In the hour we've been watching the games, Caesar Flickerman has described to us all in great detail, the circumstances surrounding the deaths of the nineteen children who have already fallen. He uses that term quite a bit, 'fallen'. It makes me scoff each time he says it because not one of them 'fell' in some heroic and tragically romantic way. These kids were murdered. They died in appalling and undignified ways.
Each time a death is relived, the crowd in the live audience cheers.
Each time a death is relived, the people in Gale's living room recoil.
"How long is it going to be on for?" Vick asks, his words slurred slightly from the thumb in his mouth.
"We don't know." Hazelle says quietly. I turn and see her pressing her lips together tightly. I can't imagine how it must feel to know you have no choice in exposing your children to such terrible images.
"As long as it takes." Rory says.
Vick frowns. "As long as it takes to what?"
Rory takes a second to look away from where his is frowning at the television and turns to his baby brother. Whatever he was planning on saying seems to die on his lips, and he shakes his head. Gale looks around, too, eyeing Rory warningly.
"Just," Rory says quietly, "just, as long as it takes for someone to win."
Vick nods but looks solemn. I glance over at Prim. She's snuggled into our mother's side, watching the exchange with pale skin but flushed cheeks.
A loud cheer from the audience draws our attention back to the television. Caesar grins at me with too many teeth and eyes too blue to be anything but genetically modified. His hair literally glitters and every word he speaks is accompanied by a flourish of his hands.
Gale lets go of Posy for a second to imitate the flourish. "Death!" Gale grins at me, speaking in whispers but just as theatrically as the presenter. "It is so very wonderful, as long as you have sparkling hair and a stick up your as-,"
I slap his over the head. Hard. But I can't help but laugh at Posy's very confused expression and Gale's fake-hurt look.
"Are my acting skills a joke to you, Everdeen?" he grins.
"Skills?" I smirk. "Not sure about that."
We're both giggling like teenagers and he begins tickling my side with the hand on my waist. When he stops, we're still laughing, and Gale kisses my temple over and over and presses his nose into my hair. One of the kids, maybe Rory, makes a gagging noise and Hazelle tells them to 'give it a rest'. Caesar is discussing something tamer for the moment, reviewing the fashions from the beginning of the games, and for a while we can all smile. And it's then that three things dawn on me.
It is quite possible that this is the worst day of the year so far, for everyone in the room. We're watching children slaughtering each other and we really have no choice about it, but we're laughing. Gale has managed to make me smile and giggle like a teenager, even in the worst situation.
We're giggling like teenagers because we are teenagers. And all of a sudden I realise that as much as I refer to the 'kids' as our younger siblings, Gale and I are really just kids too. That thought takes me aback. At sixteen and eighteen, we're still young. It's odd, and strange and I can't quite work out why, but something about the realisation comforts me until I'm punched in the chest with realisation number three.
I love Gale. I know this, I've known this for years but this is different. He smiles at me and makes me laugh when we're witnessing the worst things and without him I would have starved long, long ago and I am in love with this silly boy beside me.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, the moment we have all been waiting for, the moment when we cross live to our remaining five tributes." Caesar's voice drags me from my reverie and all at once, we sober up.
Prim begins crying, and Vick's hand finds the tag in Gale's shirt, Rory sits up straighter and Posy reaches out for my hand. We watch quietly, no longer laughing at Gale's impressions or Rory's mocking of us.
I'm finding it very difficult to sit still next to Gale, and his arm around my waist is the main thing keeping me from getting up and walking around. Well that, and the fact that according to Aaron, a Capitol Peacekeeper could come in at any time and check on us. I think back to what Aaron said, and part of me wonders if we're being watched right now. It wouldn't surprise me if the Capitol had managed to bug our houses. President Snow does seem to see everything.
Even with Gale's hand on my side, and Posy running her fingers over my palm, I can't help myself from looking over my shoulder at our other younger siblings.
Prim has stopped crying, but each time I turn around she has her face hidden in my mother's shoulder. At some point she has pulled her legs up so that her thighs are pressed against her chest, and her knees come past her chin. My mother strokes her hair rhythmically, and every so often I catch the hum of a tune that is familiar somewhere in the depths of my memory. Perhaps the tune is a comfort to Prim, but each time a catch the melody, it only provides a soundtrack for the horror I'm witnessing.
