Author Games: Panemdemic

Carmine Valerius's Rapprochement

Carmine had never felt less human in her entire life.

She could imagine people reacting now that the disease was out in Panem. Some people were probably trying to hide it the way Carmine had at first, desperate to feel more human. Despite herself, a wry smile crossed Carmine's face at the thought: people applying even more makeup to hide the bags growing beneath their eyes, heels growing smaller and smaller as their legs became weaker and weaker. Hadn't they watched the Games, seen the way her health had declined no matter how hard she fought? A sudden fit of nausea wracked Carmine's body, her stomach turning in on itself, desperately trying to wrench out food that wasn't even there. Was it only a few days ago that a bit of anxiety was more nausea than she could handle, her humanity her only weakness?

In the Capitol, she often heard of people who spoke of humanity as though it was something to transcend. Even by her standards, the lengths they went to to transform themselves were extreme. They shaved their heads, surgically implanted claws or tails or whiskers, dyed their skin in harsh chemicals to distinguish themselves. Though the rest of the Capitol thought of them as freaks, they had the utmost confidence in themselves, and Carmine couldn't help but envy their confidence. Did they feel the same way now?

Ugly bulges had begun to decorate Carmine's skull, marks of shame even visible through her wig. Did they treat them as marks of honor? No matter how hard Carmine had tried, she couldn't imagine thinking of this disease as anything beside a nightmare. Every breath came in as a ragged shudder, the tips of her fingers blackening and dying before her eyes, and the realization that this was only the beginning.

The worst part of this disease wasn't its physical progression - her nausea was hardly any worse than it was yesterday, and she was slowly becoming accustomed to her sickness. By the time she died, maybe she wouldn't feel any worse than she did right now. No, the worst part was the fear, the certainty that she was going to get infinitely worse and there was nothing she could do it. She had seen herself dying, seen how ugly she looked. Couldn't she at least die with some semblance of her dignity remaining?

In one hand, Carmine held her knife, the other a communications line sent to her by the Gamemakers. Which one was she to use? Her knife, the only thing that had stayed constant these whole Games, shone promisingly in her right hand. Maybe she could die with what little dignity she had remaining. It wouldn't be the first person she had killed. But she had to say goodbye. Before she even knew what she was doing, Carmine's blackened finger had pressed down on the call button.

"Carmine?" a familiar voice met her on the other side, a few moments before the screen flickered to life. Her mother.

"Mom?" Carmine's voice broke upon saying the simple word. It had been so long since she had seen anyone she had recognized, she hardly even cared that her mother's face was sallow, her cheeks sunk in, her eyes dead and lifeless.

"Carmine, I have to thank you," her mother said. There weren't any traces of the sadness Carmine had been expecting, only excitement. If possible, Carmine felt even worse. The camera from the communicator showed the blue sky in the background.

"Mom?" Carmine repeated. For the first time, she noticed her voice, hoarse and cracking from days without use. "Why aren't you home?"

"Won't you let me finish?" she laughed, her familiar bright laugh slowly breaking into a cough Carmine had only become familiar with in the last several days. "I have to thank you for inspiring my newest piece of artwork!"

"What do you mean, Mom?" Carmine's voice was hollow despite the sadness she felt. Was the disease even stealing that from her? "I'm dying."

"Of course!" her mother said. Her excitement hadn't changed at all even after seeing personally how the disease had ravaged her daughter's body. "That's what's so beautiful about it! Your refusal to let the disease still your agency is beautiful."

"I don't understand."

"It's not your fault, Carmine." For the first time, her mother's words were gentle. "You never were the most creative one. But you've inspired me to die in public, to let the world see me dying, and show them I don't care."

Carmine opened her mouth to reply, to protest, to tell her mother the only way to save her dignity was to die before it got any worse, before her mother interrupted her.

"Now I really have to go Carmine, it's ruining the authenticity of my exhibition."

Before Carmine could even say goodbye, the screen resolved to black.

In one hand, Carmine held her knife, the other a communications line sent to her by the Gamemakers. She had used one, now it was time to use the other.