Anthem - Day 7 IC

I spend the morning reading Achille's texts.

They grow desperate after the first ten and then die back down into a dull repetition, a veiled anger.

I am fine.

I send him a lie but he needs to hear it. I'm good at that, taking care of my Shepperd boys. Or I was, I guess.

I lounge on the couch in my office, gazing at the screen across from me and forcing toast down lest I faint from malnutrition. As it turns out, alcohol isn't a food group and it isn't easy to shut off the mind as simply pulling a trigger and hoping for the best. My stomach turns over and over as three different fights play out in front of me.

Exar Shan, a career I'd come to respect for his admirable tactics during the games has made the mistake of attacking Bigfoot. I already mourn him, knowing full well that the soft creature can be deadly if provoked. The other two fights play out naturally in the morning light, two groups having found each other and one of my fellow gamemakers accounting for the unfair fight with a bear.

It's nine in the morning and I have half a bottle of vodka in me. My eyes droop from a sleepless night and my office door is locked against intruders. I train my eyes on Isaac, watch as his javelin flies true and I see the exact moment that it pierces straight through Gillian Imberlines little heart.

The screen replays it two more times and I watch as her blood sprays across the snow. I roll over on the couch, facing the fabric and shut my eyes, unable to process anything anymore.

-

Apollo stands in the doorframe, seventeen years old and so young. I lay in the dark of my room, feeling sick. There was a party, I drank far too much and Apollo is unimpressed with me. His mouth moves but I don't know what he is saying. I can't hear him. There was something in my drink but I'm afraid to tell him. Achilles is three years old and his crib doesn't contain him anymore so he's crawled into bed with me. I pull him close, arms weak. No one will hurt him.

I stare at Apollo in the door frame.

He has a gun in his hand and he points it at his own head and he shoots.

BA-

-

I bolt upright, a cold sweat forming a pool between my shoulder blades and my breath comes too fast. I glance wildly at the wall, it's only been an hour since I fell asleep.

I shut my eyes and press my hands against my head, forcing the dream away.

The nightmares come all the time now, raging and wild and always so messed up. There's nothing to stop them. For a while, after Apollo died I slept around, using other men to hold me in the night and keep the dreams at bay but it stopped working and I began to feel dirty so I stopped.

I throw back advil, using the vodka to wash them down.

The screen in front of me flickers, reacting to my attention. I missed two deaths as I slept. My stomach twists, wondering who now and Exar's brutal death replays for me in slow motion. I don't feel surprised, Bigfoot was angry. I do feel the waste of it. If anyone had a chance, it was the career from two.

Isaac's death plays next for me and my gut twists, not for the spray of blood from his face, however, but for the fact that we've just lost two out of three of our male careers in the span of an hour. Death was pleasing for the Capitol, but not the death of careers. Isaac was a strong tribute. I thought he'd be at least top four.

And then Cade falls to a flaming javelin.

I stare for a while at the screen after it's already moved on.

Since he'd stepped into his training session, I'd felt something for the kid. In different circumstances, he would have been one that I would have shown care for. I'd tried not to think about it during the games, tried not to think about any of the children past any given day, But Cade had been a tribute I'd wanted to succeed.

And now he was dead.

I sit for a long moment, losing track of time again. My eyes flutter shut for some time and then open again. The sky is darker outside when I do.

Zaya has the anthem tonight, I could go home for a few hours if I wished, but I haven't been out of this building in days and suddenly everything feels like far too much effort.

Sorrow grips my heart. Eight children in the span of two days, it's a lot to bear.

But it will all be over soon for there are only eight more left.

I stand up slowly after the anthem plays and make my way back to the control room to figure out how best to force fights on some of the children for the next day, to figure out how to push them to their own doom.

My flask sits in my jacket pocket, full of vodka and lending so easy to my sins.

I am empty.

[dars]