The Sound of Falling Snow | A Hunger Games Fanfiction

Chapter 20

How much longer? How much longer until we escape? Until we are free again? The last Games lasted for a mere three days. We've already passed that mark. The Games before that lasted for 18 days. Two and a half weeks. It could be two more weeks before we find a way out, whether through death or surrender or winning the Games. Only one victor.

If it came down to the two of us, just Victoria and I left to fight for the crown, for the glory, for the ability to live, what would happen? They'd kill us both, most likely. We aren't ones to betray each other for ourselves. Bonds that go this deep aren't meant to be broken. Still, the question won't leave me. It rings in my head, like the ones of the old clock towers that came from hundreds, maybe even thousands, of years ago. I've only seen them in books, only heard the ancient recordings preserved as history of them. They aren't much of anything anymore. Weather and time have reduced them to dust.

What if it was just us? It's a scary thought. Would I kill her? My nightmare the other day proved that I just might. That if it came to it, if it was me or her, I would choose me. Maybe it's true. Maybe it isn't. But either way, I feel awful for it. Well. The chances of us being the final two are highly unlikely. No use worrying about it if it doesn't happen. No use dreading it if it won't come to it. But I do anyway.

—

It feels indefinite. The day drones on and on with seemingly no end. It's harder with the lack of food, and even harder with the uncertainty of what the day will bring. So far, it's been a pretty quiet day. I haven't heard any cannons. They'll probably send something in to destroy another few of us at any minute. If they target Victoria and I, there would be no way to escape it. I'm too weak to move much, after living for so long with all the richest foods and being stuffed to the brim with every meal, only to throw it back up again so that I could eat more, just for the sake of it. It was normal, where we lived. I never really knew how much the districts suffered. My grandfather used to travel to them, to Three and Eleven and Twelve, but he always kept his visits a secret, and never told Alana and I anything about it. It was a forbidden subject, what it was like in the districts. And neither him nor our parents ever showed it to us on the television. Now I have seen what it was like myself. Pain. Fear. Both of which are constant, unceasing, relentless.

What must it be like, to live your whole life in terror of the reaping, knowing that even if you've been safe – or as safe as you can get – your children and friends may still be in danger? What must it be like to have to obey every command, put up with every unfairness, just so that you can stay alive and not get shot? What must it be like to live through this hunger and worse for all your life, however long it may be? No wonder it was seventy-five years before a rebellion. When you have that little hope and that much fear, it's hard to believe that anything can be good. It's hard to see anything in complete darkness.

I wouldn't be able to tell the time, if it weren't for the sun barely peeking out from the cloud cover. The sky is so gray that it's almost impossible to see the light of day, and my internal body clock has been dramatically changed by the arena and too long of getting too little sleep, trying to rest for a few minutes whenever we can manage it. Which is not exactly very often.

We're stuck in a vicious cycle, one that keeps repeating and repeating itself with no end. If we want water and food, we have to find it in the wild of the arena, face our fears and more for it. But without it, it is hard to move and think straight. We have to push through it to survive.

Was it really less than two weeks ago that Coin announced these Games? Has it really been only that long since then? It feels as if time has sped up rapidly, but at the same time stood still. It feels like it's been an eternity since then, but also like it was mere seconds ago, changing in a flash.

Did I support the rebels? Maybe. I can't say that I did, though. Outwardly, at least. But did I support the Capitol, my home? The idea of entertainment being watching children kill other children has always been a bit otherworldly and there has always been a feeling of dread, of doubt, nagging at me every summer when the Hunger Games would occur. I didn't support that kind of thinking, trusting in the fact that sending children to be killed from each district would help with anything, but did I support my home? Do I? Some – many – were innocent. They had just grown up thinking that it was okay. How could they know any better? Still, even though I disagreed, I didn't say anything. I let them do it. I was a bystander.

That stops now. I'm done going with what is normal, even when it isn't right. I'm done playing along, just because it's safer. I'm done hiding, cowering from what is actually the honorable thing to do. I'm done being a piece in their games. Why? In the same way that they still had shown the courage, even in the darkest times, that they were not. Not just slaves. This is why. Because even if they want me to be one, I'm not.

But is it too late? Is it too late to change, to become the person who I really wanted to be all along?

It can't be too late. I don't want it to be. Because finally, after all this time, I am convinced that I can. I can.

It isn't too late. I can still do it.

Sometimes, you just have to take a stand.