A Dangerous Game

I feel like I haven’t said enough. I don’t think it’s safe to say more, though. Lingering on the topic of Hadrian isn’t allowed. The Capitol can’t know my secret. President Snow would surely kill me if I even hinted at our romance.
President Snow could make it look like an accident.
The applause brings me back to the interview.
There are a few more questions. Only a couple concern the arena. These are the hardest for me to answer. But I do answer, not letting myself feel anything, but smiling, grinning, overjoyed on the outside.
In between questions, when I have a few seconds to spare, I look through the crowd. Not to find Tule or Wade; they sit off to the side of the stage with the rest of my support crew. Velia bounces up and down in her chair, she is so excited. My stylist, prep team, escort and mentors were introduced at the start of my interview/showing of the Games.
I’m really looking for the president. Is he here? Or is he watching from his mansion, his horrible cold, blood-coloured mansion?
I think the interview is going well. The spectators are all beaming up at me. This isn’t the official interview, really. The private one takes place tomorrow. That one is not so worrying, though. It is filmed in my floor of the Training Centre. It is broadcasted live, but there is no audience. No, now is the time to concentrate. I must get it right.
Caesar asks me a final question. Finally, the interview is over. It was short, fifteen minutes at the most. It seemed longer, though.
I notice that I am beginning to tremble a little. In anticipation of what I will see. Last year, they made the montage horribly upbeat. Happy music was playing, and all the colours were made bright, bright, bright. What will they do this year? Please, not upbeat. They won’t make it downbeat. I don’t know what I’m hoping for. I think I’ll close my eyes.
Caesar turns to address the audience. “Are you ready to watch this year’s Hunger Games?”
One of the loudest cheers of the night is emitted.
Keeping the smile on my face becomes harder. Hurry up! I just want this night to end. I am getting hot under my dress. Seeing the Games is the last thing I want. Watching other years of it was torture enough. Years where I wasn’t in the arena, but those I knew were. I was never close to them; they were older girls and boys I’d seen around school and the market. One year, a girl who took the same train as me, whom I sometimes saw walking towards the warehouse next to mine, was chosen to go into the Games. She died.
I hate it. It is terrible, seeing people from my district die.
Though maybe winning is worse than dying.
The lights dim. The seal appears on the screen. Everyone is silent.
The first half hour of footage is of pre-arena events. The Tribute Parade, the Interviews. For this part, I don’t really pay attention. Then the footage of the Games comes on.
The first shot is of the Cornucopia, from directly above. I can see myself, Gladius, Hadrian, Arabella, Jem, Argus, Marina, the girl from One, the boy from Five, the girl from Nine, everyone. Then the camera cuts across each face. I am the first. Hadrian is fifth or sixth or seventh, I think. He doesn’t look as gaunt as I remember him being when he died. He isn’t smiling.
I have to look away as the rest of the tributes flash across the screen. How can they do this? How can victors look at the screen and bear it? It is cruel, because when I see him, it is like Hadrian is almost alive.
But he is dead. So are the other tributes. Twenty-three dead. I killed some of them. I drove a blade into them. I knew that I was killing them. I wanted to kill them. It sinks in again, my murdering. How ruthless I was.
The bloodbath at the Cornucopia is shown. It takes up the first five minutes. My reaction is shown in the corner of the screen. I am allowed to look sombre. I see myself; my expression firm. It looks like I am watching, thinking, processing. Really, I am just trying to ignore it all.
Almost right away, I can tell what angle the Gamemakers have decided to use to approach these Hunger Games. This condensed version is supposed to be a thriller, with odd camera angles and suspenseful music.
I do my best to watch. Watching myself murder is penance for the killing I did.
But when they show Hadrian allying with me, doing their best to make it look suspicious, I have to look away. He didn’t stab me in the back! Yet they make it look like he would. How! Is this President Snow trying to bate me?
I stare at the corner of the screen, where I am shown. I am not allowed to show the contempt I feel. Just keep looking like you’re focused on the showing, Eunia!
It is hell. Tule was right.
I am not always the tribute the cameras are trained on. I watch other tributes fight each other, other tributes hiding. Other tributes facing the Gamemaker’s weapons.  
Seeing Hadrian again is unbearable. He is real again! It is like I can kid myself he is still alive, watching him. I do my best to watch him. The Gamemakers don’t show footage of us joking, or kissing, or even holding hands. This makes it easier, but only a little.
