The Black Widow | A Hunger Games Fanfiction

The Execution

The execution was today. Finally, Snow would meet the fate he deserved.
But for some reason, I didn't feel victorious.
Maybe it was because he was already dying. He wouldn't last the year regardless of whether Katniss's arrow found his throat today.
Or maybe it was because, really, nothing would change.
After this, we would hold a symbolic Hunger Games. We would massacre the Capitol's children the way they massacred ours. But I knew that even this wouldn't be enough to quench the thirst for blood that had been growing for the past 76 years.
When this was over, people would beg for more. Until Coin announced another one. And another. Until the Hunger Games were just a part of day to day life once again.
We would forget our history in order to remember our triumph. But that history would return with a vengeance. A vicious cycle.

I held Finnick's hand all the way as we walked to the exit. We had hardly parted since we had been brought together again. I was almost afraid that if he left my sight, I would lose him forever. Maybe that would fade, given time.
Finnick hadn't wanted to talk about the vote. He had talked and talked but never brought it up again since that day. I had been okay with that. I wanted to forget the betrayals of the people who had voted to repeat the mistakes of our past.
But that was kind of difficult when they were there every time you turned the corner.

Katniss pulled me aside. She had trouble, seeing as Finnick and I were still holding on to one another and I didn't really want to go with her. The only reason I relinquished my grip on Finnick's hand was the look in her eyes: it was one that I knew all too well. The thoughts of suicide were written clearly on her face.
But she wasn't going to go down without a fight.
Dressed in her dark mockingjay outfit, Katniss melded with the shadows as she pulled me out of eashot of the rest of the group.
"What is it?" I asked.
"Snow didn't kill Prim," she said, "it was Coin."
"Did you find this out before or after you voted for another Hunger Games?" I asked bitterly.
"Before," she admitted, "I just needed Coin to trust me so that she'd let me take the shot."
"But if you were only doing this for Prim, why do you still need to kill Snow?" She stared at me intensely and the realisation dawned on me, "You don't: you just need a clear shot at Coin." She nodded,
"Snow still has to die," she said, "I can't let him have the satisfaction of winning even this. So when my arrow hits Coin, I need you to kill him."
"I don't have any weapons," I told her: they hadn't even trusted me with so much as a kitchen knife. Maybe they were worried I would figure it out too. Maybe they had known that I wouldn't let the Hunger Games continue. But they definitely knew that even with a kitchen knife, I wouldn't miss.
Katniss slipped me a throwing knife. Just like the ones from the tribute center: sharp, gleaming silver blade and a perfectly balanced grip.
"Don't miss," she warned. I smiled: this couldn't be easier,
"I never do."
Katniss and I began to walk back to the group, but as we did, I caught her arm,
"Why me? Of all people, why did you ask me to do this?" She grimaced,
"After everything he put you through, and from everything I've seen you, you're the only person who I know would take the shot without hesitation." I smiled at her truth. I also suspected that I was the only person she trusted to be able to accurately thow a knife. I doubted there would be any axes or tridents lying around.

"What was that about?" Finnick asked as we lined up opposite Snow with the other victor. In the background, the drums were booming as Katniss made her approach,
"I'll tell you later," I promised. He didn't pry. He couldn't: Katniss had already arrived.
Coin made a brief speech- her last- before allowing Katniss to ready her single arrow.
She really had picked a terrible place to stand, I reflected. She was putting too much trust in Katniss's aim and loyalty.
Katniss readied her arrow, pointing it squarely at the President's throat. Then, in a heartbeat, she switched her target.
And fired.
Coin paused for a second as the arrow pierced her skin and the red of blood stained her lifeless grey clothing. And then she fell.
In a familiar motion, I slipped the knife from my pocket and hurled it as Snow as he laughed. It entered his mouth and embedded itself in the back of his throat.
He struggled against the blade.
As the masses charged in, I ran up to him.
He looked at me with nothing but animal agony in his eyes. And I twisted the knife. The smell of blood filled my nostrils. Was it old or new?
Then, I pulled it from his throat and attacked. Again and again. A thousand knife wounds appeared in the old man's torso, throat, head. And still he wasn't dead. There would be no mercy for President Snow. He would die slowly, painfully. He would suffer until his last second of life just like so many others had for him.
Overtaken by my bloodlust, I stabbed again and again.
Until Finnick caught my arm,
"Rose, enough," he said, "We need to go." I looked up at him, pleading that I could cause Snow more suffering.
"I need to do this," I returned, "He needs to know what it feels like."
"He does," Finnick agreed, "And he will. Rose, look what you've done. Not even the best Capitol doctors could save him now. Don't waste any more time on him. Put down the knife."
I looked at him, and nodded.
Then, I plunged the knife into Snow's eye and allowed Finnick to lead me away.
"I'm glad he'll die slowly," I said to Finnick when we had fought our way through the crowds swarming the stage, "An arrow to the heart was far too painless."
I thought back to that moment when the knife had first punctured his throat. He would've died from that within minutes. He'd be dead right now.
As that realisation dawned on me, the final cannon boomed in my head.