Vick sits almost directly behind me, next to Prim, my back pressing against his legs. If it was him shaking earlier, he's stopped, and the hand that gripped Gale's collar has retreated in favour of holding his other brother's hand. The fingers from the other hand rub his nose, something I think that maybe Hazelle did when he was a baby to get him to sleep, while his thumb remains crammed in his mouth. Vick watches the television, but closes his eyes each time something frightening happens, which means his eyes are almost permanently closed at this point.
Rory holds his brother's hand diligently, and I can tell from the white in his knuckles that he's squeezing it harder than he would care to admit. The twelve-year-old's other arm is wrapped around Hazelle's. He seems determined to watch, sitting up straight between his brother and mother with narrow, but squared shoulders, staring at the images unfolding in front of us all. I've caught him twice with his eyes squeezed shut though, but don't say anything about it.
Of all the kids, it's four-year-old Posy who seems to be coping the best with the situation. I suspect that's down to the fact that she simply has no idea what is going on. I have no intentions of explaining this to her.
Posy sits in Gale's lap, face no longer hidden in his chest now that the loud noises of the Capitol instruction and the sirens have stopped. Gale has her strategically positioned, so that every time something happens onscreen he deems too horrible for her to view, he can pin her face to his torso with a hand, and the only thing she will be able to see, is me. I can tell from the way his other hand twitches against my waist, that he would prefer to shield her vision the whole time, but Posy is curious and only lets him do it for brief periods of time before she begins lashing out in a tantrum fuelled by fear and curiosity. At some point she lets my hand go, but I leave it resting on Gale's leg.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
We've been watching for an hour into the live show, and all five of the final tributes are still alive. For now we've been spared the true gore and horror of children murdering each other live, but the game makers are obviously getting impatient, and as a result we have watched some less than pleasant scenes.
When an artificial fire burns the trunk of a tree the boy from eleven is sleeping in, and it falls to the ground with a sickening crunch, Gale shield's Posy's face and grips my waist harder. His lips are pressed together tightly when I look over at him, but relief floods his face, and when I turn my attention back to the images; the boy has escaped the fire and is sprinting through a too-green-to-be-real forest.
Posy pushes Gale's hand away from her face and smiles far too brightly at the television.
"I like him." She declares, and looks to me. "Do you like him, Katniss?" she asks.
"Yeah" I say, unsure really how I should respond when I know that it is very likely that I will have to watch this boy die sooner rather than later.
"Gale?" she says. "Do you like him?"
"Yes." Gale kisses the top of her head and takes a second to close his eyes. The hand on my waist has found its way under the borrowed shirt I'm wearing, and his fingers stroke the skin there. I imagine in different circumstances I would be enjoying his touch more, but either way, it's comforting.
Gale lifts his head from Posy's and opens his eyes. The piercing grey locks with my own when he speaks. "We're rooting for him." He says quietly.
The games have been going on for over a week, and neither Gale, nor I have even discussed the tributes, but I can't say I disagree with him. The other four are careers. If we are rooting for anyone, it is most certainly going to be the boy from District Eleven.
"Yeah." I say to Gale. "We're rooting for him."
Posy draws our attention back to her, with creased eyebrows and curious eyes. "What are we rooting for him for?" she asks me.
"To win." Gale says.
"Win what?"
She looks between us, but when neither of us answer, she turns in Gale's lap to the others on the couch behind us and asks them.
"Win what?"
"The Hunger Games." Rory says dryly.
"How do you win the Hunger Games?"
My heart breaks at the innocence in her tone, and I don't hesitate to glare at Rory, warning him not to say anything that will ruin that innocence, with just my expression. He opens his mouth to speak, but then looks down at his hand, entwined with his younger brother's, and closes it.
Having apparently decided that she is getting no more answers from the couch, Posy settles back in Gale's lap and turns to me.
"How do you win, Kat? She asks, almost shyly.
Gale looks at me with desperation, and I just know that he's having the same thoughts as me. How do you explain something so awful, and yet so completely true to a four-year-old? This year is maybe the first year Vick and Prim have really understood what the games truly entail. They're eleven and twelve and still too young.
The little girl continues to wait patiently for her answer, watching me. My eyes flick to the television to see some kind of flesh-hungry bat chasing the careers through the brush.
"You win if you can run the fastest." I say.
Gale smiles minutely and squeezes my side.
"And he can run the fastest?" Posy asks.
"We'll see." Gale replies.
"I'm rooting for him, too." She smiles, and snuggles into her big brother.
I follow Posy's lead and snuggle into Gale's side, resting my head on his shoulder and wrapping my arms around him and Posy. She holds my arm to her and absently plays with my fingers as she watches the boy from eleven sprint closer to the cornucopia. Gale rests his cheek on my head, and I feel him press a kiss to my hair.
