The Lone Survivor: Victor attempts to end her own life

By J.N.

Is this what we have come to? Such will be the question on many minds, although few will dare to say it out loud. The answer is simple: Yes, it is. This is the world where children are slaughtered for entertainment. Only some children, of course, not those of the privileged. This is the world where a sixteen-year-old girl will survive a terrible ordeal, continue to be paraded in public, and see no escape other than suicide.

He couldn't go on reading, as a bitter taste rose in his mouth. Suicide. The word still got to him, and seeing it printed out on paper like this was harsher than thinking it. He looked back up at Mags. "Who…?"

"You know who." She had been stirring her hot lime water, but paused to take the piece of paper back from him, deftly slipping it into her sleeve.

"One of ours?" He automatically lowered his voice, although their table was in the middle of a busy beverage house, a long glass hall filled with small round tables and bustling with gossip and the latest fashion. No one seemed to bear them any mind, but you could never be sure of that. Eyes and ears existed everywhere, although they tended to be more attentive in secluded places.

She gave a nearly imperceptible nod, sipping her drink.

"If we get caught with this-"

"They'd kill us. But I never get searched." Mags smiled contently, and once again, he admired her ability to stay perfectly calm in any situation, to look like the sweetest, most innocent old lady there was. She had perfected the mask they all played in. Or maybe she simply wasn't scared anymore after a lifetime of threats.

"They would be more likely to cut out our tongues and be done with it. Keep us pretty."

This time, he did get a reaction out of her, as a subtle hint of disgust flared in her eyes. "We are distributing in 4…restricted distribution…"

"To what end?"

"To sow doubt, for now."

"Does she have to be pulled into this?" He knew he was supposed to be pleased about this action, but somehow, he couldn't be. Using Annie's story without her consent seemed wrong, spreading the word about something so intimate, turning her into something she was not, some sort of tragic little martyr. He was so done with the media charade. They were all just little figures on a playing board to be moved around. But by whom? Who would get to define their story, their role as a hero, martyr, coward, enemy or posterchild?

Mags gave him a pitying look and covered his hand with hers. "She's already in it, don't you see?"

"She didn't ask for this." Annie was no rebel. How could she play a role in an agenda she didn't even know about? He withdrew his hand. "It's not fair to put this on her now."

"None of this is fair" the older woman said gently, tugging a stray of grey hair behind her ear. "On anyone. How is Annie, anyway?"

"The same" he sighed. "The medical officer said there should be no lasting damage, and she seems…pretty settled, compared to what you would expect. But she won't talk about it." That was only half the truth. It was true, Annie had not broached the subject of what had happened and had acted as if he were visiting her in the medical ward for no other reason than before. But he hadn't been able to get himself to bring it up, either. Too great had been his relief to see her awake, alert and not completely apathetic. He didn't know what to make of it. He didn't know what to say to her, how to act around her, not after this. So he said nothing, like he was supposed to. He wasn't supposed to care so much.

Mags was fumbling with her sleeve again, tucking the paper away. "Strange girl."

"A bit."

The Crazy One

By Seraphima Gardini

District 4's Annie Cresta has certainly been the surprise of the year. While her approach of hiding and doing…well, nothing while her competitors perished in the arena lead her to a lucky win, she is still turning heads after the Games with unpredictable outbursts and cryptic public statements (Glitz! reported, see ed. 2/3). Sponsors everywhere ask: How on earth did that girl win? Skeptics see her erratic behaviour as an attention-seeking strategy, but a source close to her team says: "She's crazy, completely off her head." Rumours flourish around her sudden withdrawal from public life, and the supposed-

"Darling, put that down and come back to me" she purred next to him, brushing against his leg with her foot teasingly.

"Hm-mh" he muttered non-committantly, perched up on his elbow. He tried to finish skimming the article as quickly as possible, but these interruptions made it difficult.

The woman beside him wouldn't have it. "Finn" she breathed in his ear, wrapping her slender arms around his chest from behind.

"Just a minute."

"Is that silly magazine really more interesting than me?"

He barely registered the pouting in her voice. He could not fail to register the hand that wandered down his chest, the long fingernails grazing his stomach in search for their inevitable destination. "You're killing me" he groaned.

