60th Hunger Games Victor Presentation Ceremony

I remembered black skies, the lightning all around me
I remembered each flash as time began to blur
like a startling sign that fate had finally found me
and your voice was all I heard, that I get what I deserve

Once more, Julian was under the scrutiny of his obnoxious stylist, Cream. He had nearly blown his gasket on the bumbling man during his interview prep when Cream casually mentioned how he wished he could have dressed Midas with all the “amazing “ post-Games outfits he had planned last year. Cream hadn’t of course meant anything hurtful to Julian by it; the stylist was far too up his own ass to be concerned for what effect his lust for last year’s District Two tribute might have on the victor that he dressed now. Cream seemed to think this would have been flattering to Julian in some way. He was wrong.

Julian stewed in silence now as his prep team wrapped up the finishing touches on the outfit for the Sixtieth Annual Hunger Games true grand finale… the crowning ceremony. This boy from District Two had been dreaming of this moment since he could walk and talk, but it hardly seemed as fulfilling as his many years of training had promised. The hole inside of Julian that was created upon the death of Midas was no longer just a hole. It was now a pit that was weighed down with the corpses of twenty-three tributes. Some weighed heavier than others, but the load was overbearing all the same. It was so easy in wake now to lose himself in this sea of despair. In fact he was so lost in it now that he barely felt the two large arms that pulled him into an embrace.

“Your mother will be sitting with the other previous victors,” his father and Games’ mentor, Serge Bryze announced as he released his son from the hug. The prep team protested his approach, but he merely swatted them away. Cream and his assistants didn’t hesitate to back off for the moment. Serge’s size made his victor status far more imposing. “Take your crown with honor, Julian, you’ve earned it.”

Julian looked back at his father for a moment before turning to a nearby mirror and speaking to his own reflection. “I sure have.” After a deep breath, he forced a pearly white smile and turned back to face his dad.

“Now that’s the spirit,” Serge said, returning the smile as he pat his son on the shoulder. “I’ll see you guys out there!”

Once Serge had left the final prep room, Cream and the team got back to work. After being handled like a toy doll, at last Cream pronounced him ”a vision of perfection” and wheeled him back around to face the mirror. Once more Julian was the lean, pretty boy that exuded the qualities of both District One and District Two. He couldn’t deny that Cream was indeed a remarkable stylist. The boy in his reflection revealed him to be in a stunning wide-crew necked, long sleeved top made of a light silvery material that looked like molten metal with the subtlest of movements. This had been cleverly placed with a plain, skinny black pant and black leather boots that gave Julian an extra few inches in height to counter his petite stature. The overall outfit may have been simple, but it certainly complimented Julian’s raw power. He exuded beauty and youth while in essence remaining dark and sinister. He looked down at the pitch-black polish on his now perfectly manicured nails. It was so strange to see them free of cracks and lacking in bloodstains.

Julian’s eyes at last flickered up to his face, taking in the heavy, smoky shadow they had applied to his eyelids, just as they had for his pre-Games interviews. As his forever-icy stare locked with itself however, Julian alone could see that this was not the same Julian Bryze that had entered the arena. He would be forever changed by the Hunger Games, internally and externally. His right hand reached up to his newly replaced ear. The surgeons of the Capitol had done a remarkable job at making it entirely unnoticeable that it was synthetic, but that didn’t mean Julian would forget …An eye for an eye… His right knee had also been replaced. After being broken in the bloodbath and without proper care before its extensive use, the knee had been damaged beyond repair. It looked fine and worked fine, but Julian swore he could tell a difference.

He looked down as he felt something fall lightly around his neck. He swallowed hard, hands reaching up for the shiny golden locket that was his token in the arena. Julian turned around as Cream finished sealing the clasp. He couldn’t even help himself as he smiled slightly.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

“I apologize for being so insensitive the other day, Julian, I promise to watch my tongue on the victory tour,” Cream said in what seemed to be a genuine tone. It was always hard to tell with these strange Capitol accents. Julian nodded, and Cream knew that was likely the best he was going to get out of this one. “Enjoy the ceremony!” He said excitedly as he gathered up his team and they all bobbled off excitedly to prepare for their own entrance to the stage.

