A Spark
A Spark
By: Emma Sinclaire & Line Svensson
“Sometimes we have to do what we don’t want to do.” That is what my mother would tell me when I objected to going to school as a kid. I wanted to stay at home or go to my mother’s job and do things than be there. But every time, without fail, when my mother said this phrase I promptly grabbed my bag and went to school. I knew the story behind her saying that. I’d only heard it once, in the midst of one of her few drunken moments, but that was enough.
We live in the country of Panem, in a place called the Capitol, which is the heart and soul of the country, or so I’ve been (I’d been) told. The districts surrounding the Capitol was there to bring nourishment to us. It is a place of beauty and luxury. Supposedly the greatest place on earth. But if it’s so great, how could the events in my mother’s life be possible? My mother didn’t have a lot of money growing up, and even less when she got into her adult life. Before she had gotten the job at “Intexui” she had struggled to get by, taking odd jobs here and there, just to make ends meet. But that’s when things changed for the worse.
42 ADD
She had walked up the entrance of a big mansion. There was a party going on inside and she was demanded to be there. As she knocked on the door the head of the house opened it.
“Ah, there you are. You must be the lovely lady my colleague was so kind as to send us”, he said while he had a malicious smile on his face. She could feel her pulse into her fingertips. She had been terrified to her very core, but what was she supposed to do? When they had seen you, they had seen you. When they wanted you, they wanted you. There was no going back, and she couldn’t afford to lose everything. She plastered on the bravest face she could, smiled slightly and walked through the front door. As she walked in, he put his arm around her waist, and he guided her around the house. As they walked into the backyard, she could see there was a small party gathered. Most of them were women, but they all had the same look on their face as she did.
“Look, fellas! Pontius sent us another gorgeous one!”, said the homeowner as he let go of her waist and made his way to the couch in the middle of the yard and picked up his purple-tinted drink. Everyone eyed her like she was a piece of meat that was up for sale.
“She truly is a beaut. What’s your name sweetheart?”, said one of the men as he poured himself another drink.
“Anya”, she replied.
“That is a beautiful name.”, said a voice behind her. The man came around so she could see him. He was a generically attractive man. Average height, olive skin, short clipped curly hair that had been dyed into a silver color and with silvery lips to match. He was wearing a neon green colored suit that had feathers around the sleeves. A very typical outfit for someone in the Capitol. When she looked into his eyes, she tried to look for some kind of warmth in them. There was none to be found. Her heart was beating faster now. She had never been this scared before. But she knew again that there was nothing to do. She had heard it wasn’t as bad if you didn’t resist it.
“Caiaphas! You’re here. Great now the party can really get started. We were just discussing this years Hunger Games. We think it’ll be a blast. Abimelech just told us that the arena this year will be in a woodland area, with all manner of poisonous animals,” a gentleman in a bright pink suit said. The man Abimelech turned his head towards them and smiled.
“You did hear that I’d been accepted as a part of the game maker group? We get all the details before it’s released to the public,” he said very proudly.
“I did hear. That is smashing! We expect to get a good show out of you then,” said Caiaphas. He took Anya by her arm and guided her to the yard, and there the gentlemen engaged in conversation until nightfall. The women, however, did their best at trying to fit in and being of service, but it was clear that they weren’t there for their conversational prowess.
The people eventually started trickling off from the conversation and Caiaphas put his hand on her leg.
“Let’s go,” he said with a very commanding and sharp voice. Then he stood up and grabbed her hand. As they walked off into the house and up the stairs Anya knew that her life would not be the same.
They had stripped her of her agency, and she had become just another part in their game. A game she couldn’t win. After a long and humiliating night, she took a car ride back home. Once she was in the car, she felt dirty and violated. She sobbed into the early hours of the morning. Never again, she thought. No matter what.
43 ADD
9 months later she was admitted into the hospital with intense pains coming from her abdomen. The time had come for her to deliver the baby. She had found out that she was pregnant just weeks after her horrid night in the mansion. She had, of course, tried to get in contact with him, as she liked to call him, her perpetrator, but she never saw or heard from him ever again. It was truly amazing what money could do. It could even make you invisible. I was born on January 8th and was taken home the day after to be raised by my mother alone.
49 ADD
My childhood passed me by without any event. I got up in the morning, ate, went with my mother to work and then home to eat and sleep. Same thing day in and day out. The thing that did change though was the love I had for my mother. It grew day by day as I saw her work her hardest, push herself to the limit with a constant smile on her bright face. The only time she broke from that smile was when someone asked about my father and in those lonely moments, she had by herself, in the late nights, sitting by the kitchen table with a glass of pungent spirits. When I turned six, I had worked up enough nerve to ask about my dad. She had turned around to me in the store and given me a defeated but stern look.
