"You look like yourself, But you're somebody else, Only it aint on the surface." - Somebody Else by Flora Cash

A Poem of Swine and Wrath - 40th Annual Hunger Games

Games, Day 7

Female Tribute from District One, Blest Rinear

My knives are still dripping with Onyeka's blood when I hear the squealing of the swines. They bloom out of nowhere, emerging from behind trees with their raised tusks and squealing snouts. My muscles tense only for a moment, before I'm thrusting myself into overdrive, before I'm telling myself that this is the showdown and I have to run. I have to be strong, no matter how much of me is crumbling, is breaking, is regretting this all.

I power through the trees, knowing that I'm heading back towards the Cornucopia. That's where they'll want the showdown to begin and end. I briefly wonder what my parents are doing, if my mother is hovering up close to the television. If my father has brought out the good wine or the celebratory champagne. Are they already filling their glasses, expecting my name to be announced within the hour? Are they doubting me, questioning how I made it this far, how I'm still alive, when surely everyone thought I'd be the first to go from the pack? But Mal saved me, Tal protected me, and then. . .and then I did it myself. I made it through the avalanche by hiding behind the rocks. I killed the night hounds, sparing Talcott another day. I was there to kill the bear that would have eaten Mal alive. I swallow down the embarrassment forming in my throat, and think about how much I've fought to be here, that despite how I feel, despite how I'm regretful, that I've earned this place in the finale. I've earned everyone's respect. So my parents and their viewing party can pour the champagne because I'm coming home.

And not in a wooden box. I'm coming home to do something different in District 1. To at least save one girl or boy who thought this was their dream only for it to become a nightmare.

The swines move in closer. I'm tempted to toss a knife at one who just has to leap over and we'll be colliding. But then I tell myself to keep running, to keep focused, because I have limited knives to throw right now and the girl from District Ten will have that shield. She'll have a defensive advantage. But I'll also have the skill. I'll have the range. I'll just need to throw low, I tell myself. Think about the knees and shins, Blest. I doubt she'll cover those properly.

The memory of the bloodbath wants to come in my head as I enter the meadow, as I take in the golden horn, but I push it away. This isn't the beginning anymore, I tell myself. It's the end. And I've changed. I'm someone else. I've transformed. Like a strawberry dipped in chocolate.

I'm no longer Blest Rinear, naive tribute from District 1. I hear Tal's voice come in and smile, I'm Blest Rineaer, the badass.

I'm passing through the flowers, a warmth electrifying my bones and making me sweat even more. Inside the jumpsuit, I feel like I'm roasting. I think about how the Capitol probably has a strategy to get us to shed the jumpsuits. More skin on skin is good for the ratings, I know. It always gets a rise out of people in the viewing parties, too, especially the men.

But I don't shed the jumpsuit. I don't do what I did during the interview, where I wore my low cut dress with confidence because I saw my body as an asset to use to gain attention, to gain sponsors. I'm suddenly above the teasing, the flirting. Yet, I remember how I'm supposed to be playful, how I'm supposed to keep that angle going, because that's who the crowd knows me as. The girl who eats cookies, the girl who flirts, the girl who twirls her hair, the girl calls mutts sent to kill her flea bags.

I make jokes to avoid the pain.

But this pain seems unavoidable. I'm terrified to die. My hands tremble. Sweat drips down my nose and I taste its saltiness on my lips. I'm terrified to have this girl club me in the skull like she did seven days ago..

A tear threatens to come down my cheek, but I tilt back my head. I won't let it come. I won't be one of those victors who cries in their finales and has to come up with some excuse that they were just happy to be there, that they were just overwhelmed with thoughts of being so close to home. I've seen those victors at the viewing parties, too. Beauty was one of them who cried and blamed it on memories of his mother, of having her watch him come to victory. I couldn't stop thinking about her, he'd said. But now, I know he was crying because the girl that year, Emerella, had been decapitated only two days ago by the boy from District 2.

So, it wasn't the memories that made him cry. It was the fact that he was facing off with the boy who killed Emerella and he was afraid he was next.

