Numb.
That was what he felt as he stared at the glass bowl full of dark lethal berries.
What were they called?
He forgot what the girl called them. Night...something. Was it really important? He supposed it wasn't. Not anymore.
She was so worried when her lover almost ate them, he should have seen it coming. But he didn't. He should have seen the obvious, but it doesn't matter now, does it?
The message was clear.
A storm is brewing outside. The President knows it and so do I. I should have seen what would happen. It was the only thing that could happen. She sacrificed herself for her sister. Why wouldn't she do the same for her lover?
He did the best he could. He made a judgement call. So why was he being punished? He was only doing his damn job. Really, it wasn't his fault.
Oh, but it is your fault. You call this punishment, you Capital city pig? This is more then you deserve for sending those children to their deaths. For orchestrating their murder.
It wasn't murder. The Treaty demanded it. It had always been this way, for as long as he remembered and he had never felt anything before.
Yet...he should feel something. Surely it wasn't natural to feel this...numb. Especially when the message was so clear.
But he didn't. He couldn't feel anything.
There has to be a way out.
There must be a way for him to hold on to what he has. His life. His perfect life.
Why would you want your perfect life now?
He fell to his knees. If he called out to a long forgotten god, would he be answered? Would he be saved?
Were any of those children saved?
He thought back to the girl. The one to cause him so many problems. The one whose death he tried to orchestrate. The thorn in his side. The woman on fire who refused to burn. The woman braver then he could ever hope to be.
What was it like to love someone so much you would volunteer to die for them?
And as he wondered, he felt something. Something small, barely there, but something he didn't recognize. It choked him.
Guilt.
He would prefer feeling numb. He gasped for breath.
Oh God! All those children!
How many had he sent to die in the name of the Treaty? In remembrance of crimes long since forgotten? How many had suffered pain, humiliation and torture for a war fought by men and women long since dead?
An image of the tiny girl from District 8 flitted, unwanted, through his mind.
She shouldn't have died.
He would prefer feeling numb. A sob rose from deep inside his chest. Yes, he felt guilt. Guilt and hope.
Hope.
Perhaps the world didn't have to be this way. Perhaps it wasn't supposed to be this way. Perhaps the storm the girl had started would become a monsoon. The seed had been planted, now it just needed the rain.
And so he accepted his punishment.
His body was forgotten for a day. A monument to the President's vindictive nature.
He should rot. They all should.
They all would.