korinna winslow | d9

korinna

The garden was a speck of green in the decaying, grey city. Sitting behind a fence with beautiful designs and spikes at the top, it was clearly meant to be shown off to passerby, but it was only to be enjoyed by the few privileged enough to sit inside the caged wall. The tempting smell of curated nature mocked everyone who walked passed and were unable to fully experience sitting among the rare sight in the polluted district.

And there she sat among the flowers which were cultivated not by her, but by a gardener. Her father certainly would have had something to say if she had walked inside with hands dirtied by a day of physical labor. Korinna, breathing in the air filtered by the symbol of wealth, watched the passerby. In her mind, she pictured each of their potential lives, crafting stories for them based on their hats, the way they held themselves as they walked, or the various knick knacks in their hands. Each, to her, were leading storied lives filled with adventure, mishaps, and mayhem. Each led a life she envied.

"Korinna!" Her mother called from the entrance to the house. It was larger than the others on the opposing side of the street, "Come inside, you need to get ready for tonight!" Taking more than a moment to roll her eyes and pluck a tulip from the ground, she retreated into the house.

"Oh! You're dress is dirty!" Korinna hears her mother say, clearly appalled at the grass stains where she had been sitting in the grass. The voice feels like it comes from a distance despite them standing merely a foot apart. "Go on, get changed. Your father will be mad if he finds you in this state so close to the guests arriving."

"Yes mother," she responds obediently before watching her mother scramble back off to ensure the caterers were setting up the table properly. Pulling herself up the flight of stairs, she passes by her younger sister, sprinting down the stairs and full of exuberance. A small smile forming on her face, she makes her way to her room.

After changing out of her clothes, she stares down the new, opulent canary-yellow dress, imported directly from the Capitol. It was blinding. Of course it was meant to make her stand out, her father chose it himself. Today, she was simply a piece of art he could flaunt.

Pulling it on, she sits down at the brightly-lit vanity, pulling out the makeup she'd need tonight. Inspecting her face for any blatant blemishes she'd need to cover, she tilts her head this way and that. She had already curled her sandy hair earlier, and that would have taken the most time. Beginning to apply the makeup imported from District One to her face the way the Capitolites thought was all the rage right now, she paused as she got to the small scar on her left cheek from when she had slipped while climbing the fence to the yard three years ago. Her father had told that she must cover it up whenever they had company over, that she must appear perfect. She stopped herself as she went to cover it. Leaving it uncovered would be her small act of rebellion.

Downstairs, she hears the door opening and her father's boisterous voice jumping up the stairs and into her room. Guests are arriving. Setting her brushes down, she puts her shaking fingers together and breaths deep, letting her body relax into the mask of perfection.

Looking around the room, she finds the woman who cursed her with this blessing of a life. Her father demands that pictures of her great grandmother are placed in every room as a reminder of their roots. She had heard the story so many times and could recite it by heart. Her great grandmother, the founder of the family's entrepreneurial genes, had helped the Capitol destroy the terrorists from nine in the rebellion. As a reward, she had been allowed to help build the district back up to its former glory in the vision of the Capitol. For her great grandmother, that meant grabbing as many deeds to worn down factories as possible and then renting them to the highest bidders in the Capitol and to other non-rebellious business owners in nine.

As the years progressed, her great grandmother's wealth grew, and she was able to build more factories to lease. Her great grandmother had passed the business down to her grandmother who had passed it down to it's current owner: Korinna's father.

And there he was now, calling up the stairs: "Korinna, come greet our guests!"

And there she was, his faithful trophy, his heir, following his command.

Each step she took down the stairs was filled with pageantry, the learned smile taut across her features. She waved at Mr. Pembroke, an investor from the Capitol she had met before and had gotten along with well enough. When she came in her father's view, he tensed for a moment as he saw the scar, but played it off well enough. With every movement closer to the guests, she placed her mind increasingly on social autopilot, activating her nicest "Oh wow, very interesting,"s and her most engaged-sounding "Please tell me more!"s.

