I Don't Volunteer As Tribute [Hunger Games parody]

Gettin' Purdy

"Saaaaaaaaandwich!" I moaned as Pita shoved one of his fat, sausage-fingers into my ear for yet another Wet Willy. I heard Sandwich groan from the other room, then Iffy sniff, followed by a chair being dragged across the train's carpet floor as if someone where getting off the chair. The door slid open and Pita took a big step away from me.

"Will you two stop it," Sandwich hissed. I could smell a hint of vodka in his breath. His hair wasn't in its -usual- greasy state, and he looked as if he had shaved. I turned my head to Pita- who was also surprised by Sandwich's unusual cleanliness. He closed the door from behind him.

"Now, I'm trying to hook up with the miss Iffy," he angrily whispered. That made sense. He wouldn't have gone thought the trouble of using deodorant, a rare term for Sandwich. "So if you muffin-tossing geeks make another sound, I'm going to kill you before we see the Beauties-"

"Who're the Beauties?"

The sliding door opened again. Iffy emerged in. She had her hair bright pink, like cotton candy, and she wore a jumper from the 60's that had a Scooby-Doo pattern on it. She also had the ultra-long eyelashes, pale skin, and heart-shaped lips to wrap the ugly mess together. I watched Sandwich look her over, licking his lips. Yup. Definitely the alcohol talking to him.

"I heard you talking about the Beauties," she smiled. "And no, Sandwich, I am not hooking up with you."

"Who are they?"

"The Beauties do you makeup and stuff," Sandwich added. I nodded in agreement. "Oh," he spoke up. "And I cancelled all of your only training and practise sessions. So you'll be terrible fighters for the Hungry Games."

My jaw dropped. "You did what?!"

"I can't believe you," Pita said.

"I can't believe him either," I stared at Sandwich, a constipated look washed over his face. A smirk spread onto mine. "And you got us more time with the Beauties! I bet no other district has that much of an advantage!"

***

I carefully laid down onto the table. Women and gay stereotypes emerged from the doors. Two men stood out, though. One had a single earring on one ear, and wore a black jacket reading 'Beauty Leader' in sparkly pink. The other wore a track suit, had white-blond hair with a pink, fluffy headband, leg warmers, denim shorts, and sneakers.

"Hi Catnip, hi," the track suit guy enthusiastically waved. I half-smiled, but didn't get off the table. My hospital-dress itched.

"Let us- Mmm lettuce- introduce ourselves. My name is Cinnamon," the earring-man gestured to himself. "And this is my assistant Leroy, the choreographer."

"Used to be," Leroy grumbled. "Stupid Daddy Directioner, being perfect."

"So let's take a looky, shall we?" Cinnamon peeked at my legs. "Um... have you ever shaved your legs?"

"I'm in district 12! The muffin district! We have no razors!"

"Use muffins as razors," Leeroy suggested. He wandered off as Cinnamon inspected my scalp.

"Greasy... you could cook McDonald's fries in there," he muttered, and lifted a strand. "But I do love my McD's... I'm thinking of changing your... gross shade of lovely caramel-slash-chocolate hair to a beautiful diarrhea-exploration colour. It'll be way better."

Cinnamon grabbed my hand. "And your nails, oh, your nails." I peered down at my mould-covered nails, they were two feet long each. I didn't think they were that bad.

Leroy came back with a muffin. "See, muffins do work," he took my right leg and brushed the banana muffin against it. The hair vanished.

"Oh," I blushed. Leeroy finished shaving my legs with the muffin. Then popped the muffin into his mouth. Hair and all. Cinnamon snapped his pink-polished-nailed hands and, instantly, a woman wearing a barf-yellow scrub came, holding pliers. How she knew he needed pliers? I don't know, it's a fan fiction on Wattpad- did you think it would make perfect sense? He used the pliers on my fingernails as Leroy opened my mouth with his fingers. Instantly, a sour smell filled the air. Just as Cinnamon clipped off the last razor-sharp nose-picking-machine-of-nails, Leroy whispered something into his ear. He nodded.

"You need braces," Leroy stated. Cinnamon slowly nodded in agreement. "While he's doing that, I'm doing your hair. Then we'll do the makeup."

And the two gay stereotypical men started. Leroy was accompanied by a woman with wispy, black hair as he hot-glue-gunned the braces to my teeth. The water felt good as it rushed throughout my magical -yet hideous- hair that was caramel-chocolate -shudder. Cinnamon skipped the shampoo and started dying my hair. I winced a bit at the pain of the hot glue melting onto my sensitive gums. It felt like molten lava seeping through my skin. But I didn't complain. I waited as they finished their jobs and they both smiled as they leaded me to the full-length mirror.

My hair was now a greasy, diarrhea-coloured rat's nest, and my gums were so swollen that they were blue. My braces made me look like an insta-über-nerd. Cinnamon slowly lowered a frying thing onto my head and tossed in the cut potatoes. They sizzled and turned to fries. He took them out and handed a few to me and Leroy.

"Mmm, great hair-fries, Cin, best ever!" He munched. "Now for the makeup."

"But first," Leroy lifted my arms. He had already eaten my shaving-muffin, so there it grew. It touched my ankles, it was so long. Leroy swiftly braided it and nodded at his accomplishment. Satisfied.

****

So you know what to do?" Cinnamon asked. Everyone was here to support me... oh and Pita. Cinnamon was here, Iffy, Sandwich, Leroy, all the Beauties' staff, and there was also a homeless man begging for change.

"I do know," I replied. "But you should repeat it because I'm sort of an idiot."

"All you need to do is wow them. Make everyone want to support you. When they support you, you can get items that they send. So make the public like you," Iffy spoke up.

"And tonight, you have an interview with Caesar Salad. So be the best you can be... not yourself," Sandwich added.

Leroy gave me a side-kiss, Iffy gave a small hug, Sandwich a pat on the back, Cinnamon a full-out makeout, random staff smiled, and the hobo asked for some change.

"Ew," Iffy stiffened at the homeless man. "Catnip, get away from him." She put me next to Pita in the elevator.

"Don't be rude," I gave the hobo a quick smile. "He's just hungry." I handed him a loaf of bread. He looked at the bread, a tear stroke down his cheek, then anger.

"I wanted money, you bit-"

The doors snapped shut and the elevator whooshed up. I turned to Pita, he had on a charcoal-black suit. The same charcoal-black as my dress. Once the doors opened, a guy with a walkie-talkie grabbed our hands and lead us to a carriage.

"We need to take this stupid wagon?" Pita spat. "Isn't this the future?! Aren't we supposed to be advanced in technology?!"

The man ignored Pita and handed me a note. "It's from Cinnamon," he rushed off.

I un-folded the note and read it:

Catnip and Pita,

I'm sorry that I did an awful job at your makeup, hair, face, and... well, pretty much everything. To make it up to you two, I made your suit and dress special. It projects fire. But it *won't* hurt you. Just twirl around and it'll work. Make me proud.

-Cinnamon

I smiled and tugged at my armpit-braid. We hopped into the chariot and, suddenly, the doors opened and it automatically moved the carriage.

"District 12," a booming voice echoed. Applause filled my ears. People stood everywhere in the stands. I smiled and waved, showing off my glorious braids. Then we both twirled around, instantly, flame rose from the bottom. People 'oo'd' and 'aw'd' at us. Then, it felt a bit hot, then to a burn, then lava-hot. We both screamed and jumped out of our chariot, rolling around in the dust. The flame didn't die. I tried to rip my dress off but it wouldn't budge. We kept screaming and rolling and looking like we had seizers until the pain died down.

"And that's all," the voice boomed. "District 12, everyone!"