Author's Games Entries

Task 1: Steve

Bright lights dimmed just enough to allow Steve to see as he walked out. His long legs were decorated in black suit pants that had been specifically made for him. He blinked an eyelash out of his eyes and sneezed. Perfume and makeup filled the air. Very girly, but it wasn't for him.

No, it was for the thirteen billion girls that all had to be dolled up. The outfits were creative, at least, his was. It started with an extensive wash and then a yellow shirt bright enough to make the sun wince. Little strands of silver weaved through the yellow in delicate flecks. From there he had donned a dark purple jacket that hugged his muscles and cast a mysterious look. His hair had been extensively washed and combed up while they had shaved off his tiny beard. In his suit pocket--a single, perfectly cultivated Snapdragon flower.

Around him, people ran left and right. His stylist had abandoned him hours ago to work on his district partner, Yukana Chambley. She was apparently wearing some sort of pretty white dress.

Why is everyone dressed up as flowers? Is this some sort of Rose parade? He laughed silently to himself as he waited for his turn, mind spinning on wheels of gold and blue. What did the bee say to the flower? Hello, honey!

Finally, it was his turn. He adjusted his blue spotted magenta tie and walked up the steps to the stage.

"All the way from District Nine," called out a sharp and slightly scary voice, "is Steve Young! Steve, come on out. We have a special guest for you."

He felt his throat tighten up at that as he went to his seat. There, right before him, was Shelia.

Shelia.

With a grin he hugged her, his strong arms squeezing her body close as his lips lifted upwards. "Babe!"

"Hey, Steve," she said. Her voice was soft. Weak. Something's wrong. "Have a sit, will you?"

"Yes, Steve, take a seat," Wisteria, the hostess, ordered. She was scarier in person. Nails like a witch's, sharp and long, and a thin body encompassed in a large carnation dress. It was strange, over the top, and just enough to give him nightmares. She gave him a short smile. "Lovely outfit."

"Yeah--if you're into the 'I just escaped a greenhouse' look." He chuckled, glancing back at his girlfriend. She looked radiant as ever with her plump sides and corn-colored hair. Her dress was wavy and bright orange. Perfection.

He gave Shelia a broad smile, "I'd say you're as pretty as a rose, but a rose ain't got nothing on your beautiful tulips."

At that she let out that pretty little laugh of hers, teeth flashing and round cheeks blushing. "Ain't he a riot!"

Wisteria, who was about as cheery as a dead field mouse, only shook her head. "I can appreciate a funny man," she said, "but beneath that. Tell me, Mister Young, what skills do you bring into this arena?"

He shrugged. "I'm strong. I can run. I can fight, climb..."

Pursing her lips, Wisteria shook her head. She turned to the side for a second, sharp nails digging into the metal of her chair. Her metallic eyes pierced his soul, forcing him to talk, to spill everything.

"Are the Games a joke to you?"

"Yes."

It was automatic. It was easy. Shelia, though, let out the smallest cry of pain. Tears flooded her eyes at the same time confetti began to rain down on them all.