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

Chapter 18

I lean back against the wall and the hem of my dress falls back, tickling the caps of my knees like a feather. Green sparkles catch the fluorescent light of the hallway that I'm standing in, disappearing and reappearing like little sprites playing a game. My hair is up in a bun on the top of my head, with little curly bits hanging loose and tapping at the nape of my neck. I reach back to tuck them away and my hand brushes against something delicate.

Oh. The wings. 

They sprout out from the back of my dress, feeling almost real. They're green too, but they look like they've been spun from thin cobwebs and their threads let the light come dancing through. When I move they flicker slightly and make me feel like I could fly away. Sardinia really was a better stylist than Tarragon. 

I pick at the light green polish that has been spead over my nails. Almost everyone else has gone out for their interview by now. The boy from ten should be back in about thirty seconds, and then I'll be up. I fiddle with the edge of my dress. Aurelia wasn't much help. She says I need more of a set personality. I need to be someone the audience wants to root for, not someone that confuses them. 

Make them want to bet on you for something other than money. They've got plenty of that. Give them a story to believe. That's what she said. I chew on my lip and stand up straighter. From behind the stage, I can see Caesar Flickerman waving goodbye to the last interviewee. The boy walks back to the hallway I'm standing in and slumps against the wall, letting out all of his breath. He stares at me with a dull look and then straightens himself, walking towards the reception room outside.

I look upwards, take a breath, and step onto the stage.

The air here is thicker. It's intertwined with the heavy auras of lies and secrets and hairspray. I focus my eyes upwards to the flourescent lights above. They look like stars from here but they are not. These stars burn my eyes and make them water. I look back down towards my feet and watch as my black shoes carry me towards the interview seat. 

Caesar stands up to introduce me with his arms outstretched as if I am an old friend he has waited to see for years. 

"And this is Rue, from District 11!" I slide into the white seat, and he turns to face me, his head propped on his two folded hands. I can see the line where his blue wig meets his scalp and the sweat droplets that the stage lights have produced on his forehead. 

"So, Rue. You are obviously very young. In fact, at twelve years old, you are one of the youngest contestants we've had in a long while!" he begins, smiling widely at me. "Of course, though, you are not an average twelve year old. Can you believe she managed to score a seven, folks? Amazing! Now Rue, what I want to know about is your strategy for the arena. What are you going to do during this game? What are your plans for the next few weeks?" He is staring at me with the same fixed smile. 

"Oh... well... I think that I'm just going to try and stay alive... for as long as possible, I mean..." He does not reply. The audience is staying silent too. I know what they want. They want me to lie to them and say that my goal is to always be brave, or to try and stay strong through the hardships, or to die an honorable death, no matter what. They want a beautifully spun story of tragedy and courage. But they won't get it. No matter how you twist it, we're just a bunch of kids killing each other to stay alive for one more moment. No one is different here. No one is a hero. 

I breathe in. The atmosphere is suffocating, all scented and heavy and bundled up into stuffy packages. I can't help but think that if I leave my seat and step up, up, up, the air will support me like a staircase until I reach the ceiling, peeling it away to escape into the night air. I could leave everyone here gawking as I used the wings of my dress to fly away into the stars. But I don't think that Capital would like that at all.

I turn my attention back to Caesar. His face is sweating more heavily now, and a piece of his wig is sticking to the side of his chin. I can see his strained muscles behind the ever-present smile. I sit up straighter in my chair.

"Well, I know I'm not very strong, but I'm fast," I begin. I can see the tension in Caesar's face lessen, and his mouth curves into a real smile. "So don't count me out, okay?" His smile widens more. I look at the audience. They seem oh so strange out there- even stranger than usual. 

"Well I don't think that any of us would dream of doing that, Rue. You are certainly a contender." I am not looking at him. I nod and smile faintly and keep staring ahead at the sea of applauding clowns who are grinning back at me. My death will make good television.