"I might if you don't put that down." Her hand reached its target, and he could feel her breath on his neck, giving him goosebumps.

He didn't want to be aroused, not right at this moment, but his body was responding to her touch in spite of him. He loathed that familiar feeling, the mixture of excitement and disgust. He hated the connections it created between something that was, well, kind of fun sometimes, something that was intense and supposed to be physically pleasurable, and the things that were still there beneath his Capitol personality. His mind was in a hypervigilant state as it was, his body tense with anxiety over Annie, yet somehow, the second his…other regions were added to the equation, his brain mistook all of that for excitement. He was not enjoying this, he told himself, it was a means to an end, this was not him. Not really. This was Finnick Odair, the victor. Sometimes, after the inevitable release, he felt sick to his stomach and had to shower right away, or otherwise strangely empty, like he wasn't even there anymore. Maybe one day, he wouldn't be, and all the parts of him that weren't the victor would just fade away.

"What is that you were reading, anyway?" Lucille asked casually. Her long, sleek hair fell over his shoulder.

"About Annie" he muttered under his breath, disgusted with saying her name in this state.

"Oh! Poor little dear." The older woman's hand stilled, but only for a moment. "But what's your interest?"

"You know me, I'm always –ah!- interested…my district…" Damn it, he couldn't focus like this. He brushed her hand away roughly and turned around to face her, sliding his leg in between hers.

"Oh!" She gasped, leaning back against the pillows with a mischievous grin on her face. "You like talking about her?"

For goodness' sake… "She's a silly girl" he made himself tell her with a sigh. "She survived, but she's lost her mind somewhere in that water."

"It's true, then?" Her eyes widened, giving a ridiculous accent to her green feather eyelashes.

"Shh, don't tell anyone." He slipped his hand under her shirt, his palm gliding across her soft, warm skin.

She giggled. "Our little secret."

He leaned in closer, his lips nearly brushing her earlobe. "I wonder what our Gamemaker's plans are for her."

"Wicked boy!" She wiggled against him playfully. "You know I'm not supposed to tell."

"I also know you will." He winked at her, teasing her by brushing his fingers ever so lightly against her without touching her properly. "Cilly, it's just us here, you and me." Him, her and the ears that sometimes lived in the walls. This dance of theirs was a dangerous one. Lucille would not be the first of his bedmates to disappear without notice from one day to the next. He needed to tread carefully.

"And you're thinking of your district – always the dutiful servant."

"That's me" he grinned, pressing his knee into her. He had to find out what the plan was here, why they would speak about all this so openly in the media. These things were usually covered up, being, as they were, "less pretty" details of the games. Victors were supposed to be reborn shiny and new, not emerge broken from the wreckage.

"You won't like it." She closed her eyes, her chest heaving under a deep breath.

"Won't like what?" He tried not to sound too curious, but she actually was killing him here.

"Not being the sole champion of District 4 anymore."

He smirked. "I wasn't the sole champion to begin with."

"Yes, I know, the old crone…not much competition there."

Oh, if you knew… Mags was perhaps the most underestimated person he had ever met. "So what's the deal with Annie, should I be worried there?"

She sighed, opening her eyes again. "I shouldn't think so. They'll make her a tragic victor, I reckon. Brigsby told Crane to let her go crazy on stage next time."

"Brigsby?" It seemed unusual for the propaganda minister to intervene in something as small scale as this.

She shook her head, tight-lipped.

He leaned in even closer, cupping her cheek with one hand. "Tell me" he whispered.

"Look, all I know is, Durmax has been giving them trouble, asking for things, saying how a champion district needs a good career academy and that takes funding. Brigsby wants to teach them a lesson."

"But Annie didn't go to Durmax. How would she take them…unless…" He instantly felt transported back into the long, high corridors of his old training academy. He could still hear the endless speeches in his head about how they were "the chosen ones", the elite who would someday get a chance to enter a "glorious" life and death battle, the ones to bring honour to their families, honour to their district. His 14-year-old self had absorbed every word of it, wanting nothing more than to make his parents proud. Paradoxically, he still remembered his reaping as the happiest day of his life.

"Unless she makes all of District 4 a laughing stock."

He is watching them as they sit by the artificial pond, making a rope from seaweed. Mags is smiling, pleased with Annie's speed. It is a complete waste of time. Annie knows how to make a rope. What she has successfully been avoiding for the past day is weapons training. He walks up to them.

