-- running now with the raging bulls
location parade route self para
Oxford still felt as if he was in a fog. Only moments ago, it seemed, he was hugging his family and feeling their tears on his chest. His own tears hadn’t even had time or space to materialize. It had been a blur from Capitol building to train, where he barely remembered any of his conversation with Luna. His eyes had formed an impermeable mist, and everything looked like it was blurred by a soft film. Mostly what he could hear was Ophelia Reed calling out, “Oxford d’Witt,” which played on repeat under anything else anyone had to say.
Surely hours or even days had passed, but it seemed like mere moments to Ox. His stylist had preened and fawned over him. The entire world seemed to rediscover that yes, he was tall. Yes, he was thin. Yes, things must be difficult back in District Nine. The whole time, though, he felt the condescension from those around him - he felt them discounting him and betting against him under his breath. And perhaps they were right. Perhaps they were. Perhaps they just were right.
Everyone would have to wait and see.
The stylist outfitted Ox in an ostentatious suit of armor woven from wheat that left his arms exposed. It was itchy, stiff, and terribly uncomfortable - made only worse by the garish headpiece the stylist had constructed. It almost immediately put a crick in his neck from the imbalance, and nearly all of his effort had to go into preventing his neck from snapping from the weight.
Between the ridiculous outfit, the growing pain in his neck, and the intimidation from the other Tributes, Ox had nothing else to do than white-knuckle grip the handlebar of his chariot. He could not wave, could not look side to side, and could certainly not smile. He stood tall and rigid, the bright lights and roaring crowd throbbing dully into his senses. For once, he was thankful for the mist in his eyes and the repetitive name in his ear. It was almost calming. Almost.
Oxford survived the parade by focusing on his breathing. He felt the roar of the crowd, the grandeur of the Capitol, and the eyes of the nation all trying to pry into his brain, but he knew he couldn’t allow them in. He couldn’t. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out, one moment to think how damn hard it is to breathe in this stupid outfit, breathe in, breathe out.
Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.