The Starving Artist: Hunger Games 2015

ENTRY: Ian Nighy

Every victor I've ever talked to says that the Games destroyed them.

And in a way, I can relate. We all have the nightmares. The paranoia. We all know how the night seems to stretch on forever. How the glint of sunlight out of the corner of our eyes looks like the sharp blade of a tribute. It's been six years, and I still can't leave my house without double— no, triple— checking every lock, bolt, and combination that guards my doors and windows. I'm never safe enough.

But the Games did not destroy me.

No, in fact it's quite the opposite.

The Capitol never sleeps. Even now, in the early-morning hours, as I slip into the car that's waiting for me, I can hear the noise of the city. Perhaps that's why I moved here. Left my family back in Five to live in the Victor's Village. I like the noise. It makes it easier to forget.

The car starts with a silent purr, gliding down the sparkling streets to my destination. I smooth out the black silk of my suit, pulling at the tie around my neck. With a chuckle, I recall a younger me. Seventeen years old with an audience to win. My actions had seemed so sincere to them, even though every word that rolled off my tongue was a lie.

My head tilts to the right, resting inches away from the glass that separates me from the world. People in the streets wave as we pass. I can't help but smile at them and wave back. I've become a Capitol favorite. It's annoying at times, how they follow me. But today it's an honor.

A light begins to glow from inside the pocket of my suit at the same time a woman's voice says, "Incoming message." I pull the hand sized screen out of my suit, squinting as my eyes adjust to the brightness.

-Good Luck Today! - The message reads.

A picture pops on to the screen then, one of a family that's grown up without me. Their pajamas are rumpled, all except for an older girl in a filthy uniform. Together, they all wave, and my brothers and sisters grin from ear to ear. The smile on my face is genuine.

There's a knock at the glass that separates me from the driver, and I look up. "Mr. Nighy," he says, "we'll be arriving shortly." I nod to him and slip the screen back into my pocket.

When I look out the window again, the people are gone and only the billboards remain. Each one flashes and casts light into the street as we pass. They all advertise the same thing. The event of the year, the one I've been waiting for and ever so carefully planning. The Hunger Games.

My Hunger Games.

The building that we pull into is dull compared to the ornateness of the rest of the city. It's plain, windowless, made of a sleek gray material that ripples and folds over itself. Soft blue lights flicker on one after another as we drive up. I let myself out, although the driver tries to help. A scanner at the door takes my handprint before it lets me in, the opaque glass doors sliding open with a hiss.

I hear laughter from one of the control rooms and follow it, my feet echoing down the otherwise empty hallway. The closer I get the more voices I can hear, and slowly I can make out their words."This is it. This is their finale." There's panic in the voice, a kind of panic that you only hear when you know that you're going to die. I stop in mid step, a heavy coldness slithering through my veins and weighing me down. I shouldn't be hearing what I am. The people I hear are dead.

I know because I killed them.

At the sound of screaming, I break into a run. I yank the door to the control room open, and at the sight of the screen before me, I'm taken right back.

The bloody waters of the swamp lapped at my shoes. Azrael was dead on the ground by my feet, his throat slit open by the katana that was still held tight in Akari's lifeless hands. My knife was in the back of her neck. We had come to a standstill, Percy and I.

He held a spear expertly in his grip; I had my last knife in mine.

A thick, swampy breeze shuddered through the arena. He didn't want to move first. He didn't want to be weaponless. Luckily for him, I didn't care. I threw that knife right at his skinny little neck. I missed.

He didn't.

The spear went through the lower half of my stomach. The pain that raced through me was like nothing I'd ever felt before. It was pure, raw, and it drowned out the world in a white flash of sensation.

I fell to the ground, the tip of the spear pushing back up through my body with a sickening sound. I'd gone completely numb, my fingers shaking and my chest heaving as I tried to keep pressure on the wound. He stood above me, pulling the spear back into his hands. There was a cut across his cheek, a tiny thing, and despite it all, I started to laugh. Because I was going home, and he didn't know it. Because I'd coated the blade in my little vial of Painkiller.

His body began to shudder, the spear falling uselessly into the sand beside him. Percy fell to his knees, fingers wrapping around his throat as he began to choke. The world was starting to gray at the edges, my vision fading as I watched him die. I wouldn't let myself pass out. Not until I saw his body slump to the ground and heard the cannon go off. Then, I welcomed the darkness.

As the video ends, I find myself pulled back into the present. The screen fills with the faces of twenty four new tributes, freshly Reaped and on their way. A hand on my shoulder pulls me out of my daze, and I look into the amused face of Rohe SeNalla. "We thought it would be fitting," she explains," to watch the victory of our newest Gamemaker."

Somehow, I manage to laugh, "You're getting a little old for such scary stories, don't you think?"She slips her hand from my shoulder to adjust the clipboard in her arms. "You only hope I am," she answers. "Did you sleep at all last night?"

"No," I confess. "Too much excitement."

"Well, you should have. We have a lot of work to do." At first, I think she's going to lecture me again. Instead, she just chuckles. "It's your first year. You'll get used to it." Then she gives me a thin lipped smile, and nods towards the screen of tributes, "Now come on. It's time to place bets." I glance briefly at the screen, scanning the tributes for one that stands out in particular. Then, a confident grin crawls its way across my face.

"I already know who I'm going to pick."