A Circus of Eagles [An HG Fanfic]

Bloodbath - Narratine

Narratine

I crouch, and I wait.

The stylist fusses over me, his curls bobbing around his ears. They are green, jade green, to match his eyes, but when I focus on his scalp to avoid looking at him I can see mousy-brown roots showing through. He twitches. Straightens my collar. Tugs on the zip of the jacket. Little rituals to fill the time until my podium shoots off into the sky. He is a good man. He apologised for how uncomfortable my parade outfit was, the wire mesh creation that was so heavy my knees nearly gave in. I didn't mind. I will feel worse.

I look around at the catacomb. I heard the escort discussing them with the Peacekeepers who came to fetch us. He was from District Eleven and so he didn't know the word catacomb. In my head it has always been somewhere dark and damp and horrible, like Haematite. This is just a box room, with just a bench and the podium and a few hooks on the walls where I know the last remnants of my clothes go but where I can't help but imagine butchered bodies hanging, bleeding onto the floor tiles.

My clothes are uncomfortable and heavy and hot. I feel like I'm wearing too many layers. I must look at least twice my usual weight. The belt keeps twisting around and the pouches bang against my hips so that I can't forget that it's there. But it won't matter anyway. I won't be wearing it for long.

"Anything you want to talk about, Narratine, honey?"

I shake my head. One of my plaits falls in front of my ear. He tucks it back. Ever since my name was called out this is how my life has been, like a series of pictures all strung together but too slowly, so you can see each individual picture. The last few days have taken too long. Like when you're waiting for something exciting to happen - going to see a new play, or your favorite band, or just something good for tea - and it seems to take forever because you can't wait to get there. Except this is different. I am not excited. But this slow time is destroying me because I want it to be over and done with. I don't want to sit around imagining my own death time and time again. It just makes it worse. Thank Snow they didn't try and keep us for another night. I don't think I'd have been able to take it.

He pins my plaits back in place. "Think about those pins, honey. They're quite sharp."

I know they are. They're digging into my skull. But it's not that bad, not compared to a knife or a spear or an arrow.

"Don't give up, honey," he says, but his voice is flat and it's like he knows it won't have any effect. "You're small and quick. You've got this sorted."

Running away will only delay the inevitable. I'll spend days and nights in fear wondering if there's someone behind me, if the next thing I eat might be poisoned, if it'll be the last sunrise I ever see. It will be horrible.

I don't care what comes after. I just want to know for sure when this stops.

Hugh thinks I'm afraid. He doesn't understand that it's the opposite. I'm not afraid. I know exactly what's happening and I have accepted it. It's the pain that scares me. The waiting. I don't want long, drawn-out pain. I want quick relief.

Hugh is a nice boy and he doesn't deserve what's going to happen to him. Do any of us? No. Like Mother sobbed in the Sector Center; it's not fair, why us? Out of everybody, why us? But what can we do about it? Nothing. And perhaps the older ones think they can fight and win. After all, one of us has to. But us younger ones? We don't stand a chance. It's better to accept that straight away. Then you aren't afraid.

There's a soft buzzing noise from the speaker in the corner. I sigh. Finally. It must be nearly time. My stylist tweaks at my outfit again. The pouches thump against my hips. I count my breaths. Each one is a little weight off my shoulders.