At any other moment I would be grateful for the lack of snarky remarks from out families, but right now, their attention is otherwise occupied, and it makes me pine for an irritating comment from one of Gale's younger brothers. They should be teasing us about our public displays of affection, not holding each other's hands for dear life.
On the television, the flesh-eating bats have driven the pack of four careers into the centre of the arena. The camera zooms in on their faces as it dawns on them that this is the final showdown. Caesar Flickerman's voice over tells us as much.
The footage flicks back to the boy from eleven, Thresh, Caesar tells us. He's still running away from fire that licks at his heals, but he's moving slower now. The fire remains at a constant pace, only allowing him to move in one direction.
"They're forcing him to the careers." Gale mumbles.
"Hmm." I acknowledge.
I takes less than ten minutes for Thresh to make it to the cornucopia, where the careers are guarding supplies they won't need. I can see there is a large sack of rotting apples they're never going to eat.
Thresh has a large machete in one hand and an axe attached to backpack on his back. The camera zooms in on his face as he sees the other remaining tributes.
"Yes! Yes! Get that axe ready, Thresh, my boy!" Caesar sings as Thresh pulls the axe from his back and shrugs the bag onto the ground. "You're going to need it."
Gale stiffens next to me, and his hand twitches next to Posy's face.
"For those of you at home," Caesar's voice says in a far too pleasant tone, "we'll go over our five final tributes' names and districts."
The camera begins to zoom in on the girl from one.
"I don't want to know!"
I turn, completely surprised that Prim has even spoken. So far, through this whole ordeal, she's remained practically silent, with her face hidden in my mother's shoulder.
"I don't want to know their names and where they're from. No when…" she sniffs and her eyes become glassy. "Not when," her eyes dart to me, then to Posy and back to me.
"Not when only one can run the fastest." I finish for her.
Prim bites her lip and nods. When she closes her eyes, tears begin tracking down her cheeks.
"Me either. I don't want to know." Gale says beside me. "It's not fair."
"It's not fair." Vick speaks around his thumb.
"It's not." Gale reiterates and his arm suddenly moves from my waist. Instead, he pulls my head down to his shoulder guarding my vision, very similar to the way he has been doing for Posy.
I allow myself to be manhandled by him. The only person I'd ever allow it from. When Gale kisses my head, he strokes his fingers down the side of my face and replaces his hand on my waist. I leave my head on his shoulder and squeeze his thigh.
Caesar has finished telling us the names and districts of the tributes, and we've mercifully avoided it. I only know Thresh, but it's okay, because we're rooting for Thresh. Posy sees him on the television, squaring his shoulders; machete in one hand axe in the other, facing the career pack.
"We're rooting for him." She grins, and has no idea that he's about to die.
Gale lifts Posy and turns her in his lap so that her back is to the television. He removes his hand from my waist so that he can hold his little sister's face in both hands.
"Look at me, Pose." He says gently and she complies without protest. "Someone is going to win soon."
"Thresh is going to win." She smiles.
"Maybe. He might not, but someone is going to win. The thing is," he brushes strands of her hair out of her face, "it's not going to be very nice."
"Why not?"
"It's just how it works, little girl." Gale forces a smile for her, and I also attempt to smile.
"Can I see Thresh win?" Posy asks Gale, but then looks over to me.
"He might not win." I say, as soothingly as I possibly can.
"Can I watch?" she asks again.
"No." Gale says.
Posy looks at Gale, then back to me. Her brows are furrowed, as if she's trying very hard to understand what is going on. I keep my eyes on Posy, despite the gasp from Prim behind me, and the distinct sound of metal on metal from the television.
"Okay." Posy finally says to me. She looks back to Gale, and brushes his hands off her face. Instead, she places her own tiny hands on Gale's face, and pulls him closer so she can kiss him on the nose.
It's such an odd but gorgeous gesture, that it takes me second to process. Gale smiles at his little sister and kisses her back on the nose. Posy giggles, flings her arms around Gale's neck, closes her eyes and hugs him.
"Tell me when Thresh wins." She whispers.
Gale just nods.
"Oh my God." Rory exclaims, sounding half disgusted, half impressed.
Vick has his eyes closed and Prim has her hands over her ears, face hidden by our mother.
"Oh my God!" Rory says again, and I look back to the television.
A wave of nausea hits me as my eyes land on the images.
Someone is dead. I have no idea who, but someone no longer has a right arm and has an axe in their back. And it's not Thresh.
