One Last Goodbye

They leave us alone for a long time. It must be several days. We hardly ever see the Peacekeepers anymore. Once a day someone brings us a meal, but apart from that we don't even hear them patrolling the cell block as usual. We're all alone down here. I should be satisfied with the silence, but for some inexplicable reason it makes me chill. Johanna also expresses her surprise at the missing Peacekeepers.

We spend most of our time in silence or asleep. Now that they leave us alone, we use the time to catch up on the lost sleep that has been robbed of us in recent weeks. Sometimes we just lie in our beds for hours and doze away. Every day Johanna's questions become fewer. I tell her everything she wants to know and try to keep my stories as detailed as possible. It helps me remind myself of that again.

Mostly she asks me less witty questions about the Capitol, about my childhood and what it was like growing up here. But sometimes she asks deeper questions. She wants to know my view on the Games, my thoughts on President Snow, or why I became an escort. Not once does she mention Haymitch or ask anything related to him. At times I wish she would. In some moments I want to talk about him, I want to remember him. Most of the time I'm grateful to her for not asking about him.

It's late morning when we hear heavy footsteps in the corridor and we both get up on our beds almost simultaneously. It's too early for our next meal and too many steps to be just one person as usual. Just as my bare feet touch the cell's cold floor, the lock disengages and the metal door swings open with a squeak.

A Peacekeeper enters the cell. His white uniform reflects in the dim glow of the lightbulb hanging lonely from the ceiling. This part of the building must have been built many years ago, because such technology has actually not existed here in the city for decades. I only know it from District 12.

I turn my head to the side and watch the Peacekeeper with wary eyes. Now that we've had a good night's sleep, it's easier for us to follow their rapid movements. Another Peacekeeper stands in the doorway, his rifle held defensively against his chest as if expecting an attack at any moment. I catch myself raising an eyebrow in question at the sight of him. But Johanna sees it too and gives me a worried look.

"You," the first Peacekeeper begins to speak at this moment and points his finger at me. "We'll take you with us."

Johanna's face is unfathomable as she looks at me now. I can feel the familiar panic spreading in my chest. I sit petrified on the edge of my uncomfortable bed for a moment, not knowing what to do next. Why only me? Did they just bring me here to lull me to safety for a little while? Are they going to lock me up and torture me alone again? If that's actually their intention, then they've succeeded in their surprise. After everything that happened to me down here, I should have expected it.

No matter what, defying them will only bring me more trouble and pain. I slowly get up from the bed and move toward the Peacekeeper. I won't cause them any trouble, not today. The Peacekeeper grabs my arm. I turn to Johanna one last time. Will I see her again? Down here you don't have that certainty.

Johanna looks at me with her dark eyes and then nods at me. "Take care."

I nod back and only now realize how calm I must appear to her from the outside. My hands hang down my body, my back is straight. If I didn't know better, you'd think I'd come across as determined. "You too."

The Peacekeepers escort me through the corridors of the cell blocks. They are constructed like a single labyrinth. When we finally stand in front of an elevator, I almost gasp in astonishment. I only took the elevator once and that was on the day I arrived. The door slides open silently and we enter the mirrored lift. I look at my face out of the corner of my eye. During my stay here I've looked worse before.

As the elevator begins to move and we head up, my heart takes an unexpected leap. I used to love riding the elevator at the Training Center. It was glazed and you could see how the little people got bigger and closer with each floor. And even if you can't compare this elevator here with the one in the Training Center, it's a luxury for me and I enjoy every second of it.

On the upper floors, the agency looks a lot nicer. Thick carpets have been rolled out in the hallways and the light seems much brighter and more natural than downstairs. As we turn a corner, I suddenly realize why. We are above ground again. There is a large window on my left and as we walk past it I can see the Capitol.

It feels like a huge weight is falling off my shoulders. It's like I can breathe freely for the first time in weeks. Tears well up in my eyes as I look out at the Capitol. The twinkling colored lights. The sparkling big skyscrapers. The sparkling sleek cars gliding through the streets. It almost takes my breath away, I feel so relieved at this moment. And even though I'm not out there in freedom, but still a prisoner inside the building, a feeling of euphoria that is already almost foreign to me is spreading through me. Only now do I realize how much I missed this city. Deep down I know that I could never live inside it like before. Too much has happened. The people who still wander unsuspectingly through the streets know too little. And yet it's my home. Not everything here is bad.

