FLOWER GIRL- THE HUNGER GAMES

THE END OF THE 69TH HUNGER GAMES

September felt numb as she walked through fields, not knowing what was real or not. Real or not real? Sometimes it was more than often September found herself tumbling somewhere, collecting random plants. September was thirsty as well. So thirsty. She grabbed her water bottle and started filling up the bottle, popping a pill in, before getting more flowers. 

She drank hungrily, water splashing everywhere before September started to grab random flowers, placing them into neat piles. Poisonous, Safe, I don't know. The same process over and over again, before September stared up into the air once more, as the anthem played. 

The hologram first lit up Pixelle's image, then Tesla and Sol, after that was Tamara, Sunday, Clementine, Basil, Mist, and Ash. Innocent lives lost. And what for? September just wanted the comfort of her own home, the comfort of her siblings, no sibling's arms. She longed for November's reassuring hug, longed for her mother, and the things she could create with her nimble hands longed for her father, who's strong arms would lift September in the air, and make her feel like she's flying, before putting on a worn yellow raincoat, flipping on the hood, as they walked to their little general shop, which was only next door, and could be easily accessed by a door, but September and Mr. Fernsby loved the rain. Was it not fair? That she, a child had to be in the Games? 

September didn't know when the sunrise came but only knew that it was possibly her last day to live. She smiled, knowing that she'd be reunited with October once more. She was happy either way. Either way. No.

She'd be sold into prostitution, most likely, once she turned an eligible age. She wanted to die. She didn't want to be a slave. 

The memories took her back down, she was walking on the mountain now.

It was a winter's night, and the fire was crackling. Her mother, short, willowy, beautiful walked in with a plate of warm, soft, bread. Every Fernsby knew the secret recipe, and 6-year-old September knew it was soon her turn to make a loaf for the store. 

Her father, tall, lanky, handsome, walked in the room, arms filled with presents.

November, singing her favorite song, as October and September sang along off-key. "Raindrops on roses, and whiskers on kittens-" 

"STICKING MY DICK IN ROTISSERIE CHICKENS!" October yelled, September following in his lead. November shot them a nasty look, and mother looked scandalized, as father hooted with laughter. 

September smiled for the first time in what seemed forever. She rounded up the hill, where Cooper was waiting.

"I thought you wouldn't come." Cooper smiles.

"I keep my promises." September replies. 

"In fact you do. Let's get this over with. Please." September replies. They turned around and organized their plants.

Wolfsbane, Charm-Cutting Grass, the berries of the Elderberry bushes, Water Hemlock, and Nightlock.

September and Cooper turned around and nodded at each other.

"If you survive, tell my family I love them," Cooper asks.

"I will. Same goes for you?" September questions. 

"Of course." Cooper sighs. "Hi. I'm Cooper Jackson. I'm 14 years old, and probably on the verge of life and death. So, yeah. Goodbye." 

September didn't know what Cooper was doing, but he motioned for her to continue, or something. "Hi. I'm September Fernsby. I'm 12 years old, have killed many people just for another amusement, and a cost to my own innocence, and I'm fully ready to die." 

"Ready?" Cooper asks.

"Always." September nods. They turned their backs and then September closed her eyes. She felt around for a berry and grabbed it, and without hesitation, put it in her mouth. She opened her eyes. An Oleander. September started shaking slightly, and she only heard the soft flump of Cooper's body hitting the ground, convulsing. She stared at the plants.

All of them were poisonous. 

All of them were poisonous.

Was Cooper trying to kill her? Most definitely, but Cooper seemed so nice. September shook until she was almost to the point of convulsing, like Cooper. A cannon sound. Who was it? September laid on the ground.

"And now I present you, with the winner of the 69th Hunger Games- September Fernsby!" Claudius Templesmith's frantic voice rang out through the arena.

September's eyes were blurry, and she felt, so so tired. Shaking turned into uncontrollable crying, crying turned into screaming, as a hovercraft came a picked her up. 

"HELP ME!" September screams as blurry figures swept down on her, and she fell into peaceful darkness. 

Sleep was riddled with nightmares for September, until she woke up, thrashing around. Capitol doctors surrounded her, pushing away figures to the side. 

"You feeling alright Ms. Fernsby?" One asks. September weakly nods. She was still so tired. 

"Then President Snow will come in to talk to you." Another one replies, and the group leaves. President Snow walked in, reeking of roses. 

"Ah, Ms. Fernsby. Such bravery. Congratulations on your Games." Snow smiles.

"Thank you, Mr. President," September whispers hoarsely. 

"So willing to die, yet so determined to see your family. I almost feel sorry for you when you come home." A flicker of pity flashes through Snow's eyes.

"What do you mean?" September questions, before covering her mouth and coughing.

"Tell me, what is your biggest regret Ms. Fernsby? For winning?" Snow questions.

"Killing all of those people. And not dying." September whispers.

"Of course. Well, such brains would be rewarded. What is it Ms. Fernsby? What is it that you want?" Snow questions. 

"I can't stop the Hunger Games, can I?" September asks.

"Of course not." Snow says. 

"Can't help other districts." September lists.

"No. And your winnings also go to your district." Snow adds.

"Then, I don't wanna be forced into prostitution. Please. If I can't have my innocence, then I at least want my virginity." September decides.

"Then that will be granted. Congratulations, again, Ms. Fernsby. And I'm terribly sorry." Snow leaves the room, and the doctors walk in.

"Sore throat?" The doctor asks.