Character's belong to Suzanne Collins, anything that you don't recognize has been improvised by me. Just a quick warning!: if you're new to the series and haven't read Catching Fire, then please do so before reading this fanfic because there will be spoilers! Reviews are appreciated and welcomed!
Prologue
"They can't hurt me. I'm not like the rest of you. There's no one left I love."
The words slide through my gritted teeth, coming out bitter, cold, and though only really known to me, not entirely true.
But I would never say anything about it out loud.
I stomp my way into the Jabberjay infested section of the forest, taking in its silence. I don't feel sorry for Katniss and Finnick. I didn't enjoy seeing them so traumatically upset, no, but having loved ones will always give the Capitol an upper hand, a leverage that they can hang over you to get you to do whatever they want, no matter how horrible it is.
There is no leverage that the Capitol can hold over my head anymore. There hasn't been since I won my games about eight years ago, when I was only fourteen. Loneliness barely scratches the surface of how I've felt since then.
The only good thing that happened to me was when I first started to mentor, and in turn meet many of the other mentors, thus making new acquaintances. Not everyone of course, but the majority of them made me feel better when I was first starting out because they were people who knew how I felt, and could relate to what I had been through, because they had too, more or less.
But seeing them never lasts long enough. Once the games are over, along with the extensive victory tour that follows, I don't see them outside of those events, except for my own mentor; Blight, who coached me when I had won.
I grit my teeth harder, my jaw tightening as I jerk a blood covered arrow out of a fallen Jabberjay and shake my head.
Naturally, he lived across from me in our district's Victor's Village. On the night of the Quarter Quell announcement, after the showings of Katniss Everdeen and her elaborate wedding gowns, with the votes that followed; as well as Snow's announcement stating that the remaining victor's would be pooled had gone off, I snapped the television off throwing the remote at a wall, some kind of vase shattering glass and water all over the floor, and angrily sat by myself in the dark for I don't know how long; trying to calm myself before I broke anything else.
I hadn't met the two newest winners of the games yet, but I'd seen enough of them and their blatant love story on screens for the past few months, to know that their happiness is a lie.
Their smiles stretched too wide to be comfortable. Their kisses strained.
Marriage has never been a dream of mine, and frankly the idea of it was thrown out of my head as soon as I returned home after winning. But I can't help resenting Katniss a little. Her situation could be much worse than it is. And of course I think her berry stunt was a fucking stupid thing to do, and I know she probably wasn't thinking straight when she did it, but now she is most likely having to work twice as hard to make it all seem believable.
She doesn't even seem to want this extravagant wedding bullshit that the Capitol is forcing on her, and I don't blame her. During the showings of her victory tour she seemed to be taking everything all in stride, but I know well enough that it's only a matter of time before the pressure of this makes her snap.
Blight came over a few hours after the announcements were over, still dressed in the clothes he'd worn earlier that day, looking no better than usual. He turned on some lights, and pried me off the plush chair I'd been in, and sat with me at my kitchen table.
We didn't speak.
We both knew what our only strategy would be. I am the only living female victor my district has, so it's only natural that I'd go back in.
There is only one other male victor besides Blight.
Alan Elms, who is much older than Blight is by a few decades. But it's not because of his age that Alan isn't suitable to go. Six years ago he permanently blinded himself so badly that not even the fanciest of medical technology in the Capitol could repair his eyes.
He told me once that he did it to escape what he called, "walking nightmares". So surely Blight knew that he must go back as well.
Silence, like I had mentioned is the best comfort we could give one another, because we both knew we'd have no choice but to return, and somehow not saying that fact out loud made it easier to deal with.
At first I was pleased about this new life of never having to go back in. It was one full of food, shelter, money, survival and in turn, meant my father and Noah would survive because of it.
Even though Noah still stood a chance of being reaped-though would never have to sign up for tesserae now; -and I would annually have to mentor two kids I knew would most likely not survive, as well as the looming threat of always being watched like a hawk every waking moment by the Capitol.
But I had told myself I could handle it all, if it meant my father and younger brother would get a better life.
I quickly came to know through my own nightmares, experiences of mentoring, and attending year after year of victor celebrations in the Capitol, that anyone who survives a Games, never really leaves.
When I think about it and put all my denial aside, even if it were possible, I wouldn't want anyone to take my place.
I cupped my hands around a mug of something warm Blight had made and I, too lost in thought, had failed to notice. He didn't seem upset by the announcement like I thought he would be.
Blight might've been in his mid-forties, but he was still stronger and able to do more than others his age. The food he'd been able to afford from his victor winnings had helped him grow over the decades into a stocky build with his already broad shoulders, despite his recurring illnesses. But I knew that wouldn't be enough to keep him alive this time. Even I'm pretty strong myself, however I made it a point to not make any false promises to myself on coming back.
Either I did or I didn't. After all, the majority of these people were my colleagues, how could I kill any of them?
In all honesty I'm not surprised that this has happened.
A part of me had doubted — and still doubts — that this is what was really decided for the third Quell — it just fits too conveniently for Snow — and while wanting to get rid of the strongest of the strong, I just know he wanted to make sure I had a chance at being taken out for good.
And it's not just because I'm a victor. On a personal level, I've defied him and thrown any order or attempt to subdue me, right back in his face for so long, I'm amazed he hasn't just blown me to bits on the spot.
Blight.
I'm brought back to the stifling muggy forest around me, and out of my reverie. I probably never thanked him enough for everything he'd done for me, and will never get another chance to, which makes me feel even more like a jackass since he's gone now, all because of that fucking force field.
I had tried to save him when it happened. Shouted his name a few times, shook him, even tried what little CPR I knew, but it wasn't enough. The jolt was instant and he collapsed in a heap, as if he were a rag doll. When I unzipped his ugly blue jumpsuit back, his chest seemed to be sinking into itself, and had a large charred spot that spread all the way to the side of his neck, with smoldering dark smoke pooling off of it.
The fact that he didn't suffer barely consoles me. At least I was able to close his eyes before the hovercraft carried him off.
Finnick walks to me when I come back out, blooded arrows gripped tightly in my hands. One look from his sea green eyes to my brown ones, and I know he can see how I am feeling everything I don't say aloud.
"He wasn't much, but he was from home."
Sure, I'd said that a bit too indifferently when I'd finally caught up with him and the two supposed lovers. But Finnick knows me well enough to see the spaces in between. The small gaps that show how hard I'm silently taking all of this, even if I mask it with a glare. He knows how much I valued Blight, even if I barely showed it when in public.
Just like with this, as well as everything else I've ever done throughout my life, I have had no choice but to scowl and bear it. When I sit, my head aches with memories of him, of the family I used to have, and the years of footage that have been played countless times on every screen in Panem, which have come to represent my life.
Well there you have it! Prologue down, and first chapter to be posted soon. Let me know what you think!
Thanks for reading!
