Oh, she wears the pain of 22 other canidates all on her head. As do all other 59 living Victors of the Games, because they're the winners. They're the ones who are supposed to be blessed around these parts.
But oh, do they get the worst of it.
They all have something to take the pain away. That 24 year old man named Finnick; Isn't he a little too sexually active? Hm, she suspects it. Haymitch never puts down the bottle of Vodka. She isn't surprised. Because she's learned the hard way that it's the only way that helps.
District 6. The district that makes transportation.
But she can't find any escape.
But she's rich, and she never has to go in the Hunger Games again, so what does it matter, anyways? She should be living it up. The Capitol should be running from this cold blooded killer.
But she's a cold blooded killer. And she can't forget it.
Kids, just like herself. Thrown into a giant arena. Year and Year, trying to survive day by day. There's no end.
The Capitol is mad on power.
But she's won against all odds, so she shouldn't care.
But she does. Oh, does she.
Nothing seems to take the pain away.
You're a killer. You're a killer. You're a killer. You're a disgusting killer, she tells herself.
You're no better than the Capitol.
And that's where she'd start screaming, because they did this to her.
But they're allowed.
Why?
Morphling. Something of a District wide addiction. But it's pricey.
But she's rich now. So she buys as much as she can just to take the voices away, as long as it's for awhile, at least.
Quarter Quell? Ha, she scoffs to herself. What are they going to do now?
But then it's annouced. They're ALL going back in the arena. She's against other Victors.
She'll die on the first day.
And for some reason, as she slips another morphling laced needle into her arm, she smiles.
She barely pays attention during the training sessions. Infact, her other victor from this district -who's also used Morphling as an escape - is painting with her. And she finds it in herself to smile and laugh.
Because she's going to die. But as long as she keeps sliding the drug into her veins, she'll be able to handle it.
Afterall, she's a cold blooded killer, and she deserves whatever Karma's got for her.
They all do.
Oh look, she grimaces to herself, there are the 'star-crossed lovers'. Who defeated everyone but refused to kill eachother, trying to do a double lovers suicide.
Ha. The outing wasn't that easy, she thinks.
Because if it was, she'd be dead right now.
But then she catches a glimspe of the arm candy's paintings. All she's been doing lately is painting, but not like that. She's drawing smiley faces. He's painting movies, and they remind her of the games. So much so she nearly screeches before she stuffs the morphling into her veins to calm herself. But then she smirks. He's not all that terrible. Just don't see how that's going to help him in the games.
But god bless, because if they're so much so in love, and losing their other half. Wow, that's gotta hurt, just waiting for it.
Paint a beautiful picture to show how demonic this is, she thinks to herself.
.
When the rebel plan is annouced, she could care less.
Katniss Everdeen? Being the riot leader? She hadn't even heard her name until this minute.
But the boy. He's the painter. Peeta. Peeta the painter. Ha.
But he'd be worth dying for. As long as he could paint that damn picture for her.
.
The games. A lake. Oh. Too bad she can't swim. Ha. Maybe the ends right here.
No Morphling, either. Things get real right now. Really real.
Because you're a cold blooded killer, she reminds herself. And now this is the place where she'd be praised as one.
And she hates it.
Hates the Capitol.
Hates the other Victors.
Hates herself.
.
Somehow she's managed to survive. She doesn't know how exactly; It's all been a blur. That's what Morphling does to you. She must be detoxing-and fast.
But then she sees a rampage of - What the hell are those things? Mutuated Monkeys. Ha, the mutuations just get stupider and stupider. They should see the ones we had, She seethes before pushing the thought away. What she'd do to get some more Morphling.
But then she notices how she's slowly been moving towards the shore. What? She'll get killed doing this. The monkeys can come after her here.
But being this close, she can see how a monkey is getting ready to lunge at a boy.
That boy being named Peeta.
Peeta the painter.
And before she knows its the fangs are biting into her chest - not his.
What a bad nightmare this all is.
The only thing she couldn't have imagined happening was the pain.
She could feel her lunging being torn. And man, did it hurt. But it feels like this is all surreal. And the pain reminds her of the time back in the real days.
The real days being the time she was in arena for the first time.
How long ago was that, really?
... She doesn't even know.
But nows not the time for that.
Oh, now she's lying on the ground. Peeta the Painter and the Rebel leader siting by her side. Waiting for her to die, trying to comfort.
Like she needs it. All she wants is her dying wish.
She's never been good with words. So instead she reaches her finger into the blood that's pumping out of her chest, feeling the pain go numb. Ha. She's really dying.
It's hard, but she manages to move her arm up until she reaches the boys - Peeta's - face and smears the blood across it. She's doing her best to draw a flower. She doesn't know why, but isn't Katniss is flower? Sure it is. But Morphling's dulling her mind for so many years now, so it's anybodies bet.
But their eyes meet. It's a dark twisted thing before she hears the equality twisted whisper of "Thank you. It's beautiful."
Something she's done? Beautiful? No. She's a cold blooded killer.
He shouldn't be lying while shes dying. But she's read his eyes. And she knows her wish will be fullfilled.
And so when her arm falls limp, and then Peeta and Katniss sit by her sides, she doesn't regret it.
Because in reality, she's been dead for years.