The 53rd Hunger Games- Two Words

48.Picking Up The Pieces

I am led out of the President’s mansion. Back to my room. Words that were not my words but came from my mouth told the president that I would play the ideal victor. I must appear upbeat. Witty. Undamaged. Starting with my interview tomorrow. Tule is to help coach me through it.

She was quiet on the way back to my nest. I asked her what they took. She didn’t tell me.

In District Eight, I didn’t have a large amount of valuables. A couple of bracelets, a necklace that used to be my mother’s. Is that what they have?

Of course they won’t tell me. They must always have the upper hand. Revealing their intentions to me was dangerous for them. Power is not something they like to give away.

I change out of the dress, and into a loose shirt and pants. The material is too stiff, too artificial feeling.

At the president’s mansion, I ate almost nothing. I am not hungry now. There is too much to think about, too much to mull over. Do they have my axe? Maybe that is the valuable. It doesn’t fit quite right, though.

What would they have done had I declined? Whatever they took would have been destroyed, I suppose.

Why reveal all of this to me? The victory that so much was sacrificed for was a fake! Hadrian gave his life to give me a victor’s crown that might as well be made from plastic! It isn’t real!

The fits had stopped. There was no more screeching Hadrian’s name, Gladius’s name, the name of anyone I have lost. There was no more screaming unintelligible things.

But now I lose it.

The sounds I make are somewhere between a scream, a sob.

“You lied! You said I was victor!” I yell at no one in particular. “I am not victor! No! You lied! You lied!”

I am shrieking as loud as I can. It sounds very high pitched. I don’t care. It doesn’t make me feel any better.

“You lied! Hadrian’s dead and now it’s all for nothing because you would have made me win anyway!”

I sit on my bed, head tipped up towards the ceiling. I half want someone to come, to tell me to shut up, so then at least I have someone to yell at.

The sound escaping me is a crazy sound. Laughing. Crying. Wailing. It is a combination of these. It is horrible and broken and too loud. I clap my hands over my ears as I keep yelling my head off.

“He’s dead he’s dead he’s dead he’s dead!” I chant. They better feel guilty.

It takes a long time for me to even begin to quieten. I only do so because my throat is beginning to burn, and my voice is breaking. So I return to sobbing.

I am disgusted. All that it cost to ensure that I’d be safe. It is a waste. Could they have not made my victory an honest one? I don’t recall them ever helping me in the arena. The lake was thrown at me. Explosions were set off, directing me. Not even to mention the other tributes. When did I ever receive assistance from them?

I try to stop crying. A headache has formed. My heartbeat pounds in my skull. What a waste. What a waste. How can Saraya and President Snow and the rest of the Gamemakers stand to throw away live like this?

Then again, they’ve had plenty of practice. Isn’t that all that happens during the Hunger Games? Waste, waste, waste.

I almost start to scream again.

Because I can’t, I am idle again. Lying back on the mess I made of blankets. I tossed them around as I wailed.

My fingers curl around my necklace. For once, the metal isn’t warm. It felt wrong to hold after President Snow mentioned it.