Rosemary Acker was pronounced victor of the 55th annual Hunger Games, however she didn't feel like a victor. The trauma and horrors of the games continues to haunt her for many years to come. Watching her friends die one by one, under the hands of P...
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Rosemary, her heart aching, resolved within herself to shadow Finch's every step, unwavering in her commitment to remain by her side until the very moment she stepped into the arena. This seemingly simple decision held a profound significance, a choice that resonated with a depth far beyond the surface. Little did Rosemary realize the weight and impact her pledge carried, a silent promise that echoed with unspoken understanding. As she fell into step behind Finch, the vibrant tapestry of life unfolded around them, casting its myriad hues upon their shared journey. The sun, a radiant orb in the sky, painted the world with warm strokes of golden light, illuminating the path they trod together. The whispering breeze carried with it the fragrant secrets of the blooming flowers.
With each stride, Rosemary embraced the uncertainty of what lay ahead, the arena looming on the horizon like a mythical battleground. In the quiet moments between their shared breaths, a silent dialogue unfolded, a language of support and understanding that transcended words.
Finch paced across the room, dressed in her clothes she would be wearing in the arena. They were much alike the ones Rosemary wore in her game: a jacket that would repel any lighter rain, a pair of long pants and rougher shoes.
"I can't believe it," Finch muttered, the anxiety in her voice echoing off the walls, as she continued her agitated pacing. Rosemary met Finch's distress with a reassuring gaze.
"You'll be fine," she offered, her words a lifeline extended to ease the impending turmoil.
"What if I die in the first minutes?" Finch's fear spilled into the room, a genuine concern that threatened to unravel her resolve. Rosemary, her voice steady despite the rising tension, cautioned,
"Don't run into the cornucopia." It was not just advice; it was a plea, a desperate attempt to safeguard Finch from the lethal chaos that awaited.
"I won't get any stuff," Finch replied, a tinge of registration in her voice.
"That doesn't matter; what matters is that you stay safe," Rosemary insisted, swallowing her own fears in an attempt to bolster Finch's courage. Her eyes, however, betrayed the unspoken agony of knowing the perils that lurked within the looming arena.
"60 seconds till launch," the cold, metallic voice of the unseen announcer intruded, a harsh reminder of the relentless passage of time. Panic clawed at Finch's composure, and she voiced the overwhelming terror that gripped her.
"Oh my god, Rose, I can't do this," she confessed, vulnerability laid bare.
"Finch, you'll be okay. I'm rooting for you," Rosemary affirmed, her voice unwavering in support, though beneath the surface, a storm of emotions raged.
"I won't come home," Finch's admission hung heavy in the air, a haunting premonition that echoed the grim reality of the Hunger Games.
"Don't say that," Rosemary implored, desperate to dispel the looming specter of loss.
