My eyes fly open and I gasp, trying to bolt upright but feeling a sore stab in my stomach as if someone punched me. I flop back down, panting, opening and closing my eyes. The last thing I remember is sobbing pitifully on the floor of a hovercraft, but that seems like a distant memory in the crevices of my twisted mind. My green orbs flicker around, unable to really take in the room I am in. The soft lighting, the feeling of immense claustrophobia, and the fact that I'm so cut off from the world outside makes me panic. Am I just going to be left here? Surely not, of course. Every other Victor of the Hunger Games was presentable and ready for their interviews within around a week. Maybe I did something wrong, and they're going to leave me here to starve.
My chest is heaving with terror when another thing penetrates my conciousness. Wires. Wires in my left arm. My left arm. It's clean. Perfect. Shaved. Eyes widening, I tentatively lift my right arm and notice the nails. Cut, polished, fresh manicured.
They haven't left me to die. I sigh with a small relief that doesn't really take much of a burden off my shoulders. I'm still here, in this room, waiting in limbo for God-knows-how-long and God-knows-what. I have nothing to do except lay here and stare at things without focus, trying to keep fear of the unimaginable future at bay. I could try yelling, but the lack of windows or even a door makes me accept that the reason is probably because the room is soundproof. So I lay. I cry a little. I play back the haunting memories of the Games over and over again, as if I'm being sat in front of a TV screen, my eyes taped open, forced to watch something I've already seen once, twice, thrice...
And I can't look away. I don't want to look but my mind keeps wandering, getting lost in what I want to forget. I now understand the previous 48 Victors before me. How they live with themselves is a mystery. The imprint of the pain and horror is like the kind of wound when, even if it heals, will always be vulnerable to reopening. My mind is as fragile as glass. A thin film that might or might not be there, the only thing protecting my sanity.
Then, after a few hours, days, weeks, minutes or maybe seconds of half-conciousness, I finally slip back down again.
_____________________________________________________________________________
Another amount of time passes. I've been doing everything in a sort of dream-state, whether it be forcing down the one tiny meal that I was given, combing my hands through my soft, glossy hair, or just lying on the bed. Lying there forever.
I wake up, possibly a few days later. This time I'm not restrained. My heart leaps and I lower my feet to the floor. I'm naked, I finally realise. How flattering. The change in me is too prominent. I can count my ribs, and can barely support myself with my arms and legs as I rise up like a stiff old woman. I want to cry, but I can't find the tears anymore. I can't muster up the effort to bring them. I'm fully awake now, the milky haze finally shattered, cleared away. I gulp as I see the clothes on the end of my bed, my stomach dropping as far as possible. My arena clothes.
I never thought I'd have to look at them again. Didn't want to. But I have to be strong. For Tiberius. For Wolf. For everyone I killed, and everyone I ever made a promise to. Including myself. So I slip them on without a complaint and keep my stony expression, not that I'd be able to do much else. I slump back on the bed, knowing the sliding wall will probably open in a few minutes, considering they probably have cameras to monitor me and will know I'm awake.
When it does, it still somehow makes me jump and flinch. Embarrassed with myself, I stand up again, finding it to be even more effort this time.
I end up in a hallway. Spacious, airy, but still somehow trapping. I look up, down, around. I close my eyes, take a deep breath through my nose. It smells like Capitol, basically. Posh, somewhat leathery, rich. Clean. Then I hear my name. The voice sparks recognition and my eyes light up as I turn towards the sound. There are 4 people. Standing in a chamber at the end of the hallway.
The first concious tear falls. "Mags." I whisper. Then my feet lead me at an awkward, half-ambling pace down the hall, past the plain walls and into her arms. I'm a small bit taller than her, so really, it's her in my arms, but either way I engulf her in the biggest hug I've ever given anyone, crying into her hair.
"I knew you could do it!" she says, choked with emotion as her strangely strong grip tightens. I know that there's no reason she isn't strong. She isn't old old, like 70. She's only 58, but still I'd expect her to be more fragile. It's probably only because I'm more delicate, though. I'm like a sheet of paper compared to her.
