Ooh, I fall apart

Down to my core

Ooh, I fall apart

Down to my core

-Post Malone, I Fall Apart


Talisa Umiko, Victor of the 28th Hunger Games

The applause is deafening. Like the roaring waters back home, topped in whitecaps, crashing endlessly. Carving away at the beach. Carving away at her. The lights are blinding, all trained on her, and she manages to force out a weak smile, and an even weaker wave.

The crowd eats it up, cheering and screaming her name, an endless cacophony of noise. She stumbles towards the seat, and sits, glad to be off of her feet. The light seems to dim down, and the applause slowly fades away as she focuses on the man sitting in front of her, his signature vibrant pastel red hair and pale pink suit bright, his complexion flawless under the revealing spotlight.

In comparison, she knows that she must look absolutely dreadful. Her dress is a deep sea green, and her makeup is done beautifully by the prep team just behind the stage. But she knows that she's thinned out and paled considerably. The damage that the Games has done to her is irreparable.

Once the applause has fully died, and all eyes are trained on the two of them, the interviewer begins to speak. "Talisa! We're so glad to see you here again."

She nods slowly. "It's good to see you again too, Tarquinius." It's not entirely a lie: Tarquinius Valentine is Panem's Master of Ceremonies. He hosts the Hunger Games and interviews the tributes, and though he puts on a bright and exuberant façade for the Capitolites, she knows just how genuine and caring of a man he really is to the tributes he interviews. She knows that sending twenty-three children off to their death each year, and not knowing which one he will get to see again, weighs heavily on his conscience.

But from afar, you really can't tell. "Now, darling, just call me Quinn. We know each other well enough by now, surely!" he chuckles, plastering a winning smile onto his face, his perfect white teeth gleaming in the bright stage lights. It teases a genuine smile out from her for the first time in months. She knows he means it too; they've talked plenty on and off the stage since her crowning as the Victor.

"The last time I saw you," he continues, "was after the Victory Tour!" he says approvingly, inciting a roar from the crowd beneath the stage.

She drums her fingers restlessly on the taut leather arm of the chair. "Yeah. That was quite the show you gave us, Tar-I mean, Quinn."

He grins. "Yes, yes it was. And I think I speak for all of Panem when I think we ended with the most deserving Victor. How exciting was it that you were the one to take home the crown!"

Her smile vanishes and she has to bite her lip to stop herself from speaking out. He doesn't speak for all of Panem. Every District had faced her with silence. Weak, unenthusiastic claps. Sadness. She was euphoric in the aftermath, to have survived with her life; yet two tributes from each district had died. The only Districts that had been happy for her victory was her own, and District 2. They had always loved a good fight. But in District 1, she faced the harshest silence of all. She nods to the Master of Ceremonies. "I'm glad to have won. I know I proved myself and made everyone back home so proud of me."

Her district partner had died in the bloodbath, a shock for all the Careers. She had to work twice as hard to earn her spot among them, she recalled. To keep District 4's reputation standing. Most Careers had normally survived the bloodbath, so it was unusual that he had not. Even Zeke's family had been able to choke out a congratulations to her, despite the loss of their son. They knew there could only be one Victor, and they were glad that it came from their District.

Valentine's smile is dazzling. "I'm sure they were, sweetheart." His voice catches a small hitch in it. "It's a celebration to bring home any tribute as a Victor. . ." He trails off, clearly pained, taking a sip of white wine to wet his painted lips before speaking again. "So, how has your family adjusted to life in the Victor's Village?" he asks, leaning in towards her, showing his eagerness to hear her response.

"My family's doing great. The house is gorgeous, nothing compared to the Capitol though. My parents are happy to have me back, and my little brother, he isn't really old enough to care about the differences, if you know what I mean." She gives him a tentative smile, cueing him to change the subject away from her family. Her little brother, Shoal, was old enough to care about the differences. She just knew that he wouldn't be able to express if he did. Her parents considered Shoal an embarrassment, because his brain wasn't fully formed in the womb. She loved him just the same. Taking care of him was what made her still feel human.

Valentine nods understandingly, a gentle expression on his face. "With the up-and-coming 29th Annual Hunger Games, I'm sure we're all dying to know: are you going to mentor for the Games this year?" The audience waits with bated breath to hear her answer. District 4 has produced two other winners since the first Hunger Games. The first had won the 4th Hunger Games, and mentored ever since until Caspian won, eight years later. Then she had taken home another victory, sixteen years after Caspian. It had been a long time since District 4 had won the Games.

"I'm taking Nerida's place," she nods. The Capitolites look enthusiastic about this decision, their painted faces twisted into cheers, their colored wigs glittering like oiled gems in the stage light. Beyond the stage, the Capitol is lit brightly, supplied with electricity from District 5's power plants. But the sky above is hazy and dark, like ink. The moon is nowhere to be seen.

