Victor by Night | Finnick Odair

Fuck You Snow : 6

Chapter Six

When we go in to watch the recap of the opening ceremonies, I wedge myself in between Gerard and Danno on the couch. Irrefutably, they groan in frustration and move to other places in the large living space.

As I watch the procession to the City Circle, I think how it's bad enough that they dress us all up in costumes and parade us through the streets in chariots on a regular year. Kids in costumes are silly, but aging victors, it turns out, are pitiful.

A few who are on the younger side, like Johanna and Finnick, or whose bodies haven't fallen into disrepair, like Seeder and Brutus, can still manage to maintain a little dignity. But the majority, who are in the clutches of drink or morphling or illness, look grotesque in their costumes, depicting cows and trees and loaves of bread.

Last Hunger Games we chattered away about each contestant, but tonight there's only the occasional comment. Small wonder the crowd goes wild when Gerard and I appear, looking so young and strong and beautiful in our brilliant costumes.

The very image of what tributes should be.

However, Gerard is a full 15 years older than me, as Finnick is two years older than me at 19, and for some reason it truly shows the age difference on film.

I look like a child compared to their figures.

As soon as it's over, I stand up and thank Danno for his amazing work and head off to bed. Gerard calls a reminder to meet early for breakfast to work out our training strategy, but even his voice sounds hollow. Poor Gerard. He finally had a decent year in the Games with his victory, and now it's all broken down into a mess that even he can't put a positive spin on. In Capitol terms, I'm guessing this counts as a true tragedy.

Soon after I go to bed, the nightmares of the Arena set in...

The desert themed Arena has wasted me until my very last ounce of strength. The cannon goes off, and I know Pocan has finally killed Vender when he insatiably fled towards the watering hole.

All of us needed water, desperately. It was just a fight of who could get there first.

My two competitors were bigger than me, but I had speed and agility, and could practically work with any weapon handed to me.

Especially the ring daggers I had discovered in Rigg's pack when Weiss had killed him.

I had gotten to the watering hole and back to my spot before Pocan and Vender even left their camps.

Suddenly the sun faded to the moon, although the amount of daylight hours left had me confused. The moon shouldn't be out for another 5 hours... the Gamemakers must be in a hurry to end it all.

And for the first time since I've been in the Arena, the sky broke out in clouds and it began to rain. I smiled, opening my mouth, ready to catch one of the drops to quench my insatiable thirst.

When the drop touched my tongue, I screamed.

It wasn't rain, it was acid. It burned my nose to breath in, my skin to touch, my lungs from the single drop on my tongue.

I sprinted for the shining, seemingly safe haven shelter: the Cornucopia. I pray that Pocan is at least a good distance away from where I am sheltered, and the final battle won't have to be as bloody as I assume it will be.

Because I'm not giving up without a fight.

But inside the Cornucopia, there Pocan sat on his hands and knees, coughing forcefully and probably suffering the same symptoms I was. He looked up at me, his eyes going wide as he scrambled for his sword.