𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐬 [𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘥𝘢𝘪𝘳]

𝐯𝐢𝐢

𝐔𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐀𝐑 ♜ 𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐬

     In the middle of the day, with the glare of the sun staring them down and melting people to a puddle, there stood a sandy haired Peeta Mellark and a doll like Katniss Everdeen. Pruned and weeded to perfection, lips stitched upwards into tight-lipped smiles, they stood before the entirety of District Eight as Capitol darlings. Amaryllis, who watched on the screen in the lounge area of the Justice Building, couldn't help but chew her nails down to nubs as she waited anxiously for the lunch. Beside her, Cecilia and Woof sat stiffly awaiting the same moment she was. No one's eyes strayed from the screen as Peeta and Katniss began their script. However, out of the corner of Amaryllis's eye she saw - beyond a mountain of bubblegum hair - Effie Trinket miming the words and waving her hands in a conducting motion, all while Haymitch slouched in a velvet chair and nursed a glass of white liquor.

Amaryllis could still remember the youthful faces of her district tributes, but their names - along with many others - slipped her mind. Something she was thankful for. Because as soon as anything was given an identity, it became an attachment. And she refused to get attached to anything.

Katniss and Peeta drooled the same words they had the day before, and the day before that. Together with their fingers interlocked they promised a better future for Panem, they vowed to serve the people. But they lied, and the crowd knew they lied. Because no victor had ever lived up to their promise. Not even Amaryllis, who so many looked up to. District Eight were simply sick of the same bullshit lies. Everyone wore the same expression, the parents of those who lost their children no longer wept for their fallen.

Nobody mourned.

And Amaryllis supposed it was her own fault. She was the mentor. She was in charge of sponsors. She knew first hand how desperate the arena makes you.

But she didn't help.

Maybe it was for the fact that it was simply easier to die. She often wished she had. Death seemed so simple, so quick and painless. Most times, she felt it was her only choice. There she sat in the Justice Building with a beating heart knowing she along with the lesser districts were suffering, but she made no action to help. Every day she promised to fight for her district and her people when the time came, because that was her vow to them. Yet it had been seven long years of mourning and sleepless nights, and she still hadn't acted on rebellion.

And now with mutiny as a bullet in everyone's hands, it was time for an uproar.

     Before her eyes, on a table the length of six bodies, was an unnecessary abundance of food. On her plate was a pile of roasted potatoes, a healthy slab of lamb drowned in rich gravy, and a forest of different coloured vegetables. Amaryllis kept to herself, occasionally made eye contact with Haymitch, but ultimately sat in silence as she listened to the District Twelve victors answer every question thrown their way. As she listened she couldn't help but voice the question that itched the back of her mind. It was a question that would make the pair think quickly, one that would be similar to what they would be asked in the Capitol.

     "What if one of you lived and the other didn't?" Amaryllis asked while placing her fork on her empty plate.

Peeta choked on whatever was in the goblet raised to his lips while Katniss's eyes bored into the soul of Amaryllis.

Katniss looked older than her age much like most of her district, Peeta, with his youthful tinkle, was excluded from this. She had furrowed lines on her forehead and creases around her mouth. Her skin, a beautiful cold olive tone, was harsh and worn out, her eyes, light and stoney, could make hairs stand on their ends and chills run down spines. Even under the makeup she wore, Amaryllis could see the wear and tear the seasons had caused her skin. And it made her wonder what such a young girl would have been doing to have so much exposure to the elements.