𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 | 𝑭𝒊𝒏𝒏𝒊𝒄𝒌 𝑶𝒅𝒂𝒊𝒓

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐓𝐖𝐎.

Eat 'til it hurts, drink 'til it doesn't

Bitter, bitter cold. That's what the Tributes were pummelled with.

It was more often than not snowing. One of the District 4 Tributes had fingers succumbing to frostbite, the digits going black and withering.

At day four Elio was still alive, he had done what Rosie had told him—hide, wait things out, find food, water, shelter and a weapon.

The cold had killed Tributes, they were frozen solid, terror painted on their faces for eternity. A small girl, twelve years old, huddled up. Her arms wound around her legs as she tried desperately—fruitlessly, to warm herself. You could see her lips turn blue and you could see when her suffering was over, she stopped shivering and fell asleep. It was a relief to Rosie when that finally happened, the little girl got peace. It seemed like a kindness.

In the large viewing area where the high society and Mentors milled around, debating on who was the next to go. Some Mentors trying to convince high society members to send gifts to their Tributes. Emergency blankets and warm soups being the most requested items.

No one would send anything to Elio, she had tried the first two days, people would always change the topic to Rosie—what she was wearing, the perfume she wore, her make-up, questions about boyfriends, family, songs she planned to sing. Anything but what she wanted to talk about. It was always so shallow when compared to the life-and-death situations she started talking to them about.

She'd given up by the third day; that was the day Greta died.

Her death was hard to stomach, she was sat next to Finnick. Their legs pressed together, his warmth bleeding into her. She was so cold, anxiety dropping her body temperature and making her shake.

Both of Finnick's Tributes had died within the first forty-eight hours, they were too confident. They surged forward in an effort to get weapons in the Cornucopia but were struck and died of complications due to the wounds.

Rosie was helpless when someone snuck up on Greta, one slash to the throat and half a dozen seconds later her life was snuffed out.

She'd speed-walked out, vomiting her guts up in the nearest bathroom.

Elio was hanging on, he'd rugged himself up and found himself somewhere to get out of the wind and snow. He'd found a rabbit and quickly cooked it just enough it was edible, then ran back to his hideaway; he used rocks and branches to ensure he didn't leave footprints leading to his location. He was doing everything he could.

The 68th Hunger Games were looking to be a short one.

By the time the sixth day rolled around, there were only five people—including Elio—still alive. Two of them were Careers; the set was from District 2, and strong contenders all the way from the ascension onto the steps after their name was read off.

"When was the last time you slept?" Finnick asked, handing Rosie a strong coffee, sensing she was about to collapse from exhaustion.

Rosie wiped her bleary eyes. "Like, two days ago? I got a few hours in, I'll be fine," she dismissed his concern. She dismissed everyone's concerns, even Haymitch made a sarcastic comment that she looked awful. Her eyes were set deeply, her cheeks were gaunt—no amount of make-up could make Rosie look presentable, so she had taken to hiding.

She'd tried once more to send Elio some food, before he'd caught the rabbit, but people all but laughed her away.

After that she just watched the Games in her accommodation, always sitting next to Finnick—who only left her to sleep for a few hours, he wasn't so good functioning without sleep—and sometimes Kit brought along Haymitch. Zavir would drop by when she didn't have some annoying, pretentious "meeting".