find it's much easier to talk in the second person, because I feel more detached from what I'm saying. I can keep my emotions hidden from the audience by pretending I'm not really talking about myself.
"Right, and you and Kloe certainly seemed to get along well with each other." It's not a question, but the way he pauses after he's said it makes me realise that he wants me to say something. I know this is my chance to honour the help that Kloe gave me in the arena. I should show her district that I'll never forget her and that her memory will live on. I should, but I can't.
"Yeah, I suppose we did." This is all I say, and so Caesar makes a small motion with his finger to indicate that I need to keep talking. But I can't talk about my fleeting friendship with Kloe, especially not in front of the scrutinising Capitol audience. "I didn't have a plan before I allied with Kloe. Because I didn't think there was any point. But in an alliance I had more hope, I guess."
"More hope that you might actually win?"
I nod my head, "Exactly. And so we made a plan."
"You most certainly did," Caesar says, his eyes gleaming with excitement, "You planned to steal supplies from your other tributes!" This is greeted with a cheer from the audience, and the moment of applause gives me a chance to regain control over my emotions. Eventually Caesar makes shushing motions with his hand, and they quieten down. "Your plan was fairly simple, yet overwhelmingly effective."
I shrug again, "The Careers were stupid. If you fall asleep with no one on watch then you can expect your supplies to get stolen," I say heavily, my voice full of contempt. I still can't believe they had been dense enough to leave no one on watch. But then, as Kloe had said, it had probably been more down to arrogance than stupidity. I doubted they had expected that anyone would dare to cross them. We had been in and then out of their camp in a matter of minutes, arms laden down with their supplies. I don't think they'd ever suspected me and Kloe. They had probably assumed it was the bulky pair of tributes from District 10.
"Indeed. And that just goes to show that brains often triumph over brawn. Especially where the Hunger Games is concerned." The audience begin their crazed cheering and chanting again, and I have to work hard to suppress an eye roll. Everything excites these guys.
"Now, the number of tributes was thinning out by this time. Both the Career group and you and Kloe had taken most of the others out of the running." Actually, I had been so ineffective with my knife that none of the deaths had been down to me. Kloe had been surprisingly strong and efficient with a blade. By the time it was just us and the two remaining careers left I had been certain that Kloe was going to take the crown. Caesar suddenly leans towards me, and a strange hush falls across the audience. They can tell what he'll ask next, and so can I. My limbs tighten and my eyes flicker wildly around, because I desperately want a way out. I do not want to answer his next question.
Caesar's eyes show no sadness as he says quietly, "Now, shall we talk about Kloe's death?"
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