I am sitting in a white room. The walls are blank and void of any expression. I stare at President Snow's chair opposite me. It's white, like his favourite roses. His desk, however, is blood red. I touch the thing and expect the colour to come off on my fingers. With a hesitation I look at my hands. There is no residue. I try not to think of the colour anymore.
'Admiring the décor I see Mr. Odair.' I turn around and see President Snow clutching gardening gloves and a smirk. I don't pay him courtesy like the Capitol people do, I sit still in my seat. I avoid his gaze when he looks at me. President Snow does not like me. When I won the Hunger Games at such a young age it put forth an idea that anyone can win against the Capitol. His stare burns into my skin and I hate the feeling. Contrary to popular belief, the handsome Finnick Odair doesn't appreciate everyone's gaze.
'You must wonder why I have called you hear today.' Snow says as he cocks his head slightly and smiles at me.
'Not really, no.' I answer back. My voice is shaking and he can tell I'm anxious. It's written in his smile.
'How long was it ago that you won your Games?'
'Two years.' I try reply steadily.
'Yes, Mr. Odair, it is. Two years. A whirlwind of attention from girls, prestigious Capitol life and all this hope.'
'Hope, President Snow?'
'Hope, Mr. Odair, is something strong. It flirts in and out but can be permanent if needed to be.'
'I don't understand what you're saying.' I respond, meeting his gaze for the first time.
'Yes… Hope. We all possess it in some way. I think you have been hoping to avoid mentoring tributes from your district,' He responds. My stomach cartwheels. I was untouchable when I was 14, unreachable at 15. Now that my 17th birthday is approaching in less than six months, I am eligible to mentor. I am eligible to accidentally kill people from my District. I am eligible to be a murderer again. There is as much blood on my hands as those tributes that kill us from District Four.
'I think in this instance, Mr. Odair, your hope is a spark that has been put out. Where there is hope, there will always be fear. Welcome back to the Hunger Games.' He says.
Snow removes a white rose from his jacket, pries open my hands and places it in there. The thorns are still present and they prick my skin sharply. As President Snow walks out of his study and the first trickle of blood falls from my skin, he stops at the door. With one hand on the frame, he twists his head and says nine words that both anger and frighten me.
'And may the odds be ever in your favour.'