The Capitol's Tribute

The door burst open again and revealed a teary-eyed Madge. I was yanked into yet another hug as my friend sobbed on my shoulder. I gently pulled away, walking her to the bed to sit down. She tried to compose herself, sniffling as she peered around the room.

“It looks the same as last year,” She commented sadly. “When I came to visit Katniss.”

I nodded. It was strange that only a year ago Katniss was sitting in this room, saying her goodbyes to Gale and Madge as well. She probably knew she’d win. I wished I had that luxury.

“What happened to the curtain?” She asked, shocked by its disarray. I almost wanted to laugh.

“Gale,” I answered simply. Madge shook her head before her eyes widened as if she had forgotten something important.

Madge fumbled with something in her pocket, “I ran home and got this for you as soon as you left.” She pulled out a small golden pin: a mocking-jay. Madge placed it on the ruffle of my dress with shaky hands. I didn’t have the heart to tell her I didn’t want it. It was no use upsetting her when I wouldn’t live to fix it.

She leaned back, taking in my appearance, “I gave one to Katniss.” I knew that. It was mainly the reason why I didn’t want to wear this one. “The one I gave her was my mom’s. This one was her sister’s. She was in the Games, too.”

She died wearing this pin, I thought just like I will.

“I’d like to think that, somehow, it helped Katniss win. So—I thought—maybe there could a chance it would do the same for you.” She went on in a thick voice. The tears had finally stopped but she was still clearly upset.

It was such a heartfelt gesture that I knew I had to keep it as my token (even though the Capitol would make all kinds of insinuations and connections that I didn’t want to be made). “Thank you, Madge.” I said honestly, “I’m sure it will protect me as long as it can.”

She nodded, relieved that I didn’t rip it off when she mentioned Katniss.

“Time.” The same Peacekeeper interrupted. Madge looked at me, terrified. I was still scared out of my mind but I was trying my best to mask it.

“Watch after Gale for me.” I commanded. “And take care of Koel and Ruby as much as you can. You know how my Ma is...” I gulped, fearful for someone else besides myself for once since the Reaping. Would my mother refuse to function if Brant and I died? Surely she would still go on if Brant survived, but, if he didn’t….

“You know I will,” Madge hugged me again, suffocating me slightly.

“And make sure Gale’s not watching when I—” I cut off, not able to say such harsh things in front of Madge. She was as innocent as a child.

“I will,” She said in a small voice. “Goodbye, Rixa.” At least she wasn’t so delusional as to hope for my return.

“Goodbye, Madge.” I answered, bringing her in for another hug before the impatient Peacekeeper came in and personally escorted Madge out.

I waited for my mother to come in with the twins but Madge and Gale were my only visitors. With two of her children in the Games she had to make a choice of who she wanted to win more. Obviously, she had decided upon Brant. He was her favorite child. I used to be until I left for the Capitol and left my mother to care for her children by herself. How disappointing I must be to her.

It was a low blow but I guessed I understood her reasoning in some sick, twisted way. But, this pain only gave me an idea. I couldn’t win but surely Brant had some chance, even with career tributes in the mix. I had decided in my last few minutes in the room to do everything I could to make sure Brant won. I wouldn’t cry with people present and I would use my Capitol contacts to get sponsors. I could easily play off my scene during the Reaping as my strategy: act weak and pathetic and no one will bother to go after you until the end. A girl a few years back, Johanna Mason from District 7, had used the strategy and she had won. She also turned out to be a merciless killer—which I wasn’t—but maybe being in the arena changed you, made you something you weren’t.

I felt better about things after having a plan. Dying didn’t seem so bad now that I had a purpose. I was going to get Brant as far as I could and hopefully he would do the rest with the sponsors and supplies I got him.

A chubby female Peacekeeper opened the door this time, telling me it was time to go. I put on a terrified face (not exactly hard for me at the moment) for the cameras and was dragged out of the room. We walked back down the dark hall, passing by several closed doors. I wondered where they had taken Brant and who had visited him, who had said their goodbyes.

Within moments, we were back outside the Justice Building. The square had cleared out. Peacekeepers were done disassembling all the cameras and fancy equipment they had put up for the ceremony. The Peacekeepers in charge of me stopped on the stage, waiting for something.

Before I had a chance to ask them what was the hold up, Brant came bursting out the wooden doors with Peacekeepers of his own.

