𝘁𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗽𝗼𝗼𝗹 - sonnet alcott must experience the hunger games again but this time, finnick odair is there with her.
the hunger games: catching fire
fem oc x finnick odair
CHAPTER ONE - 𝗯𝗹𝗼𝗼𝗱𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘀𝗻𝗼𝘄 ( 𝗯𝘆 𝗽𝗼𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗯𝘂𝘁𝘀𝗸𝘆𝘄𝗮𝗹𝗸𝗲𝗿 )
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It is as if I can feel his heart stop. His body crumbles like a lifeless puppet, the wound in his chest staining the snow a scarlet red before my feet. The knife is in my hand still and my numb fingers tremble as his blood drips from the blade and soaks my forearms. The frigid air and the death in front of me leaves me breathless. Gasping. I'm screaming until my throat is raw. He is unmoving, the death my doing. I feel my own blood gushing from my nose which coats my chest and blurs my senses until I'm stumbling through the snow completely disoriented. I hear the sound of the cannon echoing through the snowstorm.
Now I'm awake, still shrieking and thrashing in my bed. The Hunger Games is never really over, no matter how many years pass after my victory. Every time I go to sleep, I'm transported back into that wintery arena where I am forced to relive every moment I killed for the sake of my own survival.
His death never fails to reappear in my nightmares. We had never spoken before, but I knew he was the tribute from District 11. His attack was unexpected. One moment I was preparing to rest my eyes, and the next, I was being punched directly in the face by his already bloody knuckles. It is painful to admit he was an easy kill. All it took was the grasp of my blade and the flick of my wrist.
It was after my Victory Tour when his murder started to effect me. In his district, the crowds were full of hollow-faced people forced to listen to my scripted speech where I shared my condolences for their tributes. I spoke of their male tribute as if I hadn't taken his life. It was the boy's family who made me view his death as more than just an easy kill. When his mother looked at me, I expected to see anger or rage, but beneath her dark eyes, she only seemed broken. Little children clutched to her legs, terrified. Terrified of me. I had taken their brother and I was the enemy.
Winning the 68th Hunger Games was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing in the fact I escaped with my life but a curse because of the burdens I now carry with it. There is a fear in my chest that never seems to diminish and the murders always emerge at night. Sometimes, I wonder that if I had died in the games with the others, it would have been the true blessing.
