We here at Capitol Couture would like to congratulate Octavia Jones for her win last night, earning her the title of victor of the 68th Annual Hunger Games. We look forward to working with you here at our magazine in the years to come!
-- Venetia Plinth, Editor-in-Chief
I stand slightly off-stage nervously bouncing up and down on the balls of my heels as my eyes desperately try to adjust to the blinding light. The dress that they've stuck me in for the night clings to my body in a way that I didn't even realize was possible—but maybe that has less to do with the dress and more to do with the...enhancements that bring a new curve to my chest that wasn't there before.
The theme song for the show begins to blare through the backstage speakers, and I make sure to wipe the nerves off of my face and replace them with a bright and dazzling smile. It's showtime. And I was trained for this.
This is the victory I've been waiting for my whole life.
"I give to you the most dangerous sweetheart you'll ever meet, the District 2 tribute and now victor, Octavia Jones!" says Caesar Flickerman, who is wearing a gold suit to match my own gold chainmail victory dress. As soon as my foot comes into the view of the stage lights, the crowd erupts into cheers of screaming Capitol fans. "How are you, my dear? As you can see we all missed you very much, isn't that right?" The crowd erupts into cheers once again.
"Well, I'm doing great and I'm glad to be back with you all once again," I respond with a large smile on my face.
"Just between you and me," says Caesar, leaning into me as if there isn't an entire nation watching us. "I'm not allowed to bet on the Games, but if I could, I would have put all my money on you."
"Why thank you, Caesar," I say politely. "I hope there's more than a few people in the crowd who are enjoying some extra drinks because of me." The crowd lets out a simultaneous chuckle at the joke.
"Now, let's hop into the questions I am dying to know the answer to. As you may know you were a heavy Capitol favourite right from the beginning. Do you think that affected how you played the game?" Caesar asks, reading from his cards.
"Yeah, that's a good question. I think that it was definitely reassuring going into the Games and knowing I would have sponsors to back me up, who I would like to thank for their generous gifts, but I made sure not to rely on them." The cheers from the crowd pick up for a brief moment before dying down. "I think some tributes from previous years have let their popularity go to their heads and they started to rely on the sponsors too much." I'm specifically thinking of our tribute boy last year. He got food sent to him so frequently, but he became reliant on the packages. He died on day 29 due to starvation. "You have to make sure you're learning from the past tributes' mistakes."
"Wow. Great answer. Beauty and brains isn't she everyone?" says Caesar as the crowd agrees. I begin to wave him off, blushing. "And modest too, I see," he laughs. "So that actually brings me to my next question. Throughout the Games, the audience began to see how your strategy played out, and I guess what I'm trying to ask is how you developed such a successful plan? I certainly did not expect the direction you went."
"I mean, I've been a fan of the Games since I was a little girl. And as a fan, you're constantly thinking about what you would do if you were there. So I've had lots of time to watch past tributes and victors and decide what sort of game I wanted to play. And what sort of game I did not want to play."
"You are too funny," Caesar says, still slightly chuckling. "Now, on a more serious note," he says in a more monotone voice, "Everyone wants to know why you left the career alliance, I mean, there's nothing wrong with that, but it's just not a typical move for someone like you."
"In the modern Games, we've gotten used to the idea of a strong career pack so honestly, my strategy at first was to stay with the pack for three days before I ditched them. It was never my plan to be with the career pack to the end. But after I met Ruby, the District 1 tribute, I knew I couldn't stay with them for any longer than The Bloodbath," I say, thinking back to the woman who had a clear vendetta for me from the beginning.
"Ah yes, we could all tell that she was quite intimidated by you, so much so that she admitted to her district partner that she was going to kill you while you slept on the first night. Leaving was definitely a wise choice. Now can I ask what made her hate and fear you so much in the first place?"
