Seraph

Everything is white for a moment, then certain things come into focus. Fluorescent lighting. The immaculately white tiles on the ceiling. Beginning to get feeling in my limbs--

“Oh my God.” The voice is hushed. It is a voice I have tried to speak to for weeks on end. It’s my mother. “Edmund. Edmund, wake up. She’s awake. Seraph? Can you hear me?”

Answer her. Answer her. Answer her. “Y-Yes.”

“Oh my God,” she says again. Then my parents are hugging me and crying.

Have spent so long not trying to break. Had moments of catharsis in the arena. But this is voluntary. I’m letting myself break. I’m letting myself cry. And I’m letting myself smile while I do it. Because I have never felt as relieved as I do now. Have worked so hard for so long to get here. I killed four times to get to this moment. And now I am here. I have returned to my parents and everything is right again.

It is two weeks after my victory and I am being prepped for my crowning mere hours after being released from the hospital. Levi, Treats, and Velvet visited me in the hospital at least once a day and when I asked them why, they simply told me because I am their friend. Was one of those moments where I knew I would never forget it, that that sentence would be lodged in my brain forever. They’re fussing over me just as much now, pinning hair and painting on makeup and fitting into a silver dress. It’s simple. Velvet knows me well.

Levi doesn’t want to put makeup over the map of scars that span over my skin and also gives the suggestion to not wear a prosthetic. I like that. Want people to see them. The cuts and stab wounds. The scar running up the length of my spine. The most prominent scar is on the side of my neck, where Everest took a bite of me. I’ve lived with one arm for years. Not about to get embarrassed about scars now.

As Dollie stops me in the wings next to the stage, she asks me, “What’s the first thing you’re going to do once this is all over with?”

This catches me off guard. A thousand ideas run through my head. But I remember what I would always fall asleep thinking about as a child, what I would talk to my mother about until I couldn’t keep my eyes open. “I’m going to see the ocean.”

And as I hear my introduction over the loudspeaker, I walk on stage.

Audience roars, deafeningly so. Barely catch myself to keep from glaring at them. Don’t know if I will ever get used to the crowds, but I should clearly start trying more. Cameras flash and kisses are sent and flowers are thrown. They all look like farm animals with the way they’re trying not to trip over each other, packed shoulder to shoulder. All painted up in violently bright colors and their finest raiments. All hoping I give them a millisecond of eye contact.

My crown is a gold laurel presented on a velvet pillow. Something fit for a Roman or Greek warrior. My district will appreciate that. President Brandt removes the diadem from it’s perch and carefully, it is placed on my head. It fits perfectly. And though this may be wrong, I feel content.

I don’t flash a smile because I know what image they have of me. They think I’m more interesting when I keep a straight face. It’s part of the mysterious persona they love so much. But I give them something, and I can’t quite place whether it’s fanservice or my genuine reaction. Think it’s both.

A quirk of the eyebrow and a killer smirk.

Everybody loses their minds.

It is two months after my victory and I am walking onto a familiar stage. The last time I walked out here was during my interview the night before I entered the arena. I will admit, I am… different now. I have changed since my first interview with Glint. One could say I have had a significant increase in confidence. I would say it’s for the better. I have been happier than ever. It still feels strange to be able to say that, but it’s true. I have my parents. I have my friends. The Victor’s Village treats us well. Being a victor gives me a world of opportunities, something I never had before. To travel and see what else there is to offer. I am happy with my life. I’m letting everything else simply be background noise.

I am met with the roar of applause I am growing accustomed to. Glint flashes me a smile, the one that makes it clear why Panem adores her, and pecks my cheek before I take my seat beside here. “Seraph, darling, it’s so wonderful to have you here!”

“Thank you, I’m very glad to be here.” Am I lying? Absolutely not.

Glint likes that. “The first time I interviewed you, you were a woman of few words. Have things changed?”

