Let's see how Lillith is dealing with the second day after being out of the arena. I've had a lot of time, now that COVID-19 has basically shut down every aspect of my life. It's been hard to deal with, and my anxiety and depression have definitely taken a toll on me- I think that thinking kind of took over at some points when I was writing this. So just a warning, there's a serious level of negative thinking that went into this chapter. But I think I'm doing better. I'll keep posting more regularly now. Enjoy chapter 40 (I can't believe I've come this far).


Chapter 40

I'm blinded by the lights of the stage, but I smile all the same. I have to turn away, only to see someone running at me. Rexa Corsan is getting ready to attack. I wait for her to pull out a knife. Instead, she embraces me. My heart is pounding, and I feel the adrenaline of a fight rushing through my brain. She's in such a state of weakness, I could kill her right now. Just snap her neck.

What did they do to me in there? I'm a monster. I'll do far more damage to myself than anyone else ever could. I am my new, worse, enemy. This murderous tendency inside of me. "Miss Lillith Sparks. How have you been?"

The smile is hard to come by, but I force one as I'm released from her hold and allowed to sit down, "Uh, okay." I'm locked in a prison that I can't escape. Myself. It's worse than it was with that man. I could watch him bleed. I could watch him pay for all his crimes. I can hardly expect the same from myself. They brought in a new chair for this final interview. A throne, with gilded panelling and soft red velvet upholstery. A throne. A throne of lies. Why are they rewarding me for murder?

"Good, good. I must say, I was rooting for you the whole time." I am sitting on an ornate throne in the ornate, evil palace that is the Capitol.

I widen my smile as I try not to die inside, "So was I." That gets a laugh out of the audience. It wasn't even funny. It doesn't have to be funny, it just has to come from me. Their new toy.

"How did you feel in that final showdown? Because my heart practically stopped." My heart nearly stopped, along with the rest of my organs.

I try to find a reasonable answer. Then I come up with the solution to solve all my problems: all I have to do is pretend I'm speaking to someone I care about. Maybe Pete or Patrick (or both of them, because they're always together). No. That won't work. Jamie then. Yes! I'll just try to talk to Jamie.

So I test it out, "I thought I was going to die. But I knew I couldn't. I had to go home. For everyone. Especially after I saw that Drake had died. I had to win. Plain and simple" For you, Jamie.

Rexa Corsan clasps her hands in front of her, going all doe eyed, "Oh, how inspiring!" It still makes me sick.

The interview went on this manner. Her, asking frivolous questions. Me, giving half hearted answers, all while trying to pretend I'm all there. That I'm happy. That I don't see That body in the ravine every time I close my eyes. That I don't see those dead children every time I turn around. At last, we move onto the moment I've been dreading. The video, a compiled three hour long video telling the story of the 126th annual hunger games. It's really quite impressive, whoever compiles this thing must watch hours and hours of hunger games footage. Just as sick as the rest of them.

It follows my journey through this hell hole. My reaping, cameras catching all angles of it. It then follows me as I go on the train. The parade. My stupid, ridiculous costume. This is okay. I'm okay. All I have to see now is sit and watch. Just a few more hours. This is okay.

And it was, until I watched myself get raised into the arena. Cameras panned over the bloodbath, and I got a full shot of myself cowardly running in the opposite direction, following me as I ran to follow Athena into the rocky terrain on the southern half of the arena.

Everyone on the screen is dead now. A few of them are in the midst of being killed, back at the initial bloodbath. A girl, blown to bits by the landmines underneath her as she stepped off. There's something powerful about that. Stepping off early. Refusing to be in the games. If I could go back, would I have done that? Could I have possibly given up so easily? It cuts away from me, back to the fight. Blood covers the slightly too green grass- the fake Capitol grass, and the steel walls of the cornucopia. People die, and I have to watch it. How did their families feel? They had to watch these people die. A mother, a father, watched me stab a knife through their daughters chest. I found her name last night, alone in the room. Dawn Night. I also remember that there was no light fixture, that the door was locked behind me and the nail scissors that had been in my first room before I went into the games were gone. They couldn't have me killing myself now. Now I was their prize.

Thinking of that helped me forget that people are being massacred before my very eyes. In the corner of the large screen, a small square pops up, giving my live reactions to things, so I have to control the tears that want to stream down my face.

