CHARADE | Glimmer

Chapter Three

Trigger warnings: Generational trauma, Mentioned death of a family member

"Where did you learn to do something like that?" Sparkle asks.

We're sitting on my bed, playing cards laid in front of us. She's here to stay over again- this time with my family's permission.

"My Ma," I answer simply, "My grandmother taught her it, and her father taught it. It's a family tradition."

Sparkle frowns, "Why did you never do it for training? You could have made a name for yourself instead of..."

"Being a pathetic mess?" I finish.

"You're not-"

"It's not a weapon," I cut in, "So would probably be frowned upon by the trainers. And I've only learnt and practised it recently."

Sparkle shakes her head, "I love you Glimmer I do. But- and I'm saying this as a friend – why have you never bothered to learn how to fight with a proper weapon?"

I shift uncomfortably, finding it hard to meet her gaze, "I tried, I did! It's just I found it so dull. I could never seem to concentrate and I'd always be thinking about things I could make in the shop or other stuff, so I decided to spend time my time actually doing that instead of failing training because I was daydreaming."

She crosses her arms, "So you put your hobbies over your own survival."

"Yes," I sigh, "Haven't we already had this conversation? Many times?"

She looks up at me steadily, unfazed, "If you couldn't be bothered learning how to use weapons, why did you dedicate hours to learning self-defence?"

I twist the fabric of the bottom of my shirt around my finger, "One time a guy in the bar tried to hurt me," I murmur, "I didn't want to be in that position again."

"And you think people in the Hunger Games won't try to hurt you?" Sparkle demands.

I consider her, the way that she sits forward, her eyes both pleading but also hard. It's strange that someone cares about me enough to question me like this. It's kind but also...stifling.

Misdirection. Always show people what they want to see.

I lean forward, dropping my voice slightly, "What if I wanted to be more than just a tribute in the Hunger Games?"

She frowns but I can see her weighing my words, "What do you mean?"

"There are twenty-four people in that arena, Sparkle. Sure, training helps. But the tributes from Districts 2 and 4 train too, and there's also whatever the Gamemakers throw at you and the arena itself to consider. No one can be prepared for everything. Besides, there's only a small chance of getting Reaped. So, if you don't get chosen or if you die, was all that training worth it?"

Her mouth opens and closes, as she considers how to reply.

"Well that's the logical side of it," I wave my hand and sit back, "The other reason is that I don't see myself hurting anybody."

Her brow furrows, "That man in the bar looked pretty hurt."

"He had bad intentions," I smile apologetically. I can see her coming round. After all, at heart she's a rebel who fights for justice and understands the freedom and cost that comes with not following the rules.

"Fate dealt me a bad hand. I'm just choosing to make the best of my life."

"That's slightly melodramatic, don't you think?" But there's a hint of a smile playing at her lips.