#acpcrowd

The crowd was a little overwhelming at first, more or less screaming in our faces from the moment we walked off the train. I didn’t doubt Jacinta purposely decided to take lead in order to keep us at a slow, leisurely pace. I had no other option but to give my attention to whoever grabbed it, sometimes literally. My nerves were buzzing by the time Jacinta appeared at the end of the walkway standing in front of a pair of glass, double doors belonging to a building that looked like it touched the clouds.

She beamed a smile and waved, “Come, come! One last photo!” She pulled AJ and I beside her and mirrored the conclusion of the Reaping, lifting each of our hands into the air as the cameras flashed in front of us before shuffling us inside towards one of the open elevator cars. It was only when the steel doors slid shut that I let the forced smile I wore the entire walk fall and took a deep breath of relief.

“Wasn’t that fun?!” She bounced in place and clapped her hands together, “Bit of a culture shock, I know, but you’ll get used to it after a while. Overall, I’m impressed but there is a lot of work that still needs to be done. I’m not that worried, you’ll both be naturals by the time I’m through with you.”

The elevator stopped at the fourth floor and let us out into an apartment that was just as elaborately decorated as both the Justice Building and the train car, the only difference being the majority of the outermost wall was  replaced with a window that overlooked the entire skyline of the city.

“Beautiful, no? The Capitol provides only the best for its tributes.” Jacinta gave a quick tour of the place before showing us each to our own rooms.

“Here you are! Oh, and I phoned ahead and had a little something extra included for you. I know you’ll love it!”

As she swung open the door to the bedroom I was assigned my eyes immediately fell to the brightly lit fish tank situated on a counter beside my bed. A school of technicolored fish swam above a bed of neon colored pebbles and shells, the stillness of the room was broken by the sound of the tank’s filter bubbling. I bent down to get a better look at the sea life contained within, almost instinctively beginning to identify the tetras from the bettas, the guppies from the algae eaters. I turned back to Jacinta who was standing in the doorway with an expectant smirk on her face.

“Thanks, I mean it.” I chuckled.

“You work with me, I work with you. See? I’m not all bad.” Her grin sprawled with satisfaction, “Now, the prep period begins at 7am sharp tomorrow morning, which means I need you up, ready and dressed by 6am. Sleep well!”

I stood where she had left me staring at the inside of the door before I moved to the bed and let myself fall flat on my back and closed my eyes, the mattress molding around me the way fine sand does on the beaches back home. I didn’t doubt this was Jacinta’s way of presenting a peace offering, or, “trying to be more accommodating,”as she put it after she and I sat down one-on-one together before the train rolled into the Capitol. But I’d be lying if I said this didn’t invoke a pang of homesickness as much as it did comfort. It took away the artificial and stale nature of the Capitol’s provisions and for a brief moment I felt like I was going to open my eyes and find the sun bearing down on me and tides racing up on shore before retreating back into the ocean.

And all I saw was the Capitol’s skyline bearing down on me on the opposite side of the window stretched across the outermost wall of the room. I sighed and sat up, the tank immediately coming into view, “I know the feeling.” I said sarcastically.

As I went to close the curtain I paused and took a minute to soak in the city beneath me: the crowds that continued to pack the street into the late evening-early morning and the images that continuously flashed on the television screens that stretched across the exterior of entire buildings. It was mostly propaganda reels and recaps from both this mornings Reapings and last years Games, as if I needed to be reminded of my purpose for being here. I didn’t, and nothing that’s happened over the last few hours has deterred me otherwise. It was only then my last conversation I had with Ula came to mind.

“You have to promise me one thing, Aquarius.”

“Anything.”

“Promise me that the only person you’re going to help from this day forward, is yourself.”

“I promise. I wouldn’t lie to you about that.”

And, I wasn’t lying. I had been willing to stick my neck out to help her and so many others in the past but at right now I knew that type of generosity would only prevent me from getting back to her, back home and picking up where I left off. There was no place for that side of myself in the Arena-

For any part of myself.

“Piece of advice, kid, whatever happened in here just before - air in the wind.”

