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Somehow, despite my outburst, the interviews managed to continue. I had to give some credit to Festus; that man knew how to keep a show rolling. I wasn't sure whether it was because of natural charisma or just the oblivious nature of the Capitol. Whatever it was, he managed to finish each of the interviews, speaking to Helena last. I noticed that, tactfully, none of the contestants had given away any major information, nothing that could expose a weakness. Surviving was going to be harder than I though, not that I had ever thought it would be easy. As soon as Festus gave us the cue, we all stood, flashing smiles and waves at the crowd as we walked off. Back behind the curtain, where we had begun. Except when we arrived there, it wasn't empty.
Two men in familiar white outfits stood there, missing their usual weaponry but still fairly intimidating. They were here for me, obviously. I wasn't proven wrong, either - as soon as we were all well and truly behind the curtain, they seized my arms tightly, pulling me toward them. "I'm afraid we're going to have to take Mister Everdeen for a while," They informed the other tributes, who had everything from gaping jaws to rolling eyes. "Government's orders. Thank you, and have a nice day," They finished, voices reminding me of robots. Brain-washed, I sourly thought, almost tripping on my own feet as they began to drag me toward the exit door. I passed Phoenix on the way who, to my surprise, winked at me and mouthed, "Good luck." Again, I found myself wondering about just how much that girl knew. Sure, she appeared innocent, but that could all just be an act to trick the other tributes. After all, she was the only person I had met so far who had made the connection with my first name.
I let myself be dragged along behind the safetyguards, not bothering to argue or resist. It was futile; they weren't going to let me go, even if it meant knocking me unconscious. If they couldn't do that, Primrose would find someone who could. My mind wandered, the shadowy halls swallowing us up. I wondered what Primrose was going to do, how she was going to cover this one up. I was fairly certain it had been live, broadcasting to every District plus the Capitol. Or maybe she wouldn't cover it up. Maybe she would admit to it, admit to throwing her own younger brother into the Hunger Games. I doubted anything would happen to her either way - the Capitol was so convinced of her good, so wrapped around her finger, she could throw them into a Panem-wide war and they would still adore her.
Feeling myself being pushed forward, I found myself thrown into a large, cool warehouse-like room. I recognized it as the room we had arrived in after the parade - except it had felt much smaller then, due to the horses and the tributes. This time, however, the only items in the room were two chairs and a table. I glanced behind me, expecting to see the safetyguards standing there, but instead I was met with the slamming of the door. I was on my own. They must trust whoever they had left to deal with me. Either that, or Primrose underestimated me a whole lot.
Walking over to one of the chairs, I sat down. That was what I presumed they wanted me to do, at least. Placing my head in my hands, I tried to think through what I was doing. What would I say to them? Who was going to speak to me? Were they going to ask me questions, or just beat the answers out of me? Do they even want answers? All these questions ran through my mind. I didn't know the answer to any of them; my dearest sister was so unpredictable it was almost predictable. Would she let them hurt me, leaving me at a disadvantage for the Games? Or did she take pleasure in seeing me fight it out, seeing me realize just how pathetic I was compared to the others?
There was the click of a door behind me and I looked up, seeing two guards walk in. These two were different from the others, though. They seemed more official, higher-ranked. I noticed a small, arrow-like badge on their left sleeve, and figured I was right. They strode up to me, halting about a step away. Had I been able to see emotion in their eyes, I could have sworn they were looking down on me with something similar to contempt. "We're here on the orders of Miss Primrose Mellark," One of them, the taller one, said, "Are you carrying any weapons?"
"Yes. Because everyone takes a gun to an interview," I replied sarcastically, not moving.
"Don't get snappy with us, Mister Everdeen," The smaller one warned, but I just arched an eyebrow at him.
"It's better than what your colleagues in District Twelve do." Saying that? Not my best idea. I was rewarded with a punch to the face, sending my head snapping to the side. Grunting with pain, I raised a hand to my cheek, touching my cheekbone, where his hit had been focused. When I drew my hand away, there was blood on the tips of my fingers. Nyxie wouldn't be the only tribute going into the Games with an injury, it seemed.
"We warned you," said the large one, the one who had hit me. I glared at them, but they didn't seemed to notice; they just turned around and left, the same way they had entered. Silently. Resting back in my chair, I closed my eyes and tried to ignore the throbbing in my cheek. I needed to think, to get my head straight. There didn't seem to be any chance of that happening soon. For all I knew, another two guards could be on their way. As I thought this, the sound of footsteps reached my ears. Eyes flickering open, I watched the door as the steps stopped and the handle began to turn. It was only one person this time, I could tell. They were lighter than the other guards, too.
The handle stopped turning, the door opening smoothly, and standing there, barely over the threshold, was someone I hadn't seen for a long time, and hadn't wanted to see ever again.
Primrose Rue Mellark. My sister.
Two men in familiar white outfits stood there, missing their usual weaponry but still fairly intimidating. They were here for me, obviously. I wasn't proven wrong, either - as soon as we were all well and truly behind the curtain, they seized my arms tightly, pulling me toward them. "I'm afraid we're going to have to take Mister Everdeen for a while," They informed the other tributes, who had everything from gaping jaws to rolling eyes. "Government's orders. Thank you, and have a nice day," They finished, voices reminding me of robots. Brain-washed, I sourly thought, almost tripping on my own feet as they began to drag me toward the exit door. I passed Phoenix on the way who, to my surprise, winked at me and mouthed, "Good luck." Again, I found myself wondering about just how much that girl knew. Sure, she appeared innocent, but that could all just be an act to trick the other tributes. After all, she was the only person I had met so far who had made the connection with my first name.