Julian could hear the crowd roaring now and knew it would be any moment before he was called to the stage. He made his way to the platform, and couldn’t help the chill that ran through his spine as he stepped aboard it. The eerie countdown prior to his arena entrance came to mind, and his stomach seemed to do a backflip. Suddenly his breathing was quickening, and he could feel a state of panic setting in… but why? This was his moment of glory! His eyes darted around the room as if looking for a cause, but nothing—no, no one was there. He was alone, just like in the arena.

I’m not alone, I’m not alone… he told himself. He forced himself into the present with the ever-growing roar of the crowds and wondered who had just been introduced. This platform would rise any moment and Julian refused to be a nervous or sorrowful victor. The Bryze’s were too well known for that, and his victory would be far too glorious. With a deep breath, he said aloud, “You’ve got this.” Not a moment later, the platform slowly shifted upward.

He could hear President Snow call out his name as the bright lights of the City Circle peaked through the top of the narrow tunnel he was lifted through. Standing tall, head held high, Julian Bryze arose from the darkness and into the spotlight as the roar of the crowd fully overcame him. The anthem of Panem blared through a thousand speakers. He smiled brightly for the audience; whether it was genuine or fake, he didn’t know, and it did not matter. Julian couldn’t deny this moment was certainly as glorious ad he had always dreamed. The anthem blasting at top volume, still hard to hear over the tumultuous roar of the hundreds of thousands as they cried out his name in triumph, his projection on every screen in the City Circle… it was overwhelmingly empowering.

Julian’s cold eyes lit up as he gazed throughout the sea of Capitol citizens. He did not wave, but continued to smile as he walked proudly to the pedestal where upon laid his crown. The golden circlet was stunning and heavily detailed. Most notably, the crown was inset with a number of dazzling crimson rubies intricately laced throughout, surely to represent the special design of this year’s arena.

At last he stood before President Snow—a moment of his childhood’s dizziest daydreams. Julian’s eyes met with the ruler of Panem’s for only a moment before the President’s gaze overpowered this predator of predators. The moment caused Julian to catch his breath, and the eerie smile on the man’s face certainly did not help either.

“Congratulations, Julian Bryze” Coriolanus Snow said, continuing that odd, sinister smile as he placed the crown upon Julian’s golden locks. “You were every bit as entertaining as I hoped you would be.”

Something about the tone in the president’s voice caused Julian’s smile to falter… Was there a double meaning to this…? He regained his composure though, smiling meekly in return, an expression as foreign to Julian as the unease he felt before this man. “Thank you, sir.”

If Julian thought the roar of the crowd could not get any louder he was wrong. As President Snow backed away from Julian, leaving him to sit upon the thrown of luscious red fabrics, the volume seemed to increase ten fold. Julian smiled brightly, turning this way and that for the cameras, however the warmth of his smile did not reach his eyes. His odd moment with President Snow had left him feeling rather like a child … insecure and vulnerable. Victory had been achieved—the last step in his reign of vengeance—the thing that was supposed to make him whole again. But like the much-anticipated death of Shrol Raidan, this moment of triumph did not bring Midas back. It did not fill any void inside him. It did not purify his tainted actions. He was still a broken child… a child who had just murdered essentially twenty three other children for a sport he had spent his life training for. A new, horrifying thought struck him as he sat upon his blood red thrown. Not only am I a monster… it’s what President Snow wants me to be … like his personal pet…

Suddenly the thunderous noise died down, and a solitary, powerful voice spoke. President Snow’s voice could be heard throughout the entirety of the Capitol as it thundered through every speaker. He began into his routine, pre-recap screening speech that closely mimicked the speech of the Opening Ceremonies. Julian’s attention faded in and out of focus and President Snow went on about courage and sacrifice and glory… Julian looked around the stage as the speech ran on. In a special box that was placed on the side opposite the President and decorated with the emblem of District Two sat his mentor—his father, his stylist and his prep team. He slowly turned to his right to the area set up exclusively for the past Games victors. They too were in a lavishly decorated and glorified box of seating. Some looked bored, their eyes locked on the President, others were looking at him, Julian, with what appeared to be pity, some with malice. Julian tried to sneer at them, but his eyes fell upon the golden locks of his mother and the notion faltered. The two stared at each other in a moment of understanding before Julian let his eyes continue to wander for the boy he was subconsciously looking to see.

