Author's Note: Bonjour! Well here is chapter 4, which again, took me quite a while. It's slightly short, but I promise you guys, that this summer, I will update quite frequently, staying at home! Now this chapter, more action I guess? Right, the end is slightly confusing... But please read and review? It really encourages me to keep writing :)
Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own the Hunger Games.
Chapter 4 - Confused
Standing still isn't a form of art. Actually, it would be clever to begin considering it as one. It's been a while since I didn't move, insult or even said a word about the things they did to me. Now that I have to stand again, I feel like a hopeless rag doll shod in some painful pumps. Even though I wear boots, they hurt extremely badly. If Daphna should have rejected something from my costume, it should have been the shoes, not the itsy-bitsy dress. Quickened around by my prep team, I can't even imagine how they can walk in their weirdly shaped platform.
After a while of continuous arguments and cries, Daphna and Lierel decided to give up. They afterwards quickly direct me down, in the elevator, where the chariots are patiently waiting. Having a glimpse of the white horses, majestic chariots and some tributes, Daphna shortly hides my view, continuing to babble around about what I should most likely do out there and what not to even attempt to pull off.
"Just smile and be gracious! Give them something new… like attractively mysterious but definitely not nervous. Don't fake smile, everybody can see that… and since you opted for the short dress, don't look slutty in it, try to rock it, ok?" she continues, having to speak extremely loudly because of the constant buzz in the large room filled with 23 other tributes and their prep teams. Daphna can be very helpful and caring, but right now, I don't really want to listen to her. I zone out and imagine my entrance. I am incredibly nervous. What if I fall from that chariot or if the horses begin to run wildly? But I abstain myself of thinking about the worst; what if they don't like me?
Not supporting the standing anymore, I demand a chair and promptly sit down. Andromeda looks at me with a certain concern in her eyes before quickly continuing to spray. The parade begins in fifteen minutes, and she can't stop herself with the exuberant amount of glitter and hair product.
"Andromeda, enough! She should already be in the chariot!" shouts Anastachia, finally esteeming that the preparation is enough. While they guide me to the chariot, I can clearly see that the two sides and back of the carriage have been taken out, so the audience can see our costumes. I can't decide whether this is good or bad.
I catch sight of Daviel, already positioned in the gold carriage. As I expected, he is wearing the same train conductor jacket as me, his hair driven up in a stylish way. He looks good, but I can't help but be annoyed by the wolf whistle that escapes his lips when he sees me. His eyes directed on my extremely short dress as I embark on the chariot, he smirk to the point where it becomes terrible sickening.
"The shorter, the better? Or you're just trying to get attention?" he jokes, putting innocently his hands in his pants pockets. Just by saying that, Daviel proves that he's the one who's narcissist. I mean, who doesn't know that the costumes are chosen by the stylists? At least, I like it. And it seems like I'm not the only one.
Deciding not to respond, I flash him a snide smile. Even though I don't know Daviel so well, I am already tired of his banal talks and jokes. He is such a deceiving person. Still, I decide to keep conversing with him, the exchange distracting me from the stressful moments to come.
"Did you get flowers?" I suddenly ask awkwardly, referring to the daffodils Andromeda gave me earlier.
"No… Why? You already got a present from an admirer?" he teases, winking at me, which I find horribly childish. He is still a year younger than me, even though we are the same height. Daviel is really a fool if he thinks that he can get closer to me with his boyish grins and unfunny jokes. In fact, I always liked older men.
"No silly, it's just weird. I received this big bouquet when I arrived this morning…" I say lightly, casually choosing my words, not mentioning that they actually came from Andromeda. Let him think whatever passes his mind. Not responding, or actually not having any idiotic ideas to spread, Daviel turns away, an interrogative expression on his face. Ban, I won.
Looking over my shoulder, I catch gorgeous green eyes staring at me. The girl behind me has somewhat of an androgynous look, which is quickly ruined by the large aqua butterfly glued on her lips. It seems as if the district seven female keeps a secret, something that she shouldn't tell. Or maybe, she simply has a loud mouth, her stylist deciding that it would be better to shut her up for the evening. Her summer brown hair is tightly pinned up covered in flowers and leaves. She flashes me, as what appears, a smile with her eyes, even if is theoretically impossible. Not bearing her stare, I modestly turn away, finding myself face to face with Andromeda's comprehensive chat.
"Now, Esmay dear, be natural and gracious… Like that twirl you did for us, it was incredibly beautiful and refreshing." she says, fixing my hair, as I try to look at the other tributes surrounding me. Andromeda's sea-green eyes confusedly gaze at me, wondering who I'm looking for.
