Mariela Pitre // D9 // [FIN]

I once wished upon a star.

It wasn't the brightest of them all, nor was it the first to appear across the blanket of black. It was just some star amongst the trillions of them sparkling like the diamonds that my grandmother wears around her neck. I don't know why I picked it; I only know that my wish had come true that night. A little girl's wish had come true. I had gotten a dress for my birthday the next day.

If only I had known to wish for something better. There are plenty of things I could have wished for: a mother to love me, a father to protect me, a sister to share clothes with, a brother to skip rocks with, a friend. But my six year old egocentric desires wanted a dress. And now when I wish upon a star, none of my wishes come true. I still believe it is because I haven't found the same star I wished on 10 years ago.

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My grandmother loves me. But if I don't repeat it in my head like a mantra, over and over and over, I might forget it. My grandfather hates me. But I don't need to remind myself of that; he makes it crystal clear without uttering a single word. But they are the only ones that have been there for me. They feed me, give me clothes, let me stay in their house, give me nice things. But they've never hugged me. They never kissed my forehead when I dashed off to the first day of school like all the other parents did. No one has ever told me that they love me.

The truth is, I'm not sure if I even know what the meaning of "love" is. I read a poem once that went: "Love is like the wild rose-briar, friendship like the holly-tree— The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms, but which will bloom most constantly?" Romantic stories are fun to read and romantic poems make all the girls at school gush, but what is love? Was what I felt for my grandparents love or simply a matter of survival? Was my grandmother only tolerant of me so I could relive the glory days for her? Did I mean anything to them or was I as unimportant as spilled milk?

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I am the devil of District 9. I don't try to be and I certainly don't want to be, but my grandparents have a reputation. Older than the Games they lived during the Dark Days as traitors of the Districts. They worked to help the Capitol keep control, leaking important information to them. My lineage makes me a criminal. My grandparents were never permitted to live in the Capitol, but used as pawns and compensated greatly for their roles in the war. As a result I live rather lavishly.

My grandmother has always wanted to live in the Capitol. She talks as if she were one, acts as if she were one, dresses as closely as she can as one, and spends money as if she were one. I grew up with her and my grandfather. My parents don't seem to exist. Even as a child when I asked about them my grandparents ignored me. Or punished me. Their high expectations - or rather my grandmother's high expectations - are something nearly impossible to meet.

Instead of being raised to harvest grain or plant crops, I was taught how to be a lady. I'm not going to say I hated it because in truth, what girl doesn't love looking and feeling beautiful? But it is difficult to live in my grandmother's shadow - a shadow so big I am not sure I will ever be able to step out of it. I won't complain about the "gifts" I get or the privilege I have. I do enjoy being beautiful and proper. But where the rich have money, the poor have friends.

I don't think I am a horrible person. But who knows, maybe I am. I try to be nice but maybe I come off as desperate. I try to help people but maybe that just comes off as a cruel demonstration of my privilege. I say maybe as a sort of protection to me ego though. I know what everyone thinks of me. Even when I was younger children would get pulled away from me by their parents or I would get pulled away by my grandmother, sometimes both simultaneously. "Don't play with her, her grandparent's made the Games happen," they would scold their children. "Don't play with those dirty peasants, Mariela, you are a lady, not one of them," Grandmother would scold me.

Needless to say, I have no friends. I sit in the back of the classroom, legs crossed, sparkling jewelry (the most expensive my grandmother could afford), painted nails (the bright the color the better), curled hair (the blonder the better), bright lipstick (blood red), expensive dress (not too short, but just enough that I can grab some attention), and all. Alone.

I've grown used to it. I've grown used to all of it. My grandfather's glares, my grandmother's endless preparations - being ignored. Even the stars have stopped listening to my wishes. My story was written for me a long time ago. All the mysteries and twists and turns are all bland and dull and no matter what decisions I believe I am making, I can't change anything. My fate is set in stone.

But maybe if I find that one star that listened to me back on my 6th birthday... Maybe. Just maybe I can shift fate.

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