"I think the sponsor attention I got was the reason she targeted me," I say honestly. "I could kind of sense that even in training, but I would have been crazy to trust anyone in the career pack anyway. One of my personal rules is to not trust anyone with my life, so there was no exception in the Games. I just didn't expect her to...make a move so soon."
"Yes. You could see that something changed in you when you killed Ruby. What happened?"
My blood goes cold at the mention of the event but I maintain the brightest, cheek-hurting smile I can. After being attacked by Ruby my experience had changed from training to survival. I slit Ruby's throat and disappeared off into the middle of the night, covered in her blood. There was so much blood. But I don't let my thoughts influence the strength of my voice. So instead I answer, "The top seven had some stiff competition and I knew I was going to beat them if I could just stay one step ahead at all times."
"That's an interesting way to think of it," replies Caesar. "Now we all know that after you solidified yourself as a competitor by killing Ruby, you got a rich sponsor gift, a bladed boomerang. Can you tell us a bit about that?"
"Yeah, it was definitely a unique gift for sure. It took me the rest of the third day to figure out how to use it. I think I spent six hours just throwing it around," I respond, thinking back to the odd weapon. The boomerang was tough to use. "Most of the edges were so sharp that there was only a specific area that I could catch it on. I learned that the hard way and sliced up my hand pretty good." I purposely leave out the part where I thought I was going to cut my hand off throwing that damned thing around. Even with all of their surgical enhancements and corrections, the faint scar lines still mark my palms from where it nicked me a couple of times. But luckily, another sponsor decided to send me a set of lightweight gloves after that.
"But how come you didn't use it until the last possible minute?" Caesar questions.
"That was part of my strategy. I was going to use it as a last resort because I knew the competition would not see that surprise attack coming."
"No, I don't think your district partner, Ares, saw it coming either. To be honest neither did I," Caesar admits, "Once you threw all of your knives, I thought you were done. Weren't we all ladies and gentlemen?" he says to the crowd, a more solemn energy hanging in the room. "Then you threw your machete, which did hit him in the arm, but then you threw the boomerang. He was actually laughing at you for missing him by so much but then it came back to haunt him, literally," he says, laughing at his own pun and the crowd laughs along as well.
"He wasn't expecting that to happen. I could see it on his face after I hit him," I answer truthfully. The mention of him brings his face back to haunt me; the sallow face, mouth dripping with blood and eyes wide as he fell onto his knees.
"And the rest is history," says Caesar. I instantly feel relief wash over me, knowing I was done answering the tough questions. "So I don't know if you were aware of this but the Capitol was buzzing because of how many blade-type weapons you had, so here's a little quiz for you. Can you name all the weapons you had?"
"Yeah, so, I had a dozen knives in a vest, but I lost most of them before the final battle. A machete that I kept on my back, but lost after killing the District 4 boy on the fifth day. The machete I threw at Ares, that I kept at the back of my vest, and of course the boomerang," I respond. But truly, after what I've been through, how could I forget? Can I forget?
Caesar switches his crossed legs and leans in closer to me. "So when you get back home what are you going to do?"
"Move into my new house," I say, mentally wincing as I bring up my parents. Great job Octavia, stupid move.
"Ah-h-h-h, yes, out of the old childhood home with your parents. Wonderful people, aren't they?" he asks.
All I can manage to respond with is a short, "Yeah." I can feel the expression in my eyes turn sour but I keep the smile nice and bright. If only he knew the irony behind his statement. My home has been the Academy for as long as I can remember. But I don't think I can bear going back there now. Not after what I know now. Not after what's happened.
"For those of you in the audience who don't know who Octavia is now officially our first-ever third-generation victor. Her father won the 46th Hunger Games and his mother is a victor as well, Sadie Stone. Talk about being bred to win."
"Tell me about it," I say, trying to sound enthusiastic.
"Oh, I will!" exclaims Caesar before he breaks off into his signature laugh. "And we have another important thing to note. You've broken the record previously set by your very own Enobaria, bringing in a total of eight confirmed kills. The girl in front of me is not only deadly gorgeous, but deadly on the battlefield!"
