My stylist unzips the bag with whatever I'm wearing in with a wide smile and an exclamation of- "You're going to love it,” I stand across the room, fiddling with a crack in my fingernail. I must have broken it earlier, but I only just realized it. I pick at the gap, pulling the top half of my nail off in one long stroke, wincing at the uncomfortable sensation.
The intensely made-up Capitol thing struts towards me on it's high heels, holding up the outfit against me. "Ooh, it's just perfect!" it babbles. From what I can see, it's an elegant, long golden dress with shimmering material that just pools over the ground as if it were molten gold. I turn my head down to my broken nail, biting at the rough surface.
The stylist slaps my hand away from my mouth, scolding me even though it’s wearing a smile. “Try it on,” it insists, handing me the fabric. I silently move away, pulling off the gown that they forced me into after ripping the hair from my body. Scooting my arms underneath the gown, I wiggle it over my head and pull it down, straightening up the creases at the front. My Capitol freak claps it’s hands and ushers me over to the mirror, making me sit down so it can fiddle with my hair and tell me how wonderful I look.
The girl in the reflection stares back at me with cold, unloving eyes, making me uneasy. That couldn’t be me. I always had life, even when things at home got tough. I always held on to the sliver of hope that one day, things might just get better, whether that happens by me dying or obtaining a large sum of money, I wouldn’t mind. But now even the light has gone. I feel as good as dead already.
My hair is pushed up into a fancy, curly mess on the top of my head, with loose strands giving it a casual but glamorous feel. My stylist pins it back with a jewelled golden pin in the shape of a tear drop, and that’s when I notice the tear-like blobs under my eyes. They’ve made me look beautiful, and broken. Liquid-like dress and teardrop-shaped accessories. They’re portraying me as some weak, crying girl. Not the victor that I should be.
“What are you writing?” I ask the stylist softly when I feel the wet texture of a paintbrush on my shoulder blade, inscribing some words, or something. The dress shows practically all my shoulders, so it’s really obvious. When I crane my neck, I can see the letters in the mirror, but I can’t understand what they say.
“It says, ‘numerum non mensuratur vita spiritus accipiamus, tollitur anima nostra momenta numerus’,” the stylist reads from a piece of paper it’s copying from. Sounds like a load of rubbish to me, but the thing seems really proud of it. “It’s in an old language called Latin,” it continues. “It means, ‘life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but the number of moments that take our breath away’,”
I give it a non-committal smile, even though it’s half gone. “It sounds like bullshit,” I reply, sensing the stylist stiffen behind me. “Now, now,” it scolds. “No thank you, it’s a lovely saying,”
I scoff. “It’s complete crap,”
“Yes, but it’s true,” the stylist argues, finishing up and putting the paintbrush on the desk. It touches the ink carefully, admiring the work done on my face and hair.
“It’s not true,” I mutter as the chair is pulled away and I’m lead to a full length mirror to look around. I can hardly recognise myself, even more so than before I had all this stuff on my face. The real Clove is buried so deep I have no idea how to find her.
“It’s true for Cato,” it mumbles.
I freeze in front of the mirror. This thing shouldn't even be allowed to speak his name. He died for me, and they made him die. Those freaks have no right to talk like they know him. "Shut up," is all I can manage to say.
The thing takes a deep breath, shifting her weight so I can see her reflection behind mine. "Clove, you're going to have to acknowledge that Cato's dead, and try to move yourself on. It's tragic, I know, but it's real life,"
My palms start sweating. "What do you know?" I hiss angrily. It has no right to talk to me like I'm a child. "Have you ever been thrown into that place with people you love?" I snap. "Been forced to kill the only ones who have ever really been there for you? Because I lost the only three friends I've ever, ever had, and that is not an exaggeration,"
The thing takes a cautious step away from me, eyes wide and apologetic. "I don't mean- of course I don't know what you're going through, I-"
My head is spinning. This freak can't talk like this. My closed fist shoots out into the mirror, with so much force it smashes. The freak lets out a strangled yell and leaps away as the glass smashes over onto the floor and into my dress and feet. I don't care if I'm not wearing any shoes, if the glass pokes into my heels as I step towards the thing. It deserves to feel the pain Cato felt, and Glimmer, and Marvel, even Katniss. it's the one who should be on fire now.
"You don't know anything!" I yell, throwing my hands out. "I am nothing, nothing without them!"
The freak takes a frantic step towards the sideboard where a phone lies, unused. I rush in front, mind reeling. "Go on," I sneer. "Call,"
I yank it toward me by the scruff of it's frilly shirt, holding it almost off the floor. It's begging for mercy, just like all those kids it killed. It takes a lot of my strength to throw the thing onto the glass-covered floor, but I can do it now. It crashes down onto the shards of glass, crying out and wincing in pain as I step towards it and pull it towards me again.
The door bursts open, sending in three uniform-clad guards. I don't panic, instead snatching up a piece of glass and holding it to my hostage's neck, growling, "I'll kill it, I will,"
The freak whimpers in fright as the guards raise their guns, but I press the blade into the thing's neck even harder, drawing out a little bead of blood on it's neck. The sight of the red liquid makes me only want more. I press it in harder, cutting the skin a little and encouraging a whine of pain.
"Bring him back," I whisper.
YOU ARE READING
Careers Have Feelings Too | CLATO | GLARVEL |
Fanfiction"The thing is, I didn't expect to be like this," he says. The sunlight bounces off his golden hair, and it seems as if it's glowing. "Didn't expect what?" He smiles coyly, and all at once he seems more sure of himself than ever before. "I went wro...
