I woke up but didn't want to open my eyes. I tried to cling to the last wisps of my dream, but like smoke through my fingers they slipped away. Still I lay motionless with my eyes shut, trying to recall every detail of the face in my dreams, the olive skin, the sun-lightened hair, the stunning olive green eyes; I remembered how it looked down to the light sprinkling of freckles across his nose.There was something else, too. Some detail about him that was simply so unreal and so magical it couldn't possibly exist in anywhere but my dreams. Though I couldn't quite picture what it was. I crinkled my nose in concentration as I tried to remember more, but the details were fading fast. I sighed. It was useless to try any longer.
I opened my eyes and stared back at the white ceiling that poised above me, watching me intently. For some reason, this little detail disturbed me deeply and I ripped myself from the covers of my bed and took my footing on the plush white carpet. I surge of paranoia rattled through me and I wanted nothing more than to break something; everything. My hands grasped fervently at nothing, the hairs on the back of my neck prickling with the sensation of being watched. I whirled around to face the suspicious, plain wall and immediately felt threatened by the wall I had been facing previously, my gaze snapping towards it.
I stood absolutely still, waiting for something to happen, for some unseen force to try and choke the life out of me. But as an hour slowly passed and I was left unharmed, I forced myself to move on and start my day. I let out an uneven sigh that left me feeling hollow and drained. I walked over and looked myself hesitantly in the mirror. The dark circles around my eyes were slowly fading. I was finally sleeping now that the Hunger Games were near. Not because I was relaxed. Much the opposite. But because President Snow was slipping some sort of sleeping drug into my food. I was sure of it.
I washed my face, my brain still mulling over what details I had from my dream. I couldn't recall, now, what the significance of the boy was, or what he was doing, but thinking of him gave me a feeling of serenity. And safety. Brushing my bed-head into something more presentable, I walked over to my closet with my brush still working out the tangles and tried to decide what to wear. After a few minute of being unable to bring my mind to think of clothes, I decided to surprise President Snow with my choice of clothing.
Not long after, he knocked on my door. We were breakfasting later now. So that we'd rest up more. So that we looked less like zombies when the Games came. So that we'd provide more entertainment in the arena than being killed in our sleep as we caught up on much needed rest. I opened the door and greeted him with a broad smile that was very much out of character. He soon learned the reason as he gave me the once over. I was still in my pajamas.
I had never really looked at President Snow before. I've never really wanted to, afraid I would end up lost in his snake-like gaze and my soul trapped forever. But the bewildered expression on his face now was so comical in my eyes, I couldn't help but absorb every detail of this face, of this moment, into my memory. He has thick dark hair that he keeps slicked back by gels that make it shimmer. Already it has become more of a salt and pepper color; premature aging due to the stress of running Panem. His eyes are colorless, even at close proximity. They're cold and dead like a snakes. Vicious like a snakes. His jaw line is well pronounced and lines faintly show on his skin. I know soon he'll have himself altered to restore youth to his skin, keep his face looking like a ruler's should. For a man of such high stature, the rest of him doesn't quite seem to match up. He was small in stature and rather thin with no obvious muscle tone. The suits he wears, with their angular shape, hides this while still fitting her personality.
I take this in in a brief few moments, and then President Snow has made a full recovery.
"Good morning Thirteen. I trust you slept well." He acts as if it were just another day, taking my little rebellious act in stride. I follow him as I always do when he walked off to the dining room.
He only tolerates me because he knows how terrible my death will be, I think. A small voice suggests that maybe he was actually amused, that he enjoys the little charade we share. I glare unconsciously and try to bury the voice. It's the voice of a weakling.
As we enter the dining room, I halt dead in my tracks. Something isn't right. I can tell by the way that President Snow casually pours himself a cup of coffee, sits in his black leather armchair and looks at me, that he expected my reaction. That he's savoring this moment.
I swallow with great difficulty. The dining room is empty except for me, President Snow, and the array of food on the elongated table.
"Something wrong?" he asks after a much too prolonged space of silence.
I don't know what's wrong. But something's not right. Something's definitely wrong. I give a small nod.
"Your friend will be here soon. He needs his sleep." He adds, and I imagine his calculated expression as hiding a smug smile.
My stomach lurches and then explodes into butterflies that fly into my throat and choke off my voice. It takes a second for me to register why. Your friend. As in one friend.
I don't have time to compose myself when he walks in, the plain boy who is my same age. He doesn't halt like I did. He just woke up. He's too caught up in drowsiness to notice what's wrong.
Somehow, no matter how much I had braced myself for this moment, no matter how heartless and emotionless I had convinced myself I was, this simple moment completely shook me like a table, and the delicately balanced glass of my grip of coolness spilled over. Before I knew what was happening, I was running down the hall at the full out sprint. Before I could gain control of my feet, tears were spilling out of my eyes that had been dry for years. Before I could wipe them away, I was running for the door and the escape from President Snow that waited outside. My hand grabbed the handle on the door. Without warning, I blacked out completely.
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