Mackenzie Stone - D2 (FIN)

Mackenzie "Mac" Stone
Twenty-one years of age
Female
The Second District Of Panem
odair
FC is Mama Lou
Theme: Unwritten by Natasha Beddingfield
Thought: 2B7EB5
Speech: 3BCC96
Emphasis: D83A94
Other's Speech

The lights flicker on. It feels similar to when we are in the big top and the crowd is waiting with eager eyes to experience the amazing feats that lie in store for them. Only this time there are no children with fingers sticky from cotton candy, no mothers trying to desperately hush them. No fathers checking their wallets to see if the show will be worth the price they paid. No. Today there is only me, sitting on a chair too small for my frame, watching as a Capitol cameraman who wears more makeup than any of us scuttles back and forth in preparation for the final eight interviews. They are supposed to interview the tributes friends and families. In the time we performers have spent together, I am no longer sure which category we fall under.

I guess I’ve viewed this years games with a more vested interest than the last few. Because of Cricket. Because even with all my strength there are still some things that I cannot do.

“Right! Greetings Panem and welcome back to the interviews in district two with yours truly, Bertius Glockenspiel! Right now, we have a close friend and fellow circus er, performer of district two’s very own Cricket Antoinette! Your name is Mackenzie Stone am I right?”

I’ve never understood why some people feel the need to ask questions they already know the answer to. It’s dumb. “My friends call me Mac.” I say uncomfortably. Bertius looks uncomfortable too, probably because my voice is such a deep alto it borders on baritone. This puffed up peacock with lemon yellow hair is already starting to get on my nerves. “Right, Right. So, Mac! Before we ask you about Cricket, tell us a little bit about yourself. What’s your act in the circus tent?” While it grates on my brain that for the second time he’s asking something he already knows, I can’t help but let a wide grin split my face and involuntarily curl my left arm to flex. “I’m strong. I break things.” Bertius nods and flicks something on the camera. “How about a demonstration?”

Finally. A question he doesn’t know the answer to. And I know just what to do about it. I stand slowly, to better give the people watching at home an idea about my size. I doubt many people in the Capitol have ever seen a woman that stands at six feet and eight inches without the need for heels. Mr. Glockenspiel seems a little taken aback. And for good reason. I am a giant among men. The cameraman comes up to just under my chest and he has to move his equipment back several feet to take me all in. While my height was never something I had to work for, my muscles were. My arms are as thick as some tributes legs, and I’m pretty sure that if I wanted to, I could outkick a horse. I wonder idly how much the camera can actually see of me, or if its focused only on my face. My hair is auburn, and falls to the small of my back when I don’t have it up. And I’m no stranger to wearing makeup. You have to, so that your face is visible under the bright lights. Red for your lips, shine on your cheeks, black around your eyes.

I’m wearing much of the same, but in this stupid little room it seems gaudy.

I grab the puny chair from behind me and lift into the air with ease, moving my hand under and across it to display the dimensions to the camera. Its a nice enough chair; ceramic seat, with four metal legs. But I’d rather stand for the rest of this interview. I take hold of the two front legs and smile. My muscles go taut, fingers clench. my jaw is set. An ominous creaking sound erupts from the double bars of iron in my grasp. And then, all at once, they give. My arms are crossed over each other, left forearm resting in the crook of my right elbow. Bertius claps and asks the camera if they’ve ever seen something like that before.

I know they haven’t.

***

“Alright Mac! Let’s get down to business. I’m sure what everyone in Panem would like to know is what you think about one of your friends, and ringleader no less, going into the arena and making the top eight. Thoughts?”

Thoughts. I have a lot of those I guess. Its not hard to think. Its hard to verbalize. Especially when you can get your point across with a fist. I want to tell this cameraman that the arena is the largest stage in Panem. That it is the place of the ultimate performance, a stage forever out of my reach because of my age. I suppose I envy Cricket that in a way. Some people learn how to be amazing. Some people are forced to be. And some... Some are just born... great. Cricket is one of those. Everything that I am, I had to fight for, pay for in blood, sweat and tears. For her, for many of the people in the circus. It came naturally.

Still, Its nice being around them.

I’m older than all of them, always have been. I’m three years older than Breyer (plus a good two inches taller) and eight years older than his sister. For most careers, eighteen is the end of the road. The end of a dream. For me at twenty-one, I think its still going. I have much more to strive towards without chasing after the grandeur of the arena. There’s plenty for me to do in the district. On occasion, when I’m walking to the market or to one of the training centers to test weights, I see the stares. They don’t bother me. Not anymore, not the way they did when I was a girl. Even the peacekeepers give me a wide berth when I come down the street. Probably because they can see or hear me coming from a mile away.

The careers in the center are used to seeing me by now. And they know that there some things that “Mac-The Mountain- Stone”, doesn’t tolerate. I don’t approve of stronger careers beating on weaker ones. Instead of trying to crush their fellows, they should be helping them to reach their level. It would make the district stronger than trying to weed out the weak. And so, when I’m around, that doesn’t happen. I’ve twisted more arms and thrown more people into the wall than I can remember, and the kids that need help get it. I know some of them still call me a freak behind my back. But they don’t dare say it to my face. Because they want to keep theirs.

“It’s not the same without her.”I say to Bertius. Its an honest answer that sums up my feelings in a way that doesn’t involve word vomit.

***

“Right, right, Well do you have anything else to say? Perhaps to the viewers, or to Cricket?”

Do I have anything to say? There’s an odd phrasing. I’ve always had things to say. The fact of the matter is that people have a tendency not to listen. I guess the troubles started around the time I was twelve. I was always tall for my age, but twelve is when it took off. The doctors said I had some kind of glandular problem, And said that they’d be able to keep it in check with some kind of pills. Unfortunately, my parents couldn’t afford it. On top of that, its not like you can take away height once its been grown. And so the year of the fifty-fourth hunger games, I at twelve years old, was already five foot four. I was gangly, all arms and legs, as uncoordinated as an infant with hands and feet far too big for the rest of me.

I might have thrown in the towel right then and there, given up on every trying to be a normal girl, if not for what happened that year. Arbor Halt, victor of the fifty-fourth hunger games. Blind. If a physically challenged teen from the poorest district could manage to become a victor, then I had no excuse to just keel over and give up. I was in no shape for speed. I couldn’t run without tripping over myself, couldn’t do any agility training; heck, I wasn’t even coordinated enough to really learn how to use any handheld weapons. And so I turned to the only thing that I could. If I couldn’t be fast, I’d be strong. If I couldn’t hold a weapon, I would be the weapon. If I couldn’t be normal, I would be so much more. The very thing that made me weak would become my strength.

I don’t remember how old I was when they came to recruit me. I just remember that I was six feet tall and working on my biceps. They were in awe of course. People always are. By this time, most everyone knew about the “Stone” mountain that could bend a metal bar with her hands. I’ll admit, at first I couldn’t stand the whispers and stares. I knew they considered me a freak of nature. But I soon grew accustomed to the audience. In time I would grow to crave it. I think that’s why they sought me out. Because they, like me, were nothing ordinary.


I had to be many things when I was growing up.

But the one thing I haven’t been in a long time is normal.


And I’m okay with that.

“Mac? Do you have anything else to say?”

“That’s all for now folks.” I say with the ghost of a smile.

The lights dim.