I steady myself, remembering Halona could be approaching the horn at any minute. She could already be on the other side, so with that in mind, I crouch down, before easing myself around the horn to get a look. There's nothing. Only in the distance do I see the swines circling in the meadow with their snorting and squealing and uprooting the flowers with their tusk. For a moment, I hope they'll kill her so I won't have to. But I know the Capitol would never let a mutation do the job meant for a tribute. And killing Halona is part of my story now. I have to accept that even if it makes my muscles tighten and my stomach knot.

There's an erupting of squealing to the left of me and I turn my head to see Halona sprinting into the meadow, shield raised, club swinging wildly. She connects with one of the skulls of the closest swine, killing it instantly.

A tear falls down my cheek as the flashback comes. As I'm coming at her, running, thinking she'll be an easy first kill, only to be clubbed in the head. Only for it all to go dark. But that won't happen this time, I tell myself speedily, quickly. She's the one who should be afraid, not me. But as she sprints through the meadow, getting closer, finding me with her eyes, I know she's not afraid of me.

I know she's not the one terrified of coming home in a wooden box.

I am.

Female Tribute from District Ten, Halona Ngaio

The girl from District One stands there in front of me, brunette hair matted, brown dirt smeared around her lips and chin. Was she eating soil to stay alive? I have a moment where I want to step back, slightly worried she's one of those Careers who has completely went unhinged and might decide to go cannibal given the opportunity. Wouldn't that be a way to go? Getting munched by the Capitol lap dog?

Slowly, I position the shield in front of me as we close the distance. I wait for her to throw the first knife, knowing she's got a few up her sleeve. I expect her to start running, start charging, but she doesn't. She just stands there, as if waiting for me to make the move, as if we need some invitation to begin this finale.

"Let's get this over with," I say. There's an annoyance that emerges from not killing her on day one.

Blest steps forward. She extends out the knives, and before I can blink, she's tossing one down, fast. I extend out the shield, but the speed of the blade is too fast. It rips into my shin, only stopping when it finds the bone. I let out a scream and the swines squeal in delight at my pain. Stumbling backwards, I try to get a grip on the pain, try to calm my mind as it panics, as it tells my body what to do next.

If it wasn't for luck, the second knife would kill me. I hear the whizzing and move my shield just in time to deflect the blade. Blest screams and I hear her footsteps on the snow crunching as she charges forward.

I hobble backwards, the pain threatening to take over, but I'm determined not to let it. I'm determined not to go into this finale already at a worse disadvantage. So I focus in on the fact that this girl is everything I hate about the Capitol. She's well fed. She's a volunteer. She's cocky. And as she comes closer, I swing out the club, praying it connects, but only finding air. I turn around, finding Blest is on the ground, crawling on the snow like some cat. I lunge forward, attempting to bring down the club on her spine, paralyzing her, but she's rolling. Then she's throwing a blade at my face and I have just enough sense to block it with the shield.

When she screams, and I scream, too.

Then she's throwing another knife before I can go on the defensive again. It connects in my shoulder, barely missing my throat. Blood soaks the inside of my jumpsuit. I start to panic. I see my mother weeping. I see Malik and Yosef placing flowers on my tombstone. I see the gamemakers smiling. Our escort Mattius laughing because the little piggy finally got what she deserved. And it sends me on edge. I'm all wrath when I'm slingshotting forward, legs and calves propelling me the distance. I'm on Blest as she's getting to her feet. Our bodies collide for a moment, before we're separated inches a part. Predictably, she goes to jab me with the blade, but I'm blocking with my shield. Then I'm swinging the club, not where she was, but where I expect her to dodge. She screams a bloodcurdling scream as the club connects with her side. I hear the snapping of her ribs and stumble backwards.

Blest rolls across the snow. She scrambles to get back up, tears rolling down her cheeks, blood pooling out her mouth where I expect she bit into her tongue.

"Not what you expected, huh?" I say, because I can't help it. They're always the predators in these Games and its nice to make them the prey for once.

