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Her hunger never dulled. She carried it with her, from the time she could walk to her death, Arachne Crane was starving.
Not for food, like those vermin in the District that begged anyone they could for scraps, no. She was hungry for attention. She craved it, cultivated it, thrived on it.
All her life, it was all she wanted. Her parents used to bring her with them to District Ten, where their business was based. Dressed in her finest dress, hair in golden ringlets topped with bows, the workers fawned over her, hailing her as the perfect little girl.
The other children, raised for the Slaughterhouse, looked at her with envy, their eyes devouring her princess-dresses.
Even at home, she couldn’t resist. Her family would go to the circus, entertainers from the Districts performing tricks for the audience stuffed full of her peers and their families. Still, she would steal the show, speaking loudly and obnoxiously, her voice carrying throughout.
It was a blessing, truthfully, when Sejanus Plinth came along with his abrasive personality. He never backed away from arguing his points, advocating for the Districts to anyone who would listen; Arachne was more than happy to quarrel back, her fellow students backing her no matter what. Even the teachers would allow it, their distaste for the rich boy from Two overpowering any irritation at her sickly sweet voice.
It was the hunger that drove her, pushing her into the top twenty four students of the academy. A whole ceremony got dedicated to them, their chairs elevated as they dressed their best, the esteemed Dr. Gaul singing her praises.
And then she was handed all she wanted on a silver platter. Mentoring a tribute, the show broadcasted for all in Panem that could watch. Her tribute too, a hardy girl from Eight, promised extra screen time.
She refused to get off the train, Coriolanus told Arachne after his tumble in the zoo. Threatened me.
It was perfect.
Armed with a knife, Arachne set down cheese and crackers, flashing a smile at the small crowd huddled around the zoo enclosure.
“Brandy?” She called out, eyes settling on a girl her age, dirty rags cloaking her body.
The other girl turned like a frightened animal, her limbs stiff as she slowly approached the bars. Her District partner, a one eyed boy named Tanner, stood sentry as the space between the two girls lessened.
“Are you hungry?” She asked, nodding down to the food just out of reach.
Brandy nodded, dropping to her knees. A dirtied hand reached through the bars, grasping.
“Ah-ah!” Arachne pulled the food away, the knife remaining. “It’s not going to be that easy.”
The other girl’s jaw clenched, eyes narrowing. “What?”
A smile graced Arachne’s face. Sweet for the cameras, sickly to Brandy. “I can’t just help you. I need something in return.”
Brandy stared back, her eyes flickering downward. Arachne followed, finding the knife centered between them, Brandy’s fingers twitching.
“I wouldn’t, if I were you,” she warned, tilting her head. “Kill me, hurt me, they kill you, all before you even understood what’s happened.” She flashed her teeth, “You get sent home in a box, I get paraded through the streets, my death fueling the call for action.” It almost sounded nice, right. For a second, the hunger in her stomach dulled.
“Give me the food.” Brandy’s voice was rough, that distinct lower District accent punctuating her words. “Please.”
“I will,” Arachne promised. “But first, I want you to agree to my offer.”
A low growl sounded from the District girl’s throat, but she didn’t reach for the knife.
“Good girl,” taunted Arachne, leaning in. “I don’t need you to win, just perform.”
“Perform?”
“Put on a good show, play it up for the cameras. You kill someone, make it memorable.”
“Make it memorable,” Brandy parroted.
Arachne nodded, “This is entertainment now, people will be watching.” She ran her tongue over her lips, mouth salivating. “Both of us. The more you perform, the more I help you. Deal?”
The words hung in the air between them, Brandy mulling them over. Finally, she nodded slowly, eyes never easing up.
“Good.” Arachne returned her hands, a slice of cheese set on a cracker in her palm. She moved it through the bars to her tribute, the way she used to with the donkeys when the Zoo was operating.
Snatching up the cracker and stuffing it in her mouth, Brandy repeated, “Make it memorable.”
“Yes.” Arachne turned slightly, setting about grabbing another cracker. “Make it—“
Brandy had grabbed the knife. The moment Arachne turned back, food in hand, the blade dragged across her throat, cutting through layers of tissue and cartilage.
A scream sounded out as Arachne clutched at her throat, blood flowing through her hands like water. She was silent, her voice box pierced as she fell to the ground. Her body shook uncontrollably as she laid there, vision going in and out.
Someone was calling her name, grabbing her. Coriolanus. His stupid face came into focus, his hands pulling her into his lap as he called for help. He laid his hands over hers, palms red as the blood continued.
Shots rang out. Arachne pushed her eyes to the side, catching those of Brandy, dead on the ground.
I told you, she thought, feeling the blood fill her throat.
People were still screaming, and Coriolanus was still blabbering, hands fumbling with hers as he looked back, towards the cameras.
The cameras. Arachne looked too, finding them focused on her, the operators’ faces filled with horror.
She was dying. She was dying and it was being broadcast for all to see.
The blood was too much now, creeping up her tongue and seeping out of her mouth at the corners in beads.
I get paraded through the streets, she thought.
She smiled, the blood streaming down her cheeks, a red smile painted for all to see.
As she took her last breath, the hunger in her stomach finally lessened, the insatiable need to be seen finally filled.