Marlene didn’t have to look back to know the shadow was still following. She just couldn’t tell where that damned dinner room mentioned in that damned letter was, and the house didn’t make it any easier to navigate. At times, she got tired and, with heavy breathing and pearly drops of sweat clinging to her forehead, she’d slow down, and the shadow would grab her by the shoulder -- or hand, or hip -- and the burn would recover her all the energy to keep going.
She couldn’t breathe, but she didn’t want to stick around and find out what her evil reflection could do, if permitted. Surely the Gamemakers didn’t build her for good lucks and just electrocuting touches. Surely she’d take Marlene’s place if she could, like any other reflection. For that, the girl from Ten refused to wait around.
In a desperate attempt to catch her breath, Marlene opened a random door. The jet black, once threatening, was preferred to this exhaustion, to the endless running down the endless hallways. So she stepped in, and a blink later, she found herself facing the other side of the door, closed. Strange.
Her breathing steadied. Strange. There was no reflection. Strange. Surely this wasn’t the dinner room, either, but it wasn’t where she’d been seconds ago, either. She sat, for a moment in bare darkness. That was the better alternative. Her own company proved to be dreadful. That made her snicker, but she did not dare to go louder than breathing. For a passing split second, she wondered if this insane stalking, this ghostly reflection of her was how other people saw her. How Gatlin, specifically, saw her.
It mattered too little. When she was ready to face her demons again, when all that introspection got old and when she decided to step away from it with the risk of having to run, once again, for too long, she pressed the doorknob.
Where she was was not where she’d been. Strange. And there was no shadow to follow her, but the shadow would imminently catch up with her. She just received a lucky headstart -- she knew that.
Avoiding all mirrors on purpose, the girl from District Ten kept going, all on her own in an arena that she didn’t understand or relate to. This was proving to be significantly more difficult to win than expected. There were no animals and no connections to her district or prior life. All these rich children had an unfair upper hand, and Marlene hated every bit of it.
With a double of herself bound to find and chase her again, she did not feel in any way good about her odds. If she couldn’t even get rid of herself, what would happen in the challenges to come next?
Without having found the dinner room, or anybody else other than the mirrored shadow, Marlene had to play this game all up to midnight, always getting into the mansion’s new and confusing traps -- never the same twice, but never in the right place.
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A silver parachute drifts slowly to the ground. A medium container is attached with a note from Juniper Colt. Inside is sneakers and two band aids. The note reads: “Hello it is Juniper. JC”
The beep was unmissable, but Marlene for some reason was entirely stunned by it. The way it had looked on television -- and she hadn't even looked closely, never interested in the Hunger Games to the point where she watched and didn't do anything else -- had nothing with the reality. Marlene wanted to shut it off, to cover the parachute's mouth with her hand and ask for silence.
The hallways were wide and endless. Tributes could be lurking at any turn. She did not want this dumb parachute to be the end of her. Also, receiving a gift did make her uncomfortable. She was thirsty, and hungry, and her feet and bones hurt, but there was no way the package would satisfy all of her needs. And, in all truth, she was willing to switch it for silence, for a way to stay incognito. Even if a tribute did find her, she had no weapon, no way of defending herself. Better hungry and dehydrated than dead by a knife in the back, she reckoned.
Still, when the package reached her feet, it did feel better than nothing. Marlene took the box, without opening it right away, and smiled palely at the note. The fact that her best shot, her person to rely on outside of the arena was Juniper Colt, this lunatic that, most of the time, seemed to be living in an entirely different dimension from the rest of the people, came as no relief, but Juniper had sent something. She did her job. Maybe she wouldn't be so useless in the end.
"Hello, Juniper. Thank you," she whispered, but didn't dwell on it. She wanted to get somewhere safe and less unpredictable before she opened the container.
After walking down what seemed to be the infinite hallway, she eventually found an empty room without windows, that she snuck into in order to open her sponsor gift. In the dark, she could feel the sneakers, but not see them. Yet, she breathed out a relieved chuckle and proceeded to put them on, leaving the boots behind -- the boots that have made walking so much more difficult than it had to be. As in for the bandages, Marlene decided to cover two of her deeper wounds, one at the back of her neck and one on her arm. It wasn't enough -- the bandages even looked funny -- but it would do for now.
At some point, she’s lost the shadow and quickly closed the door. In the first room she could have a better look at ever since first stepping into the house, it filled her with wonder how detailed, how nicely arranged every item was, how all of the books were in their place, golden letters on their covers, how there was a small bronze statue on the desk -- something prettier than anything she’s ever seen in terms of decoration. Her house had sewn decoration hung all over -- and a garden of knitted flowers made of wool. Aunt Margaret’s favorite mindless activity, whenever the sun set and the work day was over.
She stepped with caution, trying not to get distracted by the beauty to a point where she neglected the ugliness, the danger. She trailed over the map on the desk, trying to take it and keep it for herself, but she could not. Instead, she settled for reading through it, small drops of water falling from her braid as she bent over it.
When she heard the door open again, she froze. Marlene was still breathless from running away from her shadow. “I really hope you’re here to read,” she dryly warned, too stressed to chuckle at her own statement.
I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.
Whatever I see I swallow immediately
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.
I am not cruel, only truthful‚
The eye of a little god, four-cornered.
Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.
It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long
I think it is part of my heart. But it flickers.
Faces and darkness separate us over and over.
Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me,
Searching my reaches for what she really is.
Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.
I see her back, and reflect it faithfully.
She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.
I am important to her. She comes and goes.
Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.
In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman
Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.