They show Argus stabbing him. I lean over him, crying. Tule said it looked like we were friends. She was right about this as well. There is not even an inkling of romance.
Before he dies, they cut away to another tribute being chased by mutts. I do not see the life leave his eyes again. Thank God.
Keep your face expressionless. Don’t give anything away!
The rest of the Games passes. I loose track of time, but I would say it was around three hours. It must be difficult, trying to pick footage from three weeks worth of the Games to fit into three hours. Still, I have no sympathy.  
When the lights are brought back, when the showing of the Games is over, it is time for me to be crowned victor. The anthem plays again, so loud I can barely hear myself think. I smile as President Snow steps onstage. A child holds a cushion, on which rests the victor’s crown.
The president takes the crown. The audience whoops excitedly. I am about to be crowned!
I have to make myself look ecstatic.
I make my smile widen as the crown is placed on my head.
It is time for the Victory Banquet now. I had almost forgotten it. I am to go to the President’s mansion, to the ballroom, and let myself be photographed while trying to slip a few mouthfuls of food in.
Tule, Wade, Velia, Marcille and my prep team wait for me offstage. As they were required onstage, they are all made up too. Velia most of all. She models make-up which is laid thick over the majority of her face, curls, and a puffy dress. Guess which colour? Tule and Wade look simpler.
They all congratulate me, spouting nothing but praise. Have I really done a good job? I think so. But I am not totally convinced. Surely the president will be at the party tonight, waiting for me. Waiting to tell me if I really have played the ideal victor well enough.
As we walk to the mansion, I feel sick. What if I haven’t done enough? I look over to Tule, who is genuinely smiling, genuinely pleased. If she thinks I have done well, then I must have done well.
The Victor’s Banquet. Followed by the private interviews, where I will be grilled about my family, friends, job. Followed by a train ride back to my district. Soon, I’ll be home. The thought fills me with relief.
This time I enter through the front doors to the mansion. Many of the guests have already helped themselves to food and alcohol. The guests that are here are Gamemakers, sponsors government officials, and the richest of the rich. Some Capitol citizens pay extravagant amounts to get into the Victor’s Banquet. Some can actually afford to go each year.
The amount of photographers there is phenomenal. Everyone wants a picture of me, smiling, posing. I must oblige.
Tule, Wade, Velia and Marcille are photographed as well. Velia loves the attention. Tule just ducks her head, sitting by a table that holds soups.
People keep coming up to me to compliment me. On my dress. On my victory. On how I fought in the Games. I can’t stand this. What am I being praised for murder?
I thank my sponsors, though, and this is one thing I am sincere about. Three out of the four parachutes I received – the bread and sauce, the syringe that treated the infection in my arm, and a ball of twine – came from the Capitol. The fourth, the district Eight rolls, came from home. I say thank you, over and over until the words lose their meaning. Even then I keep repeating them.
I am not particularly hungry, but so that I don’t have to talk to people I pile my plate high with exotic Capitol foods.
There is no clock in here. I stare at the high ceiling, trying to gauge the time. It must be past one in the morning. I am not tired. I am just worn out.
I hope I did a good enough job.
“Are you enjoying the Banquet, Miss Fairbain?”
President Snow is in front of me, wearing a clean white suit.
“Yes, President Snow,” I say.
“Then I am sorry to have to take you away from the party,” he says. “I need to meet with you now.”
“Now?” I repeat, unsure of what else to say. I assume he is meeting with me again to tell me if I performed well enough or not. Still, when he starts to walk away, I am reluctant to follow him. What if I haven’t done it? Did I say too much concerning Hadrian? Did I look disgusted during the showing of the Games? I must have done something wrong.
I am led to the same room we met in last time. This time, there are only five chairs inside. In one sits Saraya. Two others are filled by Tule and Wade. The president sits down in one of the two remaining chairs, so I am forced to take the chair opposite him.
My crown feels like plastic to the touch. I feel silly in all of this gold. It is like I am a child again, trying on a pair of my mother’s best shoes. I am playing at being grown up.  
“I am sure you enjoyed the showing of the Games,” President Snow says. “At least, you didn’t show open disgust. Did you?”
This makes me confused. Is he being sarcastic? Did I look disgusted or not? My hatred for him is reinforced. These games of his are stupid.
I don’t answer. That is safest.
