The Avox

By Cameron 

There are thousands of pearls intricately binding her throat. Thoughts of envy roll off the seaside and fog up my mind as I stare at her flawless necklace. My mind is daring me to reach out and snatch it. The flick of her wrist and snap of her fingers lure me out of my impregnable imagination. I notice she is having trouble cutting her meat and as predicted she commands for me to do it, “Avox cut my meat.” I give her a silent nod of recognition, then proceed to fulfill the current order. Both her husband and presumed son watch me intensely. Their peering pairs of eyes burn holes into the outer shell of my hollow body. I feel the immense pressure build up after every cut I make. Knowing that even the smallest of mistakes will be worthy of severe punishment.

But as long as I serve their food and cater to their every need, they will spare me. But this is their ingenious plan, as long as the Capitol still evoke fear into the heart of the districts, no one will fight back. We will follow their every order, and our reward is surviving to live another day. As long as the Capitol has their bombs and their weapons, the districts and their people will skulk back to their corners and cower. The Capitol is the predator and we are the prey.

“That’s enough!” she says, as if she is displeased with my effort. I display a plastic smile to the entire family, then skulk back to my corner of the room and cower. Their opulent glass table is the feature point of the room. It’s coated in trays of lavish foods, silver cutlery and fine dining wear. There is a baby blue silk table cloth that runs along the table, it drapes perfectly down to their marble floor without  seam out of place or a crease in sight. Their marble floor is a sea of bleach. The white waves lap at the walls, dulling their bright colours with the incoming tide. Although the marble floor soaks up the room colours, my mistress’ hair makes up for what is lost. Its extremely red, not like a rose but like a fire. The inner layers of her hair blend in with the orange colour of her tips. This hairstyle is very much in vogue. Everyone is wearing flames. I heard this style was created after a plucky tribute in this years Hunger Games. The Capitol loves an underdog.

I watch resentfully as the redhead picks at her roast chicken with her glossy nails. She makes a great effort to extract the undesirable parts of the bird. Even those undesirable parts that she so imprudently avoids, are luxuries that we could not afford back in 12. The sight reminds me of the chicken I stole back in District 12. Although in retrospect I didn’t think that poultry would determine my life as a slave to the very people who mutilated my tongue and condemned me to a world of silence. “You are dismissed,” the man says. I trudge back to my closet bedroom and lie down upon the floor. Shards of light shine through the cracks in my curtains revealing my drab room. I watch the sunset paint red and orange smears on blossomed clouds, and then transform into the dark nightsky. I see Mockingjays nestling down in a tree outside my window. My covetous eyes watch the birds, the freedom they display. I yearn to mimic the Mockingjays, to leave this place and glide upon the wind; as far as my wings will take me, to an unknown location. But this is my life, it won’t be any other way because the Capitol’s the predator and I am the prey.