"Hey. Correct me if I'm wrong, but shouldn't you be working over there with Reg?" He gestures at the boy, who is working on his spear throwing just out of hearing range. He gives the pile an angry kick after his spear falls short again and a couple of kids from Districts 1 and 2 pass by, laughing. Reg is ambitious, and anything but clumsy, but he is slender and far too young to be here. If he had waited a couple of years, he might have stood a chance. How on earth did he get himself selected?

"I did."

"For five minutes. That's not training, unless you mean to strangle all your enemies with a rope." Between Reg and Annie, he hardly knows where to begin. They should be forming an alliance, but who would be protecting whom here? This is not their year, he can feel it.

She shrugs, glancing over at her fellow tribute. "Reg is good at aiming things, but he barely knows how to find water."

"Survival comes first" Mags agrees, and since when is she not on the same page with him?

"Women" he sighs, sitting down on the bench next to Annie as he gets disapproving looks for his remark.

"…check on Reg…" the older woman mumbles, swallowing half her words. She gets up and walks over to the boy, calling some instruction.

"Annie-"

"I told you I don't want to kill people, Finnick" she says quietly so no one will pick up on it. "I told you so."

"That's…impossible."

"It isn't. I can hide-"

"They'll find you."

She is looking at him stubbornly. He can't help noticing her eyes, and the way their sea green colour seems brighter today against her pale outfit. "But I won't go hunt them."

There is something about her that he can't put his finger on, that he simply can't figure out. "Annie, if you don't want to do this, why on earth did you volunteer as tribute?" There had been a dozen girls, a dozen careers from the academy who had been dying to put their names forward and who had gone through elaborate selection procedures, but Annie's hand had shot up first.

"I wanted to get away."

That sounded like a pretty lame excuse to him. "Whatever happened to just running away?"

"I told someone I…" She has averted her gaze, wringing her hands in her lap. "I made a promise."

"What kind of promise?"

She shakes her head. "I can't say."

After they had finished, he held her for a while longer as her head rested against his shoulder. Her blond hair was shimmering in the sunlight that crept in through the gap in the blinds, covering half of her face, as the Capitol began to wake up around them. Neither of them had fallen asleep. "'Cilly?" he spoke softly into her hair.

"Finn." She turned her face upward, looking at him. He did not kiss her.

"I'm not ecstatic about this idea of having my district shamed. You can see how that would…complicate things for me, I'm sure."

"It would. But you will be fine. You have certain qualities." Her finger traced a light circle on his chest.

"I am not planning on having my work for my district ruined by an unstable girl."

"Then make her stable, love."

"Would that I could" he replied in his best mock Capitol accent, earning him a nudge from her. "Ever so unfortunately, she is unresponsive to my efforts."

"Poor girl" Lucille repeated with a sigh. This was good, this was how he needed her to feel.

"Cilly" he exclaimed after a moment's silence, as if an idea were only just occurring to him, "aren't you on the housing committee for the victors?"

She laughed. "No way, Mr. Odair."

"What?"

She looked at him again, her blue eyes fixing him. She might be silly sometimes, but she was not stupid. "You do not get to play with me."

He had moved too quickly, once again making the mistake of wanting to seize every opportunity, to resolve this fast so as to reduce the risk to Annie. It was no use denying it now. "Fine. But you could get her out of here for a while, if you wanted to. You could suggest it."

"That would serve no purpose."

"It would" he insisted. "I think if she got to go home to District 4 for a while, to a familiar place, if we gave her some time to recover, she will get better and then I could work with her to-"

"They will never agree to that."

"You don't know that. It's not in their interest if she is unpredictable. Unpredictable doesn't make for a good victory tour, and the tour is months away in either case."

"They have other uses for her until then."

His stomach twisted at the reminder. "I know. But how much use is she at these events, really, in her current state?"

"There are good doctors here."

"She doesn't need a doctor. She's not ill." Not in any obvious way. "I just need time, Cilly. Just a bit of time, that's all."

Author's Note: Sorry, this chapter took me a while again, but I am planning to continue the story if there is interest. Thank you for your reviews, and I look forward to hearing your comments on this chapter.