“Later,” she said. I had nodded and gotten back to drawing my undecipherable painting. In the evening, when we got home, she drank a whole bottle of a lemon-colored drink and sat in silence for about an hour before she started telling me the story. I could see how much every word hurt her, so I did my best to not ask more, and remember every word she said. When she finished, she grabbed another bottle, kissed me on my cheek and went to sit in the living room.
Life went on as normal after that, on the outside at least. There was, however, a battle that raged within me. Good versus evil. Right versus wrong. Things didn’t get any easier when I started school. I had always lived quite the secluded life with my mother. I never had many friends, and now I was being made to go and socialize with my peers. From day one I could tell they were very different from me. My general attitude was always a silent, cheery type. My classmates were, however, more, peculiar. They all had that strong Capitol accent which would just drive my mother up the wall sometimes. However, they made me curious. I wondered what their lives looked like. How did it differ from mine? What were their parents like? It would become more and more apparent over the years exactly how I was different, and nobody likes a person who breaks the status quo. But that’s the great thing. Sometimes we don’t just have to do things we don’t want to do, but we can actually do what we want. This thought would come to set deep roots within my heart and soul, and it would emerge years later.
50 ADD
I remember the first time I truly started to see the horrors the Capitol with my own eyes and understanding. Sometimes you see these events in hindsight and realize the horrors you witnessed or experienced. To me, that was the 50th Hunger Games. Double the tributes, double the celebration, and double the suffering.
Since there were twice as many participants, there was also twice the demand for the most extravagant garments for the celebrations. The fabrics store mother worked at, was, of course, booming in business due to this demand. During this time, my beautiful mother spent more time in the store, than she did at home. Her dark curly locks framed her almond-colored face, illuminating her bright hazel iris with specks of gold. She was a true beauty amongst the flamboyant fashions and unnatural colors of the Capitol.
Like the brat I was, I blamed my mother for not making enough time for me in her day. Little did I know that she was constantly berated by demanding customers and blamed for errors that were no fault of her own, for several hours on end in order to keep the roof over our heads and the food in our bellies. She would come home, exhausted and immediately fall into bed and sleep, on most days. Sometimes I would hear an odd noise coming from her bedroom during nights, but only as an adult did I understand them to be smothered sobbing.
My favourite tribute this year was a tribute who wore one of my favourite fabrics from the store. When he answered a question regarding the 100% increase in tributes. He said he didn’t see much difference this year, as they would also be 100% as stupid. Just hearing someone say stupid is funny enough to a kid I guess.
But I truly understood the sufferings once the 50th Hunger Games was finished. My mother cried for most of it. Especially when the girl died by the pink birds, and my favourite had to hold her as she died in his arms. I remember seeing many people happy or cheering, but I didn’t understand why. There was even more celebration when he won the entire event, after winning a gruesome fight that mother would barely let me watch. The sounds were enough to understand the violence they put each other through.
“Why is everyone happy, but not that guy?” I asked while pointing at the winner on the screen. Mother looked at me with mixed pride and sorrow, as she answers:
“Because being a winner, means someone else has to lose.” she points at the same guy. “But he didn’t want to be a winner, he just wanted to survive.” I still couldn’t quite get it.
“But what’s the difference?”
“A winner wants to see others fail, in order for themselves to succeed. But the survivor is someone who simply lived when others unfortunately died.” She gave me a weak smile with teary eyes as she said the last part.
Even the child me now understood that the Capitol wanted winners, but we were in fact just survivors, trying to live through a game they created.
I looked to the screen again, to see my once hero, being wounded, broken and empty.
56 ADD
I stepped into the store and was greeted by a forced smile. The smile falters and instead grows into heartfelt glee. Nobody embodies strength quite like my mother. Although tired from the daily labour at the store, she still finds happiness and energy in her heart to always make both of us happy and safe.
“You’re here early! Is school already over?” she asked.
“Yeah, they finished early since the celebrations start today.” hinting at the reaping that was going to air later that day.
“I see. Well, it is understandable. Many do create extravagant viewing parties, and that sure takes time.” she answers with a slightly displeased tone. “Some girls came in earlier today looking for fabrics for a last-second change of a dress. They looked at almost all the fabrics we had before choosing just another tint of the original color the dress had. But the smallest things matter of course!” she said the last part with clear sarcasm.
“So what’s the inspiration and trends this year?
“Seems to be a lot of dark green, brown and beige. Some even come looking for skins of lizards, frogs and crocodiles,” she answered a bit wearily.
I just sighed and marvelled at the ways Capitol would try to find any symbolism from the games and always taking the most basic ones.
