Black Ice (The Hunger Games--Fanfic)

f i v e

The train is submerged into a tunnel, and I stare out of the window. I want to get a better look at the capitol before they get a better look at me. Suddenly, we pull out of the tunnel, and at first my eyes hurt from the light, but once they have adjusted, I can see everything so clearly.

Tall, elegant buildings made entirely out of glass, so shiny that the streets reflect in them. Cars driving along the road, looking appropriate for the extravagant people inside them. Vibrant colours line the streets, too. Colours too bright, colours too deep. Colourful colours. Colourful colours everywhere. Like a colouring book of a child.

My mind flickers back. Alex. How is he? What would he say if he were here?

I stop. I don't want to know what he would say, because that would mean he would have to be here, and that means he is on his way to die.

I cast my thoughts away from death for a moment, and back to the view from the window, where people have now started to come into sight, waving pointing, craning their necks, eager to get a look at the victims of their game. Pawns almost. They can control us like chess pieces. They will control us like chess pieces.

Hands eagerly pull and push me around, until they lie me down on a bench. Eyes still scanning every inch of my body.

Wax strips are slowly put on each inch of my body and ripped off suddenly. At first I screamed and tightened my grip onto the side of the bench, but after a while I don't say anything, and lie in silence, wincing at the pain instead. I bite my lip to stop myself from crying and screaming again. I didn't want to come across as a wuss when they're just removing hair. After all, there will be worse on its way.

Much worse.

When they're done a lotion is applied to my burning, red raw skin. It hurts-burns almost- but as they apply more, it is less of a pain, and more of a cooling feeling. Like swimming on a hot day.

Once the three strangers are done, they pull me up and I stand there, in front of them. Completely naked. When I first did this, I tried to cover myself up a little bit (I wouldn't exactly describe standing in front of three strangers, all with odd appearances, comfortable), but now I stand there.

"Much, much better now dear!" One says and the others nod agreement.

I am kind of glad. I don't feel any better, I feel worse. My skin is sore and I am exhausted. want to tell them this, but I don't want to seem ungrateful for their time, and before I can say anything, another woman walks over to me, and the others walk out.

The woman looks more normal, more human almost, than the rest of them. Her hair is orange and red, and her eyelids are coloured with vibrant pastels and neon shades of every colour I can name. Her arm is tattooed in an aqua pattern of flowers and words that are curly and from where I am standing, I cannot read what they say (though I wish I could).

"Hello..." she mumbles, as she reaches an arm out and spins me around "well, they didn't take half as long as I thought." She smiles and gently tugs my chin "Though I do wish that they would've don't something with your hair," she now frowns slightly as she pulls at a strand and twists it around one of her fingers before letting it flop back to its lifeless form. In with the mass of curls which rest flatly on my back. Damp, as the now cold water slides down my back.

I watch her carefully. Her eyes are purple and match with the purple tights she is wearing with her white t-shirt and fluorescent pink skirt. Her appearance, overall, gives me a headache. But at least she isn't bleached a shockingly bright yellow, like one of the others.

"Right..." she bites one of her nails.

Surprisingly, her nails are not painted but her teeth are way too white. It makes me shudder. I don't want to look like she does, but I want to tell her that. Though, she probably wouldn't listen or take into account any of what I say, and I dare say she might abide by her own rules.

Great.

"Well, we shan't have you waiting around here naked any longer than necessary," she laughs, and maybe I would too if my date of death wasn't right around the corner, or I even understood what was funny.

She throws a robe at me and I catch it, feeling proud that I was able to do so, then put it on.

I stare around the room, trying to think about how many tributes have walked through here. If this is the place that they always have used, then I will be the 73rd. 73.

Too many.

Too many young, innocent lives lost by the will of the capitol, and their greed and thirst for blood, slaughter, death and revenge.

Suddenly my stylist taps my shoulder and I realise that she wants me to follow her out of the room. So, I do.

We leave through a door and enter into a sitting-room area. Three walls painted white, and one made out of glass. This catches my attention and I cannot help my curiosity, and wonder over, to get another view of the capitol. It looks much better from where I now stand. The sun must be behind the building, as it's shadow drowns a large section of the street, and the building opposite doesn't have light reflecting off of every glass pane.

It is rather magnificent.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

I turn, my stylist is right behind me. I realise I never got her name, and she must realise it too, because she laughs and then gives me a proper greeting.

"Sorry, Mira, I forgot to introduce myself, how rude!" She laughs a little harder, throwing her head back and letting out a sound that resembles a witch's cackle. "my name is Autumn."

She has seemed odd and extraordinary, until now. I realise her name isn't quite like the other names I have heard passed around here. It's like the ones at home. A girl who lives down the same street as me has the same name as her.

Then I remember that all the people here are normal, but to me they don't seem like they are. The way they dress, the foods they eat, the clothes they wear, their sense of humour...they seem exceptionally odd. To me. But to them, I am the outsider.

I do not belong here. I belong back at home, by the sea, walking along the pebbled beach barefoot. That is where I am truly happy; that is where I truly belong.

"Take a seat," Autumn gestures to one of the couches.

I walk over and then sit. She does the same on the seat opposite me. She looks into my eyes, trying to read my emotions, and then presses a tiny button. At first I think that she is calling the others back in to pluck out my eyebrows, but then the table between us-the top splits open and food appears on the top.

More foods that I haven't had before. More foods I haven't seen before. More foods. Green, orange, white, red, brown, orange...

It isn't as much as there was for breakfast, but I am not as hungry now, so I am kind of glad. I will be able to try some of everything, and not throw up everywhere.

I end up eating loads of bread, baked with currents, nuts, oats and berries I have never tasted before, and they are pretty good. I can't lie about that. Autumn seems to notice too.

"Good huh?"

I nod, and she laughs, this time, I do too.

Even with the situation which is right around the corner; I decide that I won't limit myself and restrict my thoughts to death and destruction of 23 people. For now, I can enjoy myself, and smile. For now.