The 72nd hunger games

by adoeinthemeadowes

Epperly Steelstrom is a seventeen-year-old girl living in District Four. Her brother died in the games ten years before. Now she's reaped, with no Careers to volunteer for her. Can Finnick help her win? Or will her family have to face losing another child in the Hunger Games? Welcome to the 72nd Annual Hunger Games. Suzanne Collins owns all

25. The Victor

(AUTHORS NOTE: HEY GUYS! THERE WILL BE ONE FINAL CHAPTER AFTER THIS ONE, SO LOOK OUT FOR THAT)

I feel fury first, not fear, when Garnet's body slams to the floor and the cannon rings out. Her death was so close I could feel it, and now that it's here, I'm disappointed.

I was supposed to be the one who delivered it.

I was the one who was supposed to kill her. I can't help but feel cheated. It was the moment I waited the entirety of the Games for, and someone took it away.

Someone. That stops me in my tracks. I realize someone else killed her. There's another tribute here.

Mystery tribute has arrived to the feast.

I have just enough time to stop being surprised to see the tribute from three standing in the opening of the maze, and he's stringing another silver arrow into his bow. One that's meant for me.

I drag my broken leg behind me as fast as I can and dart behind the golden Cornucopia, spear in hand. I have to duck to just barely miss an arrow as it shoots through the air where my head was a second before. Dammit he's quick.

There is still sticky blood covering every inch of the right side of my face, and I know it must make me look even more broken and injured than I am. Gruesome, even. Garnet did exactly what she wanted too. The audience will have trouble seeing me as pretty Epperly right now. I look wounded and wild. The face wound doesn't even hurt anymore. It's my leg that hurts worse, and my pride.

I was so preoccupied with killing Garnet, I had forgotten I might have to fight the mystery tribute after. I always pictured Garnet as the ultimate competition. Every scenario in my head, where I killed her, ended with me being victor. I don't know I forgot about the boy from three. Even though I forgot about him for most of the Games. That was how he made it so far didn't he? By being forgotten and deadly.

I carefully peer over the top of the cornucopia to get a better look at him. He's young. Younger than I remembered, fourteen or fifteen, with pale skin and sandy blonde hair. I remember his name the second I look at him, it's Colt. He spent his entire interview talking about his sister back home.

He has another arrow slung in his bow now and he's making his way over to the Cornucopia. To me. Unsurprisingly, he doesn't have a single scratch on him. Not one. He probably didn't have to take a single hit during the Games. I want to yell at the thought of that. How many times was I scraped, stabbed or beaten in this arena? Countless, and he walks away without a single scratch.

"I saw how injured you are, Epperly," he calls as he slowly makes his way to me. "You and I both know you can't run on that leg."

So, he knows my name? That's mildly annoying. He's ballsy too, but I guess with how well he's done in these Games, and his current position in the fight, he can afford to be. And he's right. I can't run on my leg. He has every advantage.

"Waiting and watching, Colt?" I call back to him, making sure he knows that I know his name too. "That's a good technique."

Colt stops in his place, and he does genuinely look surprised. Then he shrugs, "I figured I'd let the remaining Careers beat each other to a pulp. That's what people want to see, right? And then it would be easy to pick off the one that didn't survive, because they'd be exhausted or badly wounded. Or both. Like you are."

He's a genius. He outsmarted every single one of us in this arena.

"That's smart," I call back to him, clinging to the Cornucopia for support. "Too bad you didn't follow it. You killed Garnet yourself. You could have let me."

Colt smiles. "So, you could avenge the boy from seven? No. That's too poetic. I couldn't let you do that and have the audience root for you to win."

I chuckle. What an evil genius. "No I guess you couldn't have that, could you?" I call back.

Colt shakes his head. "I am a little surprised it ended up being you and me here," he says. "I had my money on the redhead killing you bloody."

I grit my teeth. "Well sometimes people surprise you,"

"Not often," Colt snaps back.