I recently started to come to help mother at the store after school and the owner, Gaius. would even toss an extra coin our way for my effort. Most days I just helped to restock and putting the fabrics in proper order onto the shelves, as they tended to be moved around a lot when mother was busy. I found the work satisfactory and calming. Feeling the fabric between my fingers and seeing all possible colors through different materials. Sometimes I’d imagine them as gowns, shirts or other garments. I would sometimes even draw the ideas onto paper once I got home. I’m pretty sure that mother knew, but it didn’t seem to bother her.
Just as I was about to finish off my work, the doorbell of the backdoor rang.
“Coming!” mother yelled out. She opened the door to find a man holding a smaller package. Mother signed the waiver as she usually would and thanked the man.
“An odd time to make a delivery. They usually arrive much earlier,” she said once she had closed the door. We opened the package and saw a peculiar note saying “experimental material”. We both looked at each other, confused and curious. Mother pulled out a black polyester material that didn’t seem like it was any different to other black fabrics in the store. Right then the front doorbell rang, signalling customers. Mother shoved the box towards me and said:
“Could you put this on the desk in the office? I think the owner needs to look at this.” and left to care for the newly arrived customers.
I quietly walked into the office with the box and put it on the desk. When I did, I saw another note fall out of the box. I picked it up and glanced at it. This was a manual or explanation of the fabric and how to utilize it. Although seemingly uninteresting at first glance, the fabric was able to give off different illusions in different lights and angles. I touched the fabric again with awe and my imagination soared. The outfits and gowns this could create would be a sight to behold and a true spectacle. However; it would take someone with quite the personality to carry such a striking look.
“Cinna! Could you help for a second?” my mother called from the store. I touched the fabric one last time and went to help with whatever task I was called for.
61 ADD
I decided to teach myself more about how to design and create clothing. I would ask and learn some of it from customers in the store since many worked with design or made a living by sewing. I also learned some from books I could manage to borrow from time to time, but most of it was from practising on my own when the store was closed, on the sewing machine. I had asked to borrow it from the Gaius and the materials needed was either scrap from the store or paid by working.
“Come Cinna, it’s time to go home.” Mother ushered me away from the sewing station, ready to head home.
“Very well, but you know I’m old enough now to walk home on my own, right?” I answered slightly frustrated on having to finish early and leave my work unfinished for another day.
“Would it hurt to humor an old woman who wants to walk home with her son?” she answered with a cheeky grin. Although she looked somewhat worn after all the years of hard work, she was still a beauty with immense energy in my eyes.
“You’re no old woman yet. My eyes cannot be fooled.” I answered in an amused tone.
I packed the last bits and pieces into a designated box for my works and stood up to link arms with my dear mother.
“Shall we?” I asked as she nodded and we headed home. My mother gave me a prideful and pleasing smile that only a mother can give her child.
Once at home, I got to study for school, as well as research more work or techniques I could practice. Mother stood in the kitchen, making the usual late evening dinner for us both. I was fully immersed in learning the history of the Districts and their importance to the Capitol when I heard my mother yell in agony. Shocked and worried, I got to my feet and hurried into the kitchen, scared that she was hurt or injured.
“Mother! What happened?” She was crouching next to the stove, with a pan to her left side, cradling her left arm. Her heavy breathing and groans subsided slightly as she explained:
“I tipped the boiling water onto my arm. Stupid of me.” she cursed herself for the one small mistake she made. From what was not covered by her shirt, the elbow, most of the forearm and hand was covered in red blotches. Trying to hold back a shocked gasp, I decided that it was too serious to be left on its own.
“There’s nothing stupid about an accident. Come, let’s get you to a hospital quick. We need to get some medical attention before it gets worse.” I tried to gently lift my mother by the right arm to stand, but she pulled back her arm and almost hissed at me:
“You know we can’t afford that! It would be cheaper to cut off my arm!” she seemed instantly apologetic for her behaviour and continued to cradle her arm.
“Then let me at least get you into the shower so you can run cold water on your arm. That would hopefully do some difference.” I answered as I pleadingly looked at her. She meekly glanced back and silently nodded. I gently grabbed her right arm again and led her into the shower and ran some cold water. She sat down in the shower, audibly groaning as the water hit her injured arm.
“I will get you some painkillers. Hopefully, they will alleviate some of the pain.” with one last squeeze of her hand, I went to get her medicine. I heard her agonizing groans as she pulled off the first layer of the shirt she was wearing, so she could more properly cover the burn with cold water. Some screams slipped out and I hurried back with the medicine. Once I was back in the bathroom, she had gotten the shirt of the injured arm.
“Here, let me do the rest,” I said, kneeling in front of her and gently rolled the shirt off her. My mother was visibly exhausted from the pain as I brought the pills to her mouth. “Take them, you will need them.”