I don't bother to reply. I know if I did, I wouldn't be able to stop myself. I'd end up rambling. Snap is there too, and as I disentangle myself from Mags' grip to wipe my eyes, he's pressed against me, with his lean, wiry-muscled arms around me. I feel protected in his embrace, warm and safe. It's his height and stability, probably. He's over 6ft and smells familiarly of home, standing straight and perfectly postured. Even though he says nothing, I can feel his message in the way he holds me. I understand what you're going through.
Next is Niklaus, our over-emotional escort with a bright green quiff and weirdly glowing eyes. I can't help but manage a small smile as I hear him trying to contain his tears with the odd sniffle every so often as my face presses into his chest. "It's okay, Niklaus." I say softly. "I'm alive." Unfortunately. I do wonder if I'd be better off dead than without Tiberius. No, Marlou. You promised him.
"I know." he smiles, a genuine smile. "Well done. You were brilliant in there."
No, I wasn't. That remark hits home that in the end, he's just another sick minded citizen who enjoyed watching the other kids get killed. I smile back, this time a fake, plastered on one. It's easier to wear the mask than have to explain anything about emotions. "Thank you."
And finally I get a hug from Marina. I didn't talk to her all that much, choosing to be brooding yet somehow conciously tolerant in her presence, considering she's my stylist. It is her who will be creating my final looks. The one to watch the highlights, and the one to have my Victor's interview.
My eyes suddenly fly wide, but luckily Marina has me pinned to her, so the only thing in my line of view is a patch of wall over her shoulder. I manage to steady myself without swaying or weakening, too, only just. The highlights. How will I manage that? Watching them all die. Some of them for the second time. I'll get to see Camelia's death. My final moments with both Tiberius and Wolf. Truth's death. Me killing the District 6 tribute. And too much more. Way, way too much more. I swallow a lump of terror and dread in my throat. It's bad enough to have my imagination haunted by the images than to have to see them happen again.
"Well done, mermaid." that seems to be my nickname from Marina. Before they decided on simple fishing nets and painting, the stylists wanted to dress me and Tiberius up as mythical sea creatues, which we politely, gently refused.
I pull back, and show my teeth again in a forlorn smile. "Thank you."
_____________________________________________________________________________
The crowd's roaring is painfully loud. Even from where I stand in a dark, dank room under the stage, cold and alone, in my beautiful dress.
The outfit is sleeveless and sophisticated. It's a silvery, satin fabric that exposes my legs and arms, and puffs out very slightly at the bottom so to hide the fact my stomach is concave and my ribs are visible. Not too extravagant, but still captivating and stunning. It gives off a sort of light, like a reflection on water. Shimmery, soft. Bluish. My hair is intricately pinned to my head, with only a few loose curls dangling down to frame my face, little blue flowers threaded in here and there. And as for my feet, bare. I have no shoes on, possibly to represent innocence. To make me seem more like a real person than some flawless-skinned, shiny-haired games Victor. I have on minimal makeup, so each one of my freckles stands out against my pale cheeks, but the area around my eyes is decorated with the same sort of silver-blue shimmer as my dress, my lips tinted slightly pink to make them look fuller, healthier.
I'm shaking. I really don't want to do this. But I know that the sooner I just comply and go through necessary routine, the sooner it'll be over and the sooner I'll be home. There's still one thought that leaves me hollow; Tiberius won't be there anymore. I angrily still my trembling lip. Now is not the time.
I stand there, on a little plate, waiting for the anthem to start playing from the speakers. Mags and Snap dropped by together to wish me luck, but now they're up there, on ground level, waiting for the big show to start like me.
District 4's team gets introduced enthusiastically by Lucci. First, my preps, who are more than likely smiling proudly and comically bowing to get a reaction from the audience. Then it's Marina, and I can see her face in my mind, reserved, proud and knowing as she smiles at the Capitol, waving and curtseying. After her it's Niklaus, and I envision him as teary and overwhelmed, half-exaggerated for the show. By now, the crowd must be ecstatic, and then finally, Mags walks on. Snap stays backstage, considering he wasn't officially my mentor. He was Tiberius', so it wasn't him that managed to bring a tribute back alive. Snap is just watching from the sidelines as Mags accepts the cheers of respect and excitement from the riled-up crowd.
