Longest chapter by far. Thank you to those who are reading this, and to that person who likes this story enough to follow it! So far This story is doing far better than my last one. If there are any timeline corrections/Hunger Games details I am forgetting, feel free to correct me. Enjoy!
I wake up in a panic, not knowing where I am.
All around me are flowering cotton plants and long prairie grasses. Above me is a bright azure sky with a few fluffy white clouds. It would be peaceful if I could shake the feeling of impending danger.
I slowly sit up, before realizing my stomach no longer hurts. I'm wearing a cream tank top and tan cargo pants that look oddly familiar. Just then, I hear someone breathing, and a rustling noise to my right. I spring to my feet but the grasses are too tall for me to see over.
I start slipping through the grass toward the noise. Please just be a gopher or something! I plead, though I know what it is. I don't want to know, I wish I didn't know, but I did.
I want to curl up in a ball with my eyes squeezed shut and my hands over my ears, but I can't. My body defies my wishes. The grass makes a rasping sound against my clothes as I pass but I can't stop. Soon, I'm running. Not away from the sound like I want to, but toward it.
I break into the clearing made of stomped on grass, not more than a hollow really, just as the knife goes in. Just like I always do. The knife is held by a girl from District 8. Her hair is dirty, her face is sweaty, and she looks mad with desperation. Her arms are thin and trembling, her hands covered in the blood she spilled.
The person who's been stabbed is lying with his face buried in his arms; stabbed in his sleep. I'm certain of who it is, but my mind isn't satisfied until I reach forward and flip him over onto his back. The shoulders are bronze and well defined, the hair is a deep rich brown, but the face looking up at me is what captures my full attention.
I forget about the District 8 girl, who is now sobbing uncontrollably, caring only for the boy I see. His eyes are closed but behind those thick lashes lie dark chocolate eyes that will twinkle no more. His face is calm, angelic even, something it never had a chance to be during his worry filled life.
I start bawling, backing away from the face of my dead brother, but the girl jumps on me. I think, she's gonna kill me too! But she doesn't. She just wraps her skinny arms around me, begging for forgiveness. I want to pry her bloody hands off my shirt but her grip is like a vice.
I can't get away from either of them. I want to so badly but I can't move. My mind becomes as frozen as my body. The last thing I see before the panic overwhelms me is that angelic boy's face.
Jonathon's face.
I wake up sobbing. I miss Jonathon so badly. I wish I could have buried the memories along with the body. But I can't get away. My memories are the only stranglehold on that moment, but I'll never be able to shake free of them.
My heart feels heavy as it thumps against my chest. It isn't fair that my heart should still beat without his. I miss him. More than words can say. More than I'll ever be able to realize. More than Angus. More than Ian. Possibly more than life itself.
When I lost my dad, Jonathon became the man of the house at sixteen. Jonathon was a fighter, though never a gladiator. He worked for Hersh as a ticket boy, and dropped out of school to work in the slaughterhouses. He didn't want me to have to get a job but I wanted to help him, to relieve his stress. He always powered through every obstacle like an ox. I loved him for that. I loved that he was my solid rock with a sympathetic ear and a shoulder just perfect for crying on. He was my crutch when dad died. So when he died, I thought I would collapse without him.
I told him that when we said goodbye. He told me the same thing I told Ian: get a job from Hersh. He also told me to look after Ian. He didn't say 'until I get back' like he did for Ian, and I knew then he was a dead man walking. I asked him how I would survive without him, without my crutch.
I'll always carry his answer with me, "You are the strongest girl I know. You can survive, you must survive, for Ian; and for me." I think he was going to say something else, but he never got a chance before the Peacekeeper dragged me away.
I stay curled up in bed until the sun comes up. Eventually the sobs turn to sniffles which slowly fade to silence. I've cried myself dry, or so it feels. My eyes sting from the salty tears and my nose is running.
About dawn, Verdandi bangs on the door and yells, "Up and at 'em!"
My pillow is still soaking, as is the fringe of my velvet comforter, which I also used the wipe my runny nose on. Over all, I'm relieved to get away from my mess, away from my memories and sadness.
I take a long hot shower to wash away the last dregs of my nightmare. This time I decide to use a peppermint shampoo. The smell reminds me of Christmas's as they were before dad died. How, no matter how early we snuck downstairs, the stockings would each hold a candy cane. Jonathon loved the candy canes. He loved anything peppermint. It was the one tradition I made sure to salvage after dad died. Jonathon cried when he saw the candy canes, though whether it was from joy or sorrow, I never knew.