“Rixa,” He cried, bringing me into a tight hug. “Rixa,” He said again as if I wasn’t really there. “It’s going to be okay.”

I tried to smile, to reassure him I wasn’t catatonic, but the muscles in my face seemed to have become paralyzed. Instead, I grabbed his hand as the Peacekeepers lead us into a car that would take us to the train station.

It was a short journey and I quietly thought how cruel it was that Brant’s first time in a car would be his last. But I couldn’t think like that, not if I wanted Brant to win. The train that took me to District 12 was still waiting in the station. I guessed since I was a tribute they didn’t bother sending another one out. We could just use mine.

The station was swarming with reporters and cameras trying to get a look at the brother-sister tributes. I already knew that we’d be the talk of the Capitol. How tragic our story must be. It will at least give them a good show which could in turn give us more sponsors.

I don’t stop the tears that well up in my eyes. They’re real but that didn’t mean I wasn’t using them to play at people’s emotions. I held on to Brant’s hand for dear life. The equipment the Peacekeepers had removed from the square was currently residing at the train station, airing our arrival live. I tried not to look at the television screen but it was so large that it was impossible not to notice.

My terrified, trembling frame was plastered on the large screen. My usually beautiful face was red and blotchy with tears streaming uncontrollably down it. My black eyes were tinted with red, ugly bags sat underneath them. It was a terrible and pathetic sight, especially when I stood next to Brant who seemed so brave, so dangerous. His pale face was void of all emotion; his muscles, from his days of working hard to keep our family safe, bulged. He could win this. I knew he could.

They made us linger in front of the doorway so the cameras could get a better shot of the wreck of a sister and strong tribute brother. Once we were allowed inside I ran down the familiar hallway and shut myself off in my room for a good cry. As I wept, I made a promise to myself that I had to get it all out now. Once I left this room, I would be strong for my brother. I had my plan and I was determined to make it work. No one would ever see me cry again.

After I cried every ounce of water left in my body, I stripped myself of my sticky clothing and took a nice, long hot shower. I wasn’t sure how long I had stayed in it, but I was a pruney mess once I was done. I shut off the tap and stepped out into the steamy room. Putting myself in one of the Capitol’s helpful contraptions, my hair was dried within seconds. I put my hair up in a bun to keep it out of my face. The drawers are still filled with my clothes. I picked out a pale pink colored dress and placed it on my body. My feet were freezing so I grabbed a pair of socks from the bottom drawer.

I picked up the dress I had worn to the Reaping. It was still white and ruffling and clean, but it felt tainted to me. It was cursed. Just as I was about to throw it away, I noticed the pin Madge had given me. The mocking-jay. I was tempted to throw it out with my dress but I knew that would upset Madge. She would be looking for it when they televised the Games. I unclipped it from my dress and placeed it in my pocket for safe keeping. Then, I opened the waste chute and chucked the cursed dress down it.

There was a knock at my door. Effie had come to grab me for supper. I follow her down the halls, waiting for her to speak, to apologize for something she had no hand it. Well, actually she did have a large hand in all of this. She was the one who pulled out our names. I couldn’t image the guilt she must feel. I didn’t think she had ever felt guilty for sending children to their deaths before now. Knowing the tributes personally changes the game. It’s no fun when you lose people you love. Maybe these Games would show the Capitol that. Maybe I could change things.

It was unlikely. The Games had been going on for seventy-four years now. I was sure that there had been terribly heart wrenching stories before me, I just couldn’t remember them all. But still, I somehow felt bad for Effie. These Games were taking their toll on her. She wasn’t happily chirping away like she usually was and I felt like I had to say something.

“I don’t blame you,” I croaked, my voice weak from lack of use, my throat dry from crying.

Effie looked like she was going to burst into tears. She nodded, probably not feeling any better, maybe even a little worse. She opened the door to the dining hall and I saw that I was the last to arrive. Brant was striking up conversation with our mentors but the chatter ceased as I entered the room. My eyes surveyed the dining room until I caught Peeta’s eye. I immediately looked away, not wanting to see how this was affecting him. Maybe this would solve a problem for us. When I died, he and Katniss were free to live long happy lives together, no longer plagued by the girl he used to love.

Brant stood up, “Rix,” He pulled out the chair next to him for me.