It's a survival story. While mostly focusing on me, it would also cover the little subplots as they played out. As if the love, betrayal and murder of my fellow tributes were simply subplots. . Each of them had their own story, but it barely got any time because it was focused on just how awful I was to Athena, no matter how much I cared about her. She was like the younger sister I never had. Athena's dead now. I don't want to watch her die. I don't want to watch anyone else die.

It's physically painful to watch as Acer attacks me, demanding to know just where she is. Athena. My Athena. At least Acer didn't kill her. Drake looks so scared of me as I run into him in the woods.

I didn't feel so bad about killing Winstead Dale as I watched him brutally murder Drake. He kept attacking long after his eyes went vacant, a girl. The next clip they showed was The same boy, moments later, being kissed by that same girl. He had some sort of relationship with him. It's at that point I had to turn away. I don't care if they think I'm weak. If anyone else has an issue with me, maybe I'll just put a knife through their chest too.

This is what they've done to me. I'm a murderer. They replay that clip twice. Dawn Night's eyes going vacant as blood leaks out around the knife. I watched it over and over did the editing was some kind of evil genius. Probably one of the gamemakers. At that moment I was sick, terrified. But with a bit of inspiring music played over the clip, along with the cutting of frames made me look confident, cool, and cold. Just what they want in theri little lap dog.

After that it wasn't too bad. A few more deaths, and here we are. At the finale. It's so terrible I can't look away. He looks so broken, which makes sense after everything I saw on the clips. I feel a pang of guilt as his body falls over the edge.

The final shot is of me, weak in the knees as I try to stay upright, just as they announce 'Lillith Sparks' as the victor of 126th hunger games. There are no victors in a game like this. No one wins. We all lose, I just lost with my life. It's not as much of a bargain as I thought it would be.

The lights go up, and the applause is eardrum shattering. Applause for me. Rexa Corsan is wiping at her dry cheeks with a handkerchief, making sniffling noises. Moved to tears. Sure.

"That," her voice was thick as she placed a hand on mine, "was beautiful." I think I'm going to throw up. I nod, looking away from her. The place I really can look is the lights. I'm blinded, but at least I can't see any of the people around.

President Darnell Whitlock, a sour faced old man with a heavy build, appeared. He stood beside the head gamemaker, a woman named Anala Syrus. The all around plain woman held a blue satin pillow, the victor's crown sitting on top of it. I stood, readying myself for the crown. I smile as I bow to the man, wanting to claw his eyes out. Whitlock grabbed the crown and placed it on my head. "Welcome to a whole new world, Lillith Sparks," A whole new world indeed.

I'm struck once by how plain Anala Syrus was when she steps up to shake my hand. There was nothing of the Capitol in her natural brown hair, slicked back into a knot at the nape of her neck, or the plain white dress suit that fit her so well. Not even her face had an inch of the Capitol's ridiculous cosmetics or the surgeries to change a person's features. She looked positively normal. If only what had been her creation wasn't such a monster, I might've liked to know her. The head gamemaker, leading exactly what led to the destruction of countless young men and women- not even men or women. Children. She basically slaughtered children. Syrus gave me a small smile, shaking my hand as she congratulated me on the victory.

Rexa Corsan hugs me again. I hate it just as much the second time around. Corsan takes my hand and raises it into, "One last time, let's get a round of applause for the victor of the 126th Hunger Games." They burst into applause as curtains sweep over the stage. I just want to go to my room. I just want to cry.

"Thank you, Miss Sparks. I'm so glad you won." it's all I can do to smile as I step away. The minute I get alone, I start to sprint. Heading back to my old room, the one in the tribute tower on the fifth floor. The door is unlocked.

I tear off the stupid crown, throwing it across the room. I hear it clatter against the wall, pieces breaking off. Exactly what I think of these stupid games.

I curl up on the soft bed, still in my lavish gown and full face of fake makeup. I barely manage to kick off my heels as I feel any last bits of restraint wear off. There are many titles I must now bear because of these games. The murderer. The victor.

The victim.

Awake far into the night, I'm still sobbing. I'm sure I slipped off into sleep at some point, but I don't know when that point is.