I have always wondered what Portia's story is. She seems like she should be an important character, but she is hardly mentioned. This is the story of Portia's life, right up to her death. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: If I ownedThe Hunger Games, I wouldn't be sitting here writing fanfiction about it
Sometimes I wish the world would burn away, leaving nothing but ashes.
Seeing Cinna in pain hurts more than my own wounds. He grits his teeth though, and doesn't let them know what they're doing to him. But I know. I've seen him hurt too many times to not know.
We are held in separate cells, but all that really keeps them apart is crosshatched metal bars. I can still talk to him, even hold his hand. I try to distract him from his pain. I tell him stories from when we were children. I sing the same songs my mother sang us. Sometimes I fool myself into thinking that it actually helps. But it doesn't.
Every day is the same, but much, much worse than the last. The Capitol people drag him from his cell. I can't see what they do to him, but I can hear him, screaming. Sometimes it's just too much, and I try to block out the horrible, inhuman sound with my hands, but it doesn't go away.
I remember him warning me, before the Quell. I had no idea there was a rebellion being planned, but he knew. Of course he knew. I remember him looking me straight in the eyes and telling me, in his slow, calm way, that he was in danger. "If something happens to me," he told me, "you have to disappear. They'll come after you next."
I didn't understand then, but I do now. Cinna knows too much. They're trying to get the information out of him, but he won't talk. And each day he is thrown back into his cell, even worse than the day before.