“How do you think you performed, Eunia?” he asks me.
“Well,” I say. Can he not just tell me if I did well or not? I hate this not knowing, this suspense.
“Saraya and I enjoyed your performance very much tonight,” he says slowly. I think he says something else, but I can’t process it. I’m safe! I’m safe! I’ve done enough! An accident won’t have to be arranged for me.  
“You were utterly winning,” Saraya says. “It was totally believable. The only part that might have been overkill was what you said about Hadrian.”
So it wasn’t entirely safe, even the little that I did say? What, am I now expected to cut him out completely? Forget him?
“We’d be very happy to present you with your prize immediately,” President Snow says. This is Saraya’s cue to retrieve it; she stands, and leaves the room. What is it? I don’t ask. I will find out soon. What will I be rewarded with? The worst thing I can think of is a Hadrian look-alike. It would be like a cruel joke. I wouldn’t be able to turn down this ‘gift’ from President Snow. Is it something of Hadrian’s? Is it something from home?
I want to be allowed to sit in silence, to imagine what I will receive. President Snow has decided to critique me, though. He tells me I was polite. Tomorrow, for the private interview, he’d like me to make more jokes, perhaps be a little more outgoing. Not arrogant or snobbish.
I’m not really listening. I try to look as if I am. Saraya seems to be taking an awfully long time. What it is already?
I shift in my chair. Wipe my hands on my dress. Try to ignore the pounding in my chest. It will be something I don’t want, won’t it? And I’ll still have to cooperate with President Snow. Maybe it’s a framed picture of Hadrian in the arena, bleeding to death.
I am about to excuse myself to go to the bathroom and throw up when Saraya comes back. The item is in a case. It is a reasonable size. Too small for a person, but far too big for jewellery or a small trinket.
It is not Hadrian. Or his look-alike.
Am I disappointed? Yes. I convince myself that it would have been a look-alike, a pretend. A fake. Why am I so disappointed? Saraya and President Snow wouldn’t go through the trouble of getting him back for me.
President Snow opens the box. Sitting on a bed of fabric is something that fits perfectly into my grasp. Something Hadrian gave to me. Something that I knew would be taken when I left the arena.
My axe.
I didn’t feel right, thinking that I was going to get my axe back. It only flitted across my mind for a second, but here it is! Is it what I want, what I truly want? Another reminder of the arena?
It is the axe from the start of the Games rather than the one I gained when I went back to the Cornucopia. I reach out to touch it. It has been cleaned. No traces of blood. It smells vaguely of lemon.
I played a dangerous game. For a reward I was unsure of. And this is my prize. A hunk of metal.
I let my fingers trace the blade. My axe. I have been given my axe.
“Thank you,” I say. Saraya hands the box to me. My axe. I take it out of the box. It feels as it did in the arena. I saw myself using it on-screen an hour or so ago. Did I think that I would ever hold it again?
I place the axe back in the box. Tule comes over, takes the box from me, thanks the president.
Then we go back downstairs to the party.
More photographs. Alcohol. Food. Music.
The hours blur together, until the sun is starting to peek over the horizon and it is time to go. Outside, the citizens are partying. Do the parties ever stop here?
At eleven I have my private interview, which will take a couple of hours to film. Then I get to go home.
Home.
The people of District Eight will be waiting at the station. There will be more praise.
Silvia will be there. She is why I entered. Why I won. Arius, Delphi and my mother will be there too. I have missed them. They will give me someone to cling to, surely. Someone to sob into.
I’ll never be able to tell them why.
Now I realise how hard a job I have before me. For the rest of my life, I must keep what really happened in the arena a secret. From everyone. Apart from Tule. Maybe Wade.
Two confidants, at best.
Get some sleep, Tule tells me before she retires to her own room. Today is a big day. What is the point in sleeping now? I could have two hours asleep at best, and then Velia would wake me up and Marcille would slap more make-up on my face, which reminds me that I need to scrub the make-up I have on currently off.
After my face is washed, and my gown has been hung on the door, I lie on my bed. Soon, I will leave the Capitol. Then I will come back for my Victory Tour. Then I will come with the female tribute next year. The next time a tribute from my district wins, I’ll have to come on their Victory Tour. Whether you are a mentor or not, victors come every year to the Capitol to watch the Hunger Games. There is no sense in missing the Capitol if I will be coming back so often.
