The Games The Capital Forgot

Stylists

Jack Calico (District 8)

 “You know I am rather attached to my leg hair… I’d really appreciate it if you didn't brutally yank it from my body.” I said to the multicolored people who were my stylists. It is kind of discouraging to know your fate is in the hands of some color-blind old men. There were 3 of them in total, all hawk-nosed and grim-reapery looking- that is if the grim reaper was passionate about multi-colored hoods.

 

The one with the polka dotted hood laughed, “Yes my freckled young friend, thats why we are de-attaching it from you.” He winked as if he had just said something witty. If he had I don’t think I would of caught it. Word jokes and puns just always seem to go over my head.

 

His pal in the stripes giggled, “Indeed, and soon you won’t be freckled as all after we bleach your skin and close your pores!” He rubbed his hands together evilly. “Your skin shall be flawless! Like a baby’s!”

 

Oh God help me.

 

The stupid one, as I had taken to calling him, who wore a baby lamb design on his cape, jumped up and down hysterically yelling, “Don’t ruin the surprise. Then he rubbed my head like one would rub a dog and whispered, “You’re going to look FABULOUS!!!!”

 

I was officially afraid for my well being now. “....I don’t want to look fabulous….” I muttered hesitantly, my eyes darting around the room for means of escape. I saw a door.

 

The stupid one patted my head again, “It’s ok, you clearly don’t understand the meaning of the word fabulous.” He then turned to his friends and shook his head sadly. “The poor heathen.” The others stood around him clicking their tongues in agreement.

 

Heathen. I didn’t know that word, this was being one of those days that I really wished that I had paid attention in school, but judging off the way that they said it it was not a positive term. “You know what? I may be a” I tried to pronounce the word I’d just heard. “he-THAN but at least I’m not the color of unicorn vomit! Leave my innocent freckles alone! They never did anything to you!” I yelled, deciding that now was a great time to make a break for it. I leapt from the table and sprinted for my life toward the door.

 

I think my escape attempt might have been more successful if I had watched where I was going and I had not slipped when I stepped on a random piece of soap lying around. My body hit the ground hard, the air was forced from my lungs.

 

Of all the places in the room I could have stepped.

 

Two wrinkly old hands grabbed me and began yanking me toward a large tub in the corner of the room. Even from here I could smell the smell of the chemicals I used to clean as janitor in the clothing factory. The other two faces of my stylist’s loomed in front of me, “You were a very naughty little boy, but we understand you’re scared of fabulous, having not been cultured in it. We get this reaction a lot, so you’re not the only one.” The one on the right cooed.

 

Oh my dear crap. They were looking at me like they were going to make me fabulous and then eat me! With salt! I had to get out of here! “BLOODY MURDER!!!! HELP BLOODY MURDER!!!” I started screaming, struggling for my life. Forget he Careers! I couldn’t even make it to the arena.