colby graff | district one | fin

"Mom, that hurts!" She pouted as the brush yanked the kinks out of her curly blonde hair. "Oh, hush you. It isn't that bad and you know it." She stared at the lady's reflection, and hated how everything, the way her brow was creased in concentration, how brilliantly blue her eyes were, the freckled flesh on her shoulders, everything about her had been passed down to her. Other than the laugh lines and the gray roots, Colby looked like a clone of her mother, but appearance was the only thing she'd inherited from the woman.

"I don't even know why you are making such a big deal about it! It's not like I have a date!" Her mom spanked her in the head and glared at her through the mirror. "Ow?" "Colby, you don't need a date to get to feel pretty, now-" "Pretty? I feel ridiculous." She raised an eyebrow to match her mother's. Ever since she could remember, she hated being flashy, and hated anyone that found it necessary to peacock to feel special. Because she was from District One, most of the people she knew annoyed her, and only a few were considered normal enough for her to surround herself with. Of all the places to be born, I wound up in this hell hole, she thought, or, according to mother, diamond pit, since it's "so much more fitting!" She rolled her eyes. At least it's not the Capitol.

One of the few things she did like about being from District One was the competitive spirit. She was at home with a weapon in her hands, blood on her face, dirt kicked under her fingernails. If her mother would have had it hear way, she would have hated to train, but still been expected to do it, since it appeared to be some sort of right-of-passage for the youth of One. If her mother had it her way, she'd trade in a knife for a pair of heels, and the chance at being a victor for staying at home and starting a family. That shit was not happening if she had anything to do with it.

Her sister, who happened to be exactly what their mother didn't want as much as Colby was, walked in, a necklace of small, perfect, shiny orbs of an off-white shade, and handed them off to her mother, Serum Graff, who then put her hands on Colby's shoulders, her fingers cold and soft. "These belonged to my mother," She started, and it was all Colby could do not to moan. Every chance she got, Serum was pulling out some keepsake or heirloom someone had left her, and how special it was, so much more so than all of the others. "I wore them every day after she gave them to me for... well, months." She fastened them around Colby's neck and her sister sighed. "You look... amazing, Cole." It was obvious she was trying not to laugh, but she didn't look much better herself. According to her reflection, Colby looked like some middle-aged business lady that hated her life, but she didn't say anything. She just smiled, her rounded features squishing together in false cheer. Ripred, she hated her smile.

"Come on! You'll both be late!" Her mother prodded, and they both reluctantly stood and exited. A dance. It was ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous. Her sister tried to pretend to hate it as much as she did, but at least she had someone waiting on her to get there. Colby was going to be stuck in the corner, like always. Bryce would be center stage, with the spotlight on her back and the crowd on their toes watching her, and Colby would be pushed to the back and expected to cheer as her sister showed her up in anything they ever did. They were both carbon copies of their mother, yet Bryce was always prettier. She had all the friends, and I had no one. She had a life and I had nothing.

Father said I was pessimistic. "You've gotta go out and live if you want a life, Cole." He was right, of course. He always was. Someone had to be. She liked to think she was one of his favorite children, even though he claimed not to have any. Either her or one of her brothers, but probably her. She took an interest in his work, thought maybe she would even follow in his footsteps and become one of One's most celebrated healers as well. Funny, her favorite thing to do was practice killing people, but her fall back was to save them.

The place was bustling with people from her school, and a large group of them that took up a huge area of the room cat-called and cheered Bryce's name, and she tried not to grit her teeth or roll her eyes as she walked over to the punch bowl. For the majority of the night, she sat alone just as she had foretold, alone, pretending to be content with watching everyone else have a good time, but when the DJ announced that the last song was about to be played, a hand interrupted Colby's view, and she looked up to find her sister's gorgeous smile. "Dance with me?" She asked, and Colby stood.

"No. I'm not your charity case." Then she stormed out, ready to just go home.

She ignored her over-excited mother when she entered the front door, and went straight upstairs. "How'd it go?" One of her brothers asked on her way up the stairs. "Just be glad you are too young to go." She spat, then slammed the door. She kicked off her shoes, practically tore off her dress, and yanked out all of the pins from her hair. An entire night wasted. An entire night she could have spent at home doing... exactly the same thing, but at least there she didn't feel like less of a person.

About ten minutes later, her father opened the door gingerly, with an empathetic face. "Bryce told me everything," He took a seat at the foot of her bed. "Kiddo, I love you and I'll love you no matter who you are, but you have to try." She slammed her hands into the mattress. "I did try, Dad!" "No, letting your mother get you all dressed up and then sitting on the sidelines isn't trying. The glamorous life isn't for you, I understand that. You are a fighter." "Like you," she said, certain he was trying to make it seem like a bad thing to be, a fighter. "Like me," he agreed. "So, why don't you have any friends from the Training Center?" "I-" "Because you aren't trying. I know you, Colby. Just try, okay? For me. No, not me, for you."

"Okay, okay, I will." She said.

"I promise."

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glass, we're ghosts in the window
when tomorrow comes, I'll go
lips on lips
cards on the table

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table by zoe