The 76th Hunger Games

Chapter Three. Makeover.

It seemed like years before they moved me from the visiting room, I was pushed towards a black car with a red mocking Jay painted on it. The ride was bumpy and uncomfortable especially because my hands were tied behind my back in the most painful position, but it was over quickly.

I am now standing in the centre of a plain white room as a young woman walks around me looking me up and down. Her flowing brown hair is pulled back into a simple plait reveling her sun kissed skin and drawing attention to her deep brown eyes. she is beautiful but she is plain, no whiskers or strangely coloured hair, just her. I wonder what they are planning on dressing me in for the parade. Surely they can't theme me to a district maybe they will dress me in Capitol clothes, but I doubt it.

I had always wondered what happened after the tributes were reaped before the parade, and now I am experiencing it first hand. I close my eyes and let the darkness of my eyelids enclose me as the woman picks over me.

"drop your robe." I obey the command and the white cotton robe plummets to the tile floor. I keep my eyes scrunched together as a cold tape measure slides across my skin. I feel nothing in the blackness of my eyes for a while. I only hear the sound of boots on the tile floor, then I hear the door click shut.

I squint through my eyes to find that I am actually alone. But just because I am alone, doesn't mean I'm not being watched or monitored. I glance around the room to find that it is not completely empty, there is one long mirror on the wall to my right, it is about a foot taller than me so I can see myself clearly in it. I feel conscious about my exposed body and hug my arms around myself before crouching to the floor. I grab the robe that sits on the floor in a heap and don't hesitate to pull it on over my pale body.

I am bored of waiting, waiting to talk to my mother, waiting to be clothed, waiting for my impending death. I sit cross legged on the floor running my fingers through my tangled mop of brown hair trying to undo the knots. suddenly the door flies open and the woman who I assume must be my stylist charges at me yelling.

"What do you think your doing?! your hair is perfect, don't mess it up now!" She grabs my wrist and pulls it away from my head before taking a comb from her pocket and combing my hair backwards to produce more knots and tangles. It's driving me crazy, why is she making my hair worse? all I want to do now is fix it so that it falls in a straight line behind my ears. My mother had always encouraged me to keep my hair neat and tidy. But now I'm scared that if I try to tidy it, I will be hit or hurt. I come to the decision that if I close my eyes I can pretend that I am at home with my mother and she is playing with my hair as she says goodnight. But my mother doesn't pull a d tug at my hair like the stylist does so every time I get comfortable in my dream land, I am pulled out of it by a sharp pain on my scalp. Suddenly I realise that my stylist is doing my hair and I haven't even washed yet! Of course I washed before the reaping but I would assume that my stylist would like to wash my hair herself or something.

"do you want me to wash?" I ask in a nervous voice, "its just that I assumed that the tributes were washed and cleaned and papered before the opening ceremony."

"Well you assumed wrong kid." She says it so matter-of-factly that I don't quite know what to say.

"oh, well," I pause, not knowing how to finish the sentence, "The tributes are always so beautiful at the opening ceremony and everywhere else for that matter. Don't you think?"

"Were."

"Sorry?" I am confused, it was a simple enough question.

"The tributes were always so beautiful, but you see those games are in the past now. We have won."

"The games are not in the past!" I yell, anger building inside me. "if they were over then I wouldn't be standing here now! I wouldn't be spending my last few days alive in an empty room with a stranger whom I don't even know the name of!"

"If you must know my name is Margi and if I were you I would watch my tongue."

"Watch my tongue?" I echo her angrily, she can't seriously be telling me to watch my tongue. "do you know why I am here! why I am a part of your unjust attempt at revenge? Do you even know who I am?" I am facing Margi now, my eyes are locked on hers. She hardly flinches as I release my anger on her, she just shrugs it of as she walks out of the room saying "unfortunately for you Scarlet, I do"