Deeper than the eyes can find it

It only takes one simple comment from a too-cocky sixth year cadet to knock the wind out of Rhoda Hamilton three weeks before the Reaping of the Forty Second Annual Hunger Games.

The little cadet, with her bubblegum pink dyed pixie cut hair, silvery nose ring, and posse of younger girls, saunters past as Rhoda stalks down the hall, going from the swords room to the cafeteria. As she makes her way down the barren corridor, the girl looks up and grins, her piercing glittering in the light, her not-so-pretty face concealed by layers of carefully applied makeup. The girl doesn't notice that her real face is showing, that some of the makeup has been scrubbed away by sweat from training. She smiles crudely, swiping a few stray pink locks out of her eyes, and speaks.

"Looks like the pretty peacock is all alone, eh?" she hisses, and her following laughs automatically, as if someone pressed a button to turn them on. Rhoda hasn't listened to the petty cliques of girls since the moment she rose to the top of her class in her seventh year, when she was twelve and more than halfway through her commitment to the Academy and had just started modeling. Until then her plan was the same as Iridia's; train for the honor and the experience, and then enter into the Peacekeeping force when she turned eighteen and graduated. But at the end-of-semester Academy wide assembly, when they called out that Rhoda Hamilton was the top female cadet in the seventh year class, and thousands of sets of eyes focused on her as she accepted the award from Estrella. Vazquez, she felt it. The need. The want. The tug. The obsession. She committed herself then to try and make the Games. She has trophies from every year since then stacked in an impeccable row on a shelf in her room.

But the cadet's words crash into her for some reason. She gets her food and then plops the tray down on the metallic table. No one else sits with her, even though she's the top cadet in her class just like the pink pixie cut girl. She has no friends. What is her life? Training relentlessly and posing for cameras as the flash blinds her, and ignoring family and friends and romance? Of course that's what it is. On the surface, she's the calm, gorgeous girl who's ruled the female rankings of her class for the past half decade. She's the perfect barbie doll with a beautiful complexion and the ability to gut a human being from two hundred feet away with a spear. She's the impetus behind the motivation of dozens of girls in One who've joined the Academy, and she retains the awe inspiring skill with a sword that's earned her the top spot in her class. She's the never ceasing patriot, who's never said a bad word about the Capitol. She's the unrelenting good girl, who's never dated a person, not to mention had sex with one. Of course, then, there should be something more below the surface. A fleshed out personality that she reveals around her friends and her family.

She has no friends, and her family is so much more distant than she remembers them being. She can't remember the last time she gossiped with someone her age, even talked for more than a minute with someone her age actually. She can't remember the last time she told Iridia that she loves her, or that she felt the solid embrace of her father. She can't remember the last time she's ever thought about anyone romantically. She can't remember the last time she saw anything but respect and pride and courage, not affection, on her mother's face when she talks to her.

If Rhoda doesn't know herself, does anyone?

A/N: Agh so late! With my illness, schoolwork, and more, I've been behind on everything. I hope this was a good one! :D Please review, it's very helpful :)

Until Next Time,

Tracee