Chapter Three

Disclaimer: This story will contain swearing and extreme violence in later chapters.

I do not own any of the characters besides Claire Moore, Logan Smith, Cynthia and the other characters that don't already belong to Suzanne Collins. I will be using the lyrics to a song by Priscilla Ahn in this chapter.

This chapter was brought to you by the extreme and uncontrollable anger that gripped me while I was reading Veronica Roth's Insurgent. (it's a great book by the way) And I use the song "Dream" by Priscilla Ahn in here because I was too lazy to think up my own lyrics for Claire talent, I think you all should check out the song, it's one of my favorite.

Anger. It's interesting to me. Sometimes you just get angry and there is no reason why, and you're not actually angry at anyone. It's just pure and raw emotion that pulses through you until you something to expel it.

That's why I through knives. I started throwing for defense, then I through for enjoyment, and now for release. I wake up, feeling sore and stiff, but relaxed. My anger has gone. I have no doubt that it will resurface, but for now it's gone.

I breathe in the wintery air. Last night I didn't even worry about the cold, I just forgot about it. That's another thing about anger; you forget common sense and lose sight of your surroundings. Now I am shivering violently.

Slowly shuffling back to District 12, I remember that today is the first day of the Victory Tour. The sun has already risen, and my prep team in probably already waiting anxiously for me at my house. I laugh at the thought of Logan having to deal with all of them by himself.

Just as I suspected, my prep team is lingering in my house awaiting my return, and getting extremely flustered. As I walk through the door everyone looks at me expecting an explanation.

"I got mad, threw knives, and slept outside," I explain. Hot tea and a blanket are quickly delivered to me so I can start to thaw out. Then my own personal hell begins. I am soaked in hundreds of steaming hot baths; the only appeal of them is that they melt the ice that froze my bones from my night in the snow.

Legs waxed, eyebrows plucked, makeup applied, and thoroughly annoyed I am ready to be dressed. Cynthia enters my bathroom and shoos the others out.

"It's good to see you again," she greets me.

"It's nice to see you too," I reply. "Probably one of the only good things that's happened in a while."

"What happened?"

"Just stress," I sigh.

"It'll get easier," she assures me. "Almost all of the victors feel this way, it's normal. But if want you talk to someone you should call Finnick Odair."

"The victor?" I ask playing ignorant. "Why?"

"You two have quite a lot in common, I would know, he was the first tribute that I designed for," she informs me.

"I'll give it a try sometime, but speaking of design, what am I wearing?" I inquire. Cynthia reaches into her bag and pulls out a grey and black striped sweater and black pants. I inspect myself in the mirror once I'm dressed. Over the few months that I've been slowly reaching a healthy weight, my once hollow cheeks have somewhat filled in. Now I am what I never thought I'd be able to be, beautiful. My long brown hair cascades over my shoulders.

"Is there anything that I should remember to do when they interview me?" I ask Cynthia.

"No, just be yourself," she smiles. "I forgot to ask what your talent is?"

"Singing, it's the only thing I can do without potentially killing someone with a knife," I joke.

"The film crew is probably here by now," she says while we walk downstairs. As it turns out, Cynthia is right. The film crew is not only here, but they have turned my living room into a film studio. Lights are placed at odd angles and several cameras are being set into place. In the middle of all the chaos stands a single, vintage microphone.

After they set me in the right place and make all the final adjustments the room goes silent. I have never sung in front of anyone before, it was always something that I did while fishing or when I was bored. When I was asked to think of a talent it was the first thing that came to mind, I never thought I would be scared to do this.

Taking a few deep breaths I begin. The first note comes out perfectly, and I start to get more comfortable. The song isn't mine; it's one that has always been sung in the Home. It gave us hope. That is the reason I chose this song, everyone is required to watch this, including those who wish to rebel. This song is for them, more than anyone else they need hope. With that thought I let myself get lost in the lyrics.

I was a little girl alone in my little world who dreamed of a little home for me.
I played pretend between the trees, and fed my houseguests bark and leaves, and laughed in my pretty bed of green.

I had a dream
That I could fly from the highest swing.
I had a dream.

Long walks in the dark through woods grown behind the park, I asked God who I'm supposed to be.
The stars smiled down on me, God answered in silent reverie. I said a prayer and fell asleep.

I had a dream
That I could fly from the highest tree.
I had a dream.

Now I'm old and feeling grey. I don't know what's left to say about this life I'm willing to leave.
I lived it full and I lived it well, there's many tales I've lived to tell. I'm ready now, I'm ready now, I'm ready now to fly from the highest wing.

I had a dream

When I finish the song no one claps at first, but after a few seconds they begin to quietly. It has nothing to do with my singing ability, it's the way the song was created; it leaves the room with a lingering silence that no one wants to break.

After a few quick questions about how I started singing and such I am ushered outside to begin the Victory Tour. I pull my coat around me tight and breathe in the freezing air. I can do this. Giving Logan a quick hug goodbye I walk down my front steps.

As soon as I hit the bottom step Katniss and Peeta emerge from their houses. They run towards each other and fall into the snow, I laugh. Our star-crossed lovers are back, if only everyone else knew what I know. Ever since we returned home I have become a secret keeper for the both of them. Katniss and I have been going into the woods to hunt and I let her rant. I feel bad for the girl, she did not know what she was doing in those Games and she still hasn't the slightest clue what to do now.

Peeta, on the other hand, knew what he was doing; he just didn't know what Katniss was doing. He loved her; it was obvious for anyone to see. But where I was it was almost depressing; sometimes I'd catch him looking at her. He couldn't help himself, despite of how angry he got at her, she still captivated him.

The two pull themselves off the ground and walk towards me, after a couple meaningless hugs the three victors of the 74th Hunger Games board the train.