Smelling of peppermint, I walked back into the bedroom with a fluffy white robe wrapped around me. The first thing I notice is that the chair where I put my reaping outfit is empty and it takes me a minute to realize that my token is gone too. I want to panic but then logic gets in the way. They have to give it back before the Games, you're entitled, and it certainly isn't dangerous. I think.
I instead walk over to the closet and pick out lemon-colored, strapless sundress and gold sandals. I'd much rather wear a darker color like black, or at least some jeans, but I know this is what Gorath asked for; cutesy and sweet. I fiddle with the floaty skirt material but I know I'm just going to have to suck it up and wear the damn dress. I just hope that A. Gorath knows what he's doing, and B. that he isn't just telling me to be a sweet little princess as a joke and that he isn't waiting to laugh at me as soon as I see him.
I flounce out of my room in a little half-skip, just for practice, but stop before I open the dining car door. I'm the last to arrive and I know I must look really different because Leo looks shocked. His eyes and mouth are both wide open and it reminds me of a goldfish. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Gorath give me a tiny nod and a smirk. Well I'm glad someone's happy about my dress choice.
Leo regains his voice as I sit down, "Wow! That is a bright dress!" He comments.
"Well, as they say, 'when in Rome,'!" I quip, shrugging.
"Oh, right. The Capitol will love it." He replies.
"No they won't. I matched my sandals to my dress and they're flats, not heels." I say. Leo and Belinda snort at that, and Gorath's smirk grows even wider.
"Are you claiming that Capitolites dress like clowns?" Verdandi growls. Instead of answering, we all glance at his green tattoos and his maroon and gold suit before bursting out into giggles.
Verdandi glares at us and remains tight lipped for the rest of the meal. I finally help myself to a thick, sweet oatmeal-like substance with liberal amount of sugar and fruit in it. One bite and I'm in heaven. Belinda pours Leo and I some hot chocolate and after I'm finished with my oatmeal and Leo finishes his pancakes, we split a huge platter of croissants and sip our hot chocolate.
I'm reaching for my eighth roll when Belinda clears her throat. Both Leo and I take that as a cue to listen. But before Belinda can speak, the windows go black. We must be passing through the tunnels. I think. Leo looks panicked for a moment until he realizes what's happening.
"Hmph-hmm." Belinda utters, regaining our attention, "As you can see, we're nearing the Capitol. When we get there, you'll be escorted right into the Remake Center to prepare for the Tribute Parade tonight."
"What will that be like?" Leo inturupts.
"You'll see soon enough. It's not fun to be sure!" Belinda says.
"What will they do to us?" I ask.
My question is aimed at Gorath but it's Belinda who answers, "Clean you up so your stylists can dress you up. It shouldn't be too horrible. I know for a fact your stylists are the same as the past two years so the costumes should be sensible. They may even be good! But that's not really important. Just keep your chins up and don't complain about what they choose to do to you."
Just then, we enter the Capitol and I hear Leo gasp. I turn to look and see nothing but brightly colored buildings and magnificent architecture. While I may not like the government or the Capitolites, I can't help but admire the city. I stand and walk up to the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out at the buildings. I have to smile when I see the people. They look ridiculous and if I didn't know better, I'd say they were dressed up for the parade too.
Leo and Gorath join me. "What exactly is the Remake Center like?" I ask Gorath, so quietly that no one else can hear me.
"No bull-shitting?" He asks, just as quietly.
"No bull-shitting, just the truth." I confirm.
"They'll scrub you until it hurts and pluck your hair like a chicken. Even if you're perfectly clean, they'll treat you like a disease needing to be cured. The prep team are just mindless drones so act nice, they'll spread the word all over the city."
Your stylist will be Fahran. He may show some of your skin, he may cover you up completely, but he knows what's in style and he'll at least avoid making you look repulsive. It's an asset many outer districts don't have." Gorath murmurs. His face remains passive, as if he were just commenting on the weather or the architecture.
"Thanks." I say.
"For what?" He asks.
"For being straight with me. I don't like how Belinda sugarcoats things, even if it sounds better. I'd rather be prepared for reality." I say.
"Smart girl." He says it like a compliment.
Hours later, I'm lying on a table in the Remake Center; my conversation with Gorath playing in my mind in endless circles. I'm acting as sweet as possible and not complaining per instructions, though I don't think I can stand one more 'procedure'. Gorath wasn't kidding when he said they'd scrub and pluck me. My skin was still smarting from the acidic bath they made me take and my arms and legs stung from my first and, if I have any say in it, only waxing in my life. Now I know why most girls prefer to shave. I think, gritting my teeth.
"Almost done sweetie!" A blue haired freak named Panache, says. His blue hair is shoulder length and just brushes the rhinestones inlaid in the shoulders of his acid green jacket. I think he believes it makes him look tough but it just makes him look more ridiculous.
