- F A L L E N -

9

The next few days I practically lived in the training room, and the only times I ever really got to see Finnick was at night, after a long day of fighting and exhausting tribute lunches we'd crawl into bed together and spend hours up doing nothing.

Interviews came quickly, and before I knew it my stylists were parading me from early morning to late afternoon, making sure I looked exactly "perfect!".
I was stripped, washed, waxed, and dressed in a white toga looking hospital gown before they could even approach my face. I felt like an overgrown baby, hairless and invisible.

Portia stood by as my stylists trimmed and altered the shape of my eyebrows, going over the specifics of tonight's interview, what I was going to look like, what I was going to say to Caesar, when I was scheduled to go up, (the exact same order every year), when I was going to wait backstage, whether I was going to cry or not.

"No", I said, shaking my head

"Oh but dear, you must! You're such a pretty girl, you could really just warm the sponsors hearts, and I think a tear or two would do the trick."

"Thanks Portia, but I really don't want to".

"You're absolutely impossible".

"I'm sorry Portia", I said as she put her hands flatly on her head, mimicking the mark of stress. She held her hands up angrily to the air and shook her head to the sky, as if she was asking god "why'd I get stuck with this one?".

"So what will you do?!" Portia asked violently, dramatically upset.

"I don't know, umm... I've always wanted to sing in-front of an audience".

"Dear god almighty-,"

"Portia I'm just kidding! Portia, look at the pretty face", I begged, widening my eyes and posing with pursed lips as her eyes shifted to my face.

"Ugh whatever- I'm going to check on Finnick, maybe he actually has a plan".

-

"I understand you have a message for somebody out there, a special somebody", Caesar chuckled patronizingly, pushing the microphone up towards Finnick's lips, Caesar clears his throat and conceitedly gestures his blue head of hair toward the audience, "Can we hear it?" He asked boisterously, and in that moment I thought of how nice it must be to be him, the man always in control of the microphone. How nice it must be to be a Flickerman.

Finnick smiled at Caesar and nodded his head politely, doing it so quickly that you couldn't really tell if he'd actually acknowledged Caesar after all. "My love, you have my heart for all eternity", Finnick says in a sweet and raspy voice that feels so comfortable I almost forget where I am, "...And, uh," he pauses in a way that sounds like it's supposed to precede a contradiction, "..If I die in that arena, my last thought will be of your lips".

The whole crowd goes wild with applause. All the women gush and scream like little girls, while the men smile and clap and shout lightly as if they're reminiscing happily in a memory they have never lived.

In this moment I've gone numb, because I cannot feel my face or my hands. I feel body-less, thawing in place. Because it has just occurred to me that this is actually happening. I am going to die, and I might have to watch Finnick die.

It makes me realize how tragic it all is.
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