just blame me [flynn garner] 95th

Flynn slept through the entirety of Day Two. A side effect. Or the expected outcome.

His wake up call this morning is unexpected. A stylist with a beaming smile and an outfit under their arm. Or is it a costume? A person wears a costume when they’re pretending to be someone, and Flynn Garner does not feel like Flynn Garner today. Two avoxes follow the stylist in with a tray of breakfast foods and the largest coffee kettle he has ever seen. They’re not going to let him sleep through today.

Roasted coffee beans attack his nostril hairs as an avox offers out a mug. There is no cream in it, no added flavor. Just straight coffee and hot water, it is exactly how he drinks it before a busy day in the hospital back home.

”They’re both okay?”

”Absolutely, Nessa and Jimmy are defying the odds! So many sponsors are invested. And they will be glad to see you on the rooftop today!”

”They?” A tiny piece of delulu pinches his neck. As if.

”The sponsors!”

”Oh.”

Flynn just about manages to finish one pan au chocolate from the pile of food while the stylist finishes with the last of the gel in his hair. The coffee is all gone though.

”Leave the food here, or take some for yourselves.” He tells the avoxes but the stylist scoffs and shovels the rest of the pastries and fruits into their obnoxiously large purse. ”We can’t let such splendid food go to waste Mr Garner! The chefs in this hotel are one of the finest in Panem!”

The stylist leads the way out of the room but there is something missing.

”Did you forget something?”

The stylist turns around, checks his feet for socks and shoes. His legs for his trousers. His body for his shirt and jacket and his face for the sparkly eye makeup. ”No?”

”The medicines, I thought Dr Reiss…”

”I don’t administer medicines! Come on now.” The stylist takes his arm under theirs and leads the confused victor to the morning viewing party of Day Three.

It is busy on the rooftop already; the screens are rolling a summary of yesterday’s events that involve mutated mannequins. The stylist unclips their leash from Flynn as a more favorable face is waiting for their attention. Instead, Flynn is swept away by unfamiliar sponsors, eager to fill his hands with their fermented sparkly grapes.

”I know it is early in the day but you really need to try this!”

A whole crowd begins to swarm the victor. Overwhelming is an understatement.

”Flynn come look at this.”

Everything is spinning, their faces flicker and disappear like a gust of wind.

”Perfect performance by your sister and cousin yesterday. I am sure you are proud!”

He is sure there weren’t blue flashing lights when he just entered.

”Flynn you need to come visit my laboratory…”

So many faces. What is he even leaning on right now? Who is he even leaning on? A white hard uniform…

”Flynn sit down.”

”No I am quite alright standing up thank you.”

”Sit!” The peacekeeper barks and his ass is quick to find the comfort of some peculiarly designed red plastic armchair. ”Don’t forget your drink.” It is the sparkly wine that the sponsor planted in his hand as soon as he arrived. ”Drink!” The peacekeeper shoves it with his hand into Flynn’s face. ”Okay.”

It is quite comfy sitting in this chair, people watching and continuing slithers of small talk with everyone that passes by him. A chirpy Flynn Garner. It has been a long time since they met him. Then the main show begins, and he has the perfect view of one of the holo-screens. His sister and cousin versus Emberstatt’s alliance. Exciting. Thrilling. A perfect twist for the sponsors. Excitement for the audience.

The bastards knew what they were doing setting them up in the elevator. Victor relatives reaped together in the same game. It is no coincidence, but he doesn’t understand why victors choose to bring life into this world. Especially whole generations, running this risk that has turned into reality. He could ask the same question to his own parents.

Just fucking get out of there Nessa. Stop messing about. Jimmy get her out…”

”Get the-.” Flynn is gripping onto the arm of the plastic chair and he nearly coils out of it but the peacekeeper winds him right back down. ”Drink up Garner!” He obliges, taking one large swig.

Nobody runs away from the messy elevator scene, the perfect alliance battle that makes the audience oooo and ahhh. And some begin to scream. Especially after they see Jimmy Garner kill the District Eight. Damn. Should he be feeling proud? Then there is another scream. A louder scream that is contained within his own mind as Jackson Reeves towers over his younger cousin.

Glass can be so weak. So easily breakable. Why is it used to contain something that makes the holders so fragile like alcohol? It can be lethal too when it breaks, millions of shattered little pieces that can bury deep into the skin. Pierce it. Shed blood from the vessels beneath it. All it takes is the pressure of his fingers to smash the empty glass in Flynn’s hand. Shards bury deep into his palm and the peacekeeper leaps in front of him. Shielding the sight of the embarrassment sat bleeding in the red plastic chair.

”Oops. How clumsy of me. I guess it means I need another! One of his hands is patched up quickly in the seat. The other is filled with another glass of sparkly wine. It’s a blessing that the peacekeeper has blocked his view from the screen. A dead cousin. A helpless sister that he can hear shouting through the speakers. I hate you!. At least she is still alive. He can hear her. But Jimmy. What about Jimmy? What about him…

I hate you.

As you should Nessa. It is all my fault. This is all my fault. Blame it all on me. Hate me for the rest of your life. There is nothing I can do. They’re not letting me.

Hate me.