When they made it to the long dinner table, she saw that it was as polished as the garden. Every type of fork imaginable sat next to gleaming plates on top of a cloth tabletop imported from district eight. Capitolite investors and assorted wealthy business owners sat around the table. Each of them had valuable shares in the company, and from what her father told her, this was the time for him to schmooze more money from the other elite and into their ever-expanding pockets.

Her father sat at the head of the table while she sat at his right hand. The heir to a Capitolite investment bank had been placed next to her, their parents having wanted to set them up for years in the perfect money-making marriage. From their few interactions every year, she had learned he was nice enough, but she always found it difficult to be into his bright purple contact lenses and lime green hair.

Towards the opposite end of the table sat the seedier businessmen from district six. A shiver went down her spine every time she saw them. They were always on the quieter side. She had only truly understood why they were there after her father went over the list of their assets in a meeting with her last year. He had pulled her aside and told her it was time for her to be more proactive in the business and to learn about every part of it.

Narcotic medicinal distribution he had said. It was a trade from large manufacturers in district six over to her family's established business which distributed to smaller suppliers in nine. He had explained that it wasn't exactly legal, but with enough wads of cash in one hand and the right connections, peacekeepers learned to look the other way. She knew what it was though, drug dealing.

Apparently the profit yielded meant more to her father than the risk of getting caught. And, he told her, it was the risky part of the business she would need to learn to manage.

Across from her seat at the table was her younger brother, devouring his food. He was the only other child old enough to be allowed into the meeting and be trusted to not cause a disturbance. He was the next in line if anything happened to her.

At the end of the feast, they departed the table and went into a spacious living room where whiskey was distributed from glass decanters with intricate patterns. That is where she stood by the piano where her mother played and she sang. She was the entertainment for the evening. Her father had always called her his little songbird, and she had always capitulated to the name. She had a voice which was practiced after years of lessons sponsored by her father for this very purpose. At the end of the song, the onlookers clapped, filled up on food and whiskey and ready to talk business.

---

After the guests had left, her father was grinning wildly, certain he had secured another year of increased profit. "You did great today, my canary." He said, giving her a kiss on her forehead as goodnight. "Now get some sleep, I'm going to take you to visit a factory tomorrow." His voice then grew from soft to somber, placing both hands on her shoulders and staring into her eyes.

"And remember, you must cover that scar. No weakness-"

"No flaws." she completed his mantra, one that he had drilled into her so many times before, in a monotonous voice. It was his business motto. Always moving upwards in the world. Someday, he told her, their family would finally be allowed out of this cursed district and somewhere their wealth and ingenuity could truly be appreciated: the Capitol.

Nodding her head, she watched him depart. As he left the room, she felt her shoulders slouch from exhaustion. Trodding out of the living room, she saw her mother in the kitchen with a hand on her head and two glasses next to her: one with sherry a d filled to the brim and one that had clearly been drunk. Even when they weren't hosting an event, most nights ended like this for her mom. Korinna just wanted to escape the room before the crying started.

Leaving the kitchen behind, she walked down the hallway and to the front door, opening it quietly and walking back to her spot in the garden. The sun had set hours ago, and the sky was dully lit by remaining lights from factory workers unable to leave their positions.

It was quiet. There was no one walking past the gate and no one awake inside the house besides her mother who would be passed out at the table soon enough. She remembered the night three years ago where the thought the same thoughts that were running through her mind now. It would be so easy to just climb the fence, hop over, experience the world past her structured future, the world she imagined for the passerby. But the scar on her face showed her that it wasn't as simple as she thought.

No, she would always be her father's prop. In the future, she would follow in his footsteps and watch the business grow, no matter the moral cost.

Staring at the sky, she saw the moon flicker faintly behind the smog. It was trapped too, but it was letting her know that she was not alone.

And with that message from above, the canary retreated inside, back into her grandiose birdhouse, and back into her cage.