Querencia | Finnick Odair

Chapter I

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you, the victor of the seventy-second Hunger Games! Talisa Moreno!", the voice of Claudius Templesmith rings out, seconds after the canon for the District 3 tribute - Tristan- sounded. My knife is still in my hand and my world is cold. Everything is cold. The blood frozen on the ground.

The Hovercraft arrives, but I just stare at Tristan. He wasn't a bad guy, he did what we all did. I turn from the ladder and to the body. I pull the axe out of his hands and fold them over his stomach the best I can with my frozen fingers. I can't do much about the slit throat though. Then I turn to the ladder and let the current paralyze me. All I see before the world goes black is white, like the snow covering the ground below.

I am awake, but not. I have my mind working, worrying, but not my eyes, my ears and that's what's terrifying me. For two weeks my world had been white. Now it's black and I am left with nothing but my thoughts. I don't know how long I drift from one blackness into the other. But eventually, I can see, and once again I see white. White walls, white curtains, and white sheets covering my surprisingly well-nourished body. I had to have been fed for at least a week to not look like a walking skeleton anymore.

I sit up and swing my legs over the side of the bed. The tiles are white as well and I decide that I hate the colour for all eternity now. I feel nauseous, my stomach twists and I frantically try to find something not white I can focus on, ragged breaths leaving my body. An Avox enters the room and I stare at the blue clothing she is wearing, focusing only on that colour.

I give her a nod as she sets down the soup and smiles at me. It takes me an hour to eat the soup and 10 minutes to regain control of my legs when I stand up after.

I move slowly, one hand always on the wall until I reach my room. And as soon as I enter I decide I hate this too. I hate all of it. The luxury and comfort, the view, and the people I could see through the window. So I turn to the shower, only now realizing I am only wearing a thin hospital gown. Not that I care. I strip off the gown and tenderly brush over my hip bone where three thin white lines run. A wound that even the Capitol's doctors couldn't turn invisible. My usually dark shining copper hair is dull and my green eyes aren't any better.

The shower is scalding hot, turning my skin red, but I can't stand the cold any longer and what better way to get rid of it than to burn it away?

The lotions and shampoos and conditioners, soaps and peelings seem wrong after two weeks of only washing my face with ice-cold water and once with melted snow to clean the parts of my body not covered by underwear after I received a sword cut from the District 2 boy, that surprisingly didn't leave a scar. His name was Connor.

And then they are back, all the names. Aspen and Shannon, Connor and Camile, Sebastian and Liati...

I turn the shower even hotter before I step out and let myself be dried by the warm air. After I wrap a big blue plushie towel around myself, I step back into my room and am greeted by my stylist. His name is Keaton and even though he looks just like the other Capitol citizens I can actually stand him - sometimes. He holds out a soft flowy skirt and a plain white short-sleeved blouse. "You are free for today, but tomorrow is the big show and you have to be somewhat ready. Well, get dressed sweetie, we have great food waiting for you!", he claps his hands and leaves the room.

There is that part of him that is still like all the others. Believing I could devour a six-course meal tonight as if the two weeks of starving had no effect; as if the fact that I killed people didn't matter to me. But he was kind, so I try to not ponder over it too much.

The skirt sits loosely on my hips and the blouse is form-fitting. I notice my hands trembling as I button it up. My breathing stops, because I am right back in that cave, opening the zipper of my torn and bloodied jacket with trembling hands as I lose more and more blood through the cut at my side. Shaking my head I get back to reality, smooth out my skirt and join Keaton in the hallway. It must be around 5 pm and dinner would be served in about an hour if the schedule didn't change.