She sighed and swallowed the pills, although some defiance was still in her eyes.
I spent the night in her bedroom, looking after her while she slept and wetting the towel that covered her arm with cold water ever so often. She luckily stayed asleep. Must be the sleeping pill I gave her with the painkillers.
“...inna”
I must have fallen asleep at some point during the night, as I woke up so a soft whisper of my name. I stretched out my slumped back on the chair and slowly opened my eyes to the rays of lights that penetrated the curtains.
“Cinna..” mother called out in a weak voice. I looked at her and saw sweat pearling on her pale face and a weak right arm stretching out to me. I bolted out of the chair to hold her hand.
“Mother, how are you feeling?” I asked worried, although I could clearly tell this wasn’t good.
“I’m ok, just help me to the bathroom.” It took all she had to just say those words. I gently took he by the right arm, trying to not look at her swollen left arm. She grimaced and groaned as she got to her feet. We slowly made our way to the bathroom and I sat her on the porcelain seat.
“Just tell me when you’re done, and I’ll pick you up.” I closed the door and headed to the kitchen to arrange some more painkillers and food. After a while, she called out and I tried as gently as possible to get her back to the bed. When the discomfort and pain had subsided a bit, she asked:
“Could you cover for me at the store today? You know no one else will be able to.” we were lucky that the school was off for the weekend.
“Of course, but you should really get yourself checked at a hospital first,” I said, worried and hoping she would see reason this time. She did not.
“It’ll be fine with some more rest and water. Just go work and I’ll surely be fine by the evening.” she smiled to try and gloss over the alarming symptoms she showed.
“Ok, but if you don’t feel better by the time I’m back, I’m taking you to the nearest hospital.” I tried to say it in a commanding tone, as to make her understand that I was serious.
“It seems that I’ve gotten old enough to have my own boy worry about me,” she said while stroking my cheek. I kept a steady gaze as I grasped that hand.
“I mean it,” I answered. She fell silent, and her smile wavered. “I’ll drag you there if I have to.” I continued. She nodded and gave a weak:
“OK.”
I was off to the store, after preparing more medicine, water and a new cold towel on her arm. I arrived minutes before the store would open and explained the situation to Gaius. Although slightly dissatisfied with not having his favourite employee at work that day, they understood and agreed I should fill in her role for the day.
The day passed, and except for a few hiccups with my service manners, I would say it went fine. But I hastened home to check on mother’s condition.
“Mother! I’m home! How are you feeling?” I called out once I opened the door to the hallway. No reply. I quickly went into her bedroom to find her, still in bed, but the bed was now soaked in her sweat and water from the towel. She looked fatigued and worse than this morning.
“Cinna, I’m so sorry,” she muttered through her fever dream. I knelt down by her side and held my hand against her forehead. It was sweltering. I knew that she could not stay like this.
I barely got her on her feet and prepared to take her to the closest hospital. I took her uninjured arm over my neck to drag her there. Luckily enough, the closest one was only a block away, so after an unstable walk, we arrived. The nurses took one look at my mother and quickly got to work by pulling out a wheelchair and promptly putting her in it. Dazed and confused, mother called out to me.
“Cinna! Cinna, where are you?” Put myself in her range of view and answered:
“It’s OK mother. The doctors will take care of you now.” I answered to assure her. She sloppily grabbed my hand in desperation and replied:
“But the fees! We can’t afford this!” I looked into her eyes and stroked her cheek.
“I’ll figure something out. You should just focus on getting better now.” was the last I could reply before the nurses urgently rolled her off into a restricted area.
“Are you the relative of Anya?” someone asked behind me. What looked to be a doctor approached me in the waiting room with a medical report in his hand.
“Yes! I’m her son, Cinna.”
“Well, we have finished our emergency treatment and examination.” The doctors face hinted that the rest would not be good news. “But we have deduced that your mother has Toxic Shock Syndrome from an infection started from the burn on her left arm. The toxins from the bacteria are what’s causing her illness. Her situation is in dire need of more treatment” I looked into the doctors face in horror.
“Can you treat it? Will she be OK?” Because that was my only concern at this point.
“Yes, but the treatment of both her arm and the TSS will be quite costly and she would also have to be administered to the hospital for a couple of weeks during the treatment.” He then gave me a sheet estimating the cost for said treatment. The doctor made an educated guess that we could not afford such a fee, which is correct.
“I know we lack the proper funding, but could you start the treatment now and we could pay it off at a later date?” I tried to find any way to make it work and was as close as I could be to bargaining.
“That is unfortunately not a service we provide. We can at most hold her until tomorrow evening while trying to keep her condition stable. But I’m afraid we can’t do any more after that point.” The look in his eyes made it seem like I was the unreasonable one and a nuisance. I then felt my shaking hands that I had unconsciously formed into a fist.