He moves a little closer to where I am and I don't know what to do. I'm frozen in place. I can't outrun him and I can't even fight hand to hand because he has a bow and arrow, a distance weapon.

Suddenly I realize, I'm not the best victor here. Colt is. If the top two showdown had been between Garnet and I, I would be a fan favorite. The pretty Career who overcame mediocrity and became a ruthless killer? That's a headline. But Colt has a better one. The young, overlooked tribute turns deadly and kills off final, tough career. That's a victor. The audience might not be siding with me on this one.

I wish more than anything I could talk Finnick. He would know what to do. Whether I should fight tooth or nail or give up with some of my dignity.

"Come on out, Epperly," Colt calls. "If you do, I'll make it quick. One clean arrow to the heart. The audience already got to see their bloody brawl with you and Garnet. Just come out and this whole thing will be over."

For a second, I consider it. Colt has no real motivation to hurt me any more than he has too. He already knows he's going to win. Unlike Garnet and Kenrick, death at his hands might be quick and painless, procedural even. All I have to do is let him.

I honestly consider it for a moment. I'm broken, injured and beaten beyond repair. I can barely move on my broken leg, and I can't out run his arrows.

Colt doesn't seem keen to give me time to think it over. He's already moving closer to me on the other side of the cornucopia. Only a few feet from me. I trace the inscription on my spear with one of my pointer fingers, reading it over once more.

End this – Finnick. I read it over and over in my head.

End this. I blink quickly. It says end this. Not Garnet. Finnick wants me to win. To kill whoever, I have too. He did not get me this far, to give up. I will not give up.

I scower the ground behind the cornucopia, desperately searching for anything that will help me. This is where the other Careers' made camp, and it's littered with their old, abandoned things. I rifle through all of it with clumsy hands, trying not to think about how much pain I'm in, or how so much blood fills my right eye, I can hardly see.

I want to scream, there's nothing even remotely useful here. And then I see it. The tiny, slingshot. A useless and pointless weapon when compared to the other things this arena was filled with, but now? It's a godsend. I pick it up quickly and weight it in my hand. Then I have the idea. I pluck the other climbing spur from my hip and press the blunt end into the slingshot. With a little maneuvering, it becomes a tiny, deadly bow and arrow. Not quite as terrifying as Colt's, but it might be my only chance.

"I don't have all day, Epperly," Colt calls. "If you don't come out, I'm coming back there. And then I'll be angry."

"Okay," I call out to Colt, as innocently as I can. "I'll come out."

Colt smiles. "Toss me your spear," he calls. "Then I'll know you're serious."

It takes everything I have to toss the spear over the edge of the cornucopia. That is my weapon. The weapon that fed me. The one that protected me. That spear is me inside of the arena. It is what I want to end these Games with.

Taking it away from me, is Colt's final antic to end me. I grit my teeth as t clatters to the ground. Colt kicks it backward behind him and way out of my reach.

Somewhere in the Capitol, I know Finnick is screaming profanities at the screen, or maybe he knows I wouldn't give up this easily. I don't care which. As for my family, I know they believe the lie. In District four, they think I am giving up. Not that I blame them. They don't know Hunger Games Epperly. They only know the old me. The one who didn't kill people and gave up when it was time. But this Epperly? This Epperly doesn't go down without a fight.

I know what I am about to do is risky, and might not work, but I have no choice.

Slowly, I drag myself around the cornucopia until I'm about to face him. He's clutching his bow and arrow, aimed and ready, triumphant and smiling. He thinks this is over.

He can't see me yet. I only have a second. As soon as I step out in front of him, I aim the slingshot, and let it fly. He's caught off guard, but it doesn't stop him from shakily releasing his arrow at me. At the exact same time, our weapons hit their marks.

My makeshift spike/arrow lands in the middle of his chest. His arrow punctures me in the stomach.

