The Writer Games | Once In A Lifetime & World Edition

Finals: Pippino D'Amore

Almost as if the country  itself wanted to give me a chilling glare, Russia has had blizzards,  and unbelievably low temperatures ever since I had arrived on this leg  of my Victory Tour.

I've been surrounded by  people ever since I was lifted out of the arena: an escort to help me on  my tour and chats about the tiniest of things, stylists stay with me to  make sure my clothes are both fashionable and practical, people who are  here to keep me alive if anyone tries to attack me.

However, look beyond my  entourage and you'll see I'm surrounded by thousands, even millions of  people who treat me in entirely different ways. Many refuse to look at  me, pretending that I'm not even there. If they do find enough sympathy  to meet my eyes, their stares are cold, hard, unforgiving. People cross  over streets to deliberately avoid me, steering children away.

"Walking to our  destination is a brilliant way to meet the people," laughs my escort,  oblivious to the actions of the crowds. "Look, there's so many  television crews here. You'll be famous for a while, Pip."

Russian is not a  friendly language, but it's easy to work out that the television  reporters are not being kind when they introduce the event. Their glares  don't even make me feel angry - if I was Russian, I'd hate myself too.

To take the life of a  fellow human is an unforgivable action. To take the life of a teenager  makes it even worse. To take the life of someone who was once your ally -  well, that makes me a despicable person.

I'm hated by an entire  nation, but that doesn't make me feel unwanted. I deserve it, and I  always will. Alek was my ally, my team-mate, maybe even my friend. Yet  he was strong, and a threat, and there could only be one winner. For  most of the Games, everything I'd done had been for my own survival.  Then, as the Games went on, I began to realise I didn't care if I lived  or died - Emily was the one I wanted to survive, and she was the one  Alek could endanger.

I continue walking  through the snow, the cold biting at me. I stare down at the ground,  trying to at least avoid some of the stares. I know I deserve them, but  they still get at me.

"We've only got to do  this one last publicity visit, to try and make Russia like you again,"  explains the escort, waiting for my reply.

"Nothing will work," I  mutter back. It doesn't matter what I do, I will always be known as the  person that killed Alek. It's my own fault, and nothing I can do will  change it. I took an oppurtunity I shouldn't have - Alek had his hands  full with restraining the American boy, the tribute we had to kill.  Emily was looking away. It was my job to kill our competition.

So I killed Alek instead  of America, and made up lies so Emily would believe I was a hero. I  deserve ever hate message, ever insult, every icy glare.

"Look, there's the  house," points out my escort. I don't know who I am visiting, but I know  I'll be useless at it. Whoever it is, they will hate me.

Inside the house, it is  hauntingly empty. A sparse, cotton rug covers bare floorboard. A single  lightbulb hangs from the roof, with no lamp shade to hide the cobwebs  attached to it. A sunset streams through the only window, illuminating  the specks of dust that float around the room, and silhouetting a figure  of a young woman.

She rocks an empty cradle.

***

Instead of the Russian  glares, the citizens of America cheer me like I am a national hero. I  don't know why they do it - it's my fault two of their children are  dead.

Emily - she should be  here instead of me. I was stupid enough to let my guard down for just a  second, just long enough for the final three to become the final two.