"Oh, Caesar, you flatterer," I tease coyly. "I'll sign any autographs you want."
The whole theatre is reduced to laughter, letting me know I've played my part perfectly.
"Well, you should get going to your Victory Party," says Caesar with finality. "And we will see you in six months for your Victory Tour." I begin to stand and so does Caesar. "On behalf of the Capitol I sincerely congratulate you on your well-deserved victory. This has been a truly historic Hunger Games. To all in the Capitol, I give you Octavia Jones, victor of the 68th Annual Hunger Games! Good night!" Caesar shoots my hand up in victory as I give the camera one last big smile.
As soon as the lights flick off on the stage and Caesar drops my hand, the smile melts off my face. I played my part well enough. My parents will now hold the bragging rights that their daughter won the Games. That's the whole reason I was born. And now, my purpose is over. It's been served.
My dad's mother, Grandma Sadie, was the only one who ever tried to convince me not to volunteer. She begged and screamed. But I didn't listen, or rather, I listened, but to other people. My parents, my trainers, but not the one voice, the one person who I now realize has my best interests at heart. And speaking of hearts, poor Grandma Sadie's heart wasn't doing so well when I left. After she's gone, I'll have no one left. Those kids I killed probably had family and friends with going back to. It should have been them.
In the Games, I had a realization. A big one. It's that careers are all terrible people, we're all monsters, and if we die in the Games, I say it's a pretty well-earned fate. I realized after killing Ruby, that killing another person in the Games isn't all it's cracked up to be. In fact, it's terrible. After that point, it became all about survival. I couldn't give a shit about my district or bringing glory to my family and as far as I'm concerned, they're the ones who did this to be. They're the ones who made me into a monster.
I felt like I had to play along with the family legacy, with the years I spent in the Academy, and I walked right into the middle of a death trap. The girl who walked on the stage to volunteer for the 68th Hunger Games was a stupid, stupid girl. One that I no longer recognize.
When Caesar asked me if I could remember the weapons I used, I rattled them off because I know them all like the back of my hand. It was just like in training; I took inventory of what I had and what I used. That, and they're a constant feature of my nightmares. I had twelve knives, I killed four people with them—the girl from 6, the boy from 11, Ruby, and the boy from 3—one dagger that I lodged into the boy from 1's throat, the machete that I impaled the girl from 9 and the boy from 4 with, and the boomerang that I killed Ares with. Honestly, I feel like I should feel worse about it all. I was trained to not feel or be sympathetic; I was trained to be a ruthless, cold-blooded killing machine.
"Darling, time to get ready for your party!" my stylist Fallon squeals as I realize the auditorium is empty and that I've been standing on the stage staring off into nowhere for who knows how long.
"Right," I say. "Let's get out of here." I walk off the stage by myself, something that I feel will be a recurring theme in my life from now on. Once the novelty of the new victor wears off, I'm nearly certain that I'll fade into irrelevance in the eyes of the Capitol. Not to mention back home when I refuse to join the District 2 Training Academy, my neighbours—the other trainers and victors—aren't going to like me very much either.
But I can't have that.
What they don't teach you about survival at the Academy is that you need to be mentally well in addition to physically; you need people who care about you, otherwise, you'll go insane. I realized that too late when the boy from 4 was trying to squeeze the life out of me, and for a moment before I shoved a knife through his windpipe, I nearly decided to just lie there and wait for it to go dark. But then I remembered my poor Grandma Sadie was watching and my instincts kicked in: those cursed career instincts.
The thoughts, the calculations in my head, the career mentality, I just want it to stop. It's like a disease that infects your brain, one that dooms you to be a monster forever. To forsake the next generation by filling their head with the lies of how wonderful the Games are.
But I won't have it. I can't be a monster. I don't want to be. I want to break the cycle. But I don't know anything else.