The Victor -Pollux-

Chapter 11

The dust flew through the air, scratching her cheeks. Carson stumbled backward, the knife flying from her hand. She searched for it, but it was too hard to see. There's a clang to her right. Cloak, the girl from District 4, slams her machete against the roof. She misses Carson by inches. It's the closest she's been yet.

Carson scrambles to the side, but the machete cuts her thigh. She cries out in pain, falling back down. Cloak steps over her, raising the weapon. Carson kicks, flailing around, trying to buy time. That annoys the other girl, who can't get a clean shot. She fights back, putting her weight onto Carson. This gives her an opening. With all of Cloak's weight resting on one leg, she kicks her in the knee. It buckles, the force of the kick causing her to fold.

Carson rolls out from underneath her. She searches for her knife but recalls that it's gone. Lost in the sand storm that surrounds them. What she does next is not thought out. It's purely a reaction. As Cloak stands up, Carson realizes her time is limited. Ripping the scarf off her head, she wraps it around Cloak's throat. She pulls with all her strength. It's too hard to watch her own actions, so she closes her eyes. There's struggling as Cloak thrashes around, fighting for air. Carson makes a fist, tightening her hold. Her mind is millions of miles away, thinking about her family. She has to think about her family. She's doing this for her family. Carson wants to go home.

The thrashing stops, but she doesn't let go. She stands there, eyes clenched tight. A canon goes off, and the reality sets in. Carson let's go. There's a thud as Cloak's lifeless body falls to the ground. "Ladies and gentlemen. I present the winner of the 68th Hunger Games, Carson Sage."

Her eyes open, a gasp escaping. She blinks a few times, staring at the ceiling. Remembering her games is never easy. She likes to pretend they didn't happen, but they did. It was real.

She turns onto her side. Charlie is sound asleep. Her lips parted as she snores. Carson can't help but smile, but it's not real. There's no joy behind it. They're such different people, and it's not by choice. They lived two incredibly different lives. Charlie was happier. She doesn't remember anything about their family. Sometimes Carson envies that.

Charlie never blamed Carson for what happened to them, but it was her fault. She should have said yes to Snow, but she was sixteen. Carson was a child. All she wanted was to return home and see her family. That never happened.

Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she slipped out of bed. Carson grabbed a grey button-down. Carelessly, she tossed it over her shoulders. She put on her shoes and silently left the room. The dark-haired girl thought walking around would tire herself out. Also, sleeping wasn't an option right now. All she could think about was how she murdered Cloak.

In the games, it's easier to think of it as self-defense. It wasn't. It's murder. Carson killed five people in her first games and another person in the Quarter Quell.

Carson is a murderer.

Living with that is hard. She hated herself. She hated what she did. If she died in that arena, then her family would still be alive. But they weren't here. She was. President Snow killed them, and he had to pay for that.

Carson wasn't sure how she ended up where she was. It was the place where Coin gave a big speech earlier in the day. It's a balcony several stories in the air. She ventures through the door but stops seeing that someone is already there. It's Pollux. He's sitting on the edge, one leg hanging over the side.

For a moment, she debates leaving. But Carson doesn't. It isn't like her to converse willingly with others, but she felt drawn to Pollux. Maybe it was because he was an Avox, and he understood how harsh the Capitol could be. Or maybe it was because she hadn't slept more than a few hours this week. Whatever the reason was didn't matter. "Hi." The sound of her voice catches him by surprise. Pollux whips his head to the left. In his hand is a notebook. To greet her, he smiles. Not so discreetly, he tucks the notebook behind him. "Can I sit?" He nods, gesturing to the seat. She takes that as a yes and sits on the ledge, leaving a few feet between them. "So, what are you doing awake?"