Then it's my turn. I go rigid, steadying myself as the plate starts rising and I brace my eardrums for the deafening screams. On the stage, it's louder than ever. I want to screw my face up in distaste, flinch away from the yelling, but I have to act like I actually want to be here. Act like I'm overjoyed to be the only one of 24 kids alive. I paint on my cute, pink smile that's almost a Career's smirk, twirling a few times and waving, laughing like I'm having a good time. The crazy applause is difficult to handle, but luckily, Lucci grins at me and ushers me to sit down on the stained rose-coloured glass chair, studded with diamonds on the arms. My eyes betray my awe only for a fraction of a second, but I regain control of my emotions as quickly as I lose it and nobody notices the small flicker. I lower body gently, balancing my weight, somewhat paranoid the glass will crack and shatter, the shards digging themselves only into my flesh. But I can imagine the ominous points burying themselves in my brain. The white hot agony as my mental strength is finally depleted.
I shake my head to clear it of the thought as the citizens start to settle down for the highlights. I have to concentrate on my breathing and then notice Lucci looking at me with an amused expression. "Overwhelmed?"
I look at him, not quite comprehending, then I just smile and nod, playing along. He accepts it, patting my shoulder comfortingly.
Then, all too quickly, I can see all the tributes. Each face flashes up with a name beside it. All in order of death. I swallow hard.
Bolt.
Blase.
Drake.
Shadow.
Malika.
Brooke.
Saorise.
Stella.
Cody.
Silver. I blink in surprise, forgetting he died so early.
Sparks.
Nightlock.
Camelia. My stomach convulses as I know who comes next.
Tiberius. I stifle a sob at the familiar face I'll never see again.
Timber.
Tyger.
Kane.
Truth. I take a deep breath to stop myself from screaming with built up emotions. She killed him, but it wasn't really her fault. I'm mainly angry at the Capitol, but her face as she knifed him in the back will stay with me forever.
Autumn.
Diamond.
Birch.
Wolf. I grit my teeth and swallow. I'm glad that I don't have to feign enjoyment anymore, my face grim but still not betraying any specific emotions.
Will. So that was his name.
Marlou. All of the tributes' pictues were in black and white. And then at the end there's mine, bright and colourful, a single blast of fireworks rising up around the screen.
Then for about 10 minutes at the most, there's the reapings. No volunteers in 1. Truth's confident ascent up the steps and Wolf's brave volunteering. Sparks closes her eyes and nods, whilst Bolt keeps his face blank. I gulp. It's me. My concerned frown before I volunteer and practically sign Tiberius up for his death, then his face of concrete determination as he shoulders his way to stand by me, standing there and shaking my head as if it's a dream. I should've known he wouldn't let me go in alone to die. A regret I shall live with forever. Blase's eyes widen and she looks around her, as if their escort might mean someone else called Blase Faber. Kane's face contorts in fear as he looks towards his mother, squinting in the sun as a little girl, probably his sister, screams in indignation. And I'll have to face that in a week or so. Stella hugs a girl next to her fleetingly before she goes up, and Will just acknowledges it as if he's just been told that his mother is taking him out clothes shopping for new school stuff. Brooke lets out a breath and swallows hard, where Timber keeps his head down, only lifting it up after putting on a brave face. Camelia's mouth curves up slightly, in a half smile that carries no emotion except maybe regret that she had to get chosen. Shadow looks like a startled rabbit, as if he'd convinced himself he wasn't getting picked. Saorise looks like she wants to cry, and she shakes her head at a sobbing girl next to her, as if to say, Don't do it. My life over yours. It must be her sister or her friend, and I honor her bravery for the very first time. Tyger laughs bitterly, as if he greeting fate as his old enemy. Drake and Malika both have their emotions fairly well-concealed, then I remember to focus on Autumn's. She's the small girl from an outlying District who seems pretty useless but got a 9. Plus, I just watched her break down in the arena. She takes it well, because I don't know if it's just because I understand how it feels to really not want to die in the arena, or because I've gotten good at reading eyes and facial expressions, but she meets the eyes of a few people and silently tells them she'll try her best to bring pride to her District. To come home. Another District that's going to be painful to visit. Birch shrugs before walking up. He doesn't look at anyone. It isn't even possible to tell if he's sad about it or not. And then there's the final reaping. 12. Nightlock, poor soul, looks absolutely terrified. She shakes her head wildly, denying it. But, after some ushering and whispered reassurances, she goes up to stand on the stage and just stares grimly. Then, Cody. He purses his lips, as if also in denial, but he doesn't hesitate after his brain is done processing. He goes forward to stand beside Nightlock.