"If only we could do something about your hair!" Lorelei says. She has gold tattoos over, what I assume is, a fake tan. She also has earned some marginal respect from me in fashion choice. Her hair is blond with red highlights and blue tips, and swept back in a fancy Capitol-type high pony tail. Aside from that, she has multiple gold piercings in her ears, eyebrows, lips, nose, and even one in her tongue. If I had to guess, she probably has one in her navel too, but she's wearing a dress that covers her stomach. The dress, purple, isn't much shorter than my reaping dress was and her high heeled boots reach past her knees.
Normally I wouldn't have cared what Lorelei was wearing, but it's actually pretty cool looking. Granted, her good taste doesn't extend to her mannerisms. She's still an idiotic bimbo like every other Capitolite. To make things worse, my third stylist, Everett, is sick so things aren't going as fast or as smoothly as Panache and Lorelei would have liked.
"Fahran makes the last call on what to do with her hair and you know it." Panache reminds her, and then tells me to stand.
I stand completely naked as they do some last minute touchups, a stray hair here, another there, and so on until I'm completely hairless save for my eyebrows and my pixie cut. They leave me to fetch Fahran as soon as I'm deemed respectable. Gorath wasn't exaggerating when he said they'd treat me like a disease that needed to be cured! I think in disgust.
My stomach feels hollow, despite my large breakfast, so it must be at least two o'clock. I tap my foot with impatience while I wait. Foot tapping, I can add that to my repertoire of revived nervous habits. I think in disgust.
Just then, a short man came in. He had flame red hair and his makeup was very dramatic and heavy. He also would have been shorter than me if he hadn't been wearing platform boots. "I'm Fahran, your stylist." He says. His voice is especially high pitched and nasally, a combination that makes me wince as he speaks.
I stand still as he walks around me, inspecting my dimensions. As with the prep team, I don't feel self conscious at all. My gladiator outfit was no more than a bikini, and I wore that in front of hundreds of drunken men at home. Only then does it strike me how little difference there is between my work uniform and that of a stripper.
"Good, good, well muscled, small but nothing to be done about that, punk hair, all good…" Fahran mutters as he takes in my body. "Good, I'll need to make some adjustments but I think my idea will work just fine!" He says at last, clasping his hands together. He says nothing about the patchwork of color on my bruised stomach, unlike my prep team, who cried in anguish over it.
"Um, what idea?" I ask. Just then my stomach gives a small gurgle.
Fahran titters like a silly little girl at that. "Oh my! How inconsiderate of me! You must have skipped lunch with how long it took to prepare you! At least we didn't have to shampoo your hair or it really would be late!" He says, "Follow me!"
I quickly grab my robe and skip after him to a sitting room. There is already a large assortment of food on the table; soups, salads, vegetables, fruit, meat, pasta, breads, and even desserts.
"I hope you don't mind terribly if I leave you here. I already ate and I need to adjust your outfit and add some finishing touches." Fahran says, bowing out of the door. I hear a little click behind me and I know I've been locked in; again.
With nothing better to do, I attack the food with a voracious appetite. Downing a steak, with pasta salad and curried vegetables on the side, I'm reaching for some pie when my prep team enters and whisks me away to prepare for the parade.
If this morning consisted of wiping away gunk, this afternoon is dedicated to piling it on. While the end effect is accented cheek bones, a smoky eye, and a blood red pout; I still don't get why I needed all of the concealer, it feels like I'm coated in an inch of mud! They even apply it to my chest 'to blend in [my] beautiful tan', which guarantees my costume shows cleavage. Despite my promise to be kind and comply, I insisted that I rub in the bronzer on my chest. Panache may have seen my junk, but there's no way in hell I'm letting him touch it.
It's already night time by the time Fahran bustles in with my costume. He and Panache get in a hissy fit because Panache needs to paint my nails and Fahran needs to tailor the outfit. Lorelei helps me slip into my dress while the others bicker. It's actually a pretty decent costume. The dress is made of pliable animal skin with striped fur like a tiger. It's so tight, I have to suck in my gut to squeeze into it, but it looks tough. I know Gorath won't like what it does for my image, but I love it.
By that point the men have come to an agreement. I stand while Panache attaches fake, pointy nails and paints them blood red, almost like claws. At the same time, Fahran adjusts my headdress which is a magnificent collaboration of a giant fanged skull surrounded by a crown of feathers that drape down my back in a long tail that reaches the ground. The feathers range from red to brown to black, and remind me of an old painting of an Indian chief I once saw.