We both fall to our knees. I'm already in too much pain to feel the warm, sticky pain of the arrow in my stomach, but I know Colt is feeling his. In front of me, he stares at the spike in his chest unsure of whether or not to pull it out. I don't know where it hit and I don't care. We both only have seconds.

His sheath is empty. His last arrow is buried in my stomach. If he wants to finish me off, he'll have to do it with his bare hands.

We both lunge for one another, half-crawling, half-dragging. We look like corpses, fighting our last battle before death. If I wasn't so worried, I would recognize the poetry of it.

This is it. There is no one else here. Each one of us, is the only thing standing in the way of the other becoming Victor. Of this whole thing being over.

Looking at him now, with a spike in his heart and surprised, Colt looks his age. He is young. Naïve enough to believe the seventeen-year-old Career, no matter, how injured, was going to surrender to him.

We reach other in seconds, and Colt reached for my face wound, digging his fingers into it sharply, and making me cry out. For all I know, he's causing permenant. damage. Not that I care. I have bigger concerns than my face.

His other hand reached for the arrow in my stomach, trying to force it in deeper. He gets about an inch, but that's all. My hand closes around the spike in his chest and rips it out. He lets out a breathy scream.

The momentary hesitation is all I need. I plunge the spike back into his heart.

I hate that I have to do it, and I don't want too. Colt is not a bad person. He is only killing me to try and get home. Same as me. If the roles were reversed, either one of us would do the same thing. We're forced to kill one another. This is what the Capitol has forced us to do.

I don't enjoy what they make me do next.
I'm crying, as I stab the spike under his jaw, until his skull. Colt freezes and I feel him stop fighting beneath me. I watch his eyes fill with tears, become glassy and then widen. I feel him freeze beneath me, immobile.

I have made my fifth kill.

Then the cannon sounds overhead. The final cannon. Colt is dead. I am the last one alive. I feel like someone is sitting on my chest now, making it hard to breathe or focus.

I have won the Games.

I fall backward on the ground, still sobbing from the pain, both physical and emotional. Can it really be over? I feel like I'm dreaming. My chest rises and falls as I sob, still clutching the spike in my hand. I can't feel anything but pain, and sadness.

Claudius Templesmith's voice fills the arena again, but I can barely hear it over the ringing in my ears.

"Ladies and Gentlemen! The victor of the 72nd Hunger Games, Epperly Steelstrom!"

I recognize my name. My name. I am the victor. It makes my head spin.

This can't be real. It doesn't feel real.

I don't hear the hovercraft. I only feel it when it lifts me from the ground and into the sky. I'm so absorbed by pain, I barely feel anything.

A minute later I'm submerged inside of the clean, white hovercraft surrounded by Capitol attendants and healers, all of whom immediately start circling around me.

I don't know if it's from the pain of them touching my injuries or the fear of being crowded after the arena, but I start the fight them, waving the spike around at them, until one of the brutish men rip it from my hand, and cover my mouth with a cloth.

It's covered in a drug of some kind. It has to be, because a second later I drift asleep.

I wake up instantly terrified. For a moment, I don't know where I am. I only see a white bed in all white room, and I'm confused.

Then everything hits me like a ton of bricks; Firth, Garnet, Colt, the arena. The hovercraft.

I won the Games. I am a victor. I'm going home.

I can't think about that, or what's inevitably coming. I have to start small, focusing on me and my physical self. The entire right side of my face is throbbing painfully, but I don't touch it. I'm too afraid to feel it. Instead I look down at my body. I can barely feel it, which makes me think I'm on some kind of serious Capitol pain medication. I'm wearing a thin, paper cotton robe that's obscuring most of my view. My hands start to shake as I pull it up. I decide to start with my legs first. I wiggle them both in the bed and find that I can move them. I breathe a sigh of relief. My right thigh, the one Garnet smashed with her mace, is all stitched up and purple from bruising, but I don't care. I'm just thrilled it's still attached and mobile.

