glitz morgan {finished} district one

"And finally District One's female tribute, Glitz, who -"

All eyes turn to me. I am 8 years old and already a thing to be stared at, gawked at, whispered about behind cupped hands and hushed voices.

"- came a devastating second place."

Green eyes blink back at their faces, boring into me in an attempt to generate any sort of response from me. Even my teacher smiles sickly-sweet, voice as sour as her expression. "Were you named after her, Miss Morgan?"

"Yes." I reply.

"And why is that?"

"Because she was my mother's sister."

"Oh!" she shrieks, a sound I have become almost accustomed to at the mention of my mother or her history. Anecdotes that I have grown tired of, reminders of facts and stories I have been told a thousand times. Reasons I have friends, reasons I have enemies, reasons that people can't help but gawk at my family and blink with dead eyes and treat me as a display in a cage. "Do you know much about her?!"

"No."

"Oh... well, Miss Morgan, as a relative of Glitz, how do you think she did in her Games?"

"She didn't win, did she?" I ask - although everyone knows the answer. They're just waiting to hear mine.

"No, Miss Morgan."

"Then she was a disgrace to our District, of course."

And I answer every single question with one simple guideline:

I must not tell lies.

~+~

When asked why I refuse to speak anything but the truth, I smiled. "I enjoy politics" I replied. "And politics involve a lot of lying. I'd like to change that." Some nodded in agreement, some smirked and challenged my views. "But isn't lying - even a small amount - easier that telling the truth?"

"Perhaps," I smiled towards my peers. "But living with the truth is easier than living with a lie, right?" (A sweetness to my voice makes it almost hard for them to believe that since I can remember I have never uttered a lie.)

And that makes them sit in silence for a while and think - which I like. I'm quite good at that, making people quiet. Speaking in front of the class, of a crowd, even a Capitol camera is second-nature to my family - we capture attention wherever we go.

"So you want to be the Mayor like your Mom?" another challenged, all eager to hear the words of the truth-speaker. I shrugged back, narrow shoulders tousling up the blonde hair that rested against them. "Maybe. I'd like to see how the District would react to an honest mayor. Maybe someday that'll happen - who knows?"

"So wait" one boy chided, scratching his head. "We could ask you any question ever - and you'd answer it truthfully?"

I nod. "Correct."

"You do this by choice?"

"Of course" I reply, second-nature-smile already painted against bitten-down lips.

"Is your Mom a liar?"

"I can't detect lies, only refuse to tell them."

"Have you ever cheated on a test before?"

"Who hasn't?"

They blink in surprise.

"Would you admit that to a teacher?"

"Of course not."

"But what if they asked you?" the final voice demanded, imploding the questions that are thrown at me from all angles. If I closed my eyes and concentrated perhaps I could be surrounded by dinner parties and 'very important Capitol people', denying rumors and giving opinions and pulling silly faces at Jem when nobody else is watching.

They bound from the tip of my tongue, effortless and ingrained into my being. I have been telling the truth for so long that I cannot seem to stop.

"I'd say I cannot believe you'd ever accuse me of cheating, sir, with a reputation like mine to uphold! and ask him what on earth would make him think I'd cheated in the first place."

A chorus of "Oh", "Cool" and "Weird" follows my reply. They do not phase me, and swamped in their reactions I stand - as tall as the skies could reach - and beam. "Now, I'd love to stay and chat, but I've got things to do and people to see." (I could have told them I had far better ways to spend my time or commented on their messy hair, food-stained clothes or bad breath, but bluntness gets you nowhere except the bad side of people and I'll go to hell and back before I'd let people dislike me.)

Evasiveness became my strategy: answering questions with more questions. A challenge I had put myself to all those years ago stretched from childhood to teenhood, and still I have not failed myself. Because I am a Morgan - we do not step back from a challenge, not ever. If we do, we die trying. And I refuse to shame the only worthy half of my name left.

~+~

"You're a robot" my father jokes, all suit-and-tie and shiny shoes.

"How so?" I query, eyes glancing from the television screen and back to him every few moments.

"With your truth game. Ever since you were a little girl-"

"It's not a-" I begin, a fork clattering to my plate in protest, but he gets there first.

"A game, I know. It's a challenge." He repeats the same words I've been looping for years. "Will you ever stop?"

"I don't think so. Why would I need to?"

"Well," he starts, amused by every conversation we have. "What if it were life and death, and you had to lie to get out of the situation. What if some maniac had your Mom, or I, or even Jem at gunpoint, and you had to lie to save us?"

"You do enjoy envisioning your family being held hostage a little too much Da- oh yes, I love this bit!" I cry mid-sentence, now glued to the television screen as Sapphire Ross falls to the ground, first to die in the Bloodbath, shortly followed by Michael Smith who dealt her killing blow, mimicking every action played out on screen. (Tilting my head back to laugh into the air, I feel free - a different freedom from truth-telling, or staying out late on a school night, or even walking outside the front door first thing in the morning. I feel free to be whomever I want to be - something so rare in families from One and something I treasure far more than a few little truths.)

Dad laughs. "Poor District One, such a disgrace!" he mimics at the television presenter's shocked face and Capitol accent. We've seen this scene a thousand times and yet it never ceases to bring us closer. "You'd do far better kid. You and Jem both."

"I know" I reply, tongue-in-cheek tone disguising my lingering doubts. "Some day, I promise."

"That's my Glitz!" he replies before kissing the top of my head and moving deep into the house. Yet all the laughter in the world could not disguise the itching in my brain that thinks I may have just told my first lie in 16 years.

I've never told a lie, and that makes me a liar.

And that, that is nothing but the truth.