AUTUMN, Amelia -Capitol- FIN

Standing at a stature of 5 foot and 2 inches I can often be spotted wearing thick stiletto combat boots, in order to make me look as tall as I feel. Bright red and pale blond is the current trend I am setting with my long tresses, curled and sticking out at odd and random angles. Though it may seem a bit crazy to have untamed and unkempt locks, I prefer them that way. I have vibrant green eyes that can penetrate your soul, or at least, I like to think they can.

I am far from modest in my slender build with my pale skin framing the imperfections that I would hide. A walking, talking and singing bag of flesh held upright by bones and ligaments. Those same ingredients forming shapely and lengthy fingers on delicate hands. Perfect for playing musical instruments, or so my mother always told me. At a glance, I would appear as everyone else in the Capitol of Panem, however this only applies to my looks.

I wish that I could say without a shadow of a doubt that I was a kind hearted  and gentle person. But to be honest with myself and everyone else, I must say that I am not. I was raised in the Capitol, and thus, I am a greedy, self indulgent, arrogant woman. I am a lunatic, with self delusional indulgences, though I admit fully that I am insane. I do things without thought, or so it would seem. Every action taken is calculated and precise, every word spoke aloud is not without meaning. I loathe the meaninglessness of this life I was given, and I envy (more than I'd like to admit) the tributes I've seen from across the districts. They have meaning, they have purpose, and they have passion within their lives. Perhaps that is why the Capitol does not partake in the games, we lack everything they have, including their backbone.

I wouldn't say that my life is without purpose. I have learned over the years who I am and what makes me unique. Though quite envious, I have a life that would be the envy of most. Not lacking for financial security, or looks, or fashion-ability, I have had to work harder than most in my position to obtain the one thing that continues to elude me. I speak of Love. On some days I wonder why this coveted yet blatantly abundant emotion is so far out of my reach. But,then I remember, I suffer from madness.

Clearly, all of us here in the Capitol are mad. Like the others, I have enjoyed my fair share of the games. I still do, though now I feel badly about my blood lust. We have watched tribute kill tribute and have cheered for our victors like crazy. Only recently have I discovered that this was madness. Why do we bother crying for the loss of our favorite tribute when they meet their demise? Perhaps I am the only sane one who lives here.... And that is only because I embrace the psychotic tendencies that govern us all. I would hate myself if I were "blissfully unaware", and I despise those who are. But truly, they appear to be happy. The appear to be content. If it is false or forced happiness and contentedness, does that make it any less of what the appearances make it to be?

Born and raised in the capitol I never wanted for anything. It didn't matter how abstract the request, my mother and father fulfilled it blindly. When I was younger, I would have mother spend obscene amounts of funds to assist my favorite tributes in the games. None of them survived. I have a history of "backing the wrong horse", as my father used to say.


School was dreadful. They taught us about our country, the different districts and their purposefulness, and the place of those who lived there. We were taught that, the people of the districts were there to cater to the Capitol. We would thrive while they starved, a means to continually keep them in line. Our educators believed whole heartedly that the government were protecting us, and by keeping the districts in their place was the only way to prevent uprisings. I hated school. I often didn't pay attention, believing I knew more than the blind fools attempting to teach did. I have come to realize, in my later years, that I was not necessarily wrong.

As I grew older, I found that character flaw would affect my adult en-devours.  My parents funded my ambitious, albeit fleeting, career dreams. I had wanted to be a performer, have my own television show. They paid handsomely for a spot for me on the network, however the pilot episode never aired. My opinions would have had to be censored and politically correct. I could not abide the politics and thus, let the dream die. My second attempt at a career was performing. I had grown to love the stage and all the overwhelming power it bestowed upon me. The lights, the music, all eyes focused on me. My folks decided to help me with this dream as well, attempting to coordinate shows for the higher classed parties. I refused, again the politics and censorship would have muted my voice and words, I could not abide that. My most recent career path is still my current one. I open a small shop, creating clothing lines that are free of censorship and full of independent thoughts . I still perform on the side, not quite able to reduce the addiction I have for the stage, though it's mostly in seedy little bars. I have dreams to become a tributes stylist. Though I don't know if I would be able to form that attachment, just to watch them die. I do have a tendency to back the wrong horse, after all.