The first thing Glimmer notices is which of them are pretty. She watches the Reapings in her compartment curled up in bed with a very expensive glass of wine and looks at their faces, their bodies, the way they walk. She dissects them like a scientist with laser eyes and a stony face. And, like every year, there are several who get her attention. Two Boy has a model’s face and a flawless body no doubt sculpted to be both powerful and beautiful. Nine Girl is gorgeous despite a frumpy black skirt that reaches her calves and a red face free of makeup. As she blushes and trembles on the stage, Glimmer imagines her in a glittering gown with her face painted and polished, imagines her under a sweaty politician with those pretty blue eyes staring up at nothing and empty and dead
( ... )
The bees come and she runs and runs but, really, what’s the point? She stumbles once and thinks that all endings are the same and then she couldn’t have run even if she’d wanted to and the venom shows her all those horrible things that would have been hers if she’d come out of here and she knows this is the best way. She screams raw and unpretty and there’s nothing they can do about it now, and it’s her scream and it’s her death and she feels the things eat at her skin and she likes the idea of being hideous.
And then it’s not her, it’s Girl Eleven, and she wishes she could have killed her.
She knows by now that wishes are as useless as the bow gripped like a vice in her corroded fingers.
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The bees come and she runs and runs but, really, what’s the point? She stumbles once and thinks that all endings are the same and then she couldn’t have run even if she’d wanted to and the venom shows her all those horrible things that would have been hers if she’d come out of here and she knows this is the best way. She screams raw and unpretty and there’s nothing they can do about it now, and it’s her scream and it’s her death and she feels the things eat at her skin and she likes the idea of being hideous.
And then it’s not her, it’s Girl Eleven, and she wishes she could have killed her.
She knows by now that wishes are as useless as the bow gripped like a vice in her corroded fingers.
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Brutal, but also amazing. Well done.
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