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❝ Like a vision she dances across the porch as the radio plays. ❞
━━ Bruce Springsteen.
I PRESS MY HEAD AGAINST THE GLASS WINDOW, LETTING MY EYES CATCH THE LAST SNIPPETS OF MY HOME AS THE TRAIN WHISTLES BY DISTRICT TELVE FOR THE LAST TIME. I REMEMBER the first time I set foot in this moving carriage, along with Peeta Mellark after the seventy-fourth Reaping. I was already readying my mind for the games, thinking about how much I needed to win, for Prim. Now, I wonder what my last words should be in the arena.
Too heartsick to cry, I stay planted in my seat, watching as Haymitch pours the last of his alcohol in his teal teacup. I feel bad for the man, that probably never expected to be thrown back into the Hunger Games, especially because of his own Victor. I wonder who will go first--him or me? I know my first instinct will be to protect him, to keep him at my side; and I know he will slowly drift away, guilt gnawing at his chest for slowing me down.
The clink of Effie's heels have a habit of reeling me back to reality though, and she does as she strides into the room, a brand new outfit fitted onto her body. She wears a red dress and a new, striking wig that catches my immediate attention. It matches her makeup, and consists of a blinding gold that could overpower the sun's light. "Before we begin, I've had a thought." she announces softly, peering towards us.
"You don't say?" Haymitch manages to joke, lifting his head up towards her. Effie gives a small smile before articulating her idea.
"Jade has her gold, mockingjay pin," she begins, making brief eye-contact. "I have my hair. I am going to get you something gold." she says, eyes glistening in pride as she looks over to Haymitch. However, he doesn't express particular enthusiasm, cocking his head to the side in thought.
"Maybe we could get you a wig, too," I say in an attempt at lightness, not particularly hating Effie's proposal.
"Why?" he asks, clearly unconvinced.
"A token. To show them we are a team. And they can't just--" Effie's voice suddenly breaks, and I can almost notice the tears reaching her irises. I catch her hand, squeezing it affectionately for an instant and sparing her a soft glance. It's evident our return in the games somewhat affects her, and I try my best to seem stable next to her.
"Thank you." I breathe genuinely. My escort's effort to put in place different measures to heighten out chances to appeal to the public, and therefore gain sponsors, does make me somewhat grateful. Haymitch leans forward, grabbing Effie's other free hand in equal support.