We keep going and finally reach a small room from which you also have a view of the outside. But that becomes secondary as I see the rest of the room. A woman I don't know already seems to be waiting for me. She has silver hair and long silver fingernails. Several silver horns protrude from her head, artificial implants. Such is the fashion in the Capitol. She reminds me of an animal. The rapid and frightened movement of her eyes underlines it.

I wait for her to say something, but she doesn't. " You'll wait a long time for a word from her," says the Peacekeeper. "She's an Avox. Sit down in that chair there."

My eyes travel to the chair the Peacekeeper is pointing at. The room is set up like a small styling studio. Next to the window stands a large white table covered with make-up, fake nails and all kinds of perfumes. I subconsciously jump backwards. A large mirror illuminated by artificial light hangs on the wall. I stare at my gaunt appearance in the mirror and see my petrified gaze that looks at least as frightened as the female Avox.

To my right is a long clothes rail full of dresses of all different colors. At the sight of it, my hands start to sweat. This is too much. I'm not this woman anymore. The old Effie Trinket, who surely would have loved the sight, is dead. She died in the depths of this building long ago. She will never come back.

"Why am I here?" I ask in a thin voice, turning to face the Peacekeeper. I wish he wasn't wearing a helmet so I could see his features and read something in his eyes. But he just shakes his head and seems like an impersonal figure, just like the other Peacekeepers.

After more hesitation, I finally sit down. The Avox starts combing my hair into a braid almost immediately. Then she washes my face and puts lotion on it. She does my makeup next. When her brush strokes my skin for the first time, I flinch. She gives me an apologetic look, then I slowly relax. Not because I like it, but because I feel sorry for her. It's not her fault being forced to dress me up for something.

She just does my makeup lightly. First and foremost, it makes me look like a human again. No eyeshadow and just a nude lipstick, a little blush and mascara. When I look in the mirror, I look like a normal woman. If you see me now, you wouldn't notice the past few weeks. At least not at first glance. Sleep wasn't able to completely eliminate the deep circles under the eyes either. I've lost a lot of weight and the skin under my cheekbones is hollow. My eyes have lost their sparkle, the life energy has left them. But to someone who doesn't know me well, I would seem like a normal woman. A woman of the kind you see in most Districts.

The Avox helps me into a plain, black dress. It's made of heavy satin and I catch myself stroking the smooth fabric almost wistfully. A silent sigh escapes my lips. The dress has a faint glow when the light hits it and it looks expensive and classy. I force myself not to look at the brand label.

Then she helps me put on a fire-red wig. I nod my thanks, take the pins from her warm hand and set about attaching them to my real hair on my own. It's almost the same as before. My fingers are still swift and skillful. When I'm done, I drop my hands into my lap. Red, straight hair falls over my shoulders. When I see myself in the mirror and hardly recognize myself, tears come to my eyes. I sob once and then look away. This is not the moment to show weakness. I feel the compassionate pressure of a hand on my shoulder. Then the Avox leaves the room. You used to despise these people. You treated them like filth and now you're just like them.

A little lost, I stare at the beige shoe box at the foot of the dressing table. I reach for it, open the lid of the box and stare, somewhat perplexed, at the pair of high heels that emerge. They are also black, and I'll have to fight with the heel. I've been out of practice and only walked in flat shoes for weeks, if I had shoes on at all.

When I've put them on, the Peacekeeper leads me out of the room. I turn my back to the mirror and follow him. On unsteady legs I march through open lobbies and glass corridors, overlooking green gardens. Then we stand in the entrance area and leave the building. I can't believe this is actually happening right now. It seems so surreal because I was so sure to only leave this building in a body bag. If at all. As I stride across the sidewalk with a warm summer breeze blowing in my face, I inhale the scent of the city and feel completely free for a moment – at home. It could be a day like any other. I could just walk around town, all dressed up and on my way to an important appointment. It could all be so different.

The bright light blinds me. It's been a long time since I've seen bright daylight and it hurts my eyes. They start to water; I can hardly get used to it while coming to a standstill in front of a black car. Two other Peacekeepers stand stock still in front of it, their rifles also cocked at their chests. Only when I get in and stare out wide-eyed do I realize why.

The streets are empty. There isn't a soul out there. The Capitol has turned into a ghost town. In the distance, combat helicopters with the Capitol's white logo can be seen circling in the sky. You can hear sirens and the occasional explosion. They are far away and therefore not very loud and yet they stand out clearly against the dead silence of the city. Instantly, I realize the war has reached the Capitol. The distant war the Peacekeepers told me about while torturing me has made it to the Capitol. The war they said would be over in no time. My heart jumps so fast it makes my stomach churn with astonishment and surprise and fear. And to my greatest surprise, it doesn't shake me, I'm glad about it. I'm relieved.