After that, there's us in the chariots, Truth throwing knives into a target with an angry expression, Wolf smirking in conversation with flustered Autumn (which makes me smile at his smoothness, then have it fade when I remember he's dead now), Will's face etched with determination, me brandishing a spear. Next it's into the interviews, starting with Diamond in a pink dress, Truth oozing superiority, her hands in the lap of her emerald green dress, Will's occaisional shrug as he answers questions shortly and bluntly, Camelia's dazzling eloquence and innocent smile, Tyger admitting his crush to a pitying Lucci, Autumn in her contrasting bright yellow simple dress, to end with Cody's grim yet humorous character.
It moves onto the games and I close my eyes briefly, taking a deep breath, steeling my resolve. First there's a montage of the bloodbath, put together by people who selected the best camera angles and condensed them all into a massive long film. Some tributes sprinting at lightning speed, people falling to the floor, Truth with a blood-spattered knife in her hand, panting, the grass pooling with crimson. After the dramatic climax of the scene, it switches to the forest. Wolf looks up at Autumn in a tree and saves her from the Careers. It sends a short-lived warm feeling through me again. Poor Cody's face is chopped and sliced by Truth, and I have to put a hand to my mouth as I wince. I barely notice Lucci watching me with concern, not able to take my eyes off the events unfurling on screen. It's all a big blur of different feelings and regret and anger as a tribute dies. Timber and Tyger's sort of friendship touches my spirit too, but everytime, the fuzzy happiness has to die once I remember that they're both dead now, too. The silence is almost a prominent thing as Timber sits with Sparks, and then also as Truth grabs Camelia by the throat as she's walking back to our hideout, and the younger girl is too weak to pry her off as a knife is plunged into her gut. I hear her scream my name again, this time louder, and I feel even more helpless. Even worse that I couldn't save her. I cover my face with both hands, whimpering, my eyes really threatening to spill over now. I gasp some shaky breaths and reluctantly, slowly lower my hands to my lap. I can't bear to look at anything except the screen, for fear of sympathy, caring or pity. Even though it's me and Tiberius now. Our kiss. I hear someone from the crowd sob out loud and I inhale sharply to avoid mimicking them. I'm focused now on the trees. How green are those leaves? Wow. I manage to muster up the courage to re-focus on the people inside the screen, me and Truth.
"If I go down, I take you with me."
"Fine. I'll kill you in your sleep, District four. Keep your eyes open, because there can only be one winner."
Well, she wasn't wrong. I'm alone now.
I smirk with small satisfaction at seeing how brave I seemed on the outisde, how I got Truth to back down with my threat. A small glimmer of my usual defiance. Then I almost well up at my exchange with Tiberius, allowing only a single tear to leak from my eye. I have to at least act like my feelings were real. They were real. But I don't think anybody's strong enough to lose the one they love and not cry at least a little.
I sort of half-tune out watching everything with Kane and Autumn and everyone. I wasn't emotionally bound to any of them, so I watch, but with a sort of detatchment. That was their Games. Not mine. Not my experience.
Only do I return full attention when Wolf's pacing the cornucopia. I bite my lip, knowing what's coming and knowing that this is what I've been really, really dreading. I make sure to keep the Capitol audience out of even my peripheral vision. I'm not ready to find out what they think of me for this, yet. He screams, and I release a breath I didn't know I was holding, expecting it to carry tears. But it doesn't.
