Author Games: One-Shot, One Kill

Finals: Annie

The Hunger Year

The Capitol wasn't what they told her it'd be. The first time she'd visited was right after she was reaped. There, she spent a week of luxury and training beyond her comprehension. It was swell. Everyone was wild, supportive. They gave her enough wine to make her drunk nightly and there were enough hot guys around that she could flirt twenty-four-seven without ever getting bored. Except, that wasn't the Capitol. When she returned, President Snow was the first to talk to her. He was an old man, far older than he realistically should have been, but the Capitol had ways of keeping people alive.

They'd restored her from all injuries after she was lifted out of that death-cage. Her body was once more smooth, lacking all scars. Only her freckles remained upon her face, a dash of dark against the light skin she so adored. Her nose was fixed, no longer crooked from fighting, and there were no slashes upon her stomach, her side, no scratches, no bruises, not even a hint of pain. Their medications filled her body like a balloon.

She floated beside President Snow, hardly alive as he led her to his office. Everything was off, her heartbeat just slightly off, her head reeling with different thoughts, emotions, urges and feelings that she couldn't describe. In the Games, she'd expected to see herself up on the screens. To hear her cannon blast. To feel the life leave her body. Instead, she wound up victorious. It was one thing to pretend that she had everything under control, to wax with confidence about how easily she killed and how good it felt to win...it was another to deal with existence when her body still existed within that nightmare.

The only noise was that of their footsteps. Shoulders tensed, she waited for more. In the Games, the most dangerous person was the one she couldn't see. Now, the most dangerous person was beside her, a loose smile on his face and a tailored suit snug on his skin.

"Congrats, Amelia Montaigne," he'd said. In a way, Amy almost believed he meant it. But there was something in the way he spoke...fire emboldened his words. After the 75th Hunger Games, everything had been different. Victors were no longer the same as they used to be. No one was trusted. Not that they'd been to begin with.

Last year, they announced that the Victors would live together. All Victors, from all Districts. What would his stipulation be this year?

"On?"

"Your win, of course. You did a fine job."

"Except." She paused, waiting for his next words. They lingered just out of sight, hidden, but she could smell the way he hesitated. Amy hated the way people did that. The Capitol was full of snakes. "Well, President Snow? I won. Is this the time where I receive my talk?"

He laughed. They walked through a large building towards his office. It was immaculate, the walls a blinding white and the ceilings stretched high, delicate trills carved into the trim. The gray of his outfit contrasted against them just enough to make her want to vomit. Though he was surely over a hundred years old, he was impeccably fit--the Capitol was full of drugs and recreation, the best type of it. His eyes were yellow, like snakes, and his beard was just to the point of unruly. Amelia felt something shift inside her. She'd heard stories of how he'd take the tributes on walks to his office, long walks through the never-ending corridors, how their screams could be heard throughout the entire building before they came out, molded to his will...no, those were rumors, nothing for her to truly believe.

Yet when he stopped walking and leaned against the wall, his dry lips parting, tongue slithering out to coat them, something changed in his demeanor.

He'd been a dying man to her seconds before--old beyond his years and a touch away from death. That was not President Snow. His body was pristine, arms strong, his eyes glistening with intelligence. The old man was alive, more so than she could ever claim to be. When he spoke, it was like listening to thunder.