"Oh my god… look… there he is…" silently squeals Andromeda, discretely pointing her finger behind me, where the district eight chariot stands. In a swift movement, my head spins around, intrigued by the male tribute. Then, the most unique pair of eyes catch my stare. Outrageously, I can't help but smile lightly. Never did I see something so beautiful. The two orbs that wonder in the room are dark hazel mixed with an almost gold-is yellow. It is as if they directly came from the shining stardust of the night sky. But as my eyes follow the forms of his face and body, I become more and more disappointed. He has a strong jaw, a light tan and, of course, the usual dark blond hair. I can't deny that he looks really good and handsome, but everybody here can look alike. If it wouldn't be for his eyes, he wouldn't have anything special. As well as his smile. Bright, white, perfect teeth smile, which is weirdly directed at me. Oh god, he saw me. He grins gloriously, as if he discovered something he would die for. Or he's probably only looking at my dress, I can't surely tell. Not really knowing what to do, I engage myself in a battle of stares, an almost playful smirk playing on my lips. Let's see who can stand the other longer.
"Dude, that guy is really fixing you…" says a voice besides me, distracting me, making me drop my gaze. Stupid Daviel, always interrupting in the wrong moment. I can't stand him. I swear that I will commit suicide if I ever have to ally with him in the arena. Why did he have to ruin the moment? I look at him with what I guess would be considered as passive anger on my face.
Why am I even frustrated? It's not like Daviel have destroyed the biggest opportunity of my life. I don't even know the guy from eight. But something tells me that I should forget him, and really not try to fraternize with the enemy. Even after the bashful smile he gave me, I assure myself that I shouldn't bother with him.
"Don't. Call. Me…. Dude." I respond calmly, thickly pursing my lips. He smiles, knowing way too good that he did something wrong, and I can see in his eyes that he doesn't quite mind. As if he actually likes it. Soon enough, other voices quickly surround me.
"Esmay! Esmay! Don't wave too fast! " shouts Daphna, her mermaid lips nervously speaking as her hand squeezes mine before letting go. The prints of her ice cold fingers leave a shaking effect on my skin, dispiriting my body. I have a suddenly fear of falling and reach out for Daphna's hand, but she already stepped back, as the rest of the prep team. Andromeda blows me a kiss of good luck before turning away in her translucent heels. District one and their sequin outfits open the scene, as their chariot smoothly rolls out.
Currently, I have a deep inner need for quiet and peace. All the voices and anxiousness around me is driving my brain in a delirium. But it seems that my silence won't be reachable, as soon enough, my chariot drives into the platform. Immediate loud shouts fill my ears. The show has begun.
The lights are extremely exhausting and I can already see that my frail body will not be able to handle it. I feel exhibited in front of all these beautiful people. Their screams and sweet words bring me back to reality, reminding myself to smile and wave. I opt for the reserved girl, with a slight twist. I wink a few times and graciously blow kisses. For a second, I feel like I am the only thing they are living for. And I love it. As much as I enjoy myself, playing a character as Daphna did earlier, the Capitolian man and women that shout after me, make me uncomfortable. Of course the dress is short, but their resonant whistles and dangerous smiles are making me even more nervous. As if they want my body, perhaps even my soul. I feel like the crowd didn't get enough, like they want even more to show. A shiver runs down my spine, and I finally decide to turn away from the crowd. I intently look in the front of where the giant pedestal of the president stands. But I realize that these people are all waiting for my dead, and that's when my smile slightly fades.
But still, my movements become repetitive and my brain is in a delirious trouble. I see stars in my eyes and I can't rely on my instinct to know whether this is a dream or reality. I hear names being shouted. Bailey. Clea. Aiden. None that I recognize, until my name echoes on the walls. Esmay. As if a tornado hit my body, I freeze. It doesn't sound good. I don't like the way they scream, plead after me.
These people shouting and loving the show are non-other than our murderers. I choose that I had enough of these poor attempts at entertainment. Only Capitolians enjoy it after all. Grieving families give their children in sacrifice, and still, people require them to watch as they slaughter each other. For all the years that I thought that the Hunger Games where a fair play, I now realize that the vision of an outsider is nothing compared to the shock when you truly have to participate in these atrocities.
Mother believed in the country Panem used to be. She would say that it was a united nation, which was built on equality and fraternity, where everybody lived in harmony, trusted God and had peace. We could have all lived here, in the Capitol, if some weren't so selfish.