While the men do that, Lorelei fastens a scary looking necklace around my neck, made up of what I recognize as giant claws and teeth, possibly grizzly. The last time I saw grizzly claws that close was when I was walking home after a fight one night and I came across one that had killed a sheep. I don't think it saw me because I backed away as quietly as I could and gave it a wide birth, but it scared the shit out of me.
Lorelei then fastens a black leather belt with a bones dangling from it, around my waist, purely for decoration. I note, with some disgust, that the bones are decorated to look like they have dried blood and gristle clinging to them. I know I'm supposed to look like some warrior princess or something, but I'm starting to feel like a savage.
Lorelei and Panache both start painting archaic symbols on my arms and face while Fahran sticks a blunt silver sword in my belt; deadly looking, yet harmless. Fahran adds some ivory and wooden bangles on my ankles and wrists as a final touch, just as Panache finishes the last symbol on my neck.
I don't have time to look at myself in a mirror, though I know I must look like a deadly savage. I don't think Fahran even waits for the archaic symbols to dry completely before he whisks me to the elevator and down to the stables.
I'm the last to arrive, so, naturally, everyone stares at me as I walk to my chariot. I can see jealousy on some of the outer districts faces, and pure distain on those of the Careers. They don't have time to stare at me for long because right as I reach my chariot, the anthem starts to play and the doors swing open to allow the District 1 chariot to leave.
Leo gives me a hand up so I don't have to jump, which is good since the pain in my bruise is starting to flare up again. I admire how we are wearing complimentary costumes, yet different. Leo's costume consists of a loin cloth and a long furry cape that also reminds me of a bear. It's fastened in front with a clasp that looks like a skull. Our belts and headdresses match but instead of bangles, Leo has far more tattoos; mostly on his skinny chest. His muscles are defined, but from lack of fat, not from physical exertion, like mine. I know he's supposed to look tough without a shirt, but he looks like a boy dressed up in his father's cloak and headdress.
"You look amazing!" He says, his face flaming in that same splotchy blush he had on the train.
"Thanks, you too." I say, smiling.
Leo shakes his head and laughs, "The costume may be awesome, but I don't have the body to do it justice. If I was muscular like you, then yeah; but I'm not." He says. I don't have time to reply before the chariot lurches forward into the city center. The roar of the crowd reminds me of the fighting ring. Suddenly I wish I was only dressed like this as some promotional thing for Hersh, not the Hunger Games. Leo was right, he doesn't have the body to pull off the costume; but I can imagine Angus wearing it, or even Jonathon. Both would have looked fearsome in such a get up.
I wave and smile like a mindless drone. Some people are even calling our names and throwing flowers at us. I want to hate this candy colored bimbos, but I just can't bring myself to care enough. I go through the motions, like Gorath would have wanted, and literally just let life pass me by.
The Chariot jolts to a halt in front of the President's mansion. The President was just sworn in a few days ago as the previous President had been murdered. There were rumors of poison and a second uprising, but it's all nonsense. I wouldn't have been surprised if this President Coriolanus Snow, was the one who had murdered the President. I only saw him once before, at an inauguration speech a few days ago, yet his eyes had been cold, heartless, and void of concern for the previous President. If dad's advice about eyes being the window into a person's soul was right, then the new President has no soul.
I struggle not to shiver as he begins to speak. I don't know if it's his cold tone, or the fact that I'm not wearing sleeves, but I feel chilled to the bone. I don't trust that shifty eyed weasel! I keep thinking to myself as he speaks. I ignore his words, the content doesn't matter, in the end, he's still condemning all of us. I glare at him, despite my promise to look like an innocent little princess.
I do manage to quit glowering long enough to go around the city circle, enter the Training Center and escape into the elevator. The silly smile melts off my face in the elevator, and by the time I reach the 10th floor, I'm glaring again. Verdandi is waiting for me but I brush past him and into what I assume is my room.
Once alone, I fling off my headdress, rip off my bangles, belt and necklace, and fling myself onto the fluffy comforter. I think about how cruel President Snow is. How he could choose to end the Hunger Games right now if he wanted. How he's sitting in his giant mansion, surrounded by luxury, while the Districts are working their fingers to the bone to scrape by.
The knot of anger builds and builds in my stomach until I have to scream or risk combusting.
I scream.
I screech like an eagle, bellow like a mad cow, and howl like a coyote. My scream holds pain and anger and sorrow. Every last scream in history funnels through time into my gut-wrenching wails. And though I can hear Verdandi pounding on my door;
I scream.
Lots of insight into Diana's past. I hope you enjoyed it. Do you wait breathlessly every Sunday for me to update? Do you like Diana? Do you need to know what happens next? Then review! If you can't review, please follow the story so I have some idea of who's following this story. Believe it or not, big numbers are encouraging!