The scene that feels like millions of years ago re-etches itself into my mind as I'm forced to sit and watch it happen again. Then, of course, it's over. And I'm killing Will.
Then I watch myself break down, screaming, wailing, sobbing, cursing. I watch, in forlorn embarrassment for myself, as if I'm watching someone else go crazy on the screen.
I shake my head subconciously, disbelieving that any of that actually happened, and then, with the seal of Panem alongside the anthem again, the screen fades to darkness.
There is silence. And then a massive uproar. I close my eyes tight. This is all for me. I stand on shaky legs, steadied by Lucci, as President Snow, possibly one of the youngest, yet cleverest Presidents yet, walks fluidly and formally onto the stage, a young boy of maybe 7 follows him on short legs, carrying my crown on a velvet pillow. I gulp, my ears pounding both because of the blaring anthem and the nervousness that swamps me as he places the crown on my head with a smile, his eyes masked and betraying nothing. I hold his gaze strongly, blinking at him in obligatory respect.
_____________________________________________________________________________
I try and get off the stage as fast as possible without looking too eager to leave.
I start running once I'm off and the audience can't see me, but I don't get too far, blindly crashing into a human body and bursting spontaneously into tears. They can't see me back here, and I can let it all out. All the pain. Only to know that I'm not done being strong yet. I don't know when I will be, but I have a lot of public appearances to make in the near future and I can't just break down crying or screaming like a feral animal. I sob, pressing my face into the chest - Snap's - and bracing myself against his material body. It's there. It's real. He's happening right now, and there's nothing to mistrust or get hurt by.
He cradles me gently, whispering quietly into my hair, even though it's probably really uncomfortable. "Stay strong." is just one of his phrases.
He won't lie to me, I know. He won't tell me it gets better or crap like that. He'll comfort me by being there, believing in me. But he isn't going to lie. I can sense it in him, and I guess most Victors must be the same. No matter who they killed, how they did it, what District they come from, they have some sort of mutual understanding. Unspoken respect, whatever their relationship on the surface shows itself to be.
Right now, for instance, I can picture Brutus, the boy from 2 about Snap's age, watching the highlights a few years back. He wasn't cheering as he re-witnessed himself stabbing tributes, throwing things at them, betraying the Careers. He wanted to win, and he did. But he was - is - not evil. And right now, he feels almost like an equal. I suppose I'll probably have to meet him sometime, eventually.
Then I feel someone tap my shoulder, someone else trying to tug Snap away.
"Hey-" he tries to protest softly.
"I need to clean you up, Marlou." Marina says from behind as Niklaus grins, ignorant as ever, around Snap's lanky body. "You have the Victor's Banquet at the President's House." she says it carefully yet matter-of-factly.
"No one can wait to finally meet you!" Niklaus adds.
I sigh, a weight like a cold stone dropping in my stomach. I just can't be bothered with all of this Victor stuff. I wish, not for the first time, that I'd never won.
_____________________________________________________________________________
Marina has dressed me for the interviews quite plainly. My dress is short and red and made of ( for once ) a non-reflective material. It isn't a loud ensemble, as much as an understatement on the natural beauty Marina always compliments me on. So, I don't look beautiful. I don't look extravagant. I look more or less cute-pretty and simple, possibly like a school child attending a dance. Only I look much older than about 11. The simplicity of my look gives me an air of a real young woman, young adult. I'm wearing red shoes and my hair is straightened and pinned back at the front, accentuating my cheekbones, jaw and plush delicate lips. I feel like I haven't slept in years, spending my most recent few nights in the Capitol silently weeping myself to sleep, all the tears absorbed by the pillow and undetectable by the time Niklaus wakes me up. But Marina has fixed that, too, by using a lotion type thing for a 'radiant glow' that also boosts my tan. My lipstick is red and pretty, with bright pink cheeks to match.
"Excited?" chuckles Lucci from beside me. I snap back to reality, cursing myself for zoning out again. We sit in an armchair each in the sitting room, surrounded by cameras, microphones and roses. So many vases of roses.
