I Bet On Losing Dogs

Chapter 12

It barely feels as if she's blinked when she hears the waking sounds of the quarters. The main door clunks to a close once again, ringing out the harrowing truth of today: that Mira, Maverick, and 22 other teenagers would be marched out by Peacekeepers to sit on an aircraft before being properly suited and placed in a tube, to then go fight each other to violent deaths. The cold chills that sting her skin cut crudely against the sweltering warmth of the mid-summer heat.

She sneaks downstairs quietly, a sigh of relief when the common room is empty and silent. As the sun begins the dawn, it shimmers along the crowded common room shelves, illuminating framed artworks and antique novels. Her fingers carefully grace the covers of Maverick's notebook and gently nudge it into her large purse. With some silent maneuvering of spare pantyhose and notebooks of her own, the sacred manuscripts lie safely in their own little world.

She sees the warm glow of a lamp from the crack in Gloss' door as she roams the halls. She knocks and hears the gentle knock on his bedside in return. A small message without words welcoming her into the space. "How did it go?" The question hangs in the air, waiting to strike with any tone. She hadn't heard him return to her room and she wonders if it was simply a dream she'd had, but her ears cling on to the sound of gleeful laughter drifting in the wind last night.

"I should have written those letters." A smile yearns to shine through but his eyes hold a sorrow that words couldn't hide.

"What?" She finds herself laughing. A sickening single chuckle as her skin begins to not feel like her own. Like a mask of the Capitol's and theirs alone.

"Snow's going to kill her either way. I should have written to her in those stupid letters. At least then she wouldn't hate me." The words nearly fade into the air, but every syllable is crafted with a firmness that can't be ignored.

His words loom between them like shadows cast in the dim dawning light, present but barely there. His eyes lost in a world of his own, stories he wouldn't dare to tell her yet. She can feel the crimson of the Capitol dripping from her hands, burning with guilt ridden, ever engrossing heat. The distance between them feels as large as the distance between their hometowns, mountains of identity preventing her heart from sending him kind words.

She takes out the suit she had steamed in the midst of her insomnia last night. The pleated shirt sits well on his frame, allowing the carmine fabric to once again take mesmerizing focus, gold gently reflecting the dawning sunlight. Her stomach churns as his fingers struggle to maintain a hold on the buttons long enough to push through the fabric. With a long and gentle exhale, she places her hands in front of his chest and awaits for his short unspoken nod. The disjointed tapping of Gloss' foot to match his ever increasing heartbeat sets Dottie's nerves on an unwanted dance. She feels a sting in the back of her throat as she humors herself by asking, how will she make it through the day?

The swarm of Capitolites, the elite of the elite, are all graciously gathered in the Snow Square. The bar and ballroom at the ground floor of the Training Center, alight with ivory walls, shine dazzling projections of Caesar and Claudius' morning commentary, and the ever-changing betting odds and tribute scores. She finds hands greeting her as they graze her shoulders and her waist from every angle. "Dazzling, Darling, Delightful." The narrative of praise used to bring a new light to her every step, and yet today, the day she believed would bring her into a dawning era of glory? It's a day she'd never want to begin.

Her old classmate is the first she finds in the sea of faces, though the genuine joy he adorns today feels strangely foreign from his usual grump and malcontent. He raises a toast, today always being a special exception to social etiquette of drinking before midday, and grins at his colleague and classmate. "How do I look?" Trill asks, and Dottie finds herself rolling her eyes at his propriety.

"You look just like your father." She scoffs playfully while he beams with a new level of ego awoken by the comparison. Her mind whirls with the future headlines of his success after the Games are complete: "The Hawkpetal Family Flying to New Heights." The corniness alone makes her feel uneasy.

Dottifer rubs her eyes, blaming her weary ways on the festivities and exhilarating buzz that always looms over the Capitol the night before the Games. She pretends to awaken herself by brushing down her mahogany dress, ensuring that no crease or crinkle could reflect her inwardly truths.

All of the District 1 team are bunched together to ring in the new season of the Hunger Games, excluding Tourmaline and Gaiety who have gone with their tributes to prepare them for the countdown.

Yet it feels as if she's blinked in the eye of the storm and she finds herself hearing the harrowing cry of the auditorium. "3! 2! 1!"

It's over before it can even begin.

For the first time in all of her nineteen years of memory, she cowardly finds her eyes drifting away from the screen, her trembling heart unable to take another moment of blood splattering across the projections. Her eyes float away from the echoes of gasps and sneering cheers, instead landing on the bar.

She finds herself watching on as the mentor of District 12 walks over to find an empty spot. She feels a fire within her. How could someone be so cold as to yearn for a drink while their very own tributes are fighting desperately for their lives? He receives two cups and the bartender slowly pours each one, Haymitch's eyes still wearily watching the main stage. She compiles her head to be held up high towards the screen, determined to honor every moment for Maverick and Mira.

The boy from District Two is the first thing she sees when she returns, blood already smeared across his face with pearly white teeth so bright they reflect the radiating heat of the Arena with unnerving glee.

The youngest tribute this year, Tynan, she forced herself to remember, is in his centre view. Until he isn't. A knife, the size of Dottifer's palm, soars across the camera lens and into the back of Tynan's head. Dot watches as Mira stands there for a moment, the chaos whirling around her as if she was the body on the ground. Instead, a young boy lies with his face in the ground.

He sees the girl of District 12 running towards Tynan with a spear, and once more, a young teenager collapses to the floor in peering agony. The girl of District 4, Cordelia, sends a Bola flying across the field, Maverick taking the utmost pleasure in sending his spear soaring into the ground as she falls down in one fell swoop. Wyatt's eyes are alight with an icy darkness, a silent promise of resentment that strikes through the screens like a silent threat. The cameras switch back to Caesar for the official recap of "the bloodbath."

In sickening intrigue, her neck is pulled to turn towards their mentor. The tide of understanding washes over her as he raises a drink towards the main screen, a man of similar age and intoxication copying his movement. As he finishes the first he consumes the second, the same motion to the screen. A toast.

"The bottom of this years tributes, as you cleverly predicted, Districts 10, 11, and 12 have all lost their tributes within the thrilling bloodbath." Claudius praises Caesar for his predictions earlier this morning, the runts of the litter, and Trill offers to the rest of the class as the stylists around her all clink their files of champagne together. The drink burns her throat as she wonders how one could understand this? How she could have understood the Games without a second thought until the blood on her hands stared her right in the eyes.

A person you know, a child that would have played outside the school gates, window shopped in the markets, maybe even run past your house, can be sent out of your memory with a simple drink and a few rude comments from people who didn't even know them. The mask of a fool made her feel as if she could never see the sun again, shrouded in a chilling darkness around her beaming heart.