The car drives quickly through the empty streets, stopping at no traffic light, and then reaches the large headquarters of the state television station. I've been here a dozen times: The annual tribute interviews were broadcast from here. We drive into an underground car park, and I'm escorted up to the upper floors of the building in an elevator. Slowly but surely, I suspect evil.

We get off at an area that is familiar to me. Annually at the time of the Hunger Games, I have gathered here with Haymitch and our tributes. As we walk the set, the staff give me wide-eyed, amazed looks. Did they expect me? What have they been told about me?

The Peacekeepers lead me to the backstage area of the main stage, where a lot of people are milling around. They are preparing for a show, there is no other way to explain the hustle and bustle. But instead of taking me up the stage like I would have expected, they lead me into one of the three broadcast rooms that are adjacent to the stage. We enter one of them. It's a slightly smaller, square-shaped room. A few chairs were positioned in here. On the left there is a large, dimmed window to another room.

The two Peacekeepers grab my arms again and push me right in front of the window. Confused but with a sinking feeling, I stare into the darkness. The lights in the room go out and almost simultaneously the room behind the window is bathed in bright light. It's a lot bigger than the room I'm in right now. The opposite wall is a single green screen and above it, almost majestically, hangs the emblem of the Capitol. Involuntarily, my lips twist into a thin line. If there is one thing the Capitol can do, it's to orchestrate itself properly.

In front of the emblem stands a wide platform filmed by a single camera. I catch a glimpse of the camera image. Everything looks perfect there. The green screen has been edited to a white background. Peacekeepers are posted on both sides, who are not there in reality.

Then two curved figures are brought into the room. Brown linen sacks were put over their heads. They wear handcuffs and are forced to the podium like criminals. They shake, trying to stand still, but are forced on by the relentless Peacekeepers. When they reach the stage, they are pushed to their knees. The heads of the two people are lowered. They wear matted and torn clothes that must have been very expensive at one point in the past. You can recognize it by the cuts and motifs. Expensive branded clothing like the ones I once wore myself.

Another Peacekeeper enters the stage, but he is not wearing a helmet. He stands next to the two figures and turns directly to the camera, seeming to want to pierce it with his emotionless gaze. "Today another verdict will be delivered for all of Panem to watch. Kneeling in front of you today are two co-conspirators who covered and hid the crimes of a Capitol traitor and rebellion supporter. Such behavior will no longer be condoned by the Panem Supreme Court."

I stare at the Peacekeeper, trying to draw some clarity from his words. I've already attended two sentencings, both of which were relatively similar. Once I was sentenced to imprisonment and a second time to death. What is happening on the podium gives me more confusion than insight.

"Therefore it has decided on the following verdict. The accused Marcus and Lyssandra Trinket have been found guilty and are sentenced to death. The sentence will be carried out immediately." The Peacekeeper's words hang in the air. At the same moment, the other two men rip the sacks from the figures' heads.

I look at the panicked and frightened faces of my parents. They lift their heads and stare around, wide-eyed. I hardly recognize my mother. She has no make-up on but wears artificial eyelashes and long green artificial nails decorated with stones. These details make the overall picture even more bizarre. My father begs for mercy, he speaks of a big misunderstanding. My mother's lips tremble, but she says nothing. I've never seen them both like this, never thought that something like this was even possible.

I'm out of breath. I feel like my legs are going to give out under my weight every second. A scream escapes my throat and now I throw myself against the glass that separates me from my parents. I shout, cry and scream. I pound against the glass, but they don't seem to notice. My sobs get louder, mixing with the loud pounding of blood in my ears. The world starts spinning around me. I find support at the window and try to sit up. "No." I keep calling it out again and again.

The Peacekeepers behind my parents position themselves. They cock their guns and aim their barrels at their heads. I want to rush to the door, trying to maybe stop them directly, but the relentless grip on my arms only grows stronger. "No."

Suddenly my mother's eyes fall on me. The moment she sees me standing behind the window, her eyes widen in surprise. The panic on her face gives way to sadness. My gasp is swallowed by another sob. Then the corners of her mouth twist into a gentle smile. She opens her mouth and forms words with her lips. I love you.

Then they shoot them in the head.

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Skyllen