THE HUNGER GAMES: the taste of Whiskey and Snow // CORIOLANUS SNOW

Twenty three

"I'm Lucretius 'Lucky' Flickerman. A man who needs no introduction. Weatherman. Amateur magician." he flicked his coin into the air. "And today, I'm disappointed to say, the host of this public execution. Now they did beg me to be in the capital arena, filming live in person, but I refused. You wouldn't catch me on any day going into that arena, but today?! with 20 or so tributes about to be executed?! No thank you. Because of that," Flickerman walked into the stage, "I'm going to be filming from the academy where all the screens had been set up in preparation for the 10th annual hunger games. And as we can see folks, here come the tributes now," he pointed at a screen.

Whiskey walked out, the back of the line, with her head down. Her hair fell over her eyes. Her feet dragged along the concrete ground, scraping with each step. She refused to look up, refusing to put on a show.

This was the games makers punishment to crush the rebellion out of the people Panem, teaching them to follow the rules instead of standing up and trying to fight for survival like these tributes did. The reason the hunger games continued for so long was because when rebellion occurred, the people in the capital knew exactly how to flatten the flame. They knew exactly how to control the people. Whiskey had to give them credit.

Unfortunately for her, this resulted in her being hung in front of the cameras, watching every single tribute in front of her in the line up do so too. Unfortunately? Tragically? Thankfully? At least it would all be over.

The wind was the only one making noise as the mentors stood back, watching the line up silently. For those of them who had cared about their tribute, this was horrible to watch. For the others, like Coriolanus, he was grateful it was finally over. This had been an unfortunate unsuccessful trial soon to be over. Then he'd be able to continue with his life like before.

Finally each tribute stopped walking and was forced to turn around and face the cameras like objects on display. Whiskey wondered how many people were tuning in to watch the killing of these rebellious tributes. Would anyone cry?

Coriolanus watched Whiskey from afar. With the wind blowing her hair across her tired eyes, wearing that black dress, she looked like a beautiful painting. Her expression displayed pure art. It seemed as though with her unsteady stance and dark eyes, Picasso himself had brushed her into existence.

With this thought, Snow clenched his jaw and looked away, knowing before he met her, he never noticed things like this before. She'd managed to slither into his mind and change the way he looked at the sky, the flowers, and people's expressions. He wondered if he'd ever forget her. Would she fade away like a old memory or would she haunt him forever? Would paintings ever be the same when she was gone? Or would he see her in every one?

The ominous creak of the tied rope in the wind sung of nothing but death and violence and darkness. It was terrifying. Standing a few feet away, Whiskey truly believed she was going to fulfil its purpose before her time. Her head buzzed loudly, making her feet sick.

Finally, a voice rung out over the speakers, "Mentors and Tributes, this is your games maker speaking. I'd hope to attend this ceremony in person, however, due to some rioting amongst the districts and Capital, I've been forced to stay in my laboratory. With that being said, I am still able to see everything through the cameras in the arena. Shall we let the execution begin?"

Whiskey shifted the weight from one leg to the other. The mentors who did care about their tributes looked down uncomfortably.

"This is the result of your little rebellion. You have nobody to blame but yourselves. I will not have my games made into a mockery by you tributes," the voice yelled. "Now Mentors. Go stand in front of your tributes. Face them but do not speak."

Whiskey fell back to earth and basically collapsed into her body. She'd planned to ignore Coriolanus until her death, terrified of seeing him after stabbing him. But if he was standing in front of her, she couldn't avoid him. Adrenaline flowed through her bloodstream, clumping in her stomach. She felt genuine terror, knowing she had to see him once more.

The crunching sound of a boy who hated her and wanted her dead walked across the stones and finally stopped in front of her. Whiskey hid her face, feeling his glare. She couldn't bring herself to face him. Not ever again. She was too afraid.

"Boy from Tribute 1, step forward and up onto the platform," Dr Gaul instructed.

From the other side, Lucky Flickerman sighed, "District 1. He was a good looking one. Sorry folks."

A peacekeeper tied the rope around his neck and stepped back. The boy tried to keep a calm face, but his mentor started crying. This made his lip tremble. It was so hard to be brave in the face of death.

Suddenly, the floor trap doors opened underneath him and his neck cracked.

Coriolanus watched Whiskey flinch at the noise. She hadn't yet looked at him, but he continued to watch her nonetheless. He knew she couldn't help herself. She'd eventually look up and see his blue eyes one last time.

When she did, she'd realise, he was fighting an inward battle. Maybe, Tigris had gotten into his head, or maybe his eyes craved her, knowing it was the last time he'd see her before she was dead, but he was fighting his own emotions. He knew she was a tribute, but all he wanted to do was reach out. He knew she stabbed her, but standing so helplessly beautifully in front of him, he couldn't help from feeling such conflicting things.

He tried to put ambition over emotions. In a minute, he'd win the battle, but for now, he allowed himself to feel a small amount of love for the girl from district 12. Her hair purposefully fell over her face, hiding herself from him, but he didn't mind. He recalled the shape of her face and taste of her lips so easily for they had replied over in his mind thousands of times before, that just her presence was good enough for him. He did not need to see her face again, all he needed was her.

Then, as the line shifted along, finally Whiskey looked up, assuming he'd be distracted. But Coriolanus was watching. Her eyes glanced at him for a split second and he felt all his anger return. She was so good at acting blameless, innocent and afraid, he was reminded how easily he trusted her and how easily she stabbed him. She deserved to be here as much as every other rebel here.

Suddenly, a loud explosion cracked along the roof. Everyone ducked for cover, running from the chunks that started to fall from the ceiling. "Rebel bombing!" Someone yelled.

A tribute from district 2 took the opportunity to grab a peacekeepers gun and shoot two of them before they could react. Their bodies flopped to the floor. People started screaming.

In the choas, Coriolanus watched as mentors ran to the exits, desperate for safety. But the gates didn't open. They were sealed shut. "Help!" Dovecoat screamed, banging on the doors. "Get us out of here!" But there was no reply. Suddenly, he realised what was happening.

"It's hard to tell with all the dust and smoke but it looks as though the mentors and from the academy are trapped in the arena with the remaining tributes. I'm just getting the news now, the peacekeepers that were in there with them are... all dead," Lucky announced in shock. "Somebody get those mentors out of there before it's too late! It's the hunger games with capital students in a building that's falling to pieces! This is possibly the worst outcome that could of happened. I'm being informed the capital is working on opening those gates, but with wild tributes in there, for now, there is nothing we can do. Folks, I don't know how this happened, but I'm blaming the protesters. A rebel bombing is terrible enough but now innocent people are going to die! The districts are going crazy."