"I HATE YOU!"
Those three words continued to echo in my mind. I hate you. Those three words were the last thing I heard when leaving District One. I hate you. They were also the last words I said before leaving. I hate you. I sat on the train with my head in my hands, I hate you. The awful thing was, I wasn't sorry. I really had meant to say that, it wasn't a momentary slip in judgment, it was rather an extreme course of emotion that propelled me to say what I'd been feeling for years. I hate you. I tried to force myself to find some emotion, something, anything, that proved me to be more human than I felt right now.
I had just been reaped for the 74 annual Hunger Games. I had no hope of ever returning home. I'm currently speeding away at hundreds of miles per hour from my childhood home and I feel nothing. It's as though my momentary burst of passion in the mayor's house has left me completely drained. I can still feel the adrenaline coursing through my veins but it's not carrying anything with it so I feel like a jittery blank slate.
I guess I should explain why I was screaming 'I hate you' at the top of my lungs during my last goodbye to my family. Well family member, there's just me and my mom. My dad was never around and I never had any other siblings but I'm not complaining. My life has been pretty posh. I've never been hungry, never truly wanted for anything, anything tangible that is.
My first memory was my mom surrounded by another group of women, her beauty club. I must have been around five years old.
"Oh she's such a beauty."
"Look at that long blonde hair and those velvet brown eyes!"
"If only my daughter looked like that."
All they did was fawn over me, that's all anyone did my whole life. Now don't get me wrong, I loved being beautiful. Every morning I woke up and ran a bath. I would soak for exactly twenty minutes in hot water and lavender, after rinsing my hair I would step out and brush it until it dried, soft and silky, in golden waves that cascaded all the way down my back. I took care that my face was always clean and that I always got enough sleep so that there was never any discoloration under my eyes. I never worn torn or dirty cloths, and I never repeated the same outfit twice. My mother was a seamstress who made some of the most lovely clothing so this was never a problem. Everything about my life was about remaining beautiful. All in all I had a very soft life. But I wanted was freedom to be myself, to care about appearances but in a healthy way, to express myself and not my mother.
The real issue I faced in District One was the satisfaction that everyone had with the status quo. Everyone knew and accepted that there were the rich, and there were the poor and never the two shall meet. They understood that when children are born that a prospector comes and foretells the child's future, if it is destined to be a beautiful person, it lives if not it is sent off to the Capitol to be trained as a Peacekeeper. And over all, beauty reigns supreme.
The year I turned thirteen my mother determined that I should be Reaped. You see, it's a great honor in District One, here no one believes that the Reaping is actually random, people believe that only the most beautiful people are Reaped, it's the ultimate contest. When you turn eight in District One you are eligible for the yearly competition of the fairest. Since I was eight I had won my age category and usually the District overall title as well, this wasn't enough for my mother any longer. She became obsessive over it, to the point where I was no longer her daughter, but simply a thing to dress up. She took away any childhood I had left. Every day it was the same, beauty treatments, lessons, a never-ending process. At first I voiced my opinions but seeing as this got me nowhere I stopped.
"Congratulations." I said as she entered the room. "You won. You must be so proud. I have to admit, I never thought you'd do it. Not with me working so hard against you."
She walked in, unfazed by the sarcasm that was positively dripping off of every word I said.
"Alright Glimmer, you know the drill..." I effectively tuned her out as she rattled off a list of things I must remember when I was in the Capitol. Does she not care that I, her only child, was about to be sent off to the Hunger Games?
"DO YOU NOT CARE?" I burst out while she was in the middle of talking about the different posture I should maintain for the different positions I'd be in.
"Of course I care, you wouldn't be here if I didn't."
"Mother, it's not all about beauty. Don't you care that you're sending your only child off to be slaughtered in front of the entire nation?"
"I care how you look when you're in front of the entire nation." That was, quite simply, the last straw.
"I HATE YOU!" And suddenly we're both screaming awful things at one another and I'm attacking her but she won't hit me, her beautiful masterpiece, about to go on display. This will be her greatest accomplishment.
I walked in to meet my stylist after having been prepped. My team was very complimentary to me, they told me I was the prettiest tribute they'd ever seen, that I barely needed any prepping. I was sitting at a table, wrapped up in a robe when the stylist walked in. He asked me to remove the robe and come stand in the light. I obliged and after a few minutes he simply nodded his head. Our eyes met and he said,
"This, this we can work with."
I didn't really spend much time with Marvel, my district partner, or my mentor. Not because I didn't want to but because I wanted to spend my last few days exactly how I wanted them for the most part, something I could only do if left alone. So I went to training, but only for a little while. I knew I had no chance anyways. I suppose I did ok during the chariot ride, the training, and the interviews but I wasn't really paying attention. The rest of my time was spent in my room. Imagining a different life, gorging myself on delicious foods that my mother would never let me eat. I lounged around in the most dreadful manner, I chewed with my mouth open, I slouched, I didn't cross my ankles 'just so' when I sat., even though these days were spent mainly in solitude, these were by far the best of my life.