I hadn’t thought about my parents and what happened in the Justice Building since this morning. I knew it was inevitable Jacinta was going to ask about them when she and I spoke on the train and I was sure to keep it brief, telling her exactly what she wanted to hear: that we were a perfect, happy family and I had a “bright future” ahead of me beside them should I make it back-

“Uh, uh. When, you make it back.” Jacinta had corrected me with an arrogant smile.

Even if I did make it back, what sort of life would be waiting for me; with them, with everything that would have changed since I left? Would I have to play dumb and maintain the image of an ideal family I was painting for the Capitol in order to keep myself safe from my father’s implications, or would there be a warrant waiting for my arrest to keep me quiet, or-

“Piece of advice, kid, whatever happened in here just before - air in the wind.”

I pulled the curtain shut and went into the bathroom to clean myself up after all day. If there’s something my parents were certain of, it’s that I wasn’t stupid. I knew there was next to nothing I could do at this point regarding what I confronted them about, and in the same breath it would be just as damning if I went through the motions of the next few days with the weight of what transpired between us bearing down on me. I promised Ula that I would look after myself and only myself. There was no room for my parents and their bullshit in that equation, and if I make it back to Four I’ll deal with it then.

I was frozen on spot. In the past twenty-four hours several thoughts had flooded my mind: what I would have to do in the arena, how I would attract the attention of potential sponsors, what my siblings would be forced to do in my absence. But never had I thought about having to impress the hoards of people that wanted to get my autograph and know my story. 

The train finally stopped, and Poly informed us that we were the final two to arrive, therefore we were some of the most highly anticipated. Once we got there, the events could begin. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath before running my hands through my hair and standing up to get off the train. 

The doors were opened, and overwhelming cheers could be heard from the threshold. I stepped through the doorway, looking at my feet instead of the crowd and making sure I didn’t trip on the stairs down to the platform. The roar in my ears was tuned out by my concentration in getting down, but when my shoulder was grabbed by a gloved hand I was forced to look up and face reality. 

The Peacekeeper holding me was the least abrasive sight I was subjected to as I faced the crowd. A flash went off, blinding me for a few seconds as my name was murmured throughout the crowd. I winced and automatically lifted my hand to shield my face for a few seconds before getting my bearings together. 

Cool, calm, collected. I had to give off the right impression. So I stood up straight and ignored the hands poking at me and asking for autographs. A camera was thrust into my face and I mustered up half a smile and stared directly into the lens. 

I’d always been told I had great eyes. That couldn’t hurt at this juncture, I supposed.

At home you could see the sky stretching on forever, no matter what direction you looked. You could see the land and the patterns it made as it reached for the horizon. The only thing that could block your view was a wayward storm cloud, or the fog that rolled during the fall. Here, here there were obstacles to keep you from the land. The buildings, the concrete walkways, and the people. 

It was the screaming people that prevented me from thinking and made me want to freeze. Mylar spotted a man with a microphone and mercilessly steered me towards him.  “Mylar, Escort for District Nine.” She introduced herself with a business like tone and a smile that threatened as much as it invited. “This is Barley Sheaves, our beautiful female tribute, and she just wants to get home to her husband.” She gestured to me while talking, painting a persona on me as if she were Caravaggio and I, her canvas. 

The microphone was pressed to my face almost immediately after she finished talking, the man holding it clearly more excited about the exchange than I was. A fact which seemed to cause my escort great displeasure. She’d worked hard to soak every ounce of potential story out of me while we road the train. 

“Ms. Sheaves, what can yo-” He began his sentence only to be cut off by Mylar immediately, “Mrs! Mrs. Sheaves.” She corrected him shrilly. I tried to say that I really didn’t mind, but my voice was drowned out by the cheers of the people around us as someone set off a small confetti cannon. 

It was at that point that someone dove in front of the reporter and he was knocked from my sight. A large woman shepherding three dark haired children blocked him nearly completely, and she encouraged her brood with a tired manner. “Go on then, she won’t be here forever, and I want to get home.” 