“Please…” My voice cracked as I pleaded and held back my tears.”Please just hold her until tomorrow. I will find a way.” Although no idea of how. The doctor nodded.
“Very well, please be back by 10 pm.” The doctor almost sneered at me.
Well at home again, I panicked. I let out the sobs I withheld earlier and my mind spun around on what I should do. I could call Gaius for an early payment or a loan, but that would probably still not be enough. I know there are some people looking for extra organs on the black market, but that would not make me able to reach her in time. Yes, time was of the essence here. I could not lose the once person I held dear in this wretched city. Should I sell myself of for servitude, like my mother had been forced to? And then it hit me. Caiaphas.
After a sleepless night, I put my plan into action. In order to save the one I loved the most, I had to face the one I loathed even more. My own father. I stood at the gated entrance and my finger hovered over the call button. I had dressed in the finest suit I had sewn for myself, but that was still not much in comparison to the servants clothing. My red eyes and swollen face probably did not help either. I pressed the button and waited.
“Caiaphas manor. What business do you have here?” The impatient lady answered at the other end. I suspected it was a secretary who could see me from some camera by her tone.
“I am Cinna.” I paused and hoped she would know by my name alone. She did not. “I am Caiaphas’ son.” The other end went silent for a moment as if she was doubting it.
“Please hold” she answered with a sigh that got cut of. I now felt my palms sweating and the nerves kicking in. As I was lost in thought, the gate suddenly opened.
“Please enter” sounded from the speaker.
I took slow and careful steps up the stairs leading to the big mansion. The wide doors swung open as I saw a man spread his arms out to welcome me.
“Cinnaaa! What a joyous occasion,” he exclaimed. I had mastered the ability to tell when a smile meant something else, and by his, I could tell this was not joyous at all. “What brings you all this way?” I was at first surprised by the fact he remembers my existence or that he wanted to greet me at all.
“Hi.” I gave out weakly. “I was hoping that we could talk,” I stated as I nervously glanced around at all of the staff. “Alone?” He did not look pleased nor surprised.
“I suspected as much.” He kept trying to hold his facade but seemed to be slipping now. I silently followed him back through the garden to a bench halfway down the driveway.
“Please, have a seat.” I sat down on the far end of the bench as he sat down at the other. “So what business did you have today, Cinna?” He spitefully said my name.
“I came today to ask for a loan.” I thought cutting to the chase would be easier since time was of the essence and he did not enjoy my presence, to begin with. “I fully intend to pay it back in time, but I would need to leave with the specified amount by the end of our meeting.” I gave him a note with the estimated cost from the hospital. He took it into his hand and glanced at the amount. He lifted one eyebrow and snickered.
“What? Anya can’t pay for college?” he humorously replied. “You probably won’t need the education anyway. You’ll just stay in that shithole with her.” He waved his hand at the thought.
“I need it for mothers treatment,” I answered blankly, trying to ignore the seething rage building in me. He got quiet then and his smile dissipated.
“Treatment? What treatment?” He looked at the note in disgust now. He still did not understand the seriousness of the situation.
“She has had a serious burn which led to Toxic Shock Syndrome.” I steadied my gaze into his eyes. “This is the only thing I will ask of you as a son. You will never have to see me after this unless it’s for the payments.” He looked slightly shocked and froze for a while. But then burst into laughter, which shocked and enraged me. He replied:
“You really think I care about you or your whore mother?” he answered with a mocking tone. “If I wanted you in my life, you would be. But I don’t, so leave and stop wasting my time. What a waste of space.” He continued to mock and laugh as he stood up and started walking away. I slammed my hidden fist onto the table and got to my feet with tears in my eyes and rage in my heart.
“She’s dying and that’s all you have to say?!” I furiously spit out. He turned around, still looking somewhat amused but at least he contained his laughter now. “We might be a waste of space, but at least we’re not the shitstain of humanity.” That removed his stupid grin.
Two guards escorted me to the gates and shoved me through the exit. One guard yelled after me:
“For your own good kid: don’t come back.”
I made my way home, but without a single hope or possibility left, I was in tears. Although many whispered and avoided me on the streets, I couldn't care less. The tears trickled down my face and dampened my handmade suit.
The walk back took quite some time, and by the time I got home, it was 7 PM. Only three hours left. I was now filled with rage. I took out my anger on my environment. The clothes I ripped apart, the furniture I toppled and rendered some of them unusable. I felt my hands beat along to my heart, from punching the furniture and floor, in anger. I gasped for air as I regained my senses and sadness. I had failed her. I promised her I could find a way. But there is none. Not for a waste of space. But the ringing of the phone abrupted my breakdown.
