A/N I've always wondered what the Capitol's viewpoint on all of this was. Surely not everyone could really support the Games...so this drabble was born.
It takes place years before the books start, though the ending ties into the Hunger Games' beginning. ;) Enjoy!
It was weird without her brother there.
Young Felicia Rosethe, only five years old, still missed him. It had been a year already (where had the time gone?), and her memories of him were tattered and faded, but she didn't forget. She promised she never would, not ever.
She could remember last year, when the Games blared through the hidden speakers and screams of contestants cut through her, hiding her face in his shoulder. She didn't like the blood, crimson red across green synthetic grass, and he was warm and steady, reassuring, and anchor. She could remember playful smiles and kind gray eyes, eyes he refused to change, no matter how ordinary the color was. He had never let Felicia change her's either, saying she was perfect already. She couldn't remember his voice, but she remembered those words.
His name was Aden, she thought.
Felicia didn't know why he disappeared. He would always come back, he had promised. Bit one day he vanished, without a trace.
She never saw him again.
Her mom and dad never spoke of it. Their faces, bright and colorful and youthful from surgery, would grow white, white like the big building across the street. Felicia quickly learned never to mention Aden again; it scared her to see her parents terrified like that. She didn't want to see that ever again.
But the Games were on again and she was scared. The buzz of excitement filled the Capitol, but Felicia couldn't see how. Even her friends from class were chattering and laughing about it all.
It made Felicia feel sick.
She didn't want to upset anyone though, so she smiled with all the rest. The smile never reached her eyes, gray eyes just like her brother. But then the Games were on and people died, weapons ripping and tearing flesh. Felicia wanted to hide her face in their vivid couch, but her dad gently nudged her back to the screen. She obediently watched, even though it was horrible.
"Mommy, why do they have to die?" Felicia asked, eyes wide and sad and innocent. "They're just people." Their hair was plain, not at all like the bright colors she was used to, and their faces were dirty. But they were still people, right? "Why can't they live?"
Her mom and dad looked at each other, panicked and wide-eyed. Felicia flinched as a hand was put firmly over her mouth, stifling the curious words before they could be said. "Don't say that, Felicia," her mom ordered, in a soft urgent voice. The five-year-old nodded, startled tears welling up in her plain gray eyes.
She never spoke a bad word about the Hunger Games now.
It was weird to live a lie.
Young Felicia Rosethe, only seventeen years old, was practically an adult, a young woman. Her hair was bright shades of purple and pink, but her eyes, gray as ever, never changed. They reminded her of Aden, and anytime she glanced in a mirror, she remembered why the Capitol wasn't perfect.
The Capitol was a gilded city, full of bright colors and graceful buildings. It was all synthetic, fake, a dark network of tangled and twisted politics seething beneath the surface. It wasn't perfect, it wasn't even beautiful; it was ugly and broken. No one ever saw that…
No one except Felicia, it seemed. She was smart, always had been. She had pieced things together over the years; Aden, her dear older brother, hadn't just gone missing.
Someone made him disappear.
He had been part of some sort of Resistance, and the Capitol had found out. They killed him, quietly and without a trace. He had died because he had tried to fix the shattered world they lived in.
Felicia didn't think it was fair.
She didn't want to disappear though. She wanted to live, to make something out of her life, so she hid it. She put a mask on, a mask of smiles and laughs and contentment. Sometimes, Felicia could almost believe it. She knew better though.
Late at night, when city lights glistened like stars, she would listen. Whispers of change would ride upon the wings of night, carried by soft breezes and subtle winds.
And then one day they confronted her. Felicia didn't hesitate for even one second; this was her chance, her chance to make a change, to do something. She was part of the Resistance now, and she was going to make this gilded city truly shine someday.
For the first time in years, her gray eyes smiled with her mouth.
It was weird to finally be doing something.
Young Felicia Rosethe, now twenty-one, didn't look very young anymore. She had aged from experience and heavy knowledge, but there was still that fiery spark of determination that refused to go out. She was strong, she was brave, and she was going to fix things.
This was going to be her first mission.
It was simple, really, more of a recon than anything. They were just trying to get more intel on the president, President Snow. Yet, somehow, things still went wrong.
They were found. Bullets rained down on all of them like deadly rain, and screams echoed through the air, hanging heavy like the metallic scent of blood.
It reminded Felicia of the Games.
And then pain shot through her, fiery burning agony that made her scream and tears bubble down her cheeks. She pressed bloodied fingers over the gaping bullet wound in her stomach as she fell, synthetic grass pricking her pale cheek.
The darkness was welcome, and Felicia sank into the oblivion with open arms. Her last thoughts were of her bother, and the hope that maybe, one day, things would change.
Felicia was gone. Her parents, quietly defiant now, put a vase on the table. It was full of bright roses in a rainbow of colors, with words etched carefully into the case: 'In honor of our daughter, Felicia'. When they, too, disappeared, no one noticed. No one cared, and if they did, no one spoke a word.
Only the flowers remained, their synthetic petals bright and colorful even while the room around them grew gray and dirty. They stood, proud and tall, carrying the story of Felicia Rosethe, a girl who simply wanted to make a change and died because of it. They stood until years later, when a young girl with gray eyes named Katniss Everdeen, from coal-covered District 12, stepped into the Games arena…
A/N Yeah, OC all throughout. I normally don't write OC's like that, but this idea wouldn't leave me alone and I'm actually kind of fond of it. What do you guys think?
Reviews are greatly appreciated!