I smiled the best I could, though I’m sure it was more of a grimace. “Hey, bro,”

We all sat down, eating our food in silence. I only played with mine, not feeling hungry in the slightest.

“Rixa,” I heard Peeta’s voice plead, “You need to eat.” I felt my face heat up. I wanted to hit him for speaking to me, for pretending he cared about whether or not I ate. What did these meals matter anyway? I would be dead in a few days time.

I still refused to eat. Brant put a hand on my shoulder and kindly said, “You need to eat, to keep your strength up.” I looked him in the eyes. They were so sad and desperate, like I’m mine were.

He was right. I needed to keep my strength up. To save him.

So I ate, and I ate and I ate until I was sick. “Happy?” I asked feeling bloated. Brant rolled his eyes as we all finished up. It was time to watch the recap of the Reapings. To see who our competition would be.

We made our way to the next compartment where the television resided. One by one we watched other children being called onto the stage to most likely die. I watched, determined to find Brant’s competition and help him with a strategy.

Districts 1, 2, and 4 had a few volunteer, careers begging to take other children’s place. Most of the men were monstrous and intimidating but they were built for strength, not brains or strategy. They killed before they thought and that was where Brant had the advantage. The boy from District 1 looked particularly brutal. He volunteered before they even asked and sprinted to the stage, ready to kill someone as if he was already in the arena.

“You could take them.” I muttered quietly to Brant. He glanced over at me with an exasperatedly expression before turning his focus back to the television.

The names kept being called but no one else was volunteering outside of the career districts. I found myself admiring Katniss greatly, but seeing her sitting next to Peeta drowned it out. There was a red haired girl from District 5 who looked like she could have been related to last year’s tribute.

A tiny boy from District 7, no more than eleven, was called to the stage. He had curly brown locks and dark eyes, reminding me horribly of Koel. I let out an involuntary whimper as he walked, determined not to show any emotion. Even an eleven year old had more strength than me. This only proved I was a lost cause. I caught a glimpse of Haymitch’s expression and I could tell he was secretly thinking the same thing. I could get Haymitch to help me with my plan. He’d be more than happy to if he could at least save one of us.

There was a dark skinned, mildly surprised boy from District 11. He looked shocked that he had been called but took the stage casually. No one volunteered for him either. Then District 12 was shown. Effie stumbled over my name and I walked slowly onto the stage, looking haunted. Before Brant was called I had seemed so calm, so void of emotion like Brant had been and the other tributes. But once his name was called, all hell broke loose. It seemed to have happened so fast. I was on my knees, screaming dementedly for volunteers. It was so quiet that it only made my scene worse. The citizens of District 12 looked guilty and pained, but, still, no one volunteered. And once Brant was on the stage I disappeared within seconds, thrashing and screaming. I felt truly embarrassed watching this now.

The camera didn’t shut off like it had with the other districts. It panned the crowd, wanting reactions. Many were crying, others looked ill or guilty. Then the stage was hit and I got a look at Peeta for the first time in ages. He looked the worse of them all. Peeta’s blonde hair was neatly combed back and he was wearing a nice suit. His fingers were clenched tightly, his large blue eyes bulging in anger. I felt like crying again but I promised myself I wouldn’t. Peeta looked like he wanted to hit someone, like Gale had. The camera stayed on him until he stormed off the stage, his blue eyes rimmed with red like he was about to cry. That was going to take some serious explaining. No doubt the Games interviewer and commentator, Caesar Flickerman, would want me to talk about it. The commentators were having a heyday, wondering aloud why a victor would have such an unusual reaction to a simple reaping. They went on about how sad this all was. They spoke about how I worked at the Capitol and they couldn’t believe this had happened to me. I was going to hear a lot of that as soon as we hit the Capitol.

I chanced a glance at Peeta, hoping he was still staring at the television like the others, but he was staring straight at me. He seemed genuinely upset about all this. His pale blue eyes shimmered with wetness but I just glared at him. Didn’t Peeta realize what he had done? The mess he had created for me? I already had enough to deal with without him making a scene at the Reaping.

I hated Peeta Mellark. My life would have been so much simpler without him. I could be with Gale by now. Maybe, but most likely not. I liked to think that, to have a reason to hate Peeta besides what happened months ago. I should be over it by now, but I wasn’t. Because I was pathetic, because I was weak. Peeta was the opposite of me, like Katniss. And that’s why I wasn’t going to win and that’s why Peeta did.