Victor by Night | Finnick Odair

In Retrospective : 9

Chapter Nine

We all gather around the television set and a red-eyed Danno rejoins us. The tributes' faces come up, district by district, and their scores flash under their pictures. One through twelve. Predictably high scores for Cashmere, Gloss, Brutus, Enobaria, and Finnick. Low to medium for the rest.

"Have they ever given a zero?" I ask.

"No, but there's a first time for everything," Eero answers.

And it turns out he's right. Because when Gerard, Peeta, Katniss, and I each pull a twelve, we make Hunger Games history. No one feels like celebrating, though.

"Why did they do that?" I ask.

We each clearly deserved zeros. Peeta had gone through with his plan of painting Rue, in spite of the Capitol, but Katniss... Man, Katniss... She hung a dummy from the ceiling, and wrote in berry juice SENECA CRANE.

If that can't boil President Snow's blood, then who knows what can...

"So that the others will have no choice but to target you," says Eero flatly. "Go to bed. I can't stand to look at either one of you."

Gerard walks me down to my room in silence, but before he can say good night, I wrap my arms around him and rest my head against his chest. It was a non-sensual hug, but it meant a kind thank you and an apology in one. "I'm sorry if I made things worse," I say, letting go of him.

"No worse than I did. Why did you do it, anyway?" he says.

"I don't know. To show them that I'm more than just a piece in their Games?" I say.

"Me, too," he tells me. "And I'm not saying I'm not going to try... to get you home, I mean. But if I'm perfectly honest about it ..."

"If you're perfectly honest about it, you think President Snow has probably given them direct orders to make sure we die in the arena anyway," I say.

"It's crossed my mind," says Gerard, nodding.

It's crossed my mind, too. Repeatedly. But while I know I'll probably never leave that arena alive, I'm still holding on to the simple hope that maybe I will.

"But even if that happens, everyone will know we've gone out fighting, right?" Gerard asks.

"Everyone will," I reply. And for the first time, I distance myself from the personal tragedy that has consumed me since they announced the Quell. I remember the old man they shot in District 11 when Katniss talked about Rue, and the rumored uprisings.

Yes, everyone in the districts will be watching me to see how I handle this death sentence, to see how the "Capitol's Perfect Daughter" handles being sent off to certain execution. This final act of President Snow's dominance.

They will be looking for some sign that their battles have not been in vain. If I can make it clear that I'm still defying the Capitol right up to the end, the Capitol will have killed me ... but not my spirit. What better way to give hope to the rebels?

The beauty of this idea is that my decision to keep myself alive at the expense of no one else's, is, itself, an act of defiance. A refusal to play the Hunger Games by the Capitol's rules.

My private agenda dovetails completely with my public one. And if I really could save myself ... in terms of a revolution, this would be ideal. Because I will be more valuable dead. They can turn me into some kind of martyr for the cause and paint my face on banners, and it will do more to rally people than anything I could do if I was living, like Katniss with her Mockingjay pin.

"Goodnight, Gerard," I nod, opening my door and slipping inside.

"Goodnight, Sagitarra," he smiles, walking away in the other direction.

That night, like every single night of my life the past three years, I went to bed and had nightmares of the Arena. Except this one was worse than a nightmare, this was my one and only friend dying before my eyes.

Tuls had asked every single tribute on the final training day to be his ally, and every single one turned him down. I knew he didn't really understand the alliance thing, but he wanted someone anyway.

Me being me, I had focused my entire energy on throwing instead of learning what leaves are poisonous, or how to catch snakes with your hands, or which spots in the sand would eat you whole.

Tuls, on the other hand, had paid close attention and was willing to teach me everything he had learned in the little time we had left... on one condition.

I become his ally.

I told him, "I work better alone," and, "Tuls, trust me, you don't want me as your ally." But he refutably persisted, and I finally gave in out of agony and annoyance.

In the few hours I spent with Tuls before the Games, I learnt that he was extremely intelligent and witty. He was the youngest of four, and was extremely protective of his older sisters, who were triple his size. I learnt that he liked to play in the meadow by his house, and he enjoyed running and jumping in the rain. Tuls's favorite food was creamed orange with fried spleen and his favorite color was sunshine yellow.

When I had gotten blown backwards as soon as the Games began, Tuls was right by my side. He didn't take the opportunity to kill me, to run and hide and leave me behind... he stayed, and he died in my vain and inability to presurvere through the impact.

I waited three hours to go back and get his body. When I found him, his once navy blue shirt was now tinted dark red. His eyes were still open.

I found a bed of water lilies to lay him on, before sending him off into the water with tears down my face. My sadness then turned to rage, and my first kill was added to the board.

Nettle killed Tuls. I killed Nettle.