Almost Me, Almost Human

There's a part of me screaming that I can do this, but the other part is whispering that I can't.

It's that mocking phrase, You won't win, that sends me hurtling a nearby vase at the wall of the train car. I'm breathing heavily, like a mad woman on a mission full of rage. I don't know what else to do anymore. I'm alone, and my bones shake in the fear that I'm going to die alone, too.

Talia came for me an hour later, standing in the doorway of my room as an Avox girl scuttled around to clean up all the broken glass. I sat with my back against the headboard of the bed. She sighed and stepped further into my room before she was sitting on the bed beside me. I kept my eyes down at my freckled thighs and knees.

She took my hands, gripped in fists, and eased them to relax. I had crescent shapes indented in my palm from my nails, and I didn't know when they would go away. Even if they did go away, they would soon be back. Talia's breathing is slow, and I find myself matching the inhales and exhales.

There is the mocking mantra again, You won't win. You won't win. You won't win.

I just want the voice, my voice, to stop and let me enjoy what little time I have left to live.

"Ressa," she says, and I don't look up like I know I should. I'm used to hearing Dessa, but I guess I'll have to get used to hearing my sister's name instead of mine. "It's okay to be angry."

"But I'm not," I start, cutting off my sentence before I continue any further. Talia's eyebrow bows up to her hairline and she waves a hand in the direction of all the shattered glass.

"You don't call this being angry?"

"I'm not angry at the Capitol," I correct myself. And truthfully, I'm not. The Capitol had nothing to do with my stupid decision of taking Ressa's spot. But if I was given a thousand more do-overs, I would have still stepped forward.

"Who are you angry at?" she whispers, and I can hear surprise laced in her words. I give a half-truthful answer.

"Myself."

"How many time was your name in there?"

I hold back the urge to say 'ten'. "Nine times."

Talia nods, and there's more silence. The broken glass is gone and Talia and I are alone. "Breakfast is ready," she tells me, and stands to leave the room. Just before she does, however, Talia stops in the doorway and turns back to me.

"My name was in there three times."

I'm left alone again, left to think over Talia's words. And I know that feeling will always be deep in my heart. I want to scream and throw around a few more vases, but I hold myself back and simply get off the bed and walk through the train car.

My shorts are loose, and my legs are cool from the air that passes through the train. My arms are bare, other than the little cuff sleeve on my shirt that hides my freckle-covered shoulders. There is gray light filtering in through the windows of the train. The closer I get to the dining car, the harder I find it to breathe.

I don't want to be here. I want to be home, laying happily in my cot with my sister just a few inches from me, and my parents slowly waking up and getting ready for another work day on the ranch.

The door to the dining car opens before I can even see through the circular window that rests at my nose-level. Inside, I find Galton and Talia already eating. Clovius is chatting animatedly on a little silver device that I suppose is a telephone. I've seen them in the main office of the ranch, but they usually don't look as nice as his.

I step in and take in the room. Talia looks up once, giving me a nod, before going back to her conversation and breakfast. I get to an open chair and take a seat. There is a small variety of foods that I can pick from, and I simply take a few golden brown pieces of bread and coat them in a rich berry jam and cold butter.

Ventis walks in when I've finish my first piece of the crunchy bread. We make momentary eye contact before I'm looking back down at my breakfast and he is sitting in the seat across from me.

"Morning, Ressa," he says, with strain on his voice that only I can hear.

"Morning, Ventis," I reply, and that is all of the greetings we swap. Talia and Galton have stopped their conversation and have turned to us. Clovius is still speaking on his telephone.

"Did you sleep well?" Galton asks, his voice gruff and deep. It reminds me of my father, and comforts me to an extent. But the closer I get to the Capitol and its sick Hunger Games, that comfort easily disappears. I'm so close from a breakdown, that I can already feel the cracks starting to give way.

Ventis nods and I don't look up from my breakfast. I'm no longer hungry, but I need all the food in me I can get. Who knows the next time I'll be eating this good.

Breakfast continues on quietly, and I don't look up but once to refill my glass with the chilled milk that sits in a jug in the middle of the table. Under the table, hidden by the linen cloth and silence, Ventis' foot nudges mine. I look up at him through my eyelashes, and he gives me a comforting smile. His lips silently say, 'It's going to be okay.'

And I wish more than anything that he is right.



President Endzela stands at the podium, making his first speech for this year's Hunger Games. I can hear his deep, monotone voice over the speakers that sound throughout all of the Remake Center. My skin has been rubbed raw from the stylists thinking my freckles are dirt spots. After them just getting redder with each scrub, they finally stopped and went to untangling my hair. With a special brush, the thick, crazy curls were reduced to smooth waves.

I clasped my mother's hairpin in my hands.

There's a man coating my legs and thighs in this sticky honey-like substance before covering the amber liquid with white strips and pulling harshly. My legs sting horribly, and they give me barely a minute's worth of rest before going to the next patch of skin. My cheeks and forehead have been pulled and removed of hair - I feel like a newborn mouse.

No hair. No sight. Just hearing and smells of thick sterile and flowery scents.

Finally, the table I'm laid out on starts to rise and I'm in a sitting position. The table is rolled out of the Remake Center, I pass Ventis on my way out. I can tell he's in pain, but more from the sharp things cutting at his toe nails than anything else. We share a small, reassuring smile before we've lost sight of each other.

There are other tributes from the other districts, but I don't get a good look of anything of them. I'm rolled into a separate room, barely ten foot by ten foot in length. The table is positioned against the back wall. I sit there, my feet hanging off the edge as I face the door. I'm not sure of what I should feel or think. There's silence. I don't even hear the vibration of electricity running through the lights that brighten the room. It feels too... artificial for me. I feel unclean, as if I just got run wrestling a calf in the mud.

Even though I've just been plucked of every 'unclean' thing on my body.

The door opens, and I look up quickly at the person that walks in.

He's tall, almost unnaturally tall, but I can tell there's been no alterations to that part of his body. His hair, however, I can tell is unnatural. It's an white gold; the same color of fresh eggs after a harvest. There is, however, a streak of night-sky black hair that runs from the root of his head to the tip of the spike that he has it in. It causes his just-as-dark eyes to stand out from underneath the spikes of sweeping white blonde hair.

There's a small black design running from the corner of his right eye, down his cheek to his neck. It disappears underneath the collar of the shirt he wears.

"A pleasure to meet you, Ressa," he says. His hand is outstretched to me. I simply stare at it. "My name is Julius. I'll be your stylist."

I continue to stare at his hand. He doesn't move it. And then, slowly, I take it in my hand. His palm is warm, just calloused. Our tan skins blend momentarily. "You may call me Jul. Is there a nickname I may call you, Ressa?"

"My name isn't Ressa," I blurt out. Instantly, I pull my hand from his, as if it burned me, and cover my mouth. With wide eyes, I stare at him. His expression has not changed.

"Then what is your name, dear?" he asks softly. It's as if he knew I wasn't Ressa.

"Dessa," I mumble behind my hands. He reaches up and moves them away. My words aren't muffled now. "Dessa," I say, feeling a weight being lifted off my chest. "Ressa is my twin."

There's a moment of understanding as he nods and clasps my hands in his. "You've done something that will make many people angry, Dessa."

"I know," I say, and it's now that I feel warm tears crawl down my cheeks. Julius wipes them away, with his calloused fingers, and shushes away my silent sobs. For some reason, I now know that I can get through these games - the arena and the Capitol.