"And such a shame, we will not have a winner from District Four this year!" Caesar informs us.
Thresh pulls his axe out of the boy from four's back and turns on the three other shocked-looking careers.
"Hey, Pose." Gale says quietly, eyes fixed firmly on the television. "Thresh might just have a chance."
I agree.
Thresh's machete narrowly misses its target of the boy from one's chest as he throws himself out of the way, but it continues its path an sails through the air, colliding with the boy's district partner. I recoil as blood spurts from the girl's shoulder, and grab Gale's arm.
The camera angle changes just in time to show a wide-shot of Thresh, slashing his machete across the stomach of the girl. My own stomach lurches in response.
"And, beautiful people, we are down to our final three." Caesar announces. "It will be a male winner this year, but will our winner be from District One, Two or, very surprisingly, Eleven!"
The crowd cheers as the camera zooms in on each tribute's face. The three of them stand, looking at each other, weapon's held aloft. The bodies of the girl from one and the boy from four, lie motionlessly on the grass, only a short distance from the living tributes' feet.
I grip Gale's arm tighter and push my face into his shoulder, though my eyes remain on the screen. I want to look away, I don't want to see what will happen next, but I can't help it. It's addicting and terrifying and so utterly real that I have to watch.
I'm disgusted with myself, but I have to watch.
I'm waiting for one of the careers to lurch at Thresh, and then something happens, not one of us anticipated.
"Holy fuck." Gale breathes, as the boy from two whips his arm to the side, and stabs the other career in the neck.
"Oh my God." Rory says for the third time.
I watch, as Thresh, just as shocked and confused as I am, stares at the career.
"Why'd you kill your ally?" Thresh questions.
The boy from two shrugs and holds his sword out. "Wanted you all to myself. Did you know I killed that little kid you came with?"
Under my cheek, Gale's arm contracts. I glance up at his face, his jaw is set as he grits his teeth. The boy from two is smiling sickly and I want to see Thresh kill him.
I hate myself for wanting it, but right now, I hate that boy from two.
"She was very small, wasn't she?" He taunts Thresh. "My sword went straight through her and out the other side." He sneers.
Thresh runs at the boy from two, abandoning his axe and wielding the machete with both hands. The boy from two is fast; he darts to the side, avoiding Thresh's blows.
"It took a while for her to die!" he laughs, ducking away from another swipe. "She kept crying for her mothe-"
The camera is zoomed in on the boy from two's face when he stops speaking, so I'm not entirely sure what has just happened. The boy looks down at something off camera, his face a ghostly white. He falls out of frame, and the image changes to a wider shot.
There are no sounds from the studio, only the arena's sounds of Thresh's panting and the boy's laboured breathing and he sinks down to his knees.
Thresh steps back and sits down on the grass, watching as the boy slowly removes the machete from his torso, and places it on the grass.
I can only assume that adrenaline and shock are what is keeping the boy from two to reacting.
He's dying.
He falls backwards and more than blood begins gushing from his middle. Suddenly, as this teenager's innards coat the genetically modified grass, I don't hate him so much anymore.
My mother sniffs behind me and places a hand on my shoulder.
That boy has a mother. Maybe he has brother and sisters, too. Cousins.
Gale presses his face into my hair.
Maybe that boy had a girlfriend. Maybe she's watching. Maybe she hates Thresh.
Rory forges his way from between Vick and Hazelle, kicking me in the back in the process. I turn around to see Hazelle following him out into the back yard. Even when she closes the door after them, I can hear the sounds of his retching.
Vick stands up too, following his mother out of the door.
"And there we have it, folks. Your winner of the 74th annual Hunger Games! Thresh-"
I never hear the end of what Caesar is saying because a little red banner at the bottom of the image pops us telling us that 'Mandatory viewing has ended', and Gale has reached forward to turn it off.
My mother squeezes my shoulder and stands up, leading a sobbing Prim into the kitchen.
Posy sits back, and rubs her eyes.
"It's finished now?" she asks.
"Yeah." I answer. "It's all over."
"Who won?" She looks up at Gale with huge eyes.
"Thresh."
Posy smiles brightly. It's a contrast to the thick atmosphere of the deserted living room.
"He ran the fastest?" she grins.
Gale looks at me. He puts a hand on the back of my neck, and pulls me forward. His lips are warm against my forehead, and when he speaks, they brush my skin.
"Yes. He ran the fastest."
A/N: Thank you for reading. So, the games are over…what will happen now?
Reviews make me smile! xxx