photogenicism | andal & novak

"For the millionth fuckin' time, I don't need everyone's help to walk to and sit on a god damn park bench!" Everyone who knows about your injury has insisted on being your caretaker as if you were some helpless creature. No, at age thirty, you're enough of a man to crutch around the mayoral estate without a babysitter to clear every stone or blade of grass in your bath.

Today is your campaign's photoshoot for posters and advertisements. Thankfully, the Capitol likes you enough to keep the fractures in your leg a secret from the rest of the district. You've looked the other way enough times in five years to earn their trust. The shoot is in your background, with high fences protecting you from the outside. It's been a month since you stepped outside for more than the length of a joint. The last thing you want is to be spotted like this. Weak, incapable of standing on your own two feet. The people of District Ten would eat you alive. You'd take headlines about how you're missing in action than stories about how you can't defend yourself in your own home.

Your backyard has been delicately set for the camera—heavy shadows underneath the picnic bench along with the low-hanging barbecue. The only people who'd be able to tell are those directly around him. You insisted on hiding the injury from day one as you underwent an "accelerated" rehabilitation process.

Everything's ready to ensure the masses that you're still alive. All except the most important piece, still trekking outside the yard's fences. Your prime ally, a jewel in your crown of friends in high places. "Andal! Use the gate around the back, my boy!"