Gilding the Lily [Diorite & Salome]

You’re exhausted. Lunch comes and you can barely put one foot in front of the other. The door to the dining hall is heavy, and you’re one of the last to push your way into line. There are so many that chatter with one another now. Have you fallen behind? You feel as though so many of them know one another, and you’re still a shadow looking on from behind. Some would’ve thought this a smarter strategy than being known, but it didn’t offer much protection. You take a tray and saddle up in line, taking plates of this and that—buttered mushrooms, fried chicken, okra, beets, and slices of cake—things you may never taste again.

You rub sleep from your eyes. The overhead fluorescent lights don’t help rid the room of its sanitary feel. You can’t spot Gentian anywhere. It would have been much easier to see his smiling face. You don’t suppose any of the other lower district boys or girls would want for you to join them—with fifty odd bodies, you’re starting to find yourself feeling very much alone. Funny how you thought standing up for your district would make you feel whole; now you couldn’t feel further away from everyone. Even Tamron seemed a mystery; was he even in your suite much at all?

But the variety of souls at least leads to interesting happenings. The curl of a tulip catches your eye, and you note that it’s another career—Dory?—wearing a crown of flowers atop her head. For a moment you think of your sister and your cousin Nekane. The three of you used to make flower crowns when you were girls, and play pretend as though you were princesses. Magdalena always wanted a crown of tulips, and Nekane much preferred violets. You were more partial to carnations. There was enough variety to have pink, white, yellow, and red all in one little crown atop your head. You smile and move to the edge of the girl’s table.

“Your crown is fabulous,” Maybe it’s the sleep deprivation that has you forgetting this girl is a career, but you can’t help yourself. “I haven’t seen one of them since I was a little girl.” You place down your tray. “I’m Salome. From District Eleven.” Maybe this was a premonition of what was to come, your lack of judgment when it came to such little sleep. “Why are you wearing that?”