Hope In Our Eyes #GoldStarAwards2017Winner

An Attractive Angle (Hazel)

I barely suppress a yelp of pain as the maniacal Capitol lady in front of me plucks a single hair from my left eyebrow with a tiny tweezer.

"I'm sorry dear, you'll just have to hold still." She chirps, sounding not at all sorry. Her neon green foot high stilettos and bright pink vest are almost blinding. The woman then turns to the young man sporting a crazily curly mustache with one side that grows four inches from his face, who's doing the painful job of holding me down on the bed I'm lying on. "Vector, will you start dying her hair?"

Before I can protest, a third lady, who-unlike the other two members of my prep team-dresses in brooding dark colors so they stand out against her chalk white skin, with a million piercings up her nose, is supervising the other two people says, "I'll do it, Zap," and I can't help but wonder, Who's got a name like Zap?

We have just arrived at the Capitol-which is even more luxurious than our train-a couple hours ago, and now we're preparing for the chariot parade. Alexander and I each get our own "prep team", or as I would say, a group of three creepy wealthy people who dress as clowns on purpose, to slather us down in makeup-or in my case, agony-so our stylists can work their wondrous powers for us to behold. Notice my sarcasm.

"Thank you, Glam." Zap answers.

Glam walks over beside my head, and as soon as she picks up a strand of my black hair, I demand, "What are you doing?" making her jump a little.

"Oh, we're just going to add some streaks into your hair."

I reluctantly allow Glam to dye strands of my hair gold and silver, where other parts are shades of blackish colors, like dark blue and gray. Then-to my dismay and annoyance-Vector cut some spiky bangs on my forehead. He then sprays them silver as well. Meanwhile, Zap trims and paints my nails black, with-you guessed it-delicate silver swirls and crisps.

A while later, Zap exclaims, "Well, you're ready for Lark, your stylist." She, Glam, and Vector walk out, and after a minute, a woman who seems to be in her thirties strolls in.

Lark peers around my body, examining my bare limbs and skinny body. I feel so intimidated and weirded-out that I actually wonder if I'm naked. Luckily, I know I'm not when I feel the rough ruffle of my paper gown.

As my stylist continues peering at me, I blurt out, "Are you ever gonna do something?"

Lark purses her lips and nods. "You have a nice body, and they did you nicely. However ..." She pauses and slightly powders my cheeks and eyelids. "That's good. Take a look at your chariot costume." She opens a clothing bag.

What I see makes my eyes pop up in both shock and delight. In front of me hangs a fierce, sleeveless black dress with a short skirt carrying a wavy hem, and the whole outfit glitters in gold and silver. Then, there's a matching pair of black knee boots that are dangling silver laces behind them.

Lark helps me slip the outfit onto me, and steers me in front of a mirror, where I think I stopped breathing. The clothes, the makeup, the hair, they all fit together like a masterpiece, making me look small and delicate, yet dangerous and powerful.

I can barely speak, when Lavender comes in only to let out a gasp of amazement, and then takes my arm, helping me onto a huge chariot pulled by elegant, black horses. One of the equestrians turns its head towards me, and licks my outstretched hand almost as if to comfort me. Ahead of me are the chariots for the tributes from all the other districts.

Alex then joins me after a while, wearing a matching outfit, only he has on a two-piece costume with outstretched black sleeves and long pants with silver designs. He tells me, "Let's just play a small-but-tough angle on the Capitol people so we won't look like prey."

"'kay." I nod.

Soon, District One's chariot starts pulling into a long, huge hallway. Their tributes are adorned in fluffy pink stuff that almost makes me choke in laughter, but surprisingly they receive joyed shouts from the millions of Capitol citizens sitting on the sides of the runway. District Two begins following, but just as they enter the blinding lights and screaming sponsors, the girl turns around and looks almost right at me with a menacing glare. I look down and purse my lips.

I decide to focus my attention on District Eleven, the poor brother and sister who came into the Games together. The tiny girl seems so sweet and beautiful in her blue dress and vine-like decorations. Maybe the angle she'll be playing will be adorable and charming. I don't think any Capitol citizen can resist such cuteness.

I become aware to the rolling of the chariot wheels beneath me. In almost no time, I'm showered in the golden glow of this huge room, a luscious red carpet covering the entire floor. I see the tributes in front of me waving, yelling, doing whatever they need to make a good impression on our spectators, so I play my angle as well, screaming a line that gets me attacked by flowers, jewels, even articles of clothing:

"You think you can take me down? Come and get me!"