A block later and I was outside the dreaded place. As I entered, one of the previous nurses led me into a nearby room where several nurses and doctors ran in and out. Upon entering, I saw my now husk of a mother on the bed and felt like collapsing then and there. But before I could, the doctor I had previously talked to approached me once more.
“Can you go through with the treatment?” He urgently asked. I bit my lower lip and shook my head. He looked solemn for one moment, but then stated. “Then there is nothing we can do. She has deteriorated quickly and will unfortunately not be with us for much longer at this pace.” He then waved for the staff to exit the room. “We will leave you two alone.” Door closed.
I sat down on the chair next to her bed and collapsed my body onto her bed. I could once more not withhold my cries and sobbed like the child I was. Suddenly I felt a soft hand on my head.
“Cinna, my sweet boy,” she whispered with a smile that contained the beautiful strength I knew her for. “I am so proud of you.” I looked up with tears in my eyes as I replied:
“No mother, I failed you! I tried to convince Caiaphas to lend me money for the treatment, but he simply laughed in my face! I couldn’t even make him see reason!” she saw my distraught face and teary eyes. She put my hands in hers and smiled again.
“What matters is that you had the strength to try and fight and that you also still made your way back to me.” she squeezed my hand with the little effort she had left. “I needed nothing more from this earth than you by my side..” she now let a tear from her eye, to match mine. “Just remember that I always have and always will love you, my boy. You made this life worth living, not just surviving.” she slowly uttered those last words, as she fell into a calm sleep. I stroked her beautiful locks away from her face, as I kissed her forehead.
“As do I love you, mother.”
I collapsed back onto the bed in tears, when I shortly after heard her last breath.
63 ADD
Days turn to weeks, months and eventually years. The memory of my mother’s final moments haunted me almost daily. The initial rage after my mother’s death had brought me to the point of an insane hunger for my dad’s death. Why did he deserve to live when she, who is so good had to die? But eventually, the pain and anger faded. There wasn’t anything that I could do. I was again reminded of my mother’s classic phrase. And it wasn’t fair to her, so I focused less on the negative moments and more about the positive ones. The way she would brush her hair behind her ear when she felt accomplished, the way she would admire a beautiful fabric, the golden specks in her eyes that would shine in the light or just how she radiated so much warmth.
I kept working in Intexui after she passed away because I didn’t really know where to go. It was a good enough job, that paid the bills and kept me out of trouble. I also got to keep working with fashion and clothes. I still spent all my spare time practising, observing and taking notes on what I could.
One day I was sitting at the front desk sketching away. This new fabric had come in that I had experimented with a little bit. It was aqua colored, and I was trying to find other fabrics to combined with it to create the illusion of waves. I was drawing up a way of sewing the shirt together when the door to the store opened. I looked up and there was a slightly older woman standing in front of me. I recognized her from the Hunger Games. She was one of the designers for District 2. Her face was striped yellow, orange and black with whiskers coming out the sides of her cheeks. Her hair had tight curls that were pulled back into a ponytail at the back of her head, giving the silhouette of a feline.
“Hello, I am Tigris. I am looking for Gaius?” she said. Just then he popped his head out of his workroom.
“Oh, let her in Cinna! Tigris, darling!” he said as he moved towards her. She walked around the desk and towards Gaius and they exchanged air kisses. He pulled her in with him and the door shut. The door opened again and a company of 3 walked in, two women and a young girl.
“Did you see the latest from Juan? Apparently, leather is the new sequins. Absolutely inspired.”
“Oh, tell me about it. Our cook kept getting sequins in our food, so I had to fire her! Leather should be a bit harder to mix into the veal lasagna.”
“I don’t know though, these avoxes can be quite stupid, I must say. Did you hear about…” They continued chattering on as they looked around the shop. Finally, they came up to me.
“How much is this?” they asked as they showed me some fine black leather.
“That would be 50 dollars a yard madam,” I answered.
“Wow, well then we can’t have that. Do you have something in a higher price range? You know more, exclusive?” she said and winked at me. I moved into the store and started going through and showing them all the different kinds of leather we had. After settling on the one that was 120 dollars a yard we moved back to the front desk. There was Tigris looking at my sketchbook. I rushed over, closed it and put it to the side.
“Sorry,” I said. Tigris moved to the side and let me pass. As a measured up the fabric and charge the woman for it, I could feel her gaze. As the woman left the store, she came up to me.
