BOMBSHELL - Finnick Odair

1

                                          Ember

Taking a bath was added to the growing list of things I can not manage to do anymore.

"My name is Ember," I whispered, "I'm 17 years old and victor of the 69th Hunger Games."

The mantra I've been repeating for the past several months now slipped off my tongue with ease. But yet, the facts didn't feel any more real.

I stood in the bathroom of my home in District Five's Victor's Village. I've been trying to work up the courage to just sit in the water.

I only get as far as dipping a calf in before I quickly jump away. The memory of what I've done rushes to the surface.

A fear that karma will return the favor.

But I'm not in an arena. I'm safe.

I cling to this false pretense as it's the only thing that's been maintaining my sanity. If I don't, the guilt can eat away at me until I feel sick.

Sighing, I unplug the drain to the bathtub and watch as the water slowly spins down the drain. Sometimes I wish I could follow suit and do the same. Maybe then I could escape the sickly guilt.

The upcoming Victor's Tour looms in the back of mind. They say time heals, but my wounds still feels fresh like the very day I left that arena.

But I can't show it. For the sake of him.

My 8 year old little brother, Wes. He doesn't quite understand everything just yet. Or why I wake up screaming during the night from nightmares that never quite go away.

But it's only the two of us now. When I returned from the games I was greeted with the news that our father passed away from electrocution. Our mother had passed several years prior.

I knew his death was not an accident though. It was my punishment. I wasn't supposed to win my games.

It wasn't just my winning though, it was how I had won. The very same reason why I can no longer sit in a bathtub.

Capitol citizens called me smart. President Snow called me incompetent.

Using the arena as a weapon is indictable. I had outsmarted the game maker and beat them at their own game. And they were the biggest sore losers.

I drew inspiration from District Five's hydroelectric dam.

The cornucopia was built in a similar manor as a moat. The horn sat atop a small hill and in order to get to it, you had to first cross through the shallow water.

Like the dam, the moat was powering the cornucopia. I figured out how to turn it into a weapon and the feast gave me my opportunity to use it.

I electrocuted the remaining tributes, earning me several nicknames from the Capitol. But Caesar made the mistake of calling me "Bombshell," and now the name has stuck.

He said it was a shock; literally. And as he put it, a way to describe my appearance as well. Much to President Snow's displeasure.

I fear what these next few weeks will bring. Being back in the Capitol in Snow's presence makes me feel uneasy.

"Ember," a voice rang out in the hallway. "There's someone on the phone for you."

I wrapped my white robe back around my body and tied it tightly. "I'm coming Wes," I shouted through the door.

My bare feet slapped against the marble surface as I trudged my way down the stairs and towards the kitchen. Wes held the wire phone in between both of his hands as he said, "It's someone named Aero."