The 65th Hunger Games - EDITING

Chapter fifteen

 I'm sitting on my bed, looking at the waves washing up on the shore. It must be around one in the morning, but I can't fall asleep. I keep playing with my sheets, wrapping it around my arm and unwrapping it a few seconds later. Tonight, it's the interviews and then, the next thing on the schedule is the beginning of the Games. In a little more than 24 hours, I could be dead, who knows. My high score for the personal evaluations brought both good news and bad news concerning my survival. On one hand, I'll probably have access to more sponsors, but on the other hand, the Career tributes will only be more eager to kill me. Again, I keep wondering if I took the right decision. I feel like weighting the pros and cons to every decision I make is the only thing I've been doing since I arrived. Is my choice of allies the right one? Did our decision to learn from one another instead of listening to the instructor was the right one? Did listening to Viviana's father in the first place was a good thing? Was I right about the game makers? I have so many questions without answers. I guess they will come soon and all of the consequences for each and every little action I made are going to come back at me. Once again, I exhale loudly and grab the remote for the window. From a single push on a button, the beach is replaced with a view of the Capitol. People are partying on the roads in front of the building where we are staying. I can't hear them because of the soundproof glass, but I don't even have to get up to know they're there; it's just a big celebration for a big event to them. I let myself wonder how different my life would be if I grew up here. Would I be screaming, laughing and playing with them? Would I have altered my body? Would I look forward to the Hunger Games? Would my brother still be alive?

I will never know the answers to thosequestions; I'm not even sure I want one. As I'm lying on my back, eyes on theceiling, I notice a ridiculously tiny black object. I jump out of my bed andstart walking towards it, as if it was going to explode in my face.

A camera.

I've never seen a tribute's bedroom broadcasted before so I doubt anyone in the Capitol or back home can see me right now. It's probably just a precaution to make sure we don't kill ourselves. They would never let us do it; it would be too nice of them. I already had some doubts about being watched constantly, but I didn't know to which extent. I sit on the end of my bed, facing the camera and stop moving. I want them to know that even if I might not be able to see them, I know they're there and I hate them with all my soul, that deep down I wish that someone is going to do more than me one day and the Hunger Games era is going to come to an end. Hopefully, the people watching me right now, the people joyfully watching kids get killed and all the people partying on the roads down there will one day know what it feels like to be scared, hungry and weak; what it's like to know that you might never see home or another sunset ever again. But that's just a wish, a stupid dream of mine, that seems impossible to accomplish right now. Maybe one day, maybe one day.

***

When Mags knocks on my door, I'm still sitting on my bed, eyes locked on the camera. I quietly get up and get out of the room, passing right before my mentor without saying a word. She looks surprised by my attitude, but doesn't say anything. She follows me to the kitchen where Viviana, Ionel and Alder, Viviana's mentor, are eating. As the night went on, anger took control of my body, inch by inch, until it finally took over. I abruptly pull the chair and sit violently on it. Our escort gets mad and start screaming about how I might scratch the floor or even worse, break the chair.

"Why can't you just shut up for a minute? We couldn't care less about your precious little wood chair that one of the Capitol's slaves probably made in District seven!" I angrily shout at him.

"Finnick! Watch your attitude." retort Mags in an unsuccessful attempt to calm me down.

"No! Not this time! I'm tired of this bullshit!"

"Watch your language young man!" says Ionel, fear and sadness tearing up his voice.

"I don't have to follow any order from you! You're just like every single..."

I don't have time to finish my sentence. Mags grabs my arm so hard it hurts and drags me away from the table, where Viviana is looking at me without showing any emotion while her mentor comfort Ionel. For someone her age, she's still in really great shape.

"Okay, now you're going to listen to me. I get it, your feelings are hurt by I don't even know what. Remember what you told me when we met? I do; you said you'd do anything you could to go back home and this, what you did right there, is not the way to do it. I truly want you to come back home Finnick, trust me, but if you exceed the limits like this ever again and we're in front of a camera, I won't be able to do anything for you. Don't you get it? The Capitol does not like rebels and they will hurt anyone you love before finally killing you once you have nothing left and you're just a broken, empty shell."

I stay silent, standing tall in front of her. I can't bring myself to look into her eyes, I'm too ashamed, I'm too scared to know what I'll find there. I know she used to have a son, but he died a few months before I was born. I wonder if that's what happened to him, if the Capitol killed him. It wouldn't surprise me.

"Now, tell me what put you in that state of mind this morning. I know there's something more than the Games. What is it?" she adds in her usual calm and reassuring voice. 

"I found a camera in my bedroom. They're watching us, even when we sleep! We can't have five minutes of privacy. What are they even doing with the footage anyway?"

For the first time since I met her, I see her look down, trying to find a way to avoid the situation. I see shame, anger and in a way, weakness, in her face. When I asked her this question, I thought she'd tell me it's to make sure we don't kill ourselves like I thought during the night, but there is definitely something more to that.

"Mags? What exactly are they doing with the footage?" I ask with a more insisting voice.

"They sell it Finnick; they sell it to whoever wants to buy it."