Voices of the Dead: A Hunger Games FanFiction ©

4. Bruno

I stood in my normal at-ease stance; feet, shoulder-length apart, hands, tactically held behind my back, position, alert and attentive. I witnessed the commotion around me as various stylists ran to and fro, putting the final touches on their tributes. Tonight was the night of the momentous interviews with Ceasar Flickerman. Though the pointing system was a good way to get sponsors for the games, another vital part to getting people to root for you was to show them what kind of person you were during the long-awaited talk show.

Though many would assume I’d be terrified for this part of the process, they’d be wrong. I knew that what mattered was that I stick to my guns and show them that; no, maybe I wasn’t a charming killer who could smooth-talk his way into your hearts, but I was an efficient one that would give you your “money’s worth” so to speak. If they wanted blood and gore, I’d give them just that.

As before, I hadn’t put up any sort of fuss when Rubio had decided to dress me in a lavish gold-piped suite. I didn’t care; clothes didn’t make me who I was, my skills did. I sighed occasionally, trying to fight the boredom that was getting to me.

When our mentors had offered us a chance to talk and give tips on what to say during the interview, I’d turned them down. My explanation: “I’m not a puppet, I can speak for myself.”

The looks on their faces told me they doubted by decision, but they didn’t try to stop me; probably, they thought I’d regret it sooner or later. Now, as we finally began to file out and take our seats before the stage, I couldn’t help but feel satisfaction. I was completely comfortable.

The music swelled and soon enough Ceasar Flickerman was waltzing up the stage, a giant smile on his face. His red hair shone under the lights and contrasted severely against the white of his clean-pressed suit. I settled into my seat as Dawn was called up to be interviewed first; I wasn’t worried, she was sure to come off as charming.

During her actual questioning, I took the time to scan the competition yet again; nervous feet tapped, eyes crinkled in frustration, and hands were wrung with anticipation. There were few who seemed as laid-back as myself.

“Thank you, Dawn! Now, let’s all give her a hand!” exclaimed Ceasar as Dawn stood to return to her seat beside me. “And now for the male tribute from District one, Bruno Klum! Wecome!”

I stood, adjusting my golden tie a bit, and then easily made my way to the plush red chair beside Ceasar. “Thanks,” I said in, what I considered, a normal tone.

“My, my, aren’t you just a fearsome sight!” he turned to the crowd, “You’re certainly one to look out for! So tell me Bruno, how do you feel your odds are in these game?”

I kept my face stony and unreadable, “My odds are good,” I said in a bored tone.

He nodded, like what I’d said had been the most interesting thing he’d ever heard, “You sound confident.”

“I am,” I picked at my cuticle.

“Do you not have any worries at all about these games? I mean, the competition is rather high this year.”

I shrugged, “No, not really,” I pretended to evaluate my competitors then rolled my eyes, “Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

“Ooo! Impressive!” Ceasar continued, his enthusiasm not even slightly affected by my tone, “Do tell me then, were you surprised at the score you received from the Gamemakers? I mean, nine isn’t bad, but it certainly isn’t a ten or eleven.”

I shook my head, and then sighed, “No, nine is fine. I trust their verdict.”

Ceasar finally seemed to pick up on my nonchalance. He leaned in, “You don’t seem worried at all. Is there a reason? Perhaps, did you mean to get a nine?”

I looked into the crowd of Capitol citizens and squared my shoulders, finally letting the icy edge slip into my voice, “I’m not worried. Never have been, never will be. A nine does not define me, and those who think it does will be sure to regret coming up with such an idiotic conclusion.”

“Then what does?” Ceasar prodded.

I raised my chin in pride and spoke clearly, “I am here for respect, honor, and pride. I am here for myself! I will bring this home, that I can assure you with honesty. I’m not in this for the riches or fame, I’m in this for the title.” The crowd applauded and I looked directly at a camera nearby, “This is for me and me alone. These games have been my life since I can remember. They’ve been the only thing my existence has revolved around. I live and breathe the Hunger Games. I will be victor, I will win!”

The commotion that followed was pleasing, but I never lost the look of ireful resolution on my face. When Ceasar finally managed to get the people under control, he turned to me with a look of eagerness; probably happy he’d finally gotten an emotional reaction from me.

“Now that’s the kind of enthusiasm I like to see! Thank you Bruno for that delightful display of confidence!” He leaned forward and shook my hand with more vigor than before. I nodded and then returned to my seat, filled with a sense of contentment; I’d done what I’d set out to do, I’d made it clear that this was a competition, not against the others per-se, but against myself. The only person I had to please, the only person who I had to honor was me.

Only, me.