Blonde Curls: Cashmere

1.

Light seeps through the curtains, an elegant purple inlaid with silver flowers. The light covers the room in a sheet of gold. My polar bear plush looks spectacular. The light refracting against its clear fur setting it into a shimmering rainbow. I hear the door scrape against the velvet chair set at its base and see my mother in the frame, her hair striking as if she were still young. However her blonde hair now sits at shoulder length in an unbroken sheet with streaks of grey presenting her incoming elderly state.

“Where’d you get that from?” she asks with apparent distaste, gesturing towards the toy.

“I bought it” I spit at her. She whirls her hair around and leaves my room. What was that for? I think to myself.

She was never really stable. It was a mix really, between my father’s death and my decision to initiate training. The training really hit home for her as our family was so against the training and the killing. She unfortunately went unstable. Always throwing her weight around with her personality considerably more negative and aggressive than it was previously. Ever since then she has treated me with conflicting emotions of pity, disgust and hatred.

My father’s demise had also hit me hard. He was my everything. My role model and my friend. The way a real parent should be. I effectively now overthink anything and everything.

“You’d better get ready”, she screams from downstairs. I check my wall clock for the time. Oh my god, I’m going to be late. With clothes flying everywhere and mint toothpaste on my lips, I sprint out the door across the lush green meadow. The Victor’s Village. My grandparents had both won their games at the age of fifteen when the two were reaped in consecutive years when a confusing error had left no trained tributes for their two Games. They’ve since passed and we’ve thus inherited the residence.

Sunflowers line the pathway to the cul-de-sac in which the houses are laid. Bright yellow with lime green stems and jet black seeds. The training centre is located only about a two minute walk away from home. I arrive at the large two story building complete with a glass upper level and roof. Lining the pathway to the clear doors is an intricate stone-work pattern alternating in shades of grey, white and silver. A rare piece from District Two. By the time I had reached the large glass doors, I was slick with sweat. My training clothes darkened by the liquid.

“You’re late, it’s the last day of training with your reaping taking place tomorrow” Glitter says with a huff, his tall stature leaning against the oak front desk. Glitter has been my trainer since I was ten years old. A previous Victor from eight years ago. His hair is short and chocolate brown. His normal casual clothes replaced with the drab grey training tracksuits.

“Yes, yes I know. I don’t even know what I was doing. Lost track of time, I guess?” I reply.

“I guess that’s alright then. But let’s aim for you to not be late to anything. Alright?” I nod and we head into the gymnasium, treadmills and various other fitness machines are in one section of the vast floor space. With the practice ranges and weapon storage are in the other.

Walking past the exercise bikes, I stand at the door that leads to the ranges. A whizzing sound alerts me and I come to a halt as an axe embeds itself in the wall, half an inch from my head. I turn to see Gossamer standing in a ribald circle of the ranged weapon throwers. I see silver spears, axes, knives and throwing stars in the hands of the trainees.  Wide set grins and howling laughter all emanate from their mouths. My face flushes into a sea of red; I yank the axe out of the wall and hurl it at the lights hanging from the roof. It explodes in a shower of sparks and plummets towards the ground. The training students all scatter as it hits the ground with a large thud.

“What was with that?” I call out to them.

“Just having some fun Cashmere. Uh… why’d you do that?” Gossamer replies.

“I’m also having some fun!” Oh, the fun banter we two have. Gossamer and I are the two primary trainees. At the ripe old age of eighteen, this is the year in which we will volunteer our names and will do anything to be reaped.

“OK, I’ll come on over then”.  I retort.

Glitter turns to face me. “I’ll see you in a little bit then, Cash?”

“Okay, yes. Will do.” As Glitter walks away, I think how I’ll miss him so much during the Games. A fellow mentor when I win.

Making my way over to the centre of the throwers, they all quieten their voices. First in our training sessions we have a general practice with each other, with the skill learning coming afterwards. But as this will be our last training session, a sort of skill presentation will be held with Gossamer and myself showing off the best of our assets to the other trainees.

I feel a warm wind against my ear. It’s Gossamer. Whispering into my ear, “This is the time to shine. Make sure they’re surprised.”

I turn to face his ear. Tickling him with my lips, a slight laugh comes from his mouth. “Make use of that name ridiculous name you were given, Gossamer.” Another laugh filled with life bursts from his mouth. In the short time it took to banter, chairs have surrounded the room with a sea of blonde citizens and leaders from One making their way to sit down.  Gossamer and I stand in centre of the room all eyes on us. A sound of static erupts from the speakers introducing us as the Trainees from One and give a short story about us. As the rambling goes on, I get increasingly anxious. Swaying hips from side to side and tapping the ground with my shoes. 

Finally fed up, I slowly cross over to the knives. Gripping one I hurl it at the speakers and a loud bang is heard as the sound system dies. The crowd gives out a whooping sound. “I’m Cashmere and this is what I can do!” I spit out at the crowd. Holding ten wicked curved knives in my fingers, I sprint across the room, do a roll on a mat and throw them at a dummy placed near the edge of the gymnasium. A perfect straight line of silver runs from the head to the heart as the knives carve into the dummy. I hurl myself forward at the dummy snapping it from its cord, plunging the knives even further. I whip around to see Gossamer slaughtering a set of dummies with a machete. The plastic limbs flying everywhere. A roar of excitement comes from the crowd. A grin enters my faces canvas, ripping the knives from the dummy I had just tackled.

As I sprint forward, clutching the silver weapons, Gossamer barrels towards me, axe in hand. I’m unsure as to what he is doing. A few feet away now, he increases his speed. He’s in so close I move my body swiftly dodging him; I lose my grip on most of the knives as they fly across the floor. I whip around and see Gossamer with the blade across my neck. He bows his head over mine and whispers, “Game over.”

“Not while I’m still playing.”  I retort. He growls as I kick him in the shin. He staggers back and we both size each other up. Walking in a circle, as if we were doing some strange ritual. I think of the different outcomes that could come of this. I could tackle him, but he’s twice my size? I’m quick. The time my knife could slit his throat versus the time it could take for his machete to impale me.

My decision is made and as he runs at me, I dodge him. He plummets to the floor and I put my weight over his back and dangle the knife above his neck. He struggles to regain his ground, to stand up.  The determination in him is phenomenal but I continue to weigh him down and he gives up. His body goes limp. “I win”