𝐆𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐘 & 𝐆𝐎𝐑𝐄. ᵀᴴᴳ[1]

16

EVERYTHING SEEMED TO BE IN SLOW MOTION AS SOON AS SOON AS THE HOVERCRAFT PULLED SAGE OUT OF THE ARENA. From the removal of his chip, to the immediate medical attention they began to give him; the faces that appeared above him, he could see their mouth moving but their words made no sense. The only one that did was a woman that looked a great deal older than his mother appearing nearest to him. He felt her hand gently brush his hair back from his forehead, and her mouth moved as she gave him a small nod before he felt warmth flood his arm. Then everything wasn't just in slow motion, but it began to blur. It wasn't a burning sensation in his arm, it was just warm and it moved through his arm and quickly spread throughout his entire body– and before he knew it the blurry images his eyes could see faded away until he didn't see anything.

It was as if he had just blinked. Because the next time he could see anything he was laying in a room, on something soft with a blanket over him. He didn't dare move, it was peaceful in that moment. For a second, he thought everything was some sort of dream. Perhaps he hadn't even entered the arena. It had all just been a dream, a nightmare that resulted in the outcome he had wanted– a victory. But now, he didn't want it. He didn't want the title of Victor, if he hadn't set foot in the arena yet, he knew he would be the first to die. Stepping off of the pedestal, letting Watt kill him, or lingering in the water to long with the nest of snakes...it all sounded like a better outcome than what he had in that dream...

"Welcome back to reality, kid,"

Sage jolted in the bed, his head snapped in the direction of the voice. Beside the bed stood Haymitch Abernathy, his arms crossed over his chest. "I...I actually won?" Sage asked, briefly hoping that Haymitch would be puzzled by his question. Maybe he had taken a fall on the climbing wall in the training center and he had ended up with a nasty concussion.

"Sage Everdeen, Victor of the sixty-eighth Hunger Games wasn't enough for you?" Haymitch replied.

What he had hoped had all been a dream quickly came back to him as a stabbing pain in his chest. He didn't want it to be real. He didn't want to be there. He hated himself for taking out extra tessera. He hated himself more for everything he did in the arena. The faces of the tributes he killed the moment they knew they were done for all blurred together into one bloodied mess in his head. He could barely make out Marena.

"I don't want it." Sage said, his voice was weak and quiet. "I don't want to be the victor."

Haymitch sighed heavily, "Well isn't that some tough luck." he stated, "Marcel is on his way up now to get you ready for the crowning ceremony."

Sage looked back at him, "Already?"

"It was barely noon when the games ended," Haymitch replied, "if it had been up to Marcel, you would have been woken up a few hours ago and you'd already be nearly ready."