I observe the rest of my body slowly. The wounds and scars from the arena that should litter my chest and torso have either disappeared or are tiny faint, pink lines. I scowl. Some of these would have taken months to heal like that, some might never have. I can't have been here more than a day. There's no way my injuries would have healed like that on their own. Not this quickly. If you looked at my naked body right now, you would never have known I was in the arena. Leave it to the Capitol to make sure that their beautiful tribute remains that way. That's who they sponsored after all.

Then I remember something, and open the palm of my hand. It's perfect and unscarred. The thin, red line that used to be there, is gone. Like I never took that knife for Firth at all. Like it was dream. That makes my slam my fist onto the bed as hard as I can.

I ignore the residual fuzziness I feel from the pain medication as swing my legs over the edge of the bed and onto the freezing marble floor. The room I'm in seems to be some kind of hospital or hotel or something. A holding place no doubt, for the recovering, feral victor. I wonder how long they'll make me stay here. Enough time to make sure I won't murder one of the Capitol attendants probably. I scan the room as see there's a chrome silver door, with no handle and a floor length mirror across the room.

The mirror is imposing, and terrifying. Much more than the door. I'm terrified to see what I look like. Not because I'm worried about being beautiful or not, but because I don't know if I candle seeing the person who's looking back at me. It won't be the person I remember. I'm forever changed from this experience. The thought alone is enough to make me break down.

There's a set of white, cotton clothes at the end of my bed. With numb, clumsy fingers, I pull them on slowly. I'm trying really hard not to think about the Games as I do. I focus on thinking about the clothes instead. They're soft. I picture Garnet, Mar, Hawke, Audra, Kenrick, Fane. They're white. I see Firth, and Colt. All of their faces are haunting me, popping up over and over in my mind. My eyes dart back to the mirror in the corner. I need to see myself. I have to face what I've done.

I walk slowly over to it and then stare back at the girl looking at me. At first, I'm scared of how the same I look. I have the same tanned skin. The same green eyes. The same full lips. The same, bronze colored hair. I look the old me, and that's scary.

Then I see it.

The deep, nasty, flesh colored scar that runs from the top of my eyebrow, down my cheek and to my jaw. The souvenir from my fight with Garnet.

I knew the moment she cut me that deep, and when Colt ripped at it, that it would leave a nasty scar. This scar, is not that one. Sure, it's still noticeable, but it's not as red, deep or monstrous as I expected it to be. This must be the residual effect of several Capitol procedures. It must have been really bad if they couldn't completely erase it. I wonder how gruesome it would look without the Capitol's surgeries and procedures. I guess I'll never know. I know they must have worked tirelessly to make it look like this. Finnick and the rest of the Capitol would want me to look as beautiful as I did the moment I entered the arena. And this scar? It's noticeable. Sure, I'm still pretty, but I'll never be as beautiful as I was before. The thought of it makes me smile a little.

The scar throbs painfully as I run my forefinger over the scar.

I'm actually blissfully happy that it lingers there on my face. It's a reminder to me, and everyone I meet of what I went through in that arena. A reminder that I am not the same person I was when I left District Four.

Just as I turn away from the mirror, the chrome door opens. I freeze, my hands turning to fists, ready to attack anyone who approaches me too fast. I stop when I see whose walked into the room.

It's Finnick.

He's paler than usual and his bronze colored curls are flat and messy, like he has been asleep for hours. He stops in the doorway and stares at me, his face blank. It's the most thoughtful and respectful I've ever seen him look. It's almost hard to recognize him like this.

"Well," he says, pausing, "You've looked better."

Then I recognize him, as the confidence fills his face and he breaks into a wide smile. It's so cheeky and arrogant. Classic Finnick.

"I've been through a thing or two," I manage to say. My voice is cracked and strange.

Finnick shrugs, smiling wilder. "Still, you could've left Merrill and I a little something more to work with."

"Live and learn," I say back.

Finnick smiles. "Well, live you certainly did."

