there's one thing about games,
once you're a player, there's no
way out. you're trapped.
-
in which the youngest victor in history comes back to compete in the quarter quell, coming out of a decades worth of hiding.
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FLYYN'S FACE DISAPPEARED as the elevator that took me up to the arena slowly raised. I put my hand on the glass elevator, feeling another panic attack as I rose. My hands got sweaty, and my vision was getting lost.
This is the worst fucking time to have a panic attack... Please not now.
I closed my eyes and thought of something peaceful. I thought of beaches, and then Riffian, and then Alexie. Nothing worked. I tried envisioning clear water splashing onto my bare legs, and my toes burying in the sand... I tried to picture sitting on the beach with a sangria in my hand... Nothing.
Not until I imagined Finnick's face.
I imagined him holding my face like he did that night at the interviews. I put my hands on the sides of my own face in hopes of recreating that warmth. I slowly gulped and began opening my eyes, feeling scorching sunlight beaming on me.
The elevator finally stopped as I reached the arena, my heart racing even faster. The arena was completely different than what I had played in... The platform I was on was in the middle of an ocean. The only way for me to get the cornucopia was by swimming. The only thing to grip onto between the water and the cornucopia were these bridges of rock that created a line between each tribute. The water was beautifully teal, but the heat was the opposite. Everyone was on their platforms that had a bridge on either of their sides as well. We were all in a circle, and with the long bridges meeting at the center, it kind of looked like we were a clock.
I clenched my fists and focused on the thought of Finnick.
Then it hit me, he was in this arena, too.
I looked to my left, making eye contact with Finnick, who was already creepily staring at me. His eyebrows were fallen in sympathy, and he was licking his lips right before mouthing words to me, "I've got you."
I gulped and closed my eyes, focusing on what he was saying. I was closing out the sounds of the animals around us, or the water splashing. I opened my eyes and held eye contact with him.
"Let the 75th Hunger Games begin," a voice called out, causing the last drop of sweat edging on my forehead to drip down my face. Everyone in the arena was frantically looking at one another, analyzing each other, "May the odds be ever in your favor."
The tension grew thick as the external voice stayed quiet, but I could hear his faint breathing. Then, his counting suddenly made my heart stop.
"10."
More sweat.
"9."
I could jump in before they finish the countdown and let them kill me to get it over with.
