She stumbled to the stage and thought,"God, there is no one left."The paparazzi there arose;Fans began to scream.And all the fraud and all her fearsBegan colliding on a backdrop of memories.
I'm not wanted here. They pretend to like me, to be glad I won, but they're not. It's all fake. Everything's a lie. Nobody's happy about the outcome of this year's games. The crown weighs heavy on my head and heart.
Dead friends, dead foes.
I'm seeing things. Nightmares. Visions that flicker and pulse and I know it's my imagination but they all look so real. Phoenix is in the front row of the audience. Waye's behind one of the blinding cameras. Shadow and Jem are casually talking on the other side of the stage.
You're reassuringly holding my hand.
She took a step but then felt dazed.She said, "I shouldn't be being praised."But when she tried to speak again,She felt so very fazed.And all the people faked it well, so well-All their expressions were glazed.
Nobody wants to hear my voice, listen to what I want to say. I'm just a prop, just for show. The winner, but they don't really care about me. I myself am not of any importance. Just that tradition continues.
Dead friends, dead foes.
Everyone's here, nobody's letting go. Why can't anyone leave? Or is it me who's clinging on to all of them? Addison is sitting in the chair where I'll be for my interview. Mye and Technick are up there, in the balcony. Fleur is walking down one of the aisles between the hundreds of rows of seats, packed with people.
You're smiling encouragingly at me.
Dead, reminder of what happenedSo far, far away.
Can they wipe my memories, make me forget everything that happened in that arena? Can't I please just close that door? I don't want to remember, I want everyone to go away. Life before was better than this, even though now I'm "famous and rich". I'm a pawn now. I wasn't before.
She stumbled to her chair and thought,"God, I'm the last alive."The interviewer there aroseAnd began to speak.
I'm not listening and I know I should be but what's the point? If I don't matter at all, then why even try to pretend any of this interview means a speck? I'm an insignificant grain of sand in the middle of a vast beach; nothing I say is going to be paid attention to in the grand scheme of things.
And no one stirred, no one spoke-She just stayed silent.The people took it as a joke;The laughter was violent.
Is it truly funny, though? Hilarious that I don't answer whatever irrelevant question I was just asked by some snob who doesn't really care what the answer is. I'm just another winner, one of many, and they have no idea. No idea what it does to any of us. How it makes me see Noel enjoying the show with a crowd of Capital people. How it makes me see Nevia in the back of the auditorium, laughing at something Samuel just said. How it makes me see Tailor standing behind the curtain, backstage, sheltered from the view of the crowd.
You're looking into my eyes.
They started off beneath the glaring lightsAnd they struck them down to make the chaos reign.And marching along the halls backstageThey smiled real wide so the Capitol'd rage.As they made it past the guards alignedJust to lose, to their captors they resigned.
I tried to run. I couldn't take it, couldn't take everyone staring at me. Couldn't take all those faces that should be gone, should have been vanquished forever, should have died. A moment of panic, and I'm racing to the exit, because I need to get out of here. But I'm not thinking, I'm just a wild fury of recklessness, fear. They're trying to stop me and I fight back because they can't stop me, they can't make me go back there. They can't force me to see them.
They can't force me to see you.
Dead friends, dead foes.
But I have no strength left. I'm alone, abandoned, and I don't want to see you because you'll kill me, again and again, but I desperately need to. I'm crying, on my knees, and they're picking me up and I'm shouting, screaming. "Where is he?!"
Dead, so many faultless people-The number grows and grows.
They think I'm gone, gone for real, out of my mind. I can see it, see it in their questioning faces. "Who?" One hesitantly questions. And I tell them about you. I tell them about the intellectual boy with the icy blue eyes and the dark wavy hair who was my ally and died because I was such a coward.
Dead friends, dead foes.
I can see their eyes light up with recognition and now they're bringing me somewhere and I hope it's to you. Somebody finally listened to the insignificant grain of sand's dying wish- to see the beautiful shell swept away by the ocean.
You're still here, but it's not the real you.
Death, when will it cease claiming?Who knows, who knows?
Everyone's back, but in real life. Coffins, glass tops to peek inside, a neat array, five by five, of all the fallen. Closed eyes. Blood wiped away. Fancy clothes. Pale faces. Blue lips. You're here, among them. I'm racing, scanning each still tribute, until I come to a face I recognize.
Dead, all these rows upon rows.Dead, heartbeat slows, slows....slows.Dead, nothing left to show.
Lock. There's a lock. "Key." Insert, and the lid rises. I take the crown that weighs heavy from my head, hold it in my hands. Your face is blurred with the emotions collecting in my eyes. And the solid gold is transferred from fake winner to true, and I'm so sorry it wasn't there in the first place.
Dead friends, dead foes.
Your name is carved into the side of the coffin, and I learn it for the first time, and it's beautiful, and I'm so, so sorry.
Dead, reminder of what happenedTo you far away.
I don't expect you to forgive me. Just know I won't ever forget you, Otto Han.
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