The first child, a girl of about eight, handed me a small red book and a pen. “Thignature pleathe.” she lisped, missing her two front teeth. I smiled, and she smiled back.         “I’m sorry.” I bent down close to her, making sure she could hear. “I can’t really write. I can read some, and-” I was cut off by her oldest looking brother.               “It doesn’t matter if she can write. I just want a piece of her I can add to my games collection. Dad says that he might be able to get me a real piece of last year’s arena!” My stomach turned, what the hell did he mean by a piece?Then the second brother chimed in,        “She can’t even WRITE? Is she dumb?” He was clearly addressing his mother, but I took it upon myself to answer the question.                  “No, I’m not dumb. I just had more important things to do than go to school.” I frowned, “And you would do better to be more polite to your mother.” I chided him as if he were on of my own little siblings. “Here.” I took the pen in my fist and carefully wrote a large capital “B” in the center of the page. I handed it back to the girl. 

It was at that point that I realized the man with the microphone had been recording the entire interaction. Different people had begun trying to hand me things as well. Other things to sign, a flower or two, and I wasn’t sure what to do. A Peacekeeper stepped in front of them, attempting to calm their fervor. Spotting my escort I dashed towards her. Mylar took my wrist, and smiled a saccharine smile to the crowd. Dragging me away from them she patted my shoulder, as if to assure me I had done just fine.

Train comes to a halt and the screeching doesn’t come from the wheels, but from the people outside. They shine relentlessly like sunlight on a lake’s horizon. They stand in the polished gutter that masquerades as an extravagant train station. Blue dress mother had given me has been discarded into a closet, replaced with a green number that everybody will like more than I do. Would trade for my old dress in a heartbeat. Dollie doesn’t stop adjusting it until the car door opens and flashing lights blind us as we enter the sea of Capitolites. Many, naturally, wanted pictures and interactions with the evolutionary marvel, the boy from the cave. But was not expecting… fans of my own.

Bombarded with questions. Ask if I am nervous. Ask what my words at the Reaping meant.

Obligatory question about my arm. Was waiting for that one. Predictable. Don’t know how they expect me to answer them all at once. Only give them one word answers, yes and no, but they eat that up. They like the mystery they’ve shrouded me in. Decide that I do not like these people. Do not like these rabid socialites in expensive cheap-smelling perfumes, plastic smiles painted exhaustingly bright colors, and toting a twisted emotion on their shoulders they like to call compassion when it is nothing more than self-absorption and a dying thirst for ultraviolence. Some have come up with nicknames. Most make wordplay out of my name. A reporter calls me ‘Angel Of Death’. Another calls me ‘Archangel’. Unsure how I feel about these aliases. Almost feel like they are bastardising my name. Mildly offended. Relatively confused. Marginally flattered. Will come to a conclusion later.

Quickly growing sick of the crowd. They push and shove at each other, surround me. Have lost sight of Dollie and Everest. Can barely see ahead. There is this confined space around me and it is like that same small room in the cabin with nothing but me and the rope around my ankles and hands and the gag in my mouth. Loud noises hurt my ears, flashbulbs sting my eyes, there’s vertigo and a lack of air getting to my lungs, too many people suffocating me, trapping me, too many hands and voices and sensory overstimulation and the thought of trapped trapped trapped and a reporter is tapping my shoulder relentlessly and I turn around and grab him by the throat without thinking.

Feel the air escape from his windpipe. Feel him lift off the ground just so. People finally step back. Noise dies down. Dollie pushes through the wall of people, locks eyes with mine, cautious, persuading, like she’s trying to keep a feral dog from snapping at her. Realize she is giving me such a look because that is the way I am behaving. Like a feral dog. Take the hint and release the man who has turned blue in the face and see lavender bruises blooming on his neck, the exact shapes of my fingerprints. Falls to his knees, gasping and coughing.

Expect Peacekeepers to grab me and beat me, or for people to start running and screaming. But none of that comes. Only thing I receive is gasps and cheers and applause. Even the man that’s fallen to his knees is laughing shakily in amazement, air only escaping his lungs in short bursts. They cheer for me as I was to the building that awaits me. All of these people are so entertained that I nearly crushed a man’s throat in front of them.