liberty

LIBERTY HAD never felt so alone, her world now a quiet echo of what it used to be. Every familiar place reminded her of Finnick—the beach, the docks, even the small fishing boat her family used. She could almost hear his laughter in the breeze, the way he'd call out to her as they raced along the shoreline. But those days felt like a lifetime ago, a time before everything had changed.

Still, Liberty knew that if anyone felt lonelier than she did, it was Finnick. She had seen it in his eyes during their last conversation, the pain he tried so hard to hide beneath his anger. She had wanted to reach out to him, to break through the walls he had built around himself, but every attempt only pushed him further away.

At first, Liberty had tried everything she could think of to reconnect. She'd wait by the beach for hours, hoping he might come to her like he used to. She'd leave small gifts—a polished shell, a freshly baked loaf of bread—just outside the gate of the Victor's Village. But Finnick never came. He never acknowledged the gestures.

He had become a ghost in her life, slipping away whenever she got too close. Liberty soon realized he was avoiding her deliberately. Finnick knew her too well—knew she would never set foot inside the Victor's Village, a place that felt more like a Capitol prison than a home. So, he stayed there, safely out of reach. And when Liberty was occupied helping her family with the fishing business, Finnick would take those moments to leave, ensuring their paths never crossed.

It hurt more than Liberty cared to admit. She wanted to be angry at him, to feel something other than the dull ache in her chest, but she couldn't. She understood why he was doing it. Finnick was protecting her in the only way he knew how, even if it meant breaking her heart in the process.

Eventually, Liberty made the hardest decision of her life—she gave up. Not on him, but on chasing him. If Finnick needed space, she would give it to him. If he needed time to heal, she would wait for him. And maybe, just maybe, one day he would come back to her.

She told herself this over and over, clinging to the hope like a lifeline. But as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, that hope began to feel as distant as Finnick himself.

...

The year was nearly over, and life in District 4 carried on. Liberty threw herself into her work, helping her family with the fishing business. She spent long hours at the docks, hauling in nets and mending lines, her hands calloused from the labour. The physical work helped quiet her mind, but it didn't stop the ache in her heart.

Sometimes, she would catch herself looking toward the Victor's Village, wondering if Finnick was looking back. She imagined him standing at the window of his grand house, watching her the way she used to watch him. But she knew better. Finnick was gone—not in body, but in spirit. The Capitol had taken a part of him, and Liberty wasn't sure if she'd ever get it back.

Still, she refused to let herself fall apart. She had to stay strong—not just for herself, but for him. Liberty believed, deep down, that Finnick needed her strength, even if he couldn't admit it.

Her nights were the hardest. Alone in her small room, the memories of their friendship would flood back with relentless clarity. She remembered the way Finnick used to laugh, carefree and full of life. She remembered the way his eyes sparkled like sunlight on the water, a far cry from the haunted look they held now.

Some nights, she cried into her pillow, letting the grief she kept bottled up during the day spill out in the dark. But no matter how much it hurt, Liberty always found a way to pick herself back up. She wouldn't let the Capitol's cruelty win—not in her heart, and not in the memory of the boy she still believed in.

As the first anniversary of Finnick's victory approached, District 4 began preparing for the Capitol-mandated celebrations. The Victor's Tour was long over, but the Capitol demanded constant reminders of its power, parading its victors as both idols and warnings.

Liberty dreaded the festivities. The thought of seeing Finnick in public, surrounded by Capitol officials and District 4's adoring citizens, made her stomach turn. She knew he would be forced to wear a mask of charm and confidence, hiding the pain she knew he carried inside.

But she would go. Not for the Capitol, and not for the District, but for Finnick. Even if he didn't see her, even if he ignored her completely, Liberty wanted to be there for him in whatever small way she could.

The day of the celebration arrived, and Liberty joined the crowd gathered in the town square. The air was thick with anticipation as the mayor took the stage, announcing Finnick's arrival. The crowd erupted in cheers as he appeared, dressed in the finest Capitol fashion, his smile dazzling and practised.

To everyone else, he looked like a hero—a symbol of District 4's strength and resilience. But Liberty saw the truth. She saw the tension in his shoulders, the weariness in his eyes. And for a fleeting moment, as his gaze swept over the crowd, she thought she saw him falter.

It was only a second, but it was enough. Liberty's heart clenched, her resolve strengthening. She would wait for him, no matter how long it took. Because no matter how far away he seemed, no matter how much the Capitol tried to twist him into something he wasn't, Finnick was still her Finnick.