“What kind of fabric are you thinking for your design?” she asked. I little bit surprised I pulled out the aqua colored chiffon out from the counter. She looked at it and then said:
“Chiffon is a hard fabric to work with. First of all, if you want the effect of more movement, I would suggest having a white base, something sturdier like cotton.” She moved in closer and grabbed my sketchbook. “May I?” she said. I nodded. “You’re thinking a little too narrow. Instead of sowing things so much into place consider doing more layers with different lengths of fabric under one overlapping piece of fabric.” She turned to a new page and drew a slightly different version of my dress. She then put the pen down, grabbed a pair of scissors and went into the store. She came back with four different colored fabrics that all complimented each other. She put them all in the book and stamped them into place.
“Thank you,” I said. Right then Gaius came out of his workroom.
“Cinna, Tigris and I are going out to dinner. Lock up the store at closing time.” And then the walked away, not looking back. When they had gone, I opened up my book again and looked at what she had drawn. I got a new page and redrew the dress, adding the ideas she had suggested. That way would provide less room for mistakes with the sewing and would perhaps create a better illusion. The following days I worked on the dress for the next few days and made adjustments until I had achieved the perfect result.
This happened several times in the months and years that followed. Ever so often Tigris would come into the store to see Gaius and at the same time, she would offer me bits of knowledge that helped my technique and look at my end results. She convinced me to sell the clothes I make to her grandmother, who owns a clothing store. Eventually, she stopped coming by. I didn’t know why, and I never would. One day, however, as I was working one of my all-night-open shifts I had an older gentleman come in with a woman looking for me.
“I was at this dinner with my father’s colleagues, when I saw the most divine dress on one of the past victors. And I said to my papa that I simply must have it. And so, we asked her where she got it and she shared that she had gotten it from this little shop just two blocks from here! We hunted the place down and they told us that the designer worked here. And here we are!” The woman beamed at me and the elderly gentleman reached out his hand.
“So, what do you say boy? Care to help us out?” I took his hand.
“Of course. What will it be?”
After that, I had people coming in from time to time. Not a lot of people wanted to share where they got their one of a kind outfit, in fear of someone copying them, but ever so often I would get new customers come in and request their various different clothing ideas and I got to put all my knowledge into practice. I felt myself discovering more and more who I was as I drowned myself in work. I found my peaceful mind space. I still remember one morning when I got into work and I had three orders to finish by the end of the day, I saw a golden pen on the floor of the store. I picked it up and looked at it. It reminded me of the golden specks in my mother’s eyes. Oh, how I wished that I could see her again, just to talk to her one more time and to hear her say she’s proud of me. I wanted to look into her eyes again and find the reassurance that together we could do anything. I walked towards a mirror took of the lid of the pen and drew a straight line across my lash line on both eyes. I backed up and looked at myself in the mirror. Dark hair, black pants, black shirt and the gold eyeliner. It was a good look.
74 ADD
I was finishing up the last piece of hemming on the late-night order I had received the night before when the doorbell rang. I placed the last pin in the neckline and put the dress down. When I walked out into the store there was a woman standing looking at the newly arrived fabrics.
“Welcome to Intexui, can I assist you in any way today madam?”
The woman turned around and smiled. She couldn’t be more than a couple of years older than me. She had a light purple wig on that was cut to a short bob with a fringe on the front. Darker skin, almost like mine, a dark silvery jumpsuit with boots to match. A very nice-looking outfit.
“Thank you and not madam, it’s Portia,” she said and reached out her hand.
“Cinna.” I grabbed her hand and shook it. She turned around, doing a fast glance at the store.
“I am looking for an organza fabric, I’m thinking maybe green or turquoise. Do you happen to have anything of that category?”
“We do, as a matter of fact, I have some on hand if you’ll just hold on for a moment.” I went back to the back and got a few samples for her and brought them out. She grabbed them and started scanning them, pulling them a bit and holding them up to the light.
“I am not sure which one I like better. It’s hard to tell what this light green one would look like with layers towards the light. How’s it sewing with it?”
“Let me grab a sample from the back,” I said and then went into my workroom and grabbed the dress that I had been working on. I brought back and laid it in front of her. Her eyes widened a little bit and she picked it up gently. She spent a good minute just looking at the dress. She looked up at me and said:
“Who made this?”
“That would be me,” I answered. Her smile widened.
“Well, it’s beautiful. It’s really a fine piece. Where did you study?”
“Oh, I learned most of it from the store, some books, and by practice. You meet a lot of people in these kinds of places who are eager to share their wisdom and knowledge,” I said waving my hand around the room. I couldn’t help myself from thinking of Tigris.
“That very well maybe, but Cinna, raw talent isn’t something you pass down. It’s something you’re born with.” She put the dress gently back on the countertop. She then picked up the bright turquoise fabric and handed it to me.