I laugh quietly, but not for the reason she thinks. After I won the games, I was issued a PR team. And they encouraged me to undergo speech therapy. Hadn’t become aware that my speech patterns are abnormal until Levi pointed it out the night before the game began. Pointed out that I speak in fractured sentences with zero-article grammar, all in nearly constant monotone. Everybody seemed to notice except for me. Mother and father never wanted to mention it to me, but once prompted they complied. Father thinks it is a side effect of trauma experienced from the cut. And another thing brought suddenly to my awareness is that it is a defining trait of mine that intrigues the masses. Yet, PR enrolled me in speech therapy anyway. Not to necassarily change how I structure my sentences, but more to simply make words flow easier. Efficient and quick, at times almost difficult to keep up with. Like I mentioned before, significant increase in confidence. “Yes. Things have changed.”

Glint smiles again. “So, tell me, what have you gotten up to since you became victor of the First Annual Hunger Games?”

I know what this question means. Dollie warned me about this. Glint is wanting to know if I have declared an interest yet, some sort of hobby or talent I have taken up. “Been working on blacksmithing,” I tell her. “Will be entering university after the summer. Study my other interests. Business. Economics. Courses of that variety.”

“My, my, very prestigious! We’ll certainly be seeing more great things from you in due time, won’t we! Now, I hope you are okay if we move on to more serious subject matter. The Games and the reprecussions you face. During your final battle, you fought your District Partner, Everest McKinley, and met your victory by killing him. You were very emotional during his final moments. I have to ask... who was he to you?”

I blink. “He was my friend.” And that’s the truth. He was my friend, and I killed him.

Glint gives me a sad smile, squeezes my hand and tells me that everybody is terribly sorry for my loss. It’s not my loss. It’s Dr. Thorne’s. Most of all, it’s Everest’s. Of course I felt horrible about killing him. In a way, I still do. But the people that are truly responsible are--

“Gamemakers Noel Reede and Blair Norcross,” Glint says, “have also been facing the results of the Games. The Games received such a positive reaction, so naturally there will be a second one. What are your thoughts on that?”

Muscle in my jaw ticks. “I think I deserve some recognition for that.”

Glint looks surprised, just for a moment before she composes herself. “Oh?”

Speak quickly. “If they want to sit on my shoulders and call themselves tall in front of everybody else, they can go right ahead. But really, they should do themselves a favor and not lie to themselves. If nobody had won, their game would have failed and there would be no second Hunger Games. This is my victory. They are simply… reaping the benefits.” The entire room is silent. Good. “Don’t think they have thought about their own deaths enough. What’s to be done about that?”

Glint’s smile was purely a facade now. “Um… I don’t know.”

“I know. I have thought about this for a long time. Dreamed about it. I know that when they find themselves screaming with their throats slit… they will recognize the person holding the knife.”

“Seraph, are you…” Glint blinks in shock. Don’t think this is how she planned her interview to go. “A-Are you threatening Miss Reede and Miss Norcross?”

“No,” I state matter-of-factly.

Glint exhales something like a nervous laugh. “You just said you’ve dreamed about their deaths and that they’ll recognize the person that would slit their throats. That implies that that person would be you.”

Study the light fixture above. The bulb is slightly dimmer than the others. Eyes flick to the ground and a small smile graces my lips. “Oops.”

“So you are threatening them?”

Glint is begging for an answer, so I at least look at her. “No. No, I am not threatening them. I am merely giving them a bit of insight on what they should expect in due time. They can do with that limited information as they please. I just hope they will still be able to get enough sleep with one eye open. Insomnia is a real pain, Glint.” Give her a smile with that. How charismatic of me.

Glint, however, is no longer smiling. No, not at all. She looks terrified.  “You… You’re completely--”

“Crazy? Perhaps. But you want to know what I think?” I lean in. Glint flinches. “You’re not crazy enough. Work on it.”

Glint lets out a breath she didn’t seem to know she was holding when I lean back. She’s desperately trying to pull the interview together now, but she doesn’t seem to understand that she’s not the one in control right now. “But will you still cooperate with them?”