Blest says nothing. She just stands there, back hunched, cradling her ribs.

I ready my club and shield, knowing we're close to the end now, knowing one of us is about to be announced the victor of the 40th Annual Hunger Games.

Then I lunge forward, ready to end this. Ready to finally get home to my family and to make the Capitol pay for all this hell.

I expect Blest to flee or to turn, to instinctively go on the defense, but she doesn't. Instead, she charges me. On the offense, I swing out with the club, hitting air, before feeling the full weight of her body. I scream as she leaps on my shield. My wrist twisting. My heart pounding. I try to shake her off, screaming louder. But she's there, gripping on to it, nose nearly touching my nose.

And then I feel the pain. The blade in my ribs. Once. She screams. Twice. I scream. After the third time, the club leaves my hand and we're rolling. Back to the snow, I go to place up the shield, coughing, blood bubbling up my throat, drowning me.

I hear the swines in the background screaming and grip at the snow desperately. No, I won't let them win this, I think. I won't let them not be held accountable for Bert, for Delaine, for Olivia, for Kenna, for Katya. Someone needs to remember them, someone needs to fight for those who are subjected to this same type of hell.

And its me. I'm that someone, I tell myself, gripping at the snow, pulling myself to my feet. I'm just leaning up when another blade enters me, a pain exploding in my abdominal and rattling my brain. For a second, I see blackness. Then I taste blood and vomit and snow all at once.

I fall back to the snow. With the cold slithering up my back, I hear Blest in background screaming frantically. It's only as she approaches closer that I realize it isn't screaming. It's weeping.

"I'm sorry," Blest stutters out. "I'm. . .I'm. . .sorry, Halona. But. . .But. . I need to go home."

I swallow down the blood. The cold numbs my fingertips as I move a little, as I scoot backwards across the snow, committed to a different ending, one where she dies and I live.

But then there's the last whizzing, the last blade, and I'm just feeling the chill settling into my scalp as it all goes dizzy.

Laying there, I blink once, twice, and wait. I wait to hear the announcer say, "Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you the victor of the Fortieth Annual Hunger Games, Blest Rinear.!"

But the booming, loud voice never comes, and for some reason that makes me smile even in the presence of death.

A/N: Hopefully that wasn't too anticlimactic. It's weird writing the finale and killing off the last tribute in the Games. Idk. It just hit different. Like wow, I'm at the end of this story. It's just crazy. I've never finished something this large before. So, there we have it. Last chapter coming after I update, A Song for Snakes and Rats.

Deaths are based on realism, plot development, and sadly if I struggled whether or not to write them. For those who have fallen, I hope the creators stick around and continue to read and review, but if not, I understand.

2nd. Female Tribute from District Ten, Halona Ngaio. Katie, you wanted 6th, but I gave you 2nd, I'm sorry. But since the forms Halona was second place for me. There was even a point in outlining that I thought she might be victor, but Blest just came alive for me more and more and there was no doubt in my mind who I wanted to be my first victor. I loved Halona, though. I really did.

Victor. Female Tribute from District One, Blest Rinear.

Congrats, Teddy. You finally got your District One Female Victor, Blest Rinear. Jokes aside, Blest was my chosen victor from the beginning, even before her first POV in the Capitol. I suppose there was a level of predictability in my choice, but if you go back and read this story, it was purposely set up around her. I kind of wanted to do what Survivor does, where they tell the story around the winner and you don't really know it until you go back and watch the season after discovering the winner. Make sense? If you watch Survivor, you get what I'm saying. If you don't, I apologize for the chaos. (kev please agree with me in the comments lol thanks king)

Questions:

I thought I'd answer my own questions, bc why not?

Fav chapter? Chapter 18. I loved the final POV from Onyeka and that POV from Halona was one of my favs from her to write.

Fav scene? I'm gonna go with Blest and Mal's final goodbye. That scene made me tear up, ugh.

Fav fallen tribute? Rapture, duh. She hissed that one time making her iconic and no one can come for her bc of that.

prayers for peace and protection. hoping everyone has a great week. (expect another update from me later in the week)