“Can I have 10 yards of this please?” I took it out of her hand and started measuring the fabric. This gave me some time to just let the compliment sink in. I felt like I had gotten loads of praise over the year but for some reason, this situation really stood out. And then I realized that it carried the same kind of spirit as something that my mother would have said. I am what I make myself. I folded the fabric up nicely and placed it in a bag and handed it over to Portia. She took it and started to walk away. She then came back up to me.
“So, I just got hired for the hunger games as a stylist. I still have the guy’s number if you are interested.”
“I don’t know. That whole spectacle isn’t really my scene,” I answered. She opened up her bag and pulled out a card and handed it to me.
“Well, here is his number in case you change your mind. Could be your opportunity to make a mark.” She then turned around and walked out of the door.
After I finished work, I walked home in deep thought as I held the card in my jacket pocket. If there was anything in this world that was against everything I believed in, it was the Hunger Games. But it was those last words that Portia uttered that made me think. As I walked through the door, headed to the living room and turned on the TV. I took the remote control and flicked through different TV shows until I landed on last years broadcast of the Hunger Games. I hadn’t watched it of course, not after the 50th. But I wanted to see something with my own eyes. I started going through the reaping segments. When I got to district 12, I observed what was happening. As they called out the name of the scrawny girl, I could see the fear in her eyes as she moved towards the stage. I saw the same kind of fear in the lanky boy. As the reaping was over, I observed as the peacekeepers took these two children by the arm and guided them into the building behind them. Words from my mother’s story of her night at the mansion popped out in my mind. Being overcome by fear, not having a choice and my dad grabbing her arm pulling her towards the moment that would change her life forever. All survivors. I turned off the TV and walked up to the phone and dialled the number on the card.
The following day I took the train into the Gold Circle, the centre of the Capitol to meet up with Seneca Crane. I had brought all of my sketches and some of my finished products that were yet to be picked up at the store. As I walked into the building the word luxury came into mind. Huge marble walls stretching up for hundreds of meters. I walked up the front desk and gave my name and was directed to the 15th floor. As I was moving up the elevator, I was running through what I was going to say in the meeting. When I arrived, I was directed into what seemed like an office. Sitting behind a big white desk sat a man with a beard that had a very intricate pattern. He was wearing a bright red suit and was preoccupied with writing on a piece of paper.
“Come in and have a seat,” he said without looking away from what he was doing. As I sat down, he collected everything on his desk into a pile and put it to the side. “I’m Seneca. I believe that you brought your portfolio?” he said and reached out his hand. I opened up my bag and pulled out a book, to put in his hand, and then spread everything else out on the table. Seneca spent about 15 minutes in silence looking through my sketchbook and picking up the different pieces of clothing. Finally, he closed the book and put everything down on the table.
“You obviously have talent, and I can see here that you have worked with some good people. We like that. Tell me, why do you want this job?” I thought about it for a second. I had to really think about how I could phrase my answer.
“I feel like I have more to offer. And I would like the chance to prove that, to show people what I can do with the simplest of things,” I answer him. Seneca looks at me closely and leans back in his chair.
“I agree with you. However, you are a newcomer, so we don’t have much to offer in terms of the districts.”
“Okay, well, if you’ll permit me, I’d like request district 12.” He smiled and stood up.
“Request granted. Welcome to the Hunger Games Cinna.” he replied as he shook my hand.
It had been two months since I had gotten the job to work in the Hunger Games. Shortly after the interview, I got to meet my fellow stylist, which just so happened to be Portia. We got started right away on brainstorming different ideas for the opening ceremony outfit, just so that we would be prepared. On the day of the reaping Portia and I came together to watch together at the tributes we would be designing for. One by one we watched the tributes for the different districts being selected. I couldn’t help but notice how cold some of them looked. Like they had lost their souls. My heart broke when I witnessed a young twelve-year-old girl get reaped from district 11. However, the real showstopper of the entire reaping was district 12. I watched as Effie Trinket took to the stage and pulled the name for the girl. This year it seemed to be another small twelve-year-old girl. I started taking notes on her, but then suddenly there was a scream from the crowd. A slightly older girl had thrown herself in front of the first girl and screamed that she was volunteering. The little girl was lifted away by another boy as this girl took to the stage. It was shared that she was the older sister. Following this, there was an odd cut in the footage and it jumped straight to the reaping of the boy. A blond-haired, strong built boy walked up on the stage. Finally, they shook hands before they were taken into the building behind them. As the screening finished, I couldn’t stop thinking about the girl. A scrawny, brown-haired girl that had not volunteered for the sake of glory, but to save her sister. I wrote down: Tell prep team to leave her hair as is. I looked up at the screen again and rewound back to the moment she threw herself in front of her sister. The honest terror in her eyes, but also the heat. It was unlike anything I had ever seen before. This girl, I thought, she’s got fire.
