Amelia dropped down low between the branches, her breath hot in the air. After nearly thirteen hours of searching for more blood to spill she was too tired to continue. In the middle of the forest, but closer to the western edge, she'd found a small enclave of poppy flowers. This is for me, she thought. They know I'm going to win, don't they? Her mind flashed back to that beautiful dress she'd had before. A rush of wind reminded Amelia why she'd missed it so much--going shirtless with such exposed injuries wasn't working well for her at all. Pricks of ice and heat fought viciously. Imperfections arose upon her body to deceive her mind.

As if to egg her impending victory on, a small beeping caught her ear and she reached out with her good arm to grasp the ball of metal. It unlocked easily and as she pulled it close and reached in a smirk danced across her lips. "Why, thank you," she called out. Somewhere a camera was watching and her generous sponsor could see her. "It's good to know that someone wants me clothed."

The light brown and orange shirt had several ruffles and fit tight across her breasts but loosely around her stomach and the ripped, scarred skin of her left side. She stretched herself out as she pulled it on, loving the fresh way it felt. It even smelled nice. Almost flowery, like it had been perfumed. Fancies in her mind fluttered by in long sequences of music that delighted her with long forgotten melodies.

She touched her armpits and smirked. Whatever they had sprayed on her body before the Games worked well. No hairs had sprouted and even though she should have smelled much worse it was tolerable. They know how to put on a show all right. Kudos to you, she thought.

"Dum dum dum," she sang to herself. Her feet fell heavy against the ground and she sat with her back against a tree and her mind lost in the flowers. "Dum dum dum, my aren't you so kind. I'll find you, against the smartest mind. Dum dum dum, listen to the bravest. I'll find you, waiting for my kind kiss."

Her words were followed by a yawn that stretched through the next lines she crafted. God, I'm exhausted. "Am I safe?" she muttered, another yawn breaking out. "I should go and get more food...water...there's so much to do, so much to prepare for."

Words flew against her as the breeze picked up petals and blew them against her face and neck. Strands of hair curled against her head and Amelia's body began to fall sideways into the pit of poppies. So soft.

It didn't take Amelia long to curl herself up in the fetal position and close her eyes. One poppy tickled her nose as the rest bent down to form a pillow hard enough to support her and soft enough to make her drowsy and lucid.

"I love you, Grammy," Amelia was saying. She was so, so happy. Happy in her toes, happy in her stomach, happy all the way up to her nose. She giggled just thinking about it. "Can I come over again tomorrow?"

Her grandmother was smiling. A gentle smile. A loving smile. "Sure," she was saying, then she was petting Amelia's soft red tangles. "You're getting so big."

Her voice was old and had wrinkles in the words, if that was possible. Grandmother had a way about her that made people care. How couldn't one care? Grandmother knew how to make Amelia happy. Just a word, a touch, a bit of love in a world consumed by darkness.

Amelia opened her eyes briefly and sighed. "I don't wanna dream." Wants were not needed in the Hunger Games. Wants were nothing. Soon those dreams were back, far too soon.

"Please, no! No!"

"Don't tell me no," he grunted. A scream.

"Stop! Stop! I'll do whatever you want, just stop," she was saying. She kept repeating them over and over and over. As if that could change anything. "Please...please, don't."

Then pain. Inside of her body, throughout her legs. Bursting up her ribcage, breaking every last bone. She gasped. Yelled. Fought. He fought harder. He won. She dropped. The pain didn't end--it was supposed to end. Amelia was dead. Her heart quit beating. She quit thinking.

So why was there still pain?

Agony ate at her until she couldn't do anything but struggle--struggle against all of it. Nothing would make it stop. Each movement shifted the red hot pain down into her bones and muscle. Acid, killing her far past death. Somewhere mixed in was the dimmest bit of happiness at the pain--she deserved it, didn't she? A monster deserved that death, and she was a giant Venus Fly trap monster. Sharp, deadly, seductive. Evil. She was pure evil. Amelia deserved far worse than death and she had finally, finally gotten it.

Her eyelids pried apart. Mouth open, she gasped, unable to move. Night took hold over the sky and she shivered as a chill overtook her body. "It's not real," Amelia whispered, "it's just a dream." It had to be a dream.

Her eyes shut again.

Nothing.

Quiet.

Dim light faintly growing. A drop of blue on a pale horizon. Tears falling, but of joy. She was so, so happy again. In her toes, mostly. Lights drifted past as she herself floated by, painting the world with her fingertips. Lucid love, pictures of peace, everything...perfect.

Faint whispers caught her ear.

"She's beautiful."

"Perfect."

"God," they said, breathless, "I wish I were her."

Lips kissed hers in long, careful embraces. It was more than sex--more than any physical attraction she'd ever had. They were a breath of fresh air in a toxic universe. Happiness, if only for a split second.

"Mommy?"

Could she be like them? Get love, not sex? The gentle touches around her instead of violence. Oh, she could just feel it. In that second she was everything and she cherished every ounce of if.

"Yes, Baby?"

Someday she would have it. She had to. There was no other option.

"I wanna be just like her."