And she wasn't ready to give up on him—not now, not ever.

The time was drawing near—the dreaded day when another soul would be plucked from District 4 and thrown into the arena of death. The reaping was just one day away, and the entire district buzzed with nervous energy. Families whispered hurried prayers, older siblings held younger ones closer, and those of reaping age prepared themselves for what felt like a death sentence.

Liberty sat in her small room, staring at the simple dress her mother had laid out for the ceremony. The fabric was soft, light, and clean—meant to present her as respectable to the Capitol's representatives. To Liberty, it was a reminder of the false hope they were all expected to wear, a mask over the fear simmering beneath the surface.

Her gaze burned into the dress, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. She was alone now—no Finnick at her side to share nervous glances or whispered reassurances. The thought of standing there without him filled her chest with a hollow ache.

She hated the reaping. Everyone did. But the hatred didn't stop the inevitable. It didn't stop the Capitol from tearing apart families or turning innocent children into killers.

Liberty tried to push the thoughts away, but they only grew louder. Despite the years of training her family had ensured she and her brothers endured, she didn't want to be reaped. She never wanted to be reaped. The arena wasn't a place for anyone, no matter how prepared they were.

And yet, in the dark corners of her mind, a forbidden thought began to form. What if she was reaped? What if she volunteered? Maybe she'd finally understand what Finnick went through—the terror, the pain, the constant fight for survival. Maybe then she wouldn't feel so disconnected from him, so helpless in the face of his suffering.

The thought made her stomach churn. Liberty recoiled from it as if it were something vile and poisonous. How could she even consider such a thing? What good would it do? Nothing about her pain would ease Finnick's. If anything, it would only add to his burden.

She felt disgusted with herself, ashamed of the darkness that had taken root in her mind. But the thought lingered, no matter how hard she tried to banish it.

The next morning arrived, bringing with it a suffocating sense of dread. The sun rose too quickly, the hours slipping by in a blur until it was time to gather in the square.

Liberty joined the other girls of reaping age, her heart pounding as she stood in the designated section. She glanced around at the familiar faces, her peers shifting uncomfortably in their places. Some stood tall, trying to project confidence, while others stared at the ground, trembling with fear.

Liberty felt like she was floating outside her own body, watching herself go through the motions. She had done this three times before, but it never got easier. This was her fourth reaping, and she knew the odds were still in her favour. But then again, Finnick's name had only been in the bowl three times, and look where that had led him.

The thought sent a chill down her spine. She shook her head, trying to dispel the dark comparison. This wasn't the time to dwell on what-ifs. She just had to get through the day.

The Capitol escort—a man with a flamboyant outfit and an unsettlingly cheerful demeanour—took the stage. His voice boomed over the crowd as he gave the same speech they heard every year, his words laced with artificial enthusiasm.

Liberty barely registered what he was saying. Her eyes were fixed on the large glass bowl that held the slips of paper. Each one bore a name, a person, a life. Her life could be one of them.

When the escort finally reached into the bowl, Liberty's breath caught in her throat. Her heart pounded so loudly she could barely hear the name being read.

But she heard it.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the female tribute representing District Four for the 66th Hunger Games is... Liberty Bird."

The world seemed to stop. Liberty felt like she was sinking, her body frozen as the words echoed in her ears. Her name. It wasn't possible. It couldn't be possible.

Around her, the crowd turned to look. Some gasped, others whispered in disbelief. Her family stood motionless, their faces pale and stricken with horror—they taught her to fight, but they hoped she'd be older at least, not only fifteen.

Liberty's legs felt like lead as the Peacekeepers approached her, their expressions devoid of emotion. She didn't move at first, her mind struggling to catch up with the reality unfolding around her.

"Move," one of the Peacekeepers said sharply, breaking her trance.

Liberty took a shaky step forward, then another, until she was walking toward the stage. The crowd parted for her, a sea of faces blurred by her tears. She climbed the steps, her knees trembling, and turned to face her district.

The escort was smiling, clapping his hands together as if this were some grand celebration. But Liberty couldn't hear him anymore. She couldn't hear anything over the deafening roar of her own heartbeat.

She stood there, numb and terrified, as the escort announced the male tribute's name. She didn't even register who it was. All she could think about was the arena—the place where her life would be reduced to nothing more than survival and bloodshed.

