Rosemary Acker was pronounced victor of the 55th annual Hunger Games, however she didn't feel like a victor. The trauma and horrors of the games continues to haunt her for many years to come. Watching her friends die one by one, under the hands of P...
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The next morning crept in slower than Rosemary had hoped. She had tossed and turned in her bed, unable to sleep soundly. By the early hours of the day, she had managed to drift off for a short while, but her sleep was restless. Every few minutes, a yawn would escape her, and it was clear that exhaustion was taking its toll.
Porter, scolded her for not getting enough rest, emphasizing the importance of being well-rested before the Games. However, Rosemary's mind was a whirlwind of anxiety every time she closed her eyes. She was terrified. Today marked the beginning of the training sessions, and she felt utterly unprepared.
In her entire life, Rosemary had never held a weapon. She knew that Collumbae was skilled with a sword, while she felt like she was only proficient at appearing innocent. But that wasn't what the Capitol desired. They wanted to see her dead—a seemingly innocent girl from District Five. At times, she wondered if she wanted the same fate.
To others, Rosemary might not appear as innocent as she seemed. She had witnessed the horrors of the Games firsthand—her own siblings slaughtering and being slaughtered, her mother's lifeless body. Those haunting images would never fade from her memory.
Rosemary skipped breakfast, opting to remain in her room until Porter knocked on her door for a second time. The mentor's disappointment was palpable when she saw that Rosemary hadn't eaten or slept.
"Haven't you slept?" Porter inquired, sighing when she noticed Rosemary's training attire. "I couldn't sleep," Rosemary admitted, her gaze dropping.
"Not being able to sleep isn't an excuse to skip breakfast," Porter chided. She eyed Rosemary closely. "What kind of plan have you concocted?"
Rosemary, who had intended to hide her emotions, found herself unable to keep up the facade when confronted by Porter's question. A tear escaped her eye as fear washed over her, and she struggled to speak. "It isn't a plan," she finally managed. Another tear rolled down her cheek. "I'm just scared."
Porter, without hesitation, enveloped Rosemary in a comforting embrace. Rose sobbed into her mentor's shoulder, the tears flowing freely. "Shh," Porter whispered soothingly. "It's okay. It's okay."
They stood there for a while, Porter holding onto her tribute as she cried. Eventually, she pulled back slightly, wiping her eyes and nose with her hand. "I'm sorry," Rosemary said, her voice quivering. "I shouldn't have broken down."
"What are you apologizing for? Breaking down because you're scared of what will happen in the games," Porter stroked Rose's back, beginning to walk the halls towards the elevator. "Believe me, you're not the only one being scared." It was true. Though Rosemary would never know about the terrors that went through other people's minds. What haunted and at the same time made them thriving. Why some victors seemed to drown themselves in alcohol, and why some tributes volunteered. For her it felt like the careers were the only ones that were happy to be in the games. Even if she had not entered the arena, she could not ignore the crippling sensation that ran down her spine thinking about what would happen the second she entered it.
