Author Games: Panemdemic

Carmine Valerius's Illusions

   Carmine doesn't deserve this.

A puddle of her own blood seeps into her clothes, her left sleeve already dyed red. It hurts, each of the open wounds on her forearm, her stomach from retching until only bile came up, her throat from the acid and her cries of pain. The rest of Carmine is weak; her body shakes from the very effort of staying upright and each breath seems to take longer, and take in less oxygen than the one before. It is only a matter of time until one shuddering exhale becomes her last, and all that is left of Carmine Valerius is the empty shell she had worked so hard to create. The mirror she found her first day in the arena still stands, somehow immune to the ravages of time that have crushed Carmine. Vomit, blood and pus alike all manage to wash away from the metallic surface, leaving it somehow even cleaner than before. Her reflection stares mockingly at her: bald, dirty, ugly, as a cruel reminder of how far she's fallen. She used to be beautiful, her hair cascading smoothly past her shoulders, her skin perfectly smooth and clear, her lips a piercing red. Somehow, a shadow of the girl she once was still remains trapped in the mirror, nothing more than a faint outline. If Carmine looks hard enough, she can see her, as strong as she once was, desperate to break back into the real world where she belongs. If she closes her eyes, Carmine can hear echoes of her voice reverberating through her memories of a time before the Games. She can smell the air of her apartment, and her father's cologne. She can feel his arms, strong yet gentle, holding her close, keeping her safe from harm.

"Don't worry Carmine," he says, and though he's probably thousands of miles away, she can feel the softness of his breath against her ear. "Those girls will get what's coming to them."

When Carmine opens her eyes again, she isn't in the arena anymore. She's in her favorite gray armchair, the one just big enough for her and her father to sit in together. Her body is weak, her arm shakes, but this time it's from crying. If she lays here for just a few minutes, it will pass, and she'll be alright again.

"They haven't yet," she sighs. The image of the three girls, one red, one green, one yellow, flashes into her mind. Each is laughing, pointing, and despite herself, Carmine feels embarrassed all over again.

"You just have to patient," her father says. He has a patient smile on his face, and there's love behind his deep gray eyes - the same color as Carmine's. The two are still for a moment, like a rest in a song to make each phrase more distinct, more lovely. Always the musician, her father breaks the pause. "What could you do that would frustrate them the most?"

Carmine stops for a moment before a small thought occurs to her. Then a giggle and a laugh take over her whole body. "If I dyed my hair red she'd be pretty angry."

Her father looks pensively at her - Carmine can see him weighing the pros and cons in his head. Should he let his daughter drastically alter her appearance just for revenge? Then a broad smile breaks across his face.

"Let's call it Carmine."

She can still remember the look on Chandler's face when Carmine showed up to school the next day, her hair more vibrant and beautiful than anybody's in the school. Chandler tried to shrug it off, pretend that her hair was scarlet and not Carmine, so of course it looked different. But for once, she was the powerless one, and Carmine was the beautiful one. Finally, she had gotten what she deserved.

Carmine's memories began to fade away, so slowly she didn't notice it at first until suddenly she was trapped back in the same hospital room as before. Her breath was weak, just as shuddering as the man in the Training Center who she refused to take pity on. And she was weak, just as powerless as the boy from Five who she had ruthlessly killed.

This was exactly what Carmine deserved.