The light is blinding. If I thought that the camera flashes that greeted us when we climbed aboard the train were bright, it's nothing compared to this. Every flash leaves colored spots swimming before my eyes. The spots block my vision of everything, until I'm left in a world of clicking cameras that give me a headache, the shrill voices of the reporters demanding to know how it feels to be a contestant in the Games, and Arcto's uncut fingernails digging into my skin as he pushes me through the crowds. I try closing my eyes, but the spots still linger, changing colors as they float across the blackness. Arcto yells something to the mass of people that I'm too disoriented to listen to. The words just dance across the edge of my mind, daring me to focus on them. I don't want to. I just want to be out of this endless huddle of people, out of this city, out of this mess I got into the second Aurelia called my name. Arcto shouts again, but this time he's louder. I can kind of understand him now. It sounds like he's yelling at them to back of. It also sounds like they aren't listening to him. The flashes of light become even more frequent, the shouts of people grow even louder. I breath deeply, a trick I use to calm myself down when I'm stressed or wounded. It helps a little. I open my eyes, and I can just barely make out the outline of a tall building. Before I know it, the automatic doors in front of the tower are sliding open with a swooshing noise, and I'm being shoved inside.
I had hoped that the obnoxious noise and light would stop once I entered the building, but apparently the Capital citizens who are guarding the building have no problem at all with letting in hundreds of reporters at once. The people follow us everywhere, even when we get into a huge glass elevator. Only about a fifth of them can fit in the elevator, but even that is a lot of people. By now, my head is on the verge of exploding, from the headache I have, and my eyes are burning. The elevator stops smoothly, and I stumble out. Suddenly, three more people come running at me.
"Rue! Rue! We're your prep team!!! We're here to help you look good in your days before the Games!!" They pull me into a room where I can make out various instruments that are probably going to be used to make me look prettier, but really look like torture instruments.
"Come on, sit down!" one of them screeches, "We've got very little time to make you look great! The Opening Ceremonies start in just a few hours! Don't you want to look beautiful? Thousands of people will be looking at you, probably taking pictures!!"
The last thing I see before I black out is the flash of a camera.
YOU ARE READING
Little Flower-The Hunger Games from Rue's Point of View
أدب الهواةThere's only one victor in the game that Rue is chosen to play. And when the odds never seem to be in your favor, sometimes the only option for a sweet, tiny girl is to show that even the littlest of flowers can have thorns. This is a hunger games...
