The 60th Hunger Games

by uniqueUsername1024

This is what I think the 60th Hunger Games was like. It is from multiple tribute POVs and some of the Gamemakers' POVs. Some of the chapters are very long. It is my first fanfiction and is rated T because, well, if you don't know I would suggest reading the Hunger Games books first. (T stands for Teen.) It definitely has twists and surprises and is very sad at times. Enjoy!

13. Chapter 13

Author's Note: I can't believe I finished the Hunger Games fanfiction! So, I was going to end it with that last chapter, but you guys asked for one more chapter, so here it is. I'm going to make it official: this is the last chapter of the 60th Hunger Games fanfiction that I have written. Wow. Did I really just type that? I want to give a shout-out to anyone who is reading this or has been following the storyline. Also, although I'm not superstitious, I like the idea of ending this story with Chapter Thirteen. Anyways, enjoy!

Chapter 13: Shipwrecked

Number Of Different POVs: 1

CLEO'S POV (DISTRICT SEVEN VICTOR)

One night, several years after victory as I lie in bed with a stranger, I see the details of the moment in which I won that were blocked even as the event happened by my own mind.

Osher looks up at me, no longer the ruthless killer from District Two; not the handsome and manipulative boy that the Capitol citizens went crazy over, but just a scared kid that wants to live and to see his family again. The blood from that final, deadly wound that put a family to mourning, a boy to death, and me to victory, came from his mouth and streamed from his neck. He gasped for air, struggling for life. I don't turn away from the convulsing boy on the platform, but I don't end his misery either like he asks me to with his last words: "Please… end it… please."

I don't end it for him. I just watch, transfixed by horror, paralyzed by fear, as he goes limp, as his eyes lose their light, and I scream for him. I scream at the sky, ask it why it has done this to us all, even though I know no sound is coming out and I am not in the arena, even though I am in a hovercraft and I am dying from several wounds that the Capitol doctors somehow fix to make me fresh and clean and fake, a fake version of myself that is happy and calm and aristocratic, a version of myself that does not exist.