jett gilliland : d1 : fin

I thrust the sword into the training dummy. It goes through like butter and emerges out the other side. In one swift action, I am capable of ending a life. I wonder who thought it was a good idea to give me this much power.

There are only a few other people in the training center. The others will begin arriving in an hour or so. I pull the sword from the dummy’s abdomen, taking great pleasure in the thin metal sound it produces, and return it to the wall of weapons. For some people, lifting such weapons is a struggle. Not for me. I’ve been building up strength since before my formal training began. When I flex, you can see the muscle pressing against my pale skin. Other than a few scattered freckles, my skin is flawless, because I take care of it. Cleanser and moisturizer are only the beginning of my nightly routine. What’s the point of caring for the inside of your body if you don’t care for the outside as well? I take great value in my appearance. I certainly think I’m more handsome than the other boys my age, if not a bit shorter. Opponents don’t take me as seriously because of my height. Oh, how wrong they are.

My face has two perfect cheekbones that sit to either side of a slender nose. Above my nose are deep set eyes that some may consider melancholy. In the sun, my eyes gleam like ice. I pluck my eyebrows, of course. My lips are full, with a natural pout, but I wish they were larger. As beautiful as I am, I am never satisfied with how I look. I should have been born in the Capitol. I should have been that lucky. If I had been born in the Capitol, I could inject and tuck and plump to my heart’s content.

Could you say that I’m conceited? Yes, absolutely. I know my talents and I see no reason to downplay them. I was not always the alluring Career I am today. I had to work hard to get where I am. My parents didn’t want me to train, but I was insistent. I knew what I wanted. I got what I wanted. That’s how the world works.

Yes, I care deeply about myself, but that doesn’t mean I can’t care about others. I have friends. I have a long, long string of lovers. I’m very selective about who I talk to, though. They cannot be people who just lie around and whine all day, waiting for everything to be handed to them. I like people who are hard-working, the people who go after what they want. They have to look good, too. I wouldn’t let a five hang around a nine like me.

My self-esteem may not be as high as I make it out to me. I’d never tell. I’m very good at keeping secrets. Sometimes other people’s secrets, mostly my own. I’m by no means a closed book. If somebody wants to know something about me, I’ll tell them. However, there are things about me that people don’t need to know. I hold many stories deep inside my chest.

Here is how one story goes. Two young parents have a beautiful child. They spoil the child rotten. Both parents came from extremely wealthy families and have never had a single worry. The child grows older by a few years. At the tender age of six, the child’s grandparents are arrested. They had been caught up in a highly illegal scheme that involved smuggling luxuries out of the district. The grandparents are arrested. The money disappears. The Gilliland family has nothing, and no idea what to do.

You probably realize who the child in the story is.

I was young, of course, so I didn’t understand the scope of what had happened. All I knew was that our way of living had suddenly become different. A grand house became a one-bedroom apartment. My clothes became hand-me-downs. My parents acted different. They became more and more depressed as the years went by. I felt so useless. I wondered if it was something I had done.

I became obsessed with how I looked and acted. I wanted to look the best, train the best, be the best. In a world that seemed determined to beat me down, I wasn’t going to let it win. I started training despite my parents not wanting me to. I was the first person to enter the training center and the last person to leave. I spent all of my money on various products that promised to keep me youthful and beautiful. I was going to be what everybody wanted me to be. Nobody would be able to tell me I wasn’t enough.

I now know the reason why everything went to hell, but I’m too deep into this spiral to stop. To be honest, I’m not sure if I want to stop. Being the strongest, the prettiest, it makes me feel good. Why would I stop doing something that makes me feel good?