Author Games: The Last Cannon

TASK NINE: Samus Kumamoto

The kettle screams, rudely waking me from the few minutes of sleep that I've grabbed in the past few days. Before I can shut off the stove, Natalie races across the kitchen to turn the dial down. She starts to speak but closes her mouth when she sees how exhausted I am. It's been like this for the past fifteen years. We fight like animals and then when we're too tired to continue, we stand around in silence.

"Samus, you can't keep doing this to yourself," Natalie says. She grabs a mug from the cabinet and pours me some tea.

I run a hand through my hair. I take a sip, leaning back against the counter. "Can't do what to myself, Natalie?"

She drops the kettle back on the stove with a clatter. I can tell how agitated she is by the way she stands and rolls her shoulders about. It's a tic that she has. After fifteen years, I know her. Marriage does things like that. Marriage does a lot of things, which is why we were never happy.

"You can't keep staying up late into the night and all day. It's not healthy."

"You know it's hard for me to sleep, Natalie," I reply. We've had this argument before. Like deja vu, it resurfaces once every year. And it's always around Reaping Day.

"It's been fifteen years, Samus. You should be able to sleep now," Natalie says. Her voice is sour. I do feel bad for her. She's spent her time trying to make me happy and all she gets is a screaming mess in the mornings.

Like the others though, she doesn't really understand what is wrong with me. With all of our wealth, she's hired doctors to diagnose what is wrong with me. The only problem is, she isn't willing to take a diagnosis that can't be solved with medication. The only people who understand me are those who have been through the same thing. My fellow mentors are closer to me than my wife or daughter will ever be.

"Mom! We have to get going. The line is going to get insane." Samantha trots down the stairs. At seventeen, she is beautiful. She was the reason her mother and I married. I got off the train when I came home and saw a hopeful Natalie smiling at me with an equally hopeful two year old little girl on her shoulders. The Capitol learned that Samantha was my child and demanded we become a true family.

The thing about forced marriage is that they never tell you it'll get better. They know it won't get better for you. The road only gets worse. At this point, I think I'd sacrifice my life for my fellow Victors rather than my family's. I have no love for Natalie and Samantha is just a weight bearing down on my shoulders. She wants to be like me but she does not remember how quickly I became weak and pathetic. If she knew the truth, she wouldn't be proud to call me her father.

My hands shake. The red rash has begun to spread across my body. Biting back whimpers of pain, I scratch at my skin, tearing off the scabs that cover the needle marks. Seven scabs hang by a piece. Just like the rest of us. There are seven of us left. Six left to kill and no needles.

I cower behind the trees as Cosmo and Castiel creep closer and closer. They aren't looking for me. They're looking for someone else, someone who was stupid enough to make a noise. Still, paranoia has gotten to me. I've lost the one thing that was supposed to give me the strength to finish off my fellow tributes so all I can do is cower away. I know my chances and right now, they're slim.

Another cannon sounds and I press myself further against a tree. My only hope is that no one hears how loudly I am breathing. I feel like I am being suffocated. Seconds later a third cannon sounds. I bite my knuckles so hard I feel the skin break and hear the crunch of my own bones.

It hurts to be peeling my own teeth from my skin but I do it anyway. I thought the pain would wake me up, shake me into finishing the show for all the cowards behind their screens but it does nothing. Pain does nothing because I don't want it to. I want my drugs. I am lost without them.

"Dad, come on, let's go." Samantha grabbed my hand, pulling me away from the counter. Her fingers brush the bite mark scars on my hand. She doesn't notice that I've been reminiscing again. Or if she does, she doesn't mention it. She and her mother have learned to ignore it.

Like the perfect family we're expected to be, we wander down to the Town Square. I hold Natalie's hand and Samantha struts proudly in front of us. At the entrance, I bid my daughter the best of the odds, kiss my wife and walk to the Justice Center with a smile. My fellow Victors are already beginning to gather on the raised stage. Misery loves it's company and we've never been more miserable in our lives than on a Reaping Day.

I sit down next to an older woman who smiles but says nothing. Her hair is long, starting to grey. Like most people, her hair curls in the humidity. I have no idea which Game she won but I know she's been around for the majority of my life. She calls herself Mags and most in the District respect her in the utmost regards. There is a rumor that she won one of the first Games. I smile back at her. It is sincere this time. I know she understands me because I can see the way her smile slants down just a little.

"Here's to another year," I mutter. Mags nods and laughs before placing a thin finger to her lips. Respectfully, we listen to the Capitol escort's spiel and watch as the teenagers get antsy. Fights will break out among hopeful volunteers and I know my daughter will be amongst them. I just hope she doesn't get to the top first. She has no idea what she's dealing with and although I don't really love her, I know her mother does and I respect Natalie.

Finally, the escort begins to draw names. The female is called and a volunteer quickly replaces her. Frustrated screams pierce the air and brawls between the former hopefuls break out in the sections. It seems that an eager youngster spoke before the older kids had a chance to speak up.

"The male better be good this year." Another Victor, Petrov Alabaster, leans over and points to the section of eighteen year old boys. The boy's name is called but I can't hear it over Petrov's voice. All I know is that there aren't any volunteers. "We haven't had good male since you, Kumamoto. Perhaps we'll get lucky."

"I wouldn't count on it," I reply. No volunteers means all the boys are too nervous. Or they're getting smarter.

Mags, who is mentoring this year, hushes us quickly so we hear the ending of the Ceremony. She points to the boy and nods approvingly. He's quite fit and although he is young, he carries plenty of potential.

"What is the boy's name?" Petrov asks Mags.

"Finnick Odair."

He won't last long. He's just another name to carve into a headstone.