.:This is What Makes Us Girls:. [Eszter & Salome]

[Deleted]

Salome Izar

You are more uneasy here than anywhere else in the training center. Second to the bloodbath, you imagine the changing rooms were more frightening than the training floor. Magdalena would have called you stupid (not that this was uncommon) for being so afraid of your own skin. Something about the vulnerability of naked bodies mixed with the acidic nature of fellow tributes had your stomach turning each time you crossed the threshold. Not that you were uncomfortable with naked bodies—District Eleven often forgot about forms of modesty—but exposing your own to these strangers was your least favorite part of the day.

Curiosity gets the better of you, too. There are some taller, skinner (does the one from ten weigh more than ninety pounds?), and others that look they’ll slice you in half the second they get a chance. Maybe it would be better to think that all of you are naked, exposed here. No different than the next, having to wipe away sweat, and change for the next flurry of commanded activities. How much harder it was for you all—to be strong, but not too strong, to have grace and ferocity—you let the thoughts wash over you just as the water from the showers splashes down to the tiled floor. You wrap a towel across your body, and another around your hair.

You’ve never felt such softness; at home hot baths were reserved for special occasions, and threadbare towels were all you had. As you ruffle out the wetness in your hair, you open a waiting locker, more at peace than your first steps into this place. It could be that you take so long to shower, most have left already. But the heat of the water is so nice across your skin, you want to savor every last moment you might have. You sigh and start to sort through the stack of clothes in front of you. There will be interviews soon, and a training demonstration—just another tally of items to muddle through.

“They ought to just pack us into boxes like cattle. It would probably save them time and money,” You grumble, brushing through your hair with force. Not that you expect to hear the slam of a locker at the end of the row. You shiver, and do your best to meet the waiting face with a grin. After all, you don’t have any reason to hate one another yet, right?