There he was, Mace Emberstatt, his immediately preceding victor. Julian’s cold eyes flickered upon him for just a moment until he accidentally made eye contact and quickly averted his attention back to President Snow who was now wrapping up the speech to a round of applause. The ruler of Panem then motioned for the recap of the Sixtieth Annual Hunger Games to begin.

Once again the Anthem began to play as the footage rolled on the large screens all around the City Circle. Julian sat still as it all began with the Reapings. Avon… Reyes—oh god, Reyes … himself and so on… the faces of every tribute burning further into his memory. After a brief display of each tribute with their training scores, the screen faded to darkness and a youthfully playful, yet cruel voice boomed throughout the City Circle. His voice. “I promise you all, that this will be a year of Games that you will never forget…” It was his words from Reaping Day. The screen was no longer black, but red as the tributes rose into the crimson sands and awaited the countdown to leave their platforms. Julian’s stomach did an odd flip and a shiver ran down his spine as he was forced to relive potentially the most nerve-wracking moment of his life.

From there, Julian’s story inside the arena unfurled alongside several other of the more prominent tributes of this years Games. He had to admit, the only tribute to truly grab his attention prior to entering the arena managed to gain even further admiration from him as he watched Avon Lightwood persevere through some of the most gruesome encounters of the Games.

Julian tried to control himself from squirming too much as he watched each of his own kills from several angles. Career victors were supposed to watch proudly and cheer along with the crowds. Keeping face was proving difficult however. He could truly see the savage rage in his eyes as well as the horror, fear and acknowledgement of defeat on the face of each tribute as he slay them. No longer blinded by the urgency to kill in the arena, the need for revenge… the need to survive… Julian could not hide from himself now.

He clenched his jaw and grit his teeth as he watched Shrol Raidan forgive him all over again. Trying to remain as stony faced as possible, Julian took in a deep breath and scowled with all his might. He tried to be angry with Shrol. How dare he forgive me… but it was to no avail; there was no escape from the guilt.

After what seemed like an eternity, the finale was upon them at last. Julian watched as the crowds in his line of vision dabbed their eyes as the scene from the graveyard concluded. He didn’t know why, but this infuriated him… They didn’t know the pain of losing Midas. They didn’t deserve to cry for him! Now was not the time for anger though, it was a time for cheering as the ultimate clash of District One and District Two began. The titans of the arena finally face to face… yet Reyes… Reyes hadn’t viewed it like that at all. Julian swallowed hard, remaining stoic as he relived the moments in his mind. This footage had clearly been heavily edited to remove Reyes’ slanderous talk of the equality of other tributes and the value of their lives. That was not what the Games were about… to the Capitol at least. Julian couldn’t help but wonder if Reyes had been right though. He was right about so many things… even in just who that finale belonged too. Julian forced a smile as the crowds began cheering harder and louder when the odds of the fight shifted heavily into his own favor. Julian held his breath, waiting for the moment Reyes would take his own life.

The audience watched the final blow of the fight with baited breath, as if they hadn’t already seen the footage a million times. Julian had not though… and the scene was not accurate at all. His cries of “no” were missing and so was the moment Reyes impaled his own chest with Avon’s voulge… There was only the beheading by Julian and the sound of the cannon. It was so wrong… all wrong… The scene cut to a shot of Julian from behind, standing in the ruby sand alone in the tattered remains for that black jump suit… Julian couldn’t help but blush furiously as he realized that nearly his entire bare backside was now being shown off to all of Panem. Once more, a clip of his own voice, mocking and cruel, sounded from the speakers. “It’s almost a shame they have to come to an end, isn’t it?” The screen went black and the Anthem blared once more. The crowd erupted into another thunderous roar of hoots and hollers and applause. Julian forced himself to rise from his throne and smile brightly for his… well, his fans. The show was still not over, after all. He lifted both arms triumphantly, flashing his pearly whites as again he was depicted on every screen in the City Circle. Holding this smile was torture. Not because his cheeks were hurting, which they were, but because he was just forced to relive each moment of his realization of the monster he truly was, and now had to glorify it. He wanted to cry; he wanted to say he was sorry. Instead, Julian had to smile—smile and be proud, and so he did. This was just another part of his lifelong penance, because after all, terrible people meet terrible fates…

so give me reason to prove me wrong, to wash this memory clean
let the floods cross the distance in your eyes
give me reason to fill this hole, connect the space between
can it be enough to reach the truth that lies across this new divide