Odair- DISCONTINUED

1.1

I didn't have anyone as such to say goodbye to in District 9. I kept to myself and rarely made friends, or acquaintances; afraid Snow would use them against me. The only people he could use was Finnick, Mags, Annie, Haymich and Johanna. I was friendly enough to the other victors when it came to the games but my only friends were a select few- predominately from District 4.

"Congratulations my lovelies. Oh, isn't this all so exciting! The Quarter-Quell made up of previous victors! Fabulous!" The freak with purple skin, Syrio I think his name was, exclaimed; trying to lift the train carriage spirit. I felt sorry for the bloke, he was usually the observer amongst the crowds and not on the crappy end of the stick where he had to deal with insensitive victors and tributes.

"Shut it for just a minuet would you! I'm going back into that hell whole and you're happy about it?" Barley snapped. His darkly tanned skin and shaved head showing his large form that holds power and strength from helping out in the fields, even after the games. To keep his mind from thinking back to 20 years ago. His troubled brown eyes glancing at mine as he looked up from hanging his head in his large hands. We spoke often in the victors village, but often kept out of each others way, but it was still nice to have a friendly face to look at.

"Excuse me? This is you're chance to shine again! Get back in the spotlight and-" Barley cut Syrio off,

"To be butchered to death and have to suffer from more night terrors? I know I'm not coming out of that arena alive! I'm a thirty year old man being put up against young, fit, teenagers," he glanced at me again sympathetically. I knew he meant no harm, "I'd rather give my life and help Alice to live than watch her die. She has so much more to live for; she will be missed more than I ever would be. I'm sure Finnick and Haymitch would kill me if I didn't so something." He chuckles to himself as he stands and glares at a now pale Syrio.

"I'm off to sleep. Goodnight." he strides from the room, killing the conversation instantly.

I sigh heavily, sinking back into the plush green chair, whilst watching a shocked Syrio pour himself a strong drink and sit down opposite me. His hands shaking.

"He doesn't mean to be brash," I try comfort slightly, "But how would you feel if you had been thrown into that area, forced to murder people and fight for your life. Promised to live in peace, when in fact all Snow ever does is then continue to use you like a puppet in front of everyone. To then to be thrown back into that place you have nightmares about every night and you know that there is a higher chance than the first time that someone will kill you?"

I lick my lips in thought as I slowly raise from my seat and brush imaginary dust from my grey pencil skirt and white blouse, "I may be a little more patient with you Syrio, it's not your fault you're used to the plush side of the games, but push me too far and I won't be responsible for my actions,"

I stride from the carriage, my brown brogues making very little noise against the soft carpet as I make my way to my room.

As soon as the door shuts behind me with a small hiss, I'm pulling my hair from it's pins that keep the bun at the nape of my neck intact and rake my hands through my itchy scalp. My silky black hair flowing like water around my shaking fingers. I hold back sobs as I harshly pull my blouse and skirt from my body and throw on some lighter clothes for bed.

It's not long before I'm curled up in a tight ball under the lavish sheets; wishing that Finnick was here to hold me close and wake me from this nightmare.

But it's not a dream.

This sick, twisted fate, is mine to live. Mine to control as many variables in this scheme of Snows.

I decided in that moment that no matter how hard Snow would try to kill myself, or my family of small friends, I would just bite back at him twice as hard.

My sleep that night was full of blood, hot and sticky blood that clings to my skin like hot sugar and burns where it touches. Full of screams of those I butchered and inhumanly ended. Full of ways that I myself could be murdered. Ways Finnick could be harmed. Or Mags. Or Haymitch. Or Annie.

I awoke screaming and covered in perspiration. Like every night. Panting and gripping my chest at the horrors I'd endured. It wasn't the screams, and the blood, and the pain bothered me. It was the fact that I'd enjoyed butchering every last one of those innocent souls in that arena six years ago. Every last one.