Author Games: Memoranda Of Terror

The Grande Finale - Diamond Fabulo

[Please refer to the Voting Changes chapter before voting]

I’m a rainbow again. Shining and radiant, just as my name implies. I really can’t complain, my stylists did a fantastic job. My dress is made of the same material as it was for the interviews, but now it is longer—much longer, flowing out behind me as I make my way onto the stage where the Gamemakers, dressed in their finest, wait for me. My hair is piled in a mountain of curls atop my head, and as Alithia lowers the victor crown onto my head, it nestles perfectly around the curls. That thought seems so strange to me. The victor crown.

“You have earned it.” President Alithia says. Not trusting my voice, I bow my head and blush modestly, just as I had rehearsed in my mirror a million times before my stylists came to claim me. Alithia gives me a tiny nod of approval. Apparently, the practice worked and my shift from the broken person I am back into the bubbly happy girl I was before the Games began was believable. I give a tiny little wave to the crowd before taking my seat in the large plush thrown.

Then, the lights in the enormous stadium dim,  the screen lowers, the three hours of torture begin.

~~~

The recap starts earlier than I expected it to. It begins with the District One train pulling into the Capital. The bubbly, flirtatious girl blowing kisses to the crowd is a stranger to me. She completely ignores Apollo, he’s not even a blip on her self-indulgent radar.

Next is the tribute parade. The stylist played off of Apollo’s name, which apparently stems from some sort of ancient mythology, and dressed us like a god and goddess. Shimmering, ethereal robes, crowns that look like they’re woven from golden leaves-- we were a big crowd pleaser. The Diamond on the screen hams it up, winking, blowing kisses, and waving like the whole crowd is there only for her. 

I’m even more disappointed with the interviews. 

“Oh please, Khave! No one in District One is up to my standards!” The other Diamond giggles and winks at the crowd. 

Both the current audience and the audience on the screen scream and cheer. I shake my head in disgust. 

The audience laughs at my after-interview-happy-dance, and I force myself to smile and laugh as well. I glance at the extravagant clock to my left and fight back a groan. It’s only been half an hour.

And then the real Games begin. 

Everyone is standing silently on their pedestal, waiting with mixed emotions for the countdown to end. The first tribute they show, of course, is me. The other Diamond looks utterly bored. The camera pans around, putting more focus on the crowd favorites, the ones who made it far or stood out; they also spent a good amount of time on Piper and Solum, my former— or I guess, in this case, soon to be— allies.

Out of habit, I glance down at my hand, but then remember I can’t see their names. I’m wearing long satin gloves that go past my elbows. That was the condition they made. 

When they first took me out of the arena, they offered to remove my scars, but I refused. I wanted to keep them. All of them. Not just the names, but the long slice down my arm as well. I wanted to keep it as a reminder of the lowest point in my life. So that no matter how upset I felt in the future, I would always have that moment to think back on, and I would remember Elmo standing over me, calling me a coward.

The stylists didn’t like it, but they relented so long as I promised to wear gloves for every Capital event. They even went as far as to call my parents, who as a result started a new line of fashion gloves so that I would have variety for the Victory Tour. It was a bargain I was willing to make.