We're standing a few feet away from one another, and as disturbing as it is I know why. Finnick is trying not to crowd me. He knows what it's like to return from the Games. He knows the turmoil that raging in my head. He's been through everything I have right now. That's why he's was so damn helpful in that arena.

Staring at him now, I can't help but feel the gratitude that's erupting from every pore. Finnick is one of the real reasons I am standing here now. I owe my life to this handsome, cocky bastatrd.

"Finnick," I whisper.

He blinks. "Yes?" he asks cheekily.

"Thank you," I tell him.

Finnick's eyes widen and his mouth parts slightly. For the first time, I see grief and sadness washed across his perfect features. He is mourning. For me. He nods quietly.

That's all it takes for me to cross the room and throw myself into his waiting arms. Finnick doesn't hesitate, hugging me back tightly as I sob into his shoulder.

. Finnick understands the burden of being victor. Finnick knows the horrors I can't stop seeing.

I'm shaking and I cry and Finnick gives me a comforting squeeze.

"It's going to be okay," Finnick whispers. "You're alive."

He gives me a comforting pat on the back and we break apart. I wipe at my tearstained eyes as I do. I see tears in his eyes too and realize that Finnick is just as emotional as I am. It's a strange sight.

Finnick and I are now connected in a way I will never be with anyone else. Finnick kept me alive. The Mentor-mentee relationship is one I doubt we'll ever sever. I guess I'll have to be friends with him now. The man I looked at with indifference before, is now someone just as important to me as my family.

My family.

My heart screams inside of my chest as I realize I'll see them again. My parents. Zale, Lennox, Tucker and Byron. I'll get to see all of them again.

"Are you alright seeing Merrill and the prep team?" Finnick asks, motioning to the door. "They're dying to see you."

I nod excitedly. "Yes, I'd love to see Merrill." My stylist is one of the few people I've met in this whole thing whom I care about. She believed in me just as Finnick did. She's family now too.

Finnick nods and leads me through the chrome door. Every step I take is difficult for me. I'm still sluggish from the pain medication and actively trying not to think about the Games.

When I do see Merrill, she's with Devereux and they both burst into tears when they see me. So, does Mags and my prep team. Each of them take turns embracing me in tearful bear hugs and tells me how proud they are. It's hard for me to be this close to people. I still shake a little and my eyes stay wide and fearful, like a wild animal. Finnick watches me carefully, almost studying me. I guess he recognizes the behavior. The others seem prepared for this, and try their best not to overwhelm me. It doesn't help much. My right hand still twitches for the spear that isn't there. It makes me wonder how long I'll be able to go before I still act like I'm in the arena.

None of them mention the scar, which leads me to believe Finnick prepped them ahead of time. I want to roll my eyes at that. It's not as if he can do that for all of Panem. This is my face now. I'll have to get used to the stares.

We take almost fifteen minutes embracing each other before Devereux announces they have to start getting me ready for the after the Games interview.

My skin starts to crawl as I remember what he's talking about. The After Games interview. The one where they force me to sit through recaps and footage of the Games.

They're going to make me relive this whole thing. And so soon after I got out? No. It's disgusting.

Finnick sees my expression and is at my side in a second. Pulling me a few feet away from the Prep team, my stylist and my escort. The Capitol people, I realize.

"You haven't won yet," Finnick whispers in my ear.

"What?" I ask. "What are you talking about?"

His eyes widen and his mouth pulls into a tight line. "This interview, this is the final portion of the Games," he reminds me. "You want to live? You want them to let you be the victor? Then you have to be what they signed up for. Beautiful, deathly tough Epperly. You have to sit through that interview and prove yourself, one last time. This is the hardest part."

His facial expression is so serious and firm, I know he's not joking. I am the Capitols's dancing monkey. The mouse they forced into the maze. And now? I have to sit in front of them, relive my horrors and thank them for it.

Finnick's right. This will be the hardest part.

AUTHORS NOTE: THERE WILL BE ONE MORE CHAPTER AFTER THIS AND SOME BIG STUFF HAPPENS SO STAY TUNED