- F A L L E N -

14

I woke up in a dark sleepiness, acutely aware of the sweet peace I had in those few moments before I opened my eyes and soaked in where I was. A second later, my memory shoveled its first image in my mind for the day; me, watching myself from a faraway view, nervous and shaking on the pedestal in my last games, when a sudden bolt of fear ran through my spine like thunder. My eyes sprang open, I felt struck and dangerously alive, yet paralyzed. On a used bedsheet, with the sun to blare its proof of day in my eyes, I swallowed the dry air in my throat trepidly. Today was it; today was all I had.

I turned to the side anxiously to find Finnick, sleeping soundly on the right, resting like he knew he might not get to again. I tried to stay as relaxed as I could, but took his hand in my own, still panicked by the thought of the things I could not digest. I let my eyes close back together, Finnick's body was unconscious and worn, and his hand was lifeless. I could not bear it. Eyes closed; I thought about running. In the safety of my hazy blindness, I let myself fantasize about peace for a short while, before chaos could run its hands through my insides again. I dreamed of whisking Finnick out of here, somehow, to somewhere far away from the capitol. From this life. I imagined cool brisk lakes we could dip our feet in, like runaway lovers in the woods. I imagined his smile, true and bright again, I imagined mine. I bathed myself in the golden film of our history, of the future I used to envision for him and I. 

The best thing now was to hope I'd go easy. 

A few minutes came and went, and just like that, with the city alive again, and the people hungry, I buried my humanity for another day. Even in our tucked away hotel room, I could hear the mechanical whirs of Capitol trains and planes and cars, all the rote rush of new dawn. Finnick squeezed my hand, and I shifted my body to face him, for a moment, selfishly glad I would not bear this day alone. Except eventually, I knew I would. He wrapped his fingers around my waist gently and pulled me so close I could feel the warmth radiating from the silk of his shirt. With his eyes still closed in thought, his body aching in silence, it was as if he needed me to create one last memory for his keeping, one more picture of our life together to store away in his memory. Just one more thing the capitol would ruin for him, I thought. "They'll be here soon" I whispered after a few minutes, with my eyes on the door, feeling the words simmer out into the lifeless air around us. 

Finnick's eyes opened in a slow reaction. He turned his face upwards towards the white ceiling, gaze shifting over the growing shadow in the corner, "I know". 

Soon enough, the door was being pounded on, Portia's high-pitched voice rang outside like a life-size alarm. I knew she wouldn't wait on Finnick like yesterday, she needed her tributes up and running and killing and winning; today was almost as much pressure for her as it was for us. I kissed Finnick deeply, and his hands made their way to the nape of my neck. It was as if we were filling ourselves full of the other now, aware that after this, we'd be deprived. It ended too soon, and I made my way to the closet in bitten back tears. 

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What I remember most about my last games is the fear, how it ran its way into every nerve in my bone, as if my whole body was tingling frightfully, and all I could do was ignore it. I felt it in the arena, but mostly I felt it in the few hours before I was sent up, every "what-if" leading me down another perilous path of "what-if's" and when's. When Finnick and I were sent up to die, would I move? If I had to run, could I run fast enough? Would the world be watching me choke from their vivid screens, would Finnick? Would the Capitol shake me off like a bad dream if I was killed, would Finnick's spirit falter if I went too slowly, too painfully? Would he live for himself after? Or if we both somehow made it to the end, what would be left of us? Too little, I thought. We'd have each other I suppose, but only for another moment or two. Mostly, we'd have blood on our faces and aches in our chest for the ones the world was starting to forget. 

We'd have nothing real but the big crater in our hearts that used to be filled with faith. 

Would we find it again? 

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