The First Redemption Games (1-5) & The Writer Games | 6 - 7

Finals: Becka Vatineri

My back is hot. My cheek is warm and numb.

I am alone.

I sit up, sand whirling into my nose and eyes. The desert shimmers in front of me. This isn't real. This is just the screens, the virtual-reality replays. Someone has hooked me into one for a joke, knowing how much I hate these things. Probably Zeke. I'll get him for it later.

And then everything hits me. An explosion, the girl from 11 in pieces even before the buzzer, a roar of lava, volcano walls, Ellie's huge innocent eyes, the empty Capitol, the Peacekeeper's gun held to my temple, the desperate final beat of my heart...the light again, the deaths of people I didn't know, the cell, the stage, Sycamore's face twisted with confused rage, Drako beaming brightly at Sprink, Marik glaring out of the window, the car, the speed, the torture...

The Games.

My forehead is boiling and it's like somebody has sledgehammered me straight in the back, left me winded and battered inside. This time they won't bring me back, unless it's to watch Ellie die. The very thought brings the familiar hate bubbling back up inside, scorching my innards. I could twist their necks right now, watch the lights flicker out of their eyes like they have done to so many people.

I need to stay calm, focus. I need to find weapons, find water, find my allies...no. This is the finals. There are only six of us left. My allies are my enemies. As much as it hurts, as much as it rips my blackened heart, I cannot even go to say goodbye. If I stay here, perhaps I won't have to kill them.

I can't leave nothing. A thought strikes my mind; these games will be shown again and again, in the true sickening spirit of my home, the Capitol. I can leave a message of sorts, for the winner to see on screen. Assuming that the winner is not me. But what do I have to live for? Watching Ellie die?

The sand is smooth and stretches endlessly for all directions, clean as slate, almost as though it was designed for this purpose. In the distance, something howls but I ignore it. It isn't important, not anymore. I open my mouth to give my first last address out loud, but my mouth is hot and dry and no sound comes from it, even when I try licking my lips. So I dig my finger into the hot sand and write, starting with the easiest:

'Marik,

Good luck. Nil carborundum illegitimi.'

That will do. I don't know him, much less have any opinion on him. But I know how much he hates being here, which is why I've added the old cod-Latin; don't let the bastards grind you down. And next:

'Sycamore,

If you're reading this, I guess that's progress. And I hope you aren't punching things, and that someone has explained to you what is going to happen next, even though you're not going to like it, because I hate the idea of them using your innocence as entertainment.

You will never let them break you. Whatever is different in your head to mine, it is doing you a favour and you don't even know it.

You were totally right to attack me. I only wish that you'd actually have managed to hurt me. I'm ashamed, Sycamore. Sometimes, in these Games, killing is unavoidable. But other times...I killed Yuki right when she trusted me, and Snow help me but I nearly did the same to you. I can hardly believe it now, but you need to know so that you know for the next Games; trust nobody, Sycamore, or you'll never make it out again alive.

Ellie will look after you as best she can. You can trust her. She's brave and loyal and everything I could never be. She will help you.

Becka'

That will do. I have nothing more to say to the addled boy. Deep down, I know he won't make it. But just in case. Just in case.

I bite my lip. This is the one where the words don't just come pouring out. I have to think about them. If he's reading this, it won't matter what he thinks of me, because I will no longer exist. But still...:

'Drako,

You will never hear me say this, or hear of me ever saying this, not once in my whole life. I was wrong. Let's be honest, you gave me reason to be. It's no surprise we hated each other, that I planned to kill you. I can admit it now. I wanted you dead for everything that you embraced so readily, the glamour, the gore, the Capitol. And me the odd sheep, right down to my name. I like to think that, if the positions were reversed, you would have thought the same, and you wouldn't have chickened out like I did.

But I was wrong to think that, and I know you're grinning smugly at the screen right now. It's not your fault; we live what we know, and you didn't know any different. Now, though, now you do, and I can't describe how much of a better person you are for it. You've been through hell, Drako, but you're still good deep down. Maybe not so deep. So whatever you're thinking of yourself now, remember that. You are good. And Jamie would be proud.

Those were dark days, our dark days. I let you see me cry. It was like murder in the Games wasn't murder, but to suddenly see it in life, in familiar surroundings...it shocked me to the core. And for what they were doing to you, a loyal servant of the Capitol. And I blamed myself, for your association with me. Maybe it wasn't that, but it doesn't matter now. We held each other up, and I don't know what I'd have done without you. And, well...

This is the hard bit. Just in case you were wondering, hoping perhaps. Drako; I knew. I could see it in your eyes, every day that little spark, stronger and stronger, feel it in your arm around my shoulders in my darkest moments. I'm sorry. I didn't want to lead you on, make you think that I was feeling something I was not. And I didn't want to drop you in it any more than you already were. Perhaps, if these Games hadn't loomed large, perhaps in another district, another life, we could have had something. But I wouldn't let myself, and I hoped that you wouldn't either. Maybe I long for that other life, but what good will that do? And anyway, if you are reading this, I am dead. So what difference does it make?

I'm sorry, Drako. I'm sorry for judging you, for hating you. I am only glad that you proved me wrong. I'm sorry for breaking down after Jamie, when you needed me most. I'm sorry for any pain they caused you because you associated with me. And I'm sorry that I am still confused how I feel, that I couldn't let myself give you the love you needed.

Look after Ellie for me, please.

Love,

Rebekah

P.S you should have let me drive.'

The howling gets louder. I know what it is. It is the Gamemakers, trying to force us together. Well, I refuse. I won't get near them, my allies, my friends. I just whisper a goodbye on the wind, wipe a tear from my eyes and quickly move on to the next letter. I am running out of time.

With a sigh, I begin to write:

'Ellie,

I might still make it to you alive. But, just in case, I'm writing this. If I die, I am so sorry for giving up on you. I think I would have only made things worse for you, anyway. After all, who wouldn't want another stab at the Capitol?

You have been everything I would have hoped for in a sister, even though we haven't had that much time together. I know you fought my corner while I was imprisoned, telling them that I wasn't bad, that I was just confused. They were never going to listen to you, kid, so don't blame yourself. I suspect they've had it in for me for a long time. Capitol rebels do not go unpunished, though I'll admit that my punishment is more elaborate than most. I'm not that important, little more than a sullen teenager with no sense of belonging, but that isn't how they see it.

I don't mean to burden you with this. I'm just trying to explain.

In the best possible way, I hope that by the time we meet again, you'll be a wrinkled old woman with a loving family, passed away peacefully in her sleep.

Do not be afraid of death, little sister. I will be right here waiting for you.

All the love in my heart,

Rebekah Vatineri.'