Nothing Personal

Endgame - 3

"You're still here," Skyler's jabberjay whispered.

Skyler yawned and opened her bleary eyes. She hadn't meant to fall asleep, but it was impossible with the night just drifting by. This was the bit where they'd be talking to families, interviewing friends. Her family would be up on screen, in front of Panem. She would be proud of them. They wouldn't be crying, she knew that. It was horrible, watching the families that cried. Who else was being interviewed? She wished she could see it; she could hardly believe that she was getting bored. She'd never imagined sitting around doing nothing. But it was what she'd spent most of her time doing.

Something had to happen soon.

What if something had happened during the night? What if someone, even two people, had died and now it was the final showdown?

She didn't want to die, but she couldn't stop the feeling that her time was limited. It was horrible, sneaking around the back of her mind.

Two out of three says you're going to die.

She clutched the bow tighter, staring down from the tree intently, just in case somebody did come past. Though the chances of that were slim, it was possible, especially if the Gamemakers were getting as bored as she was. They were probably squeezing as much emotion as possible out of the families, though.

She suddenly remembered that Oak had had a girlfriend. Annabelle. The poor girl. He'd mentioned her once or twice, though always as if he was trying not to, trying to avoid thinking about her and getting upset. Skyler hadn't known her - in a district as big as Eleven you didn't even know the people in your own pen - but she knew what sort of person she would be. Kind, supportive. Patient; she'd have to be. She liked her already. If she got back, she'd have to find her and make friends.

If.

Which other families were on that screen? Her, the quiet boy from Three and his circuit board, his cold district partner who went to sit down during her own interview and the boy from Eight who had done the interview himself, the one who volunteered for his friend with the insane ginger hair. What would his friend have to say?

She was also sure that it was the first time two tributes from Three had got this far, and that the last time someone from Eleven had got to the final four they'd gone on to win, and that was seven years ago. But they were just numbers, statistics. They said nothing about this Games. But still, the betting would be going wild; would anyone be betting on her?

She wouldn't.

"You're still here," the jabberjay whispered encouragingly.

It actually hit her then that somebody could, probably had, died in the night. One more life extinguished, one more family who were just starting to hope, totally destroyed. She couldn't let that happen to Vintage.

It might not be in her power. Perhaps they were saving up the revenge for her outburst. Maybe that was why nothing had happened to her.

Or maybe she was just lucky.

No, it wasn't that nothing had happened to her. She'd been injured, though her arm was fixed now. There wasn't even a scar. She'd felt the pain of physical injury rather than just the pain of hunger. And she'd seen the twins die, come face to face with the cruelty of the Games. All in five, six days. And she was just a girl, barely even sixteen, but then again all of them were just kids.

The tree swayed gently in the morning breeze. It felt strange, to be up a tree for so long yet stay so still. Usually she'd have to be moving around, picking up fruit, constantly on the move. If she won, she wouldn't have to do that. She'd be able to support herself and her family. She'd be the only one in the district who didn't have to work. She'd exchange her life for being put on a pedestal and gawped at, held up as a figure to be admired.