d5f arlette foy | interview

The night comes slowly, crawling towards you in a lumbering, ominous way. After spending hours locked away in a tiny room with no food or entertainment, you suppose the interview stage you’re led to should feel like a reward. Instead, all you feel is fatigue. All your nervous energy has left you and you’re struggling to hold your tongue to stop yourself from snapping into irreparable tiny pieces.

If you had it your way, you would have kicked and screamed and spat vile words into the face of the man sitting in front of you. But whilst Samiyuq and Mohamed hadn’t said much, they’d made one thing very clear: do what they say, and be what they want you to be. And even though you aren’t one to follow instructions, the memory of the hard glint of the Victors’ eyes was enough to shut you up.

A single fluorescent light shines down on you, blinds you to the point you can’t see anything past a metre in front of your face. You think to yourself, it’s for the best. Seeing other faces would only make you explode.

Polite applause rings in your ears as you shuffle uncomfortably in your seat. You register the well-dressed man’s mouth moving before your head catches up to remind you to listen.

“Tell me, where does the last name ‘Foy’
stack up, back in District 5?”

Hearing the word tumble across the stage with no malice, no preconceived notions… it softens you. It’s been years since anyone had uttered your name in such a neutral, sterile tone. For a moment, you forget how to be tough.

“I used to be a nobody. But then… things changed. It turns out people don’t like change.” You swallow as you speak a truth: “My name is a slur.”

A match lit; a flame kindled. The mask slips easily back into place.

“I see. So... what do you do for fun?
Do you have friends?”

You laugh. Right into his stupid face. You can’t help it. You don’t know if you’re meant to, but you don’t care. “No. I don’t have friends. I guess that’s something that will come in handy for me here, though.”

“Well, pardon my forwardness, but I wonder:
does that mean you’re willing to do anything
it takes to survive?”

Your natural instinct is to scream out, Yes! Obviously, of course, you don’t want to die. But the warmth of the single beam of light forces you to sit with your thoughts a moment too long, and you start to wonder: what waits for you back in District Five? You’re an outcast there, with no friends and nothing but memories of death to keep you company. Maybe this is where you’re supposed to be. Maybe you’re not meant to make it out alive.

Even so, you would never vocalise these intrusive thoughts. You’ve spent too long building up your walls and growing the thickest skin known to woman. You glow with the fiercest marigold flames, engulfed in the warmth of the spotlight.

“I’ll do whatever it takes to live. And anyone who thinks I’m going to lie down and be stepped on will be sorry they underestimated me.”

The Capitolite’s eyes fix you with a hard, curious gaze as he asks his final question, already bubbling with anticipation at your likely response:

“Any parting words?”

And you don’t want to play into his trap, but by now you’re a full-blown house fire. You burn with the same sparkling intensity you’ve worn as armour for days, weeks, months. You let it consume you in an impulsive moment of striking familiarity.

“You bitches better hope I don’t make it back home.”