The 100th Annual Hunger Games

Chapter 12

A single thought registers in my brain and I sit up.

"No..." I whisper.

I can't come so close just to lose. I can't do that to my family. Or to myself.

I glance around. My opponent is dying. Then again, so am I, but luckily we are both equally wounded and there will be no more fighting. It is only a matter of seeing who will be the last one breathing. And it has to be me, it has to.

Seconds, minutes, possibly even hours pass, although I have a feeling it is not that long. I know I'm failing. The agonising pain in my chest is fading.

Not a good sign.

The Career continues to breathe raggedly while I try and force myself to stay alive. Neither of us want to die here, but one of us has to. And I won't let it be me.

Suddenly the cannon booms and I gasp. The Career has stopped breathing. I'm alive. I have survived the arena. Choking back relieved tears, I roll away from the Career's corpse to give him some respect. He deserves that much.

Mere seconds pass before he is taken away and then only a few more pass before I am airlifted into a huge helicopter full of Peacekeepers. None of them say a word to me so I just pat myself on the back with pride and nod when they tell me to lie on the table.

I pull myself onto the white slab and allow tears to fall.

"I'm going to be okay" I whisper, still surprised that I am here and able to speak and breathe. The Peacekeepers ask me to sleep so I close my eyes. I'm safe for now.

In my dream I am sitting on a white chair in the forest. The white chair is brand new, shiny and comfortable. The forest is rotting and flowers die all around me. I want to get out of the chair but find I cant.

An owl flies above and then crashes to the ground before me, letting out a surprised hoot.

"Oh no." I mumble and jump towards it. But I am pulled back to the chair. I begin to kick and scream but dont move an inch while the owl moulds and eventually turns to ash. I let out an almight bellow and wake up.

I am lying in a bed in a hospital. I am not attached to any wires or tubes and the curtains around me are not drawn. I am completely alone. Well, as far as I can see anyways. I also see that all my cuts have been healed and I am in a long blue dress. Dressed and ready to be the Capitol's puppet.

Woohoo.

After a few minutes the blissful silence ends when a man walks in. Tall and broad, he strides towards me and stands at the foot of my bed, grinning hugely. He is wearing a black tuxedo and by looking at him I can tell he wears this kind of clothing regularly, leading me to believe he must be of some importance.

"Hello Sylvira and might I say, massive congratulations on your victory." He says by way of greeting.

"Thank you." I mumble back.

"You're going to be seeing a lot of me in the next few days. My name is Wesley Quinn and I am here to prepare you for your time in the spotlight." I nod in reply, not caring enough to try and guess what he means.

Back in District 12 one of the most important subjects we learned was history, most of this being about the previous Hunger Games. We would spend an hour or two every day since we were five years old learning about every single games, the names of the competitors and their backgrounds, their training scores, how many got killed at the cornucopia and every detail of the Games until the victor returned to their district. It was everyone's least favourite part of school but we were forced to learn it so we would never forget that a third rebellion would be a terrible idea.

And I am reminded of these classes every minute for the next three days.

Wesley is the only person I see in this time. Every morning he wakes me at six a.m. in the hospital, lets me eat a small breakfast and then takes me into a quiet room where he hands me dozens of sheets of paper that I need to know inside out and upside down for my interview. I am expected to know absolutely everything about the tributes backgrounds.

I recite details until about two p.m. when Wesley gives me lunch and then I sit to watch my own Hunger Games. He leaves out the bits with me in them, I know what happens there. He shows me every other fight and murder there is, and by the third day I skip the lunch. It didnt stay down long on the first two days.

At the end of the third day Wesley locks me into the quiet room with twenty pages of all of questions that Caesar Flickerman, the interviewer who has been in that post since as long as I can remember, could possibly ask me. It takes me an hour to complete and I leave it on the table before returning to my bed to bawl into my pillow about the gruesome details that I have just written down on paper.

Time passes slowly for the next few hours and then Wesley comes to visit me for the final time.

He strides into the room with a face like thunder and drops my test onto my bed.

"What the hell were you thinking?!" He roars.

Stunned, I stare at him. I am completely lost.

"What do you mean?" I ask.

He sighs and puts his face into his hands. After a few seconds he flicks through my test and brandishes one of the pages in my face.

"THIS." He says. I read it carefully.

The question was about Roslyn's death and how I felt about it. In my half page answer I expressed my sadness and gratitude for her sacrifice. Which is how I feel about it.

"What is wrong with it?" I ask quietly.

"You can't say she died for you!" He yells.

"This girl's sacrifice was portrayed on screen as an accident, the Capitol intercepted it and twisted the angles of the film." He continues, his voice lower.

"As far as you know, Roslyn was with you when she was killed. That is all. No sacrifice, nothing. Sacrifice is seen as an act of rebellion to the Capitol. If you say it like that her family could be found, murdered in their sleep and it could be made to look like a tragic gas leak."

Wesley sits down and sighs again. Up until now I saw him as another one of the Capitol's puppets. Now I realise he is here to help me and prevent me from causing people trouble without meaning to.

"I'm sorry." I whisper.

He smiles at me and stands up again.

"Otherwise you had perfect answers and you are definitely ready for the interview." He says, moving on from Roslyn fast. I nod.

"When is it?" I ask.

"The day after tomorrow." Wesley replies.

And then I'll be able to go home.