“Yes. Absolutely. I love standing next to them... They make me look so tough.” Smooth out my dress with a careful hand. Control. I am in control now more than ever. “I think this interview is over, don’t you?”

Don’t wait for an answer. Stand and begin making my way off the stage. Still smirking all the while. Yes, I am very happy with my life right now. They put me into that arena without my consent, tried to take away my control. But I am in control of my life now more than ever. I make the rules. That’s my prerogative now.

Hope is confirmed when The Fallen is broadcasted on a hologram of a screen. Watch myself kill Jared on the screen. Feel a minor sense of satisfaction and am unashamed of that. Think I have earned the right to feel satisfaction at the sight. Two more deaths are shown. Apricot and Lola. Everest is alive. Everyone is dead except for myself and Everest. We are the final two tributes, but I have never felt more separated from him. Killed Ratsis and imagined he was somebody else. Killed Jared because I had something against him. Don’t know what to do about Everest. Truly do not know what to do.

Slipped in and out of consciousness. Was lying on something hard, must be a table, must be in the cabin. Tried to steady breathing but oxygen kept escaping me in quick, sharp gasps. Tried to ignore pain. Couldn’t. Agonizing. Heard mother and father speaking, sounding panicked, but couldn’t make out their words. Sounded very far away. Felt mother holding my hand. Father was pale.

“Dad?”

“Shh, it’s okay, baby girl, it’s okay.”

“I can’t feel my arm. I can’t feel my legs, either.”

Pull needle and thread through skin. Over. Under. Black stitches in neat rows, like pace marks on a map.

“Dad…?” Could barely hear my own voice. He hushed me. Looked at his hands and they were coated in my blood. Felt searing pain on my left arm. But realized then that it wasn’t my full left arm. Only half. Smelled burning flesh and realized my arm was being cauterized, melding the skin over the open wound.

Father began suturing my skin. Clinical. Unemotional.

Worst part is next. Get firm grip on the end of my left arm.

Days later, lay curled up on hearth, shaking and dizzy with fever. Was right next to fire but still freezing. Watched the flames dance, lick at the sides of the chimney, twist around each other like mercury in water. A sudden weight fell over my body and I realized it was a blanket my father was placing on me. Rolled over to face him and head spun. Father must have seen how pale I had become, because he walked off and returned a moment later with a cold, damp cloth, pressed it to my forehead. He pushed my hair out of my face, kissed my head, then pulled up a seat. Grabbed his book from the table nearby. Father loves books, always has.

Asked him, “What are you reading?”

“1984.” Father replied. “Have you heard of it?” Shook my head. “I think you’d like it. I’ll lend it to you once I’m through.” He smiled at me and it reached his eyes beneath his glasses. “Your mom told me you took out your stitches yourself. I’m proud of you, kiddo. You’re really brave, you know that?”

Looked down at floor. “What is the bravest thing you have ever done?”

Father looked deep in thought for a moment, then shrugged. “I’m not quite sure. Maybe when I was stitching you up the other day.”

Looked down and didn’t reply.

Feel out the socket. Inhale slowly.

“What’s the bravest thing you’ve ever done?” Father asked.

Pulled blanket tighter around shoulders. “Getting up this morning.”

Shoved arm back into place. Hurt my throat from crying out. Keeled onto side from the pain, vision going dark for a moment, heart thrumming in my ears, blood rushing in my head. Reach out for a handful of snow, pack it onto my shoulder. Pain slowly begins to dull, like a wave retracting from sand, a pencil losing it’s point across paper.

Small package drifts down. Small gifts inside, soup and bandages. Most charitable gift, though, is the note. Hold it tight to my chest and do not cry. Tuck it away into backpack safely. Wind bandages tightly around shoulder, securing it in place. Shouldn’t use the arm, at least not for the next day if I do not want it to simply dislocate again. Best to simply not do anything for the rest of the day. Already fought for my life and killed somebody in the process.

Look at my surroundings. This is my sanctuary for now. Boy was trespassing. This place is mine, not his. This entire arena is mine. They don’t understand. I’m not locked in here with them.