Revolt 13 | Y.Jw

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My eyes loyally followed the thin brush my stylist dragged over my skin. I had come to learn her name was Carda. She was completely quiet as she painted thin and complicated lines across my arms and up around my neck - the liquid she used as paint almost looking like a clear varnish. However, it smelled better than the varnish that we used to cover fence boards in thirteen.

"There you go sweetheart," her voice rasped as it had done since the beginning. It seemed that she had slowly warmed up to me the more I had stayed quiet and only talked whenever she had spoken to me first, "all done."

"Thank you," I whispered as she grabbed both my hands and pulled me down from the stretcher and down onto the floor.

Everything about me had been fixed up. My hands were softer than ever, nails neatly trimmed, cleaned and painted a bright red. My skin in general was softer and fairer than I had thought it would be under the dirt that had built up over time. My hair actually had proper texture.

"Can I ask the symbolism?" I questioned and let my hands run down over the intricate ropework the dress was made out of - cutting off unevenly from my right thigh to my left knee. It was beautiful, but I was yet to understand why the rope was as clean as the white color it had.

"District thirteen is for descendants of political prisoners," Carda excused and pursed her wrinkly lips, "being held down by the Capitol's rope, against their will."

"And the varnish?" I questioned and a small smile tugged at her lips.

"It'll be visible, just trust us."

I glanced at her as she just nodded and placed a careful hand on the lower part of my back, escorting me out from our cubicle and towards another hall. All around me were hustling and bustling. Other tributes and other stylists, even some other very important looking people.

Carda left me by a chariot attached to two black horses. Once Carda had left I was painfully aware of how misplaced I was. Majority of the other female tributes looked healthy and strong, the male tributes looked even stronger. If I was going to have any chance of survival to get out of these games it was by outsmarting them in some way. It seemed like they knew too - the way they were all glancing at me with scoffs and smirks on their faces. The only exception was four tributes. Three girls and a boy, all of which could be no older than thirteen.

I was too caught up with watching the other tributes to even notice Andrew had joined me as well along with the last few tributes from District Twelve and Eleven. His stylist had ushered us up onto our chariot, claiming that the chariot run will begin shortly.

"You got the varnish too," Andrew remarked as he looked down my arms and I quickly nodded, "do you know why?"

"Carda said to just trust them," I shrugged quietly and Andrew simply nodded.

We were awkwardly silent as we stood waiting, looking at the other tributes. The two tributes from District Twelve stood impatiently in front of us. The girl had long golden brown hair cascading down her back, while the boy was anxiously shifting his weight between his right and left foot - his raven hair bobbing a bit each time the weight shifted. Somehow his constant movements seemed calming to me once the first few chariots started moving ahead.

The pull in our chariot when our horses had begun moving had caused for me to quickly grab onto the edge of the chariot tightly. My grip never loosened, not even when we rode out onto a long runway,  which was surrounded by loud, cheering onlookers. Beside me Andrew sucked in a deep breath and I glanced over at him. He was about half a head taller than me, despite being eighteen already. 

Once Andrew noticed I was looking over towards him he just sent me a small smile and rubbed my back gently. I wasn't sure, but it seemed like people cheered even louder when Andrew and I had shared a moment of comfort with one another in the midst of the whole chaos that was around us.

One by one each chariot reached the circle formed ending near a large podium, on which the president would hold his speech. I had yet to learn her name, and I still didn't care. However, before we got to the point of the circle along with the other tributes, the president had already stood up.

When the president stood up, a gasp went through the entire audience. In confusion I glanced around before noticing colors on my arms, and up Andrew's shoulder. The clear varnish we had been painted on with was turning bright red. Blood red.

For a second I swore I saw the face of the president fall as I glanced up at her and somehow locked eyes. Eventually I did rip my eyes away from her and watched as the tributes from Twelve drove a bit to the left and parked, letting me get a quick glimpse of the side profile of their tributes.

A small gasp left my mouth and Andrew had to quickly grab onto my wrist to keep my grip on the chariot. I never removed my eyes from what they had seen. I didn't listen to the president I only kept my eyes on the tributes from District Twelve.

His raven hair looked shinier than I had recalled it, the dirt along his neck was completely gone - I had initially though it was a birthmark but if it's gone now then it must be because it was dirt all this while. His round eyes were fixated on the president, lips pursed and Adam's apple bobbing up and down when he gulps nervously.

"Only this year, and another one, that's just two more reapings. We're not gonna get reaped."

That's what he had said to me. Two more years and we were not in the reapings anymore. We weren't gonna get reaped for this year, and yet we both stood there. I had seen him, he hadn't seen me. 

We had both gotten reaped, what was the chances of that happening in the same year?