(Sylvia Plath, Mirror)
She has been followed by shadows all her life. Mom. Dad. Great grandma. Aunts. Horses that passed. Workers that passed. Always kept in the dark. Marlene never knew a time shadowless. The rain was getting thicker and thicker, dripping down her forehead and into her mouth, but little did she care. She kept her patrol, to cool off, to calm down, to find something to grasp in this nothingness and confusion. Gatlin she couldn’t trust. She didn’t trust his judgment and she didn’t like the idea of being rescued. Gatlin she hadn’t even realized she resented to this extent. Her cheeks were burning, blood seething, but she was definitely not dressed to be in that weather. She shivered softly beneath her puffy clothing, soaking wet. When the wind blew towards her, her skin turned paper-textured.
It felt like the only appropriate moment to cry. Crying did not come easy. Most of the time, it did not come at all. Most of the time, Marlene had to force herself to cry, to pinch her eyeballs for emotion. Now, in the Hunger Games, the perspective seemed closer to death than usual -- and it’d never been far. Now, crying came when called for. Marlene was grateful for the rain. Her tears were impostors, but they did not look entirely like tears when her whole face was dripping water.
When the wind blew an envelope into her face, she felt slapped. She recognized the color and size -- it was the second piece of correspondence after that one she found in her pocket upon the launch. Marlene held onto it and ran under a thick tree, where it rained more patiently.
You are invited to the most exclusive event of the weekend. The Inventor is hosting a Cocktail Hour in the dining room before his grand ball. At 6 o’clock sharp, the gathering begins. Fashionable is required, and fashionably late is frowned upon. Clean up, check in a mirror, and enjoy the mingling.
The ink spread on her fingertips, following the letters and words. This did not mean anything to her, but she knew she had to go back to the house. She turned on her heels. The weather was not getting any better. Upon walking for what seemed like an eternity, she once again reached the conclusion that this was not the path she took getting to that point. A wrong turn, a moment of negligence got her entirely lost.
Still, Marlene Bowie did not sit down, did not pout and did not give up. She carried on through the rain, entered an area that looked more maze than nature, and followed her instinct. Surprisingly, the house opened up in the background. She ran towards it, suddenly aware that there were other tributes inside, who intended to kill her. That set off all the alarms in her mind. She no longer felt as safe as she was when she was lost. Hugging her shoulders in a powerless gesture, she sprinted to the house, her limp now even thicker.
She’d never feel safe inside, but she went in, thinking she was following the necessary instructions of the note. Least of all did she want to get killed for straying from the rules of the Games. No, she had to play them, as much as she would have rather caught a cold in the pouring rain than having to interact with the other tributes. Even Gatlin was no longer an exception.
With a stone heart, she hoped she’d never have to see him again. With a sinking heart, the concept of that made her insides turn, and the two loaves of bread she’d had for breakfast come out. None of the options was nice, and she only had him to blame for that. Without realizing it, she stopped in front of a hallway mirror, to check her soaked appearance out, to see the cruelty in her own eyes.
The strangest thing happened. As she turned around to walk away, displeased with the washed off look, she had the strange sensation that something was following her. She has been followed by shadows all her life.
Marlene thought it was a tribute. She cleared her throat, like after swallowing honey to keep the cold away, and didn’t turn, instead speeding up. She had to speak, so the tribute wouldn’t think her back is just up for attacking.
“I suggest you leave,” -- a deep breath -- “... me alone. You don’t know what I’ll do to you. Take my word for it.”
The tap on her shoulder burned. At the same time, a small table, forgotten in a corner of the hallway, was drawn to make Marlene stumble. She full on tripped on it as she turned around. She full on fell on it as she saw herself, grayer and angrier. Despite her best instincts, Marlene screamed.
She landed on her back, making a wet mark on the carpet where her rained back sank in. The reflection landed over her, and every inch of her skin that came into contact with hers burned. Marlene kicked it with a boot, pushed her away, but that only hurt more. Through the pain, she used her bare palms to shove the strange figure, that neither seemed corporeal -- but certainly was no illusion, either.
She then hopped on her feet, shaking and not knowing why. There have been shadows behind her back all along -- she just weirdly never expected the shape to look like herself. But she kept on running, on dodging furniture obstacles, even luring doors opening before her, all traps.
Ugh, she hated this stupid house. But she had to live there to get to her own, back in Ten. It was beautiful, and deep down, she knew it, but that was precisely what she did not like about it.
Ramona. Marlene went straight for the pair of sneakers, as the boots on her feet felt uncomfortable and were threatening to leave blisters. She knew best. However, the girl from Two seemed to have gotten a similar idea, or at least the same taste in shoes. Marlene didn’t afford to chuckle nervously at the coincidence. There they were, face to face, in a context that lacked any rules. They were all going to kill each other, and Ramona didn’t seem the kind of person to hesitate or feel bad about shoving Marlene.
She did not know what to say, not wanting to back off and not wanting to get killed either. Instead, she arched her eyebrows at Ramona, hands on the heels of the sneakers. “What now?”
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Daily Illustrations I am beginning from today with a daily illustration, with whatever the main thing in my day has been Day:One was a Mechanical Drawing day at work, a boring task i had to do over and over unneccessarily.
☪[ what is their daily morning and night routine like? What is the absolute first thing they do when they wake up and the last thing before they go to bed? Is it the same each time, is there anything special they do on particular days? ]
The first thing she does when she wakes up is get to her laptop, and get to her game that she fell asleep on yesterday. It's always the same ritual really.
Since she also sleeps playing making it the last thing she does before going to bed, she also wakes up doing the same thing. It's important for her, gotta make sure the character doesn't fall back in levels and all of that. She did not make her way to the top by not playing this everyday and night.
The only time this changes is when she sleeps at someone else's, since she doesn't drag her laptop everywhere with her all the time so no gaming to sleep, no gaming when she wakes up.
