75th Victor Presentation Ceremony

I have been counting the days by throwing a pair of socks into a pile in the corner each morning. A third pair now added at the sound of the shrill alarm, I sigh and begin to drag myself from the covers, body cold and naked against the fresh sheets.

But that is the thing I have found about the linens here— they are never anything but new and crisp.

I have now longed for two nights to fall asleep on sheets that already knew the curves of my body. As I reflect on this deprivation, the door flings open, and I take very quickly to those fresh sheets to shield my body from the on looking eyes of Adessia, “They teach you a lot of useless shit here in the Capitol, but they don’t teach you to knock?” My voice is tired, exasperated, and still tinged with the tiniest undertone of humor.

She pays little attention to my concern, and brushes me off with a simple, but albeit true, statement, “I saw plenty of you in preparation for the games,” she brushes a piece of dust from her bright pink shoulder sleeve, “And besides, Shelby, my dear, the female body is nothing to be ashamed of. On the contrary, it is a piece of art.”

She has taken this too literally, I believe.

I scoff and drop the sheet and let it pool around my ankles, too tired to argue with her as I take the fresh stack of clothing from the dresser and begin to pull it on, “So, what has brought you in here at such an early hour? Considering I know your general sleeping habits, this can’t be by choice?”

Her neutral expression turns quizzical, as if I have let the date of my own birth fall to the wayside, “Why, it’s the day of the presentation— how could you forget?”

Shit, probably because I wanted to.

I groan and half-consider throwing myself back into the bed, stripped of sheets and all, but by this time I’ve got the band of my pants pulled up and my shirt pulled over my head, sans-bra and all, she sees the opportunity to take me by the hand and lead me from the room.

The next two hours are spent as one expect them to be when woken up by a woman such as Adessia. My skin has been scrubbed, my nails filed, my hair washed and then dried and slicked back from my forehead. To my own surprise and delight, they have kept the makeup more neutral than I ever would have expected, with only my important features accented with tones of navy blue.

I wait for them bring forth an elaborate contraption of a dress, but instead they hand me a sleek suit, matching in color to that of prior mentioned. I stay silent for a moment as I hold it in my arms, reveling in the simplicity of it all. Adessia takes the moment to point out the smallest of details I never would have cared to catch myself, “The collar cuts into the shape of a crescent moon, and buttons all give way to stitched constellations on the body.” For the first time in the Capitol, I breathe out, “It’s beautiful,” and mean it.

Dressed and fidgeting with the cuffs of my sleeve, I walk shoulder to shoulder with Adessia and am taken aback when she stops short of the landing “You’re on your own now, baby,” she mouths, but soon even the lack of her own voice is drowned out by the cold voice of Snow, “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m pleased to welcome you to the victor presentation ceremony of the Seventy-Fifth Annual Hunger Games! Tonight we will show a recap of this year’s Games, so be sure to stay tuned!”

His voice does not die down as it rattles off the names of all those involved in my victory as though it were not mine alone, but finally he reaches a moment of silence, and the platform begins to rise up beneath me. I shoot one last, fearful glance at Adessia and she smiles softly as Snow’s voice resonates throughout the room, “And now, may I present the victor of the 75th Hunger Games… Shelby Leviane!”

The lights blinding, the roar of the crowd deafening— my own body tries to escape and give way but can do nothing but remain frozen to its place. I smile, white teeth gleaming, not to be misinterpreted as a grimace, and walk in short steps against thin, navy heels to take my place beside Snow. He nods in acknowledgment and I return the gesture and lean forward as instructed, flinching only slightly as he lays a crown of silver and lilac upon my head. “Congratulation, Miss Leviane,” he whispers in my ear as we are but inches away. We both straighten until we are standing upright, and he raises my hand triumphantly above my head until the roar dies down.

He then gestures to throne beside his own, and we both waste no time in taking a seat as the video begins to run its course. I do not know what I will be shown, but I expect nothing less than the six people I murdered with my hands alone to be recurring themes.

I count quietly, but aloud.

One. The alarm signaling the beginning of the second Bloodbath rings true and there I am, afraid and sprinting, taking no damage and giving none away in return. Following this I am met with the sight of Scarlett and myself facing four others. Scarlett’s weapon sinking deep into the other’s girl head and us running far away from the damage we’ve done to her and Jano’s bodies.

The Capitol signet is replayed with the anthem from the night, and all those dead faces come to whisper in my ear.

Two. An almost replica of sorts, myself plus three others stand in mocked silence as our actions speak for us. The screen cuts to a clip of Scarlett’s body going limp, and I find myself digging my nails into the arms of my chair. It has taken every last fraction of will to keep me from screaming out lost apologies and promises.

Three. I am alone. I am still alone.

Four. Raven Barker and I had found ourselves together briefly once more, each of us carrying the burden of dead siblings upon our shoulders. We had not been close, but still I had found guilt and shame as companions as I fled the scene of her death and her killer.

Five. Curse Jinx throws his pocket whale at my body and I do nothing more than shove it into my underwear. The crowd laughs, and I cannot help but crack a smirk for no longer than an instant— the picture has been replaced with my axe catching his bicep and him falling, lifeless, to the ground.

Where has that godforsaken humor gone now?

Six. We are but seated at the elongated table, all awkward silence and manners. Lucas and I find our time to slip away, our bodies melded together and sweating. It shows us laying beside each other under the last stars and full moon that we will see. The sound of rain transitions to sunrise, and I wipe away the only tear that was brave enough to form.

Seven. Saummerand, Wylla, and I stand in perfect triangular formation, striking wildly and uncontrollably and hoping that we hit anyone but ourselves. I am on my knees now, grasping at Wylla’s shirt and begging her to kill me. She doesn’t, and I slice her cheek wide open with my knife.

Eight. Lucas excuses my behaviors and asks me to pick up the check. I tell him that I have fucked him twice and owe him no more. He smirks and actually lays pain to my flesh for the first time. I sink my spear into his neck in return.

Nine. Saummerand, Tamron (his name now learned), Cassiopeia, and I make up the four corners of the roof and watch each other without saying a thing. The music has stopped; the crowd has gone silent. It as though we have been given rest on this nine week journey turned to minutes.

I am wrong.

In rapid succession I strike down Saummerand, Tamron, and Cassiopeia without a second thought. I had broken the record. At the time when my throwing knife caused Cassiopeia to fall, I had become the first person to kill so many in the span of one games. I do know know if prior knowledge of this would have caused me to turn Tamron’s death to the girl from Two or not. I suppose that now, this is of the least importance.

But then it is just me. Me, kneeling in the center of the roof and watching the eye of the storm pass by. It is only my hands taking the note from my pocket and studying it intensely until the world around me goes dark. It is just me, being lifted from the arena as the screen fades to black and the roar deafens all of my senses again.

I catch the eye of President Snow, waiting for me to shed tears for the fallen and to collapse under the weight of my own sins. But only one tear falls, and it is simply because I do not regret a single thing.