The rest of the evening goes at sonic speed. Voices vibrate around me, confusing my brain. The chariot gets back into the station and I feel every piercing eyes staring at me. I don't even remember the president's speech, until Andromeda mentions to me his extraordinary suit. Daphna congratulates me on my behavior and how professional I actually looked out there. No matter how cruel the Capitol may be, she must be one of the kindest creatures amongst them. Lierel offers me a simple kind smile. Like the birds fluttering in a summer breeze, I feel relieved to satisfy him. This means that he will put another effort to construct my interview dress as well. Even though the excitement for the parade was a huge mistake and disappointment, I look forward to the interview. I am going to try to make myself more memorable, if it isn't already done.
"Good job. You seemed slightly lost at one point, but you did well enough." suddenly says Helis, scaring my despondent bones. His tall form standing still next to mine, he seems terribly imposing with his dark skin shining through the spot-lite. Then I see, for the first time, the small diamond teeth embellishing his pink lips, since he actually smiles at me. Returning the affection with a sheepish grin, I turn away not bearing his stare, or more of shame of my scandalous outfit.
At the same moment, Aster makes her grand entrance. As a drunken man coming from a bar, she stumbles a few times, before shaking Daviel hand and whispering secret words in his ears. It slightly surprises me that she doesn't directly come to insult me. As much as I would like to hear their conversation, I decide to skip the ice queen. My attention is soon taken away by, again, the boy from eight. As his team bickers around him in adoration, I realize that it's his name that the ecstatic fans screamed earlier, Bailey. It's a rather nice name, in my opinion. But I soon realize that I am not the only one eying him. The way Lierel licks his lips at his view makes me wonder if whether or not he's homosexual. It wouldn't surprise me.
Soon enough, Daphna decides that it's time to go, directing me and Daviel towards an elevator. We leave Lierel and the prep team behind, Andromeda assuring me that she will be present at the super tonight. We enter silently, as well as both of our mentors, before our escort quickly pushes the 6 button, not allowing any one else in. The box in which we are sandwiched goes up, vastly obscuring my view. We took the stairs earlier this morning with Daphna, not leaving me the time to truly experience this new type of transport. Even though it's extremely convenient, I don't appreciate it at all, having a constant fear of heights. I guess Daviel silently snickers as he seems my dizzy and pale face when the elevator doors open.
Daphna presents us the whole floor in a rush, saying that we are in a slight delay in the program, and that we should undress and prepare for super quickly. She soon gives me my designated room, her blonde curls falling over her forehead. She is definitely exhausted, she would look perfect unless.
The room is more of a suit, something so wistful I've never could have imagined before. The walls are leaving me starry-eyed, reflecting the blue paradise of my dreams. The furniture is pure ivory while the expended bed is as soft as a lamb could ever be. But the most interesting part is the giant mirror gracing a whole wall. And when I get the courage to look into it, I realize how perfect all of this is. The peaceful bedroom behind me, the large curls of my hair, my favorite color jacket, my long bare legs and… No. The tiny scarlet dress ruins it all. I want to throw it off, right now. As much as I liked it before, I now realize that it doesn't fit me well, that it doesn't match the true is the dress in which everybody admired me, the one in which they liked my body and considered it as an object. It was a huge mistake, and in a certain way, I guess Daphna saw it coming. I wasn't myself, when I was out there. It was a less selfish, less sorrowful version of me. Even though I would love to change, I wouldn't want to become a person I wouldn't believe to become.
My dark thoughts confusing my brain, the first thing I know, is that I have to get the dress off, and bury it, bury it deep somewhere where I can never see it again. The dress reminds me of her, of the mother with eagle nails and pink cigarettes I once had. Red was her color. The story should be left behind; still, I can't get her out of my mind. I wish I could burn the dress, pour cheap gasoline on it and let the fire ignite. Still, the fancy garbage bag will do the job just well. And as I abandon the light piece of fabric in the bin, I return in front of the mirror, admiring the accomplishment. The colors in the background, my pale skin and dark hair, they all make a perfect match with each other, as if they directly came from heaven.
I used to have a very strong belief in God, knowing that he would rescue me whenever I needed help. Even though the Capitol strictly banned religions, I still considered the possibility of a superior spirit guiding me. Every night I would pray to find where I belonged. But time passed and I only rejected my faith, not believing anymore. I earlier promised myself that if ever, by pure miracle, I get out of this sticky situation, out of the Hunger Games, I will retrieve God and the opportunities he gave me, the ones I never truly used.
Until then, I am supposed to gain courage, to defeat my fears. And only then, in the sound of silence do I truly realize what I want to become. A victor of the Hunger Games.