I let myself be dragged along behind the safetyguards, not bothering to argue or resist. It was futile; they weren't going to let me go, even if it meant knocking me unconscious. If they couldn't do that, Primrose would find someone who could. My mind wandered, the shadowy halls swallowing us up. I wondered what Primrose was going to do, how she was going to cover this one up. I was fairly certain it had been live, broadcasting to every District plus the Capitol. Or maybe she wouldn't cover it up. Maybe she would admit to it, admit to throwing her own younger brother into the Hunger Games. I doubted anything would happen to her either way - the Capitol was so convinced of her good, so wrapped around her finger, she could throw them into a Panem-wide war and they would still adore her.
Feeling myself being pushed forward, I found myself thrown into a large, cool warehouse-like room. I recognized it as the room we had arrived in after the parade - except it had felt much smaller then, due to the horses and the tributes. This time, however, the only items in the room were two chairs and a table. I glanced behind me, expecting to see the safetyguards standing there, but instead I was met with the slamming of the door. I was on my own. They must trust whoever they had left to deal with me. Either that, or Primrose underestimated me a whole lot.
Walking over to one of the chairs, I sat down. That was what I presumed they wanted me to do, at least. Placing my head in my hands, I tried to think through what I was doing. What would I say to them? Who was going to speak to me? Were they going to ask me questions, or just beat the answers out of me? Do they even want answers? All these questions ran through my mind. I didn't know the answer to any of them; my dearest sister was so unpredictable it was almost predictable. Would she let them hurt me, leaving me at a disadvantage for the Games? Or did she take pleasure in seeing me fight it out, seeing me realize just how pathetic I was compared to the others?
There was the click of a door behind me and I looked up, seeing two guards walk in. These two were different from the others, though. They seemed more official, higher-ranked. I noticed a small, arrow-like badge on their left sleeve, and figured I was right. They strode up to me, halting about a step away. Had I been able to see emotion in their eyes, I could have sworn they were looking down on me with something similar to contempt. "We're here on the orders of Miss Primrose Mellark," One of them, the taller one, said, "Are you carrying any weapons?"
"Yes. Because everyone takes a gun to an interview," I replied sarcastically, not moving.
"Don't get snappy with us, Mister Everdeen," The smaller one warned, but I just arched an eyebrow at him.
"It's better than what your colleagues in District Twelve do." Saying that? Not my best idea. I was rewarded with a punch to the face, sending my head snapping to the side. Grunting with pain, I raised a hand to my cheek, touching my cheekbone, where his hit had been focused. When I drew my hand away, there was blood on the tips of my fingers. Nyxie wouldn't be the only tribute going into the Games with an injury, it seemed.
"We warned you," said the large one, the one who had hit me. I glared at them, but they didn't seemed to notice; they just turned around and left, the same way they had entered. Silently. Resting back in my chair, I closed my eyes and tried to ignore the throbbing in my cheek. I needed to think, to get my head straight. There didn't seem to be any chance of that happening soon. For all I knew, another two guards could be on their way. As I thought this, the sound of footsteps reached my ears. Eyes flickering open, I watched the door as the steps stopped and the handle began to turn. It was only one person this time, I could tell. They were lighter than the other guards, too.
The handle stopped turning, the door opening smoothly, and standing there, barely over the threshold, was someone I hadn't seen for a long time, and hadn't wanted to see ever again.
Primrose Rue Mellark. My sister.
Literature
Pansexuality
"Pansexuals are bisexuals
who are just fancy snobs
in need for a 'cooler' word
to fancily name their flaws"
I've heard this said so many times
and yet believe it be untrue
it's scared people telling lies
people scared of something new
First of all I'd like to say
sexuality isn't wrong
there is no need to point it out
and call it a flaw
It's a normal part of us
how nature let's us come
there's homosexuality in all living species
and homophobia in one
Now for there difference
of pansexual and bi
Bisexuals usually have tendencies
Pans give everyone a try
We don't care
if you're from here or there
don't mind the colour of your hair
or the ki
Literature
Tight jeans and Theatrical boys
I pull up in his dad's driveway
and the boy sitting on the stoop looks like
Saint Exupery's treasured little prince.
When he climbs inside my used Sentra,
I tell him about this quirky realization.
"You're both so cute and opinionated."
He grins and replies that it's his favorite book
to read when life is particularly rough.
Cappuccino sips and playful shoves
convert the evening into something
brilliantly unstable and devastatingly 'teenager'.
I want to kiss him violently, so we can stop this
annoying game of cat and mouse.
But instead, we discuss music
and other topics that make me feel childish.
He asks where I would go if I could
telep
Literature
Right Hand, Left Hand
I wish
being a lesbian were like
being left-handed.
Whenever someone notices
you writing a cheque
or doodling
or opening a door
And they exclaim:
"You're left-handed?"
I wish it were as simple as that.
When it's funny
and I laugh, panicking.
Such stuff punchlines are made on,
that such a casual,
integral,
part of myself
has the spotlight shone on it,
And revealed (they think)
their own ignorance,
(How wonderful it is to enlighten someone
by being.)
And yet I never hear the questions
that logically spring to mind:
"Won't you have trouble with the gearshift
on a car?"
"How do you use scissors?"
"Can you even write
wi
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