Flowers in May | Finnick Odair

Chapter Seven

District Three did not have time to observe the niceties that the Capitol residents were privileged to.

When we sat down for our dinner, we did not spare a second thought before we devoured our food, hunger gripping our stomachs from long days within the factories. And when us children attended school, we were briefed upon mathematics and the sciences, with the hope that some of us would further the development of technology. There was no place to learn how one should sit properly, or to constantly talk with a smile upon our faces; there was limited happiness anyhow.

But Celia, my Capitol representative, had four hours with me the morning before the interview that took place in the evening. The show was to be broadcasted throughout Panem, my lungs already becoming compressed as I thought of Marlo, who would undoubtably be crammed like cattle into the square tonight. I thought of how he would feel seeing me upon the large screen plastered before the town hall. Thought of what he would think as he saw me all pampered and primmed by the same people that had ordered my Parents execution.

Would he feel disgust? Would worry consume him? But most importantly, would he be able to contain that palpable anger that I knew all too well was loosely bottled beneath the surface?

"Stand straighter!" Celia snapped loudly, smacking the bottom of my spine slightly with a pointed stick she had brought in. I tried not to flinch at the sound and sensation but failed miserably.

Celia, however, did not heed any notice.

I grit my teeth, wobbling harshly within the high heels I was attempting to walk in. "If I stand straighter, I'll lose my balance and break an ankle."

The woman stopped in front of me, raising a dainty eyebrow. "This interview tonight is your last chance at redemption before you are thrown into the arena tomorrow."

Ah yes, the redemption line again.

Ever since the result was announced yesterday, there had been a distinct change in favouritism from our representative. Terry, with his pure heart still intact, hardly noticed the difference of Celia lurking over him at dinner and breakfast. He did not understand that the little questions from the Capitol resident was a way tempting him to divulge information that could help her get him sponsorship.

Sob stories, more like. The Capitol ate all of it up, and there was plenty to go around during the Hunger Games.

"I understand that, Celia." I responded politely, bypassing her to look myself over in the mirror. The black dress was shorter and tighter than I felt comfortable within, with the hem just grazing the middle of my thigh, and the top half was cut so low it might as well not have been there at all. The only salvation was that the scars on my back were mostly covered. No doubt Xavier had a hand in that minute detail, but the rest of this outfit. . . "But I've never worn this sort of clothing in my life. I might as well be a newborn baby trying to take it's first steps."

She tusked in response, beginning to circle me again. "And it sure looks that way, Dear," She raised a hand to push my chin upwards, making me look straight, "But this method has been proven to. . .attract sponsorship."

Reign your comments in.

Do not tell say that you'd rather die than have those types of brutes sponsor you in the arena. Do not voice that you'd rather they kept their blood money to themselves, and let your death mean something.

"I-I'm sure you know best, Celia." I responded with as much confidence I could manage.

She smiled in return. "I knew you would come around eventually."

~

Beetee had taken one look at my outfit and gawked in response. He had stridden into my room to notify us that our hour was up and had immediately halted as his eyes set upon me. His mouth opened, and then closed, the man for once at a loss for words.