I shoot him a small ghost-smile. "Nervous, more than anything."
"As to be expected." his lips curve up reassuringly. "Congratulations again, Marlou. It's lovely to see a young girl bounce back after weeks of living rough and fearing for your life."
It's a long road to recovery, pet. I could probably say sarcastically, but I don't. I nod. "Thank you. I'm still fighting." It's true.
He squeezes my shoulder. "And don't you give up." he must genuinely mean it. Even though charm and charisma is pretty much second nature with Flickermans. I mean, we're not on camera or anything. Only the camera crew are watching.
"I've made a promise."
"I know, hon. All of Panem knows."
I nod stupidly. Oh, yeah. Of course they do. "Well, the cameras weren't really on my mind at the time."
"Of course not." that's all he has time to say as a man starts a countdown.
5, 4, 3, 2...
And then me and Lucci are on screens all over Panem.
"So, here I am with Marlou Elmswood from District four, Victor of the forty-ninth Hunger Games, as I'm sure you all know her!" he introduces, laughing as if he has an imaginary audience laughing with me. I laugh along and wave shyly into a camera.
The further we get into the interview, the more I find it easier to relax, and the more I start to actually enjoy the distraction. I sort of give off a humorous, witty, well-spoken image, and I'm impressed with myself.
I'm laying back in the chair, the smile almost subconcious on my face as I discover a new talent for public speaking, when he finally gets brave enough to round off the interview with a personal question, rather than just about generic home life and how I felt when this happened and what I was thinking when that happened.
"I have to wrap this up, now," he finally tells the cameras. I feel myself dreading return to the real world. "With one final question. How did you meet Tiberius, Marlou?"
I'm caught completely off guard, and I freeze up, eyes widening. "Oh...erm...I," I stutter, "I can't recall it all too well, but..." I launch into a stammery story of my childhood, delving into the storage cupboards of my mind.
I was 5, in the summer after the 37th reaping, back when I had no clue about the whole seriousness and finality of the Games. I remember playing in a tide pool as my mother lounged in the sun and sipped her drink. Tiberius was there with his three brothers. Joe, who was 13, Blake, who was 15, and Taylor, who was 10. He toddled over to join me, and at first I was wary. I wasn't good at making friends until I met him. I ignored him and carried on poking around in the rocks for crabs and small fish with my little net, too shy to even greet him. Painfully shy. But he was the opposite of me.
"Look at this!" he gasped, and at first I had no idea he was talking to me. But then as I heard silence behind my turned back, I risked turning to look at him and saw him look slightly dejected. Then he caught my gaze and brightened up again, showing a gaptoothed grin. I waited awkwardly for him to actually show me what he had requested I look at, smiling but not really.
"Oh," he seemed to remind himself there was a reason he had called me. "Look." he held out a rock towards me. "It's fishy-shaped. Weird, isn't it?"
I smiled for real this time, in awe. "Whoa. It's really cute." I gasp, which turns into a giggle. I loved fish, live and cooked. Even though back then I had no idea what I was eating was the sweet, flippered friends of mine.
He grinned wider, turning it over in his little hand. "Yeah."
I stepped towards him to get a closer look, still slightly tentativley even though the ice was broken. He looked up from concentrating on the rock, a mischievous light in his eyes. "You want it?"
My eyes widened, but I had been raised politely enough not to jump on the chance. "Can-can I have it?"
"If you tell me your name...and...er...promise to be my friend!" he made up on the spot, giggling.
I scowled playfully. "Call me Mar." I didn't want to embarrass myself with the fact that my pronunciation of the letter 'L' wasn't amazing back then.
He slipped the rock over into my hands, and I felt excitement tingle. "Then call me Ti, Mar."
I nodded vigourously.
My eyes are glassy with tears as I end the trip down memory lane and leave the flashback. "That rock was my District token." I whisper as a tear drips from the tip of my nose. "After all those years, now it's the most special thing I have left of him." I smile sadly.
Without that single rock, me and Tiberius could both have led very different lives.