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"...And welcome to the stage, the Victor of the Seventieth Annual Hunger Games--Miss Morrigan Thorne!"
I smiled primly as I swept onstage--bedecked in a diaphanous gown of yellow silk and 3D fabric flowers dotted upon the multi-hued skirt. My auburn hair was swept upon my head in a demure little pile, while my green eyes were lined with a golden-pink, rosy kohl. The crowd cheered.
Nobody had expected me to win. The frail little gardener from District 11--not quite all there. Never paying attention in survival lessons. Always the runt. Lowest scoring. My mouth salivated at the thought--as if I were biting into a perfectly juicy apple grown from the richest of dark fertilizers.
My mama had taught me all about fertilizers of course--she'd shown me how to grow the bestest orchards--the greenest flowers. The tallest trees.
"Bury them deep," that's what mama had always said. "Deep enough they won't be found--and plant the seeds as you fill the hole. That's how you grow them, Mori."
She'd also said, "Some people are born all wrong. Not right in the head. Sometimes they watch children die on television. Other times," she'd looked me dead in my little green eyes, "They take up gardening."
Then of course, some busybody put two and two together when the Peacekeepers started going missing. Our District commander had put a stop to that--and put me in a community home.
"So, Miss Thorne," Caeser Flickerman said, as I settled myself down upon one of the pristine white chairs. "How does it feel to be here in the end? I must admit; we quite misjudged you. You are a very lucky girl." He laughed good-humoredly.
"Oh, yes," I shivered perfectly as I was expected to. "I thought I was going to die more than once. The odds must have been perfectly in my favor."
Truly, they had. How extraordinarily lucky for me someone had left a trail for the Careers to find--right to the camp of the two Tributes from 12. How fortunate the Careers' food stash had been tainted with nightlock. And how peculiar it was the strongest Tributes from Districts 5, 7, and 3 had all found and attacked each other, fighting to the death due to miraculous rumors which spread regarding the plan each of them had to annihilate the other, despite their alliance.
"We were so surprised to see it came down to you and Malba," Caeser remarked. "But it was nothing short of entertaining." he chuckled. "Your luck followed you to the very end."
"Yes, it did," I said softly. He might think I was still reeling from the shock of it. Inwardly I was proud.
The heavy branch I'd spent hours severing...my combat, poor and improficient. My eventual cowering beneath as Malba stepped beneath the fraying rope holding the branch together...CRASH. District Eleven had a new Victor.
Of course; none of this was easy. There were cameras watching everything. But I'd done my research; all the time I was supposed to be survival training? I was watching old Games. I was taking note of camera angles, and favorite cuts. I'd spent the entire first day of the Games methodically, and surreptitiously, scouting for cameras, finding blind spots--all the while the littlest Tributes were slaughtered like pigs. Fine by me; I detested the slaughter of children by my hand. After all, I had been one once. Scared and lonely. The older Tributes though....that was fun. They liked to run. They were cunning. The Careers were a disappointment; I'd expected more of a chase. But Districts 8, 7, and 10? Now they were cunning. Tricky like foxes. But I'd learned soon enough how to smoke them from their holes.
"So, tell me," Caeser said, leaning in, "What are your plans, when you return home?"
I smiled brightly.
"I'm going to garden," I said honestly. "A great, big garden all for myself, and the younger kids in my District. I'm going to make lemonade and tea and apple pies. People in my District know how to make things grow."
Oh, this was true. It was all about sun, water, patience, a little bit of kindness. But really, what made plants grow big was compost. Old, rotten things left to decompose beneath the soil; where the worms crawled through their bones, and the maggots nibbled the flesh away--bit by bit by bit. Until all that was left were great, glossy leaves--and old white bones.
"Do you know the secret?" I leaned close to Caeser and stage whispered, "It's fertilizer."
"Fertilizer?" Caeser raised an eyebrow.
"Yes. Gardens love rotting things," I shivered theatrically, grinning sweetly. "They love the rich, black oozy stuff left behind when things are...forgotten." I smiled for the camera.
Yes, forgotten things.
Like the Peacekeepers my mother thought were so inefficient. Like the drunken men who hurt her when they walked down the street. Nobody asked any questions when the harvest was good.
But my mom--bless her dead, beaten and tortured soul--had grown sloppy. Lusty for the kill. Hungry for the blood. I knew it even when I was four. She had too much wolf in her--and not enough barn cat. You had to be patient. You had to learn your prey. You had to wait until you knew nobody would know. And you couldn't do it too soon after another kill--you had to wait.
"Ah, yes," Caeser cleared his throat.
I frowned, noting the oh-so-subtle twitching of his cheek. Clearly my intensity had disturbed him. Nothing suspicious, sure--but just in case, I needed to deescalate.
"Sorry," I said, putting on my best "Angel Thorne" voice. "I really, really love gardening, and, well, during the Games...I couldn't help but think I wasn't going to ever see a garden again."
"Oh, understandable," Caeser agreed, dismissing my earlier intensity. "But...it was my understanding you...volunteered for the games, yes?"
Oh, whoops. Good catch, Flickerman. Good catch.
"Yes," I said. "Yan was so...so young you understand. She had her whole life ahead of her. I just...I couldn't stand the thought of her dying when it could be me instead. Someone who didn't bring anything to the wellbeing of the District."
Thirteen-year-old Yan had certainly looked surprised when I stood up after her name was called and declared myself a tearful Volunteer.
We had not been close...I believe I spoke to Yan a few instances, and we weren't unfriendly with each other. But we weren't exactly bosom buddies either. She probably didn't even know my name.
But...well, I'd always dreamed of volunteering for the Games someday. I'd trained and trained and trained; teaching myself how to hide, how to navigate social situations, how to discern emotions from a twitch of the cheek. I was not a physically strong girl. No hack and slash killer. No; to kill, I had to rely on my wits. On my smarts. So, I made my smarts strong and fast. I studied every Game from the last ten years--learned everything I could about the Gamemakers; how their minds worked. But this year, I knew I was ready.
The shaking in my body did me well on Reaping day; made me look like terrified, fragile Morrigan--utterly broken by the violence of the world around her. Little did anyone watching realize--twas not fear in me--but excitement. Nervousness perhaps. But if I died, was I really worth anything? I was not afraid of dying. We all died. Some people just...died a little faster.
I was afraid of not being everything I thought I could be. Not being smart enough.
Caeser was satisfied by my answer, however, and smiled at the audience.
"Such a noble outlook." He said. "Please, everyone--give it up for Miss Morrigan Thorne--Victor of the Seventieth Hunger Games!"
The crowd shrieked and cheered my name. I smiled shyly, curtseying.
I was certain to be a favorite.
I'd spent years learning how to kill--and the Hunger Games were my final test. Now, I was ready. Ready to be the apex predator. The poison flower in the garden--surviving the ravages of wildlife because of my toxicity.
As I walked toward the door, escorted outside by Peacekeepers, I smiled once more at the audience. They saw a pretty, shy girl. But actually? I was a wolf--seeing a flock of sheep. Four hundred men and women who thought themselves the top of the food chain. Four hundred sheep in wolf's clothing. Four hundred targets. All I had to do was pick my favorite.
Oh, it made my mouth water.
The Hunger Games were over.
But my game? Well, the fun was just getting started.