Somewhere in the crowd, Liberty's mother collapsed into her brothers' arms, sobbing uncontrollably. Liberty wanted to run to her, to tell her everything would be okay, but she couldn't move.

Her mind flashed to Finnick, the way he had stood on this same stage a year ago. She wondered if he would hear the news. Would he come to see her? Would he be angry? Sad? Or would he do nothing at all?

As the Capitol anthem played, Liberty felt a strange calm settle over her. She wasn't ready for this, but there was no turning back now.

The Capitol had chosen her, and Liberty Bird would enter the Hunger Games.

What were the odds? First Finnick, and now Liberty. The world, Liberty thought bitterly, had always been cruel, but this felt like a special kind of punishment.

As she stood on the stage, her body stiffened with fear and disbelief, the thought kept cycling through her mind. Of all the names in that bowl, it had to be hers. The year before, Finnick's name had been plucked from the fragile hope they all clung to, and now it was her turn.

The crowd was deathly silent, save for the muffled sound of crying from her mother and others in the audience mostly pity that it was her close friend first and now her. Her brothers stood stoic, their fists clenched at their sides, but only one of her brother's was sad, the other was proud; much like her father. Only her mother and one brother were shattered, powerless to stop what was happening.

Liberty's mind spiralled. Why? It wasn't supposed to happen like this. Finnick had survived—barely—but the scars he carried were deep. And now she was expected to walk the same path, to face the same horrors, to become a part of the Capitol's twisted game.

The world truly didn't care.

The escort, oblivious to the gravity of the situation, continued his cheerful announcements, trying to rally the crowd with false excitement. Liberty barely heard him. The anthem played, the Capitol flag waved in the breeze, and the Peacekeepers flanked her and the male tribute—some boy she vaguely recognized but hadn't even registered in her shock.

That night, the odds haunted her.

Liberty sat on the edge of her bed in the Justice Building, the opulence around her feeling like a mockery of the life she'd known. She stared at her hands, trembling as the weight of it all came crashing down.

Her thoughts returned to Finnick. He had been forced into this nightmare first, and now, somehow, the world had come for her too.

"Back-to-back," she whispered bitterly to herself. What are the chances?

She thought about the Capitol, about Snow and his cruel games. Was this a coincidence, or something more sinister? Could they have rigged the odds? Were they toying with her district, with her life, just for the entertainment of the elite?

The thought made her stomach churn.

The door creaked open, and Liberty's parents and brothers entered, their faces mixed. Her mother rushed to her, wrapping her arms tightly around Liberty as if she could somehow shield her from what was coming.

"Oh, my little bird," her mother whispered, her voice thick with sorrow. "I'm so sorry."

Her brothers sat beside her, their presence silent but grounding. Lyric, the eldest, finally broke the silence.

"You're strong, Lib. Stronger than anyone I know," he said, his voice steady despite the tears glistening in his eyes.

Her father and second oldest brother Lark were proud.

She wanted to believe Lyric. She wanted to believe she could survive, like Finnick had. But deep down, doubt gnawed at her. Finnick had been trained his whole life, and even he had barely made it out alive. She had trained too, but was it enough?

Her thoughts drifted to him again. Did he know? Had someone told him? Would he even care after everything that had happened between them?

The memory of their last conversation hit her like a physical blow. Finnick's anger, his words, the way he had pushed her away—it all came rushing back. She had promised herself she wouldn't hold it against him, that she understood he was only trying to protect her, but now the pain felt fresh again.

He didn't mean it. He didn't mean it, she told herself, clinging to the hope that somewhere deep down, he still cared.

As the hours passed and the reaping day turned into night, Liberty sat by the window, staring at the stars. She thought of Finnick in his Victor's Village, of the lonely nights he must have endured, of the way the games had changed him.

She wondered if he was looking at the same stars, thinking of her.

And then, another thought crept in—a dark, terrible thought. What if this was what Finnick had planned when he pushed her away, what he had feared all along? What if the Capitol had taken notice of her because of him because she was his weakness?

The realization hit her like a tidal wave.

She was a pawn in their game, just like Finnick.

But she wasn't going to let them win. If she was going to the arena, she would fight—not just for her survival, but for him, for her family, for everyone who had been broken by the Capitol's cruelty.

Liberty clenched her fists, her resolve hardening.

The world was cruel, yes, but she would be stronger. She had to be.