Ooh's and aww's. Smiles. God, so many lips smiling. Pristine white teeth grinning at her. Hair, brushed down to the copper wires, flowed past in silky waves. Plastic bodies made into real, human flesh. Perfection in the highest form.

Amelia.

Her eyes flashed open once more. There were lights in the sky to signal deaths but she didn't care to look at them. However many were gone didn't matter--it was only those left alive that still posed as threats. Even so, her guard remained down as she fell back into her fitful slumber. The poppy's sweet smell was enticing, luring her away from reality and into a sound wall of dreams.

"Mommy?"

Two grown woman stood inside a mirror, looking back at the two they reflected. One was young, one old. Both were smiling as though in love.

"Amelia."

"Who's that?"

"That's you, Amelia."

A gentle shove. Amelia touched the image, caught in her own reflection. Her eyes glimmered and shown. In the background she could just barely catch sight of an older, wrinkled face. A smile that faded away, just as Amelia had from her. Amelia's parents never liked the old woman. They had been happy when she was discovered dead. Amelia was forced to be happy too, and soon enough there had been no one left that truly cared for her.

"I'm still here," the memory of her spoke, "I never left you. I'm rooting for you, Amy."

Amelia smiled and whispered back, "Thank you." It was a true smile, one where her lips turned up without smirking and her eyes crinkled at the edges and her teeth could be shown without being seductive.

Her mother took out a small, round purple brush and began to comb Amelia's hair. Soft. No tangles. Tears fell from her face without forgiveness as she gazed upon her daughter. "I'm sorry, Amelia," she said. The brush continued to stroke. "I'm sorry I was never there for you. God, Amelia. You mean the world--you are the world to me. I'll never ignore you again."

Amelia could feel a lump in her throat. It grew as heat flooded her head and chest, not from embarrassment but of happiness. Shock. Could it be true?

"I love you, Mommy."

"Oh, baby," her mother turned her around, the brush forgotten as her thin arms flew around Amelia, "I love you too. Far more than I could ever tell you."

Another gust of wind caught her in the face. It blew away her tears. Amelia's face was a stark white, and her fingers numbly reached up to touch it. The purples, yellows, and browns of bruises looked majestic against her pale left cheek and eye. She could see herself as though looking from far away.

Am I really that pretty? Is that what I look like? She smiled and the picture got even better. Dark red lips moving into a tiny, wonderful smile. Her green eyes opened and suddenly the picture was complete. It couldn't have been better if she wore makeup to coat those black lashes or to add dimension to her soft cheeks. God. Why have I never seen myself like this before?

Fog rolled past. It was low and clouded her face to show off her lips and eyes.

Even her hair, tangled as it was, looked as though Amelia belonged in a photoshoot. The red was bright in the moonlight. Bits of poppy petals had gathered into a crown atop her head. Her skinny fingers moved from cheeks to hair, getting lost inside of it. She could feel it.

I'm...not a monster. I'm not scary, or bad, or evil. I'm just doing what I have to do to survive, she realized. A shadow stepped in on the moon and blocked the sunlight. No longer was she illuminated, but she wasn't bad. I'm...I'm truly beautiful. I'm not a monster. I'm good--I'm good.

It grew darker with each passing second. Amelia's vision was getting weaker and weaker and she was shrinking, turning into a tiny ball. Her hands touched her toes, her neck her legs, and her head was turned to the side and pressed against her chest. The material stretched over her breasts was thin and soft to the touch, and her eyes closed tight in the expectation of pain.

There was no more pain...but she wasn't numb either. It wasn't gentle but wasn't rough. Not bad but not perfect. Amelia wasn't used to things like that and for a moment she didn't know how to feel. Then suddenly she was moving, growing, stretching upwards. Arms and fingers reached up to touch the sky and play with the stars. Her toes fell deep into the ground, burying them in the soft dirt and roots. She was dancing. Prancing within the world itself as she moved in fluid motions.

It was as though no one had told her she was sleeping. Again, she felt loving touches all across her body. Even her tender, raw side was happy as she flew across the ground, scattering petals with every slight movement. "A sweet night, for a sweet delight, for a wonderful girl, in a wonderful world," she whispered. A poem, as if a career could ever be so...whimsical. "When I've killed them all, when I've won it all, when I've made them happy...then everything can be perfect."

Her grandmother, dead and solid, wasn't there to push her on, yet even so she was going to do it. Amelia didn't need their love or wants to do good. Nothing they wanted or didn't want could stop her now. Amelia wasn't a monster, but she wasn't a pansy either. Each day she grew stronger. There was a coat of armor surrounding her and a crown of daisies around her head. Rings of poppies grew along each finger and vines wrapped up her legs.

Enough of her armor surrounded her to leave much to the imagination, while still allowing people to desire and taste bits of her succulent flesh. It was a dream and yet it wasn't anywhere close. She was a luminous flower growing in moonlight--with the snap of a finger the clouds were no more. Amelia controlled if all. The world was hers for the taking.

I'm going to make them all love me. I'll win and nothing will ever, ever stop me again.

*

Advice greatly appreciated! :)