Author Games: Trial By Fire

Becoming a Winner - Annie Cresta#70th

"This is my favourite moment, that moment a tribute... becomes a Victor," ~ Ceaser Flickerman.

Name: Annie Cresta

Age: 20

Personality/Traits: Annie has been broken by the Games. However the girl she once was still remains within her and is clearly fighting to break out once more. Her mental delicacy is not immediately obvious but a subtle oddness about her reflects the shattered remains of the girl they dragged out the arena. She laughs in odd places, focuses her gaze into the distance as if staring intently at something that everyone else is missing and is painfully timid around those who she does not know. Every now and then a particularly horrific memory will cross her mind and she will shut down by closing her eyes and covering her ears. She is often found twisting a frayed strand of rope in her hands and it seems to calm her. Annie still remains a kind, gentle and instantly likeable person. But she is a very clear reminder of the pain a victor carries for them the Games never end.

District: Four

Physical Description: Long dark hair that naturally falls in loose ringlets. Dark green eyes. A round and perpetually innocent looking face. Pale, porcelain-like skin and a very slight frame. Her appearance is slightly dishevelled but it seems to suit her. She is an understated sort of beautiful in that she is extremely pretty but neither notices nor does anything to cultivate it. 

Celebrity Look-a-like: Astrid Bergès-Frisbey 

Game that they won: 70th

Weapon of Choice and Skill: Spear (if she had the heart to use it,) a very good swimmer, intelligent enough to avoid conflict and a certain mentor who will do everything he can to get her back home again…

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Annie of District Four - _justcloseyoureyes_

Here in the cave I am isolated and alone. There is a constant chill in the air which seeps under your skin and causes you to ache with the shivers burning down your spine. In surroundings such as these I have only the company of my thoughts. 

But nowadays my thoughts are malevolent shadows which twist and unfurl through my mind. The image of Elliot’s convulsing body before me remains imprinted on my thoughts. The stain of his blood has long been removed from my hands but the stain of his death will never be washed away. I close my eyes and whimper as the sound of his headless body slumping to the floor echoes once more. I bring my curled fists down upon my head in the hope of bashing out the images which turn my stomach and torture me in my nightmares, in my daydreams; everywhere. But they are irremovable. 

Every now and then I see a splattering of scarlet across the cave floor, I hear the desperate screams of his pleading and I sense the cold hatred of the arena flaring brutality inside us all. I think I’m going mad. Somewhere deep inside I can hear a voice struggling to get out. I can feel a survival instinct clawing to break free. But I silence the voice because it is easier to remain in this state of madness than face reality.

The ground beneath me has been shaking violently for sometime now. But the sound of destruction outside is a mere whisper compared to the continued torturous screaming that sears through my mind. So I remain where I am. Hands over my ears, eyes closed, firmly enclosed within my own cage of torment. 

The shaking stops, I reopen my eyes and a wall of water knocks me off my feet and rips me out of hiding into the arena. The torment of my mind silenced I begin to realise what has happened. The dam has been shattered by the earthquake, the arena has flooded and I am being dragged down by the weight of the inky blue waters. I feel the weight crushing the air out of my lungs and yet I do not fight. Death is perhaps the best option for me now. A welcome release from all my tortures. 

But in that instant the voice breaks free. And it is not my voice but his. The soft whisper which guided me through the unsettling artificialness of the Capitol, the warm hand which gripped mine when no one was looking, the man who I’m sure is behind the constant stream of parachutes sending me food when I haven’t the fight to feed myself. The one who has been fighting for me all this time when I myself had given up. Now is the time to repay the debt. 

Furiously I kick out. For an inhabitant of District 4 it is not a struggle for me to reach the surface and keep myself afloat. Now I am fighting. It is not brutality, or cunning, or strength keeping me alive. It’s love. Something the Capitol has never and never will be able to control. I am the victor who survived on love alone and the Capitol must hate me for it.