"She really does deserve the break." Valentine admits sympathetically. "I know we're all excited to get to see more of you, and some fresh strategies coming from our new District 4 tributes. Are you excited for the Games?" he asks, smoothing down the lapels on his suit. Once again, she becomes fully aware that the entirety of Panem is watching her interview. Broadcast to all of the television networks, the preparation for the Hunger Games is underway once more, she knows.

"I'm very excited for it, Quinn," she lies. She doesn't want to get attached to the new tributes just to see them killed on screen. "I think I can bring some new insight to our District 4 tributes this year. And I know we'd all like another fresh face in the Victor's Village," she says a little boldly.

To his credit, Valentine manages to look surprised and compliments her on her boldness. "I have no doubt that under your leadership, District 4 stands a great chance of bringing home another win under their belt."

I only won because I killed Markus. The win should have gone to District 1. But she had killed him instead. And she knew that District 1 would hate her for it. Their silence was answer enough. He should have won the Games, not her. And everyone knows it. Markus Valour, the perfect golden boy from District 1. Top Career in the Arena, even over the District 2 tributes. He had gotten sponsors left and right from the Capitol. They adored him, ever since the moment he had volunteered. But his name has died on their lips and they scream for her instead.

Because she gave them a better show. Because she betrayed her ally and shocked the audience.

She struggles for words to respond with but failing and falling short. Valentine decides to wrap things up for her, standing and ushering her in for a hug. "You'll be okay," he whispers into her ear. When they pull apart, his shoulder is wet, and she blinks back any more tears. "And there you have it!" He shouts with as much joviality as he can manage. "Talisa Umiko, Victor of the 28th Annual Hunger Games, everybody!"

She manages a curtsy, and the applause follows her off the stage, ringing in her ears. Her head starts to throb viciously. The moment she steps behind the curtains, her prep team flocks around her like colorful birds, squawking praises into her ears.

"Oh, Talisa you were stunning!"

"Wonderful performance, darling, just marvelous!"

She shrugs them away and heads to the dressing room, forcefully shutting the door and locking it. It's a thin barricade between her and them, but she knows they won't bother her in here.

"And next," booms Valentine's voice from a speaker box behind the stage, "Head Gamemaker Vetura, on the upcoming Hunger Games!" The crowd goes wild, and she slips into numbness. She stares at the mirror, pristine and polished. She barely recognizes the girl who stares back at her. Pallid and thin, not strong and tanned like the girl who entered the Games with a smile on her face. She unclasps the dress from her shoulder and lets the folds of sea-green silk fall into a puddle around her ankles.

Most Victors turn to drugs and drinks to ease the horrors of their Games. She punishes herself in a different way. Too thin, the girl that stares back at her seems to say. Her ribcage is starting to show, her face gaunt and tired, mascara blotchy and streaking down toward her chin. She can't bring herself to eat after facing the Games. Caspian drinks. He gets wasted and can't remember what he was doing the night before. District 6 injects morphling, she knows. They abuse the drug like a lifeline. She starves, like the outer Districts did. Like the girl from District 12, dead moments after she had fled into the woods.

She was too thin. Why should she deserve to live and return to a District of abundance and riches, of Capitol favoritism, while the population starved in the outer Districts? She hadn't had to take tesserae her entire life. No Career did. The outliers had no choice.

Her skin is stretched tight across her bones, whatever muscles she had, still visible, but greatly diminished. Her workouts didn't feel gratifying anymore, they felt like punishment. Maybe they are.

She can hear knocking on the door, and she flinches, staring at her reflection with its sunken eyes and prominent cheekbones. She leans her hands on the sink and draws her body into the light. She turns on the sink, sluicing the freezing water over her face, rubbing off the mascara. Rubbing off the drying tears.

The knocking continues. Slowly, she puts on her dress again, and clasps it above her shoulder. She picks up the pieces of herself that had fallen apart in the dim confines of the bathroom. She reapplies her mascara, composes herself in the mirror, and unlocks the door.


Author's Note: I uploaded within 24 hours, I know. But to be fair this was written already. I know, pretty typical to include the past Victor in the prologue scenes but... ah screw it, it works with the story well enough. I've got two more chapters planned before I begin the reapings, but thanks to those who have decided to take a role in my story - it's very much appreciated. If you haven't submitted yet - please do! Limited spots are still open. I expect my chapters to get longer once I start diving into the Reapings and such, but these chapters feel the appropriate length for what I'm trying to convey. Next chapter from Vivianne's perspective. What do you think of the characters I've introduced? Anything I could change about them to make them better?