Little Flower-The Hunger Games from Rue's Point of View

Chapter 7

When the elevator reaches the top floor, I stumble out of it. I probably look like The District Twelve tributes' mentor. Why can't I get them out of my head?!?!? It might have been their costumes. Those were spectacular. But I don't think so. I don't really pay that much attention to clothing, no matter how flamboyant it is. No... I think it's more the girl that caught my attention. Because she volunteered to take the place of her younger sister. She surprised me when she did that. Usually, in District 11, we think of the people who live in Twelve as snobs. And rightfully so, if you ask me. The man from that district who comes once a week to trade coal for a meager supply of fruit is always moaning about how terrible life is in District Twelve and how the Peacekeepers are sooo strict, but at least they don't mind a bit of illegal hunting. Then, one day, one of our Peacekeepers came over to him and threatened to shoot him if he didn't stop talking like that. That shut him up for awhile. But this girl looks down-to-earth and kind. Not someone who would take what they have for granted.

I'm about to flop into bed, fully clothed, when I realize that I should probably shower. My costume was horrendous, so if I want to have even a tiny chance of getting sponsors, I should try to look my best at all times. And that means not having hair that has more grease in it than the actual strands of hair.

I walk into the full-sized room that is apparently my shower. I normally would gasp at the wide variety of soaps, bubble bath combinations, and shampoos, but I'm too tired to gawk. And maybe the Capital has just stopped surprising me. Seeing that I grew up in a place where no one except for the mayor had running water, I have no idea how to run one of these things. I cautiously push a button, and lukewarm water begins to rain down from the ceiling. I thought showers had small "heads" that the water came out from, but I guess they don't here. The water is pouring down straight from the ceiling.

I'm shampooing my hair with "Essence of freshly baked cupcakes" (What are those?), when I realize something. The water that I'm showering in is scented like oranges. I know that they have oranges here in the Capital (Where else would we send the ones that we pick? We certainly can't keep them), but this orange scent has a certain... familiar quality to it. It smells exactly like the oranges we have at home. Somehow, whoever manufactures the scented water here managed to capture the exact earthy scent of the oranges that grow at home. I quickly slam my hand to the button that turned this water on, and climb out of the water, the essence of freshly baked whatever-they-were-called still clinging to my hair in goopy clumps. Somehow, it just feels so wrong that they have access to that scent. The smell of the orange orchards in the morning was one of the few pleasures in District Eleven that we all have access to. The citizens of District Eleven have to base their lives off of small happinesses like that, because nothing else in the district is worth living for. It's not right for these people, these people who have never felt what it's like to have nothing to eat but half of a stale bread roll, never felt what it's like to have nothing to come home to but a small shack that has a leak in the roof right above your bed, never felt what it's like to wonder if your youngest sibling will survive the winter, to have access to that small pleasure everywhere at anytime they want, anywhere they want, in the shower even. I sigh, and rake through my hair with my fingers, trying to dislodge some of the creamy white shampoo. It doesn't work, so I stick my head under the faucet in the bathroom, running cold water over my hair. That gets most of it out, so I decide to get to work on drying my hair. I cautiously press a button that I'm pretty sure will send out wind to blow my hair dry, and relax when it is, indeed, air instead of another "Essence of something-or-other".

I'm about to sink into my bed when I think of something that may trouble my sleep: I may die sooner than planned. I have managed to wash out all of the hair relaxer in the shower. In other words, my hair is frizzing again. And if you didn't get the implications of that, let me spell it out for you: Tomorrow, my prep team is going to kill me.

Author's note: So, that's all for  chapter 7! Tell me what you think about me giving rue a dark sense of humor. I think that when a story is this depressing, it needs something to kind of brighten it up, but that's just my opinion. I'm not sure when I'm going to be able to post again, because my computer's getting sent off to get fixed tomorrow, and probably won't come back for awhile. I will try to write on my dad's computer as much as possible, but he has to use it very often for his job, and he usually kicks me off after about thirty minutes. :( Sorry!