I stare at the ceiling. Think of home. I tried not to think of home when I was in this room before the Games. Thinking of it was painful.
My two hours pass quickly, and Velia does come. Tule and Wade are sleeping, I assume.
Velia is as perky as ever. She keeps saying how exciting it is that I’ve won the Games. She says she knew I was going to win.
At Velia’s command, an Avox sets out breakfast. Velia likes coffee too, I notice, but not as dark as Tule’s.
I am made to eat, and after I am fed, Marcille comes with my prep team. They are excited, just like Velia. Mostly because they, as part of my support crew, got to go onstage in front of the whole of Panem. Being on television must have been one of their biggest aspirations.
We go through the routine cleansing of my skin, although I don’t have to be waxed; that was done yesterday.
The colour scheme is different today. The dress has a blue bodice which fades into a green skirt. The shoes are strappy, but thankfully don’t have as high heels as the ones last night did.
My hair is tied back, and secured by blue gems and hairspray. A quick brush of make-up, and I am ready.
Marcille has sent one of her lovely dresses ahead for the banquet in my district that will be held tomorrow evening. Minimal make-up is required, which Tule can manage.
What do I pack? Tule is up now, so I ask her.
“Take President Snow’s gift,” she says, “and take any of the clothes you fancy from the draws.”
Clothing? There is no Capitol clothing that I really want to take home for myself, but maybe Silvia and my mother would care for some dresses. I choose a few items for each of them, and fold them carefully, setting them down on top of my axe’s case.
Tule has my victor’s crown. She is keeping it safe for me until we get back to Eight. What will I do with it? Surely I won’t wear it again. Most probably it will end up in a cupboard, gathering dust.
Around nine-thirty or ten, lights and microphones and cameras are set up in the living room. It is another half hour before Caesar comes.
“Are you ready, Eunia?” he asks me. “It’ll be fine. I’ll just ask you about home, mostly, okay?”
I nod, and offer him a small smile.
“Great.”
He then goes to get his make-up finished off; he only had one eyelid painted. I take a seat in my chair. What did President Snow tell me? To tell more jokes. Be more outgoing. Come out of my shell.
A few minutes before eleven o’clock exactly, the red ‘record’ buttons on the cameras light up, and the interview begins.
“Good morning, Eunia,” Caesars starts. “Did you enjoy last night’s Victory Banquet?”
“Definitely,” I say. “Though I’m not sure how good I looked in some of the photographs. It lasted such a long time!”
“I’m sure you looked fabulous,” he says. “How about your crowning? What was that like?”
“It was such an honour,” I say. “I could hardly believe it!”
The interview goes smoothly, smoothly. More information on my family, Silvia, and other friends is given. We talk about my talent for a couple of minutes. There are a fair amount of questions about the Games, too. On my strategy. On some of my most challenging moments in the arena. There are two or three more questions concerning Hadrian.
I am asked about my choice of weapon. How I liked the training centre. How would I play the Games if I had another chance?
Two hours pass, and finally, finally it is over. Caesar bids me farewell, and goes back to whatever it is he does when he isn’t involved in the Hunger Games.  
Velia, Tule and Wade will be accompanying me back to Eight. Marcille and my prep team bid me a teary goodbye.
“Oh, I’m going to miss you so much!” Marcille says, “I’ll see you on your Victory Tour! I’m already designing dresses. I have to keep them a secret, though!”
When the prep team have left, Tule tells me we’re running early; the car isn’t due until two. I go back to my room, and refold the clothes I am taking with me. I take my axe out of its case, run my fingers over the cool metal, then place it back in my case.
For a while, I perch on the end of my bed, listening to Tule and Wade. I can’t hear them very well. Individual words blur into a meaningless drone.
I grow impatient. Why can’t the car come earlier? I want to go home! It is so close now. I can imagine the sun on me, as I lie in my back garden – but no, I won’t live in that house anymore. My mother will, maybe. What are Delphi and Arius? Would they live with me? I don’t want to have a house in the victor’s village all to myself. It would be far too empty.
I can think of a couple of other people I’d like to share it with. Would Silvia come? When we were young, we pretended we were sisters. Pretended that when we were grown up, we’d live in a house together. Her actual house is small, and filled with her siblings. Two sisters, a couple of brothers. She’d love my new home, with no shortage of rooms.
I hear Tule’s footsteps down the hall, barely audible. The car must be here.
It is time to go back to Eight.