Hello there and welcome to my new SYOT. Seeing as I am trapped in the house for the foreseeable future (thank you Covid19) there is no better time for me to begin this writing project. I will be accepting tributes only through pm. Please check my profile for the submission form as well as for some guidelines for submission. I am also considering making a tumblr blog for this story, let me know if you would be interested.

Now, here is the obligatory intro chapter (does anyone actually enjoy these? I'm not sure). Nevertheless, here it is! I look forward to your submissions.

Mortem Sine Fine

"What a thrilling conclusion. I think I speak for all of us when I say I was on the edge of my seat." Caesar Flickerman leans forward, fuchsia hair practically glowing under the stage lighting. "Tell me Brax, what was going through your mind during this final showdown?"

On the victors throne—this year tastefully carved out of red marble slabs—the victor of the 52th annual hunger games shifts uneasily. "I dunno." The lights are too bright, the padding which fills out his body under the silky suit feels suffocating. A bead of sweat trickles down the back of his neck.

"Surely you must have had some motivation, something to drive you in the arena." Caesar probes. Behind him the massive screen zooms to a close up of Dax's face as he'd stared down his final opponent. To Dax it might as well have been a stranger's face, all blood, and grime, and fiery fiend's eyes.

"I guess I just wanted it to be over." He gulps out the words, gesturing to the screen where he and the girl from District 1 are now circling each other, weapons drawn. "It was me or her, and I suppose in the end I wanted it more."

There came a smattering of polite applause from the audience. He wonders if they would have preferred the pretty girl from District 1. She'd been a crowd favorite from the beginning with her shiny brown curls and too-white smile. Even in the games the sponsors had kept her well supplied with soaps and hair potions, so that when Dax had finally faced her in that festering cesspool of a swamp she'd looked as polished as anything coming out of the luxury district.

She had looked quite so polished when he'd run her through with her own spear though.He can still smell the scent of her blood spilling into the scummy water. It wakes him up gagging in the night.

Across the state Caesar beams at him. "Spoken like a true victor."

Dax can only shrug. What is a victor supposed to sound like? What is a victor supposed to feel like? He certainly doesn't know.

Up on the screen the girl from 1 lets out a blood curdling scream. The splintered hilt of her silver spear protruding from her stomach. Bile rises in Dax's throat and he tears his eyes away from the overblown images.

"And of course the moment when you sealed your victory." Caesar presses on, cheery smile never faltering. How does the man watch all this with a smile? Dax would like to know, How can any of them?

Instead he tries to smile like his stylist—Vibia—had told him to. It feels wrong on his face, but the crowd cheers so he must have gotten it right.

"It's more than that Caesar; that was the moment I knew I was going home." That's what matters anyways, he tells himself. 23 other children might be dead, but at least he's going home. He'll get to help his father in the cattle yards, inhaling the rich scent of manure and hay. He'll sit around the table with his mother and brothers and eat rabbit stew, maybe they'll even be able to afford bread from white flour now. The thought of it almost brings tears to his eyes.

Stop no one likes a weepy victor. At least that's what Vibia said.

"And I'm sure your family is just as excited as you are for your return to District 10." He rises, midnight blue suit twinkling and flashing under the glare of the lights. Dax rises too, wincing slightly at the strain on non-quite healed injuries. Caesar offers a hand and when Dax takes it hefts him arm high in the air.

"Ladies and Gentlemen I give you Dax Gael from District 10, victor of the 52nd annual Hunger Games!"

Dax looks out at the sea of face, with their garish paint and grinning mouths. He hears the roar of applause like a bellow in his ears. He sees the flash of the cameras and hum of the recording devices. Most of all he wonders why victory feels so empty.