An Announcement Regarding the 80th Games from Pres. Snow

President Snow stared out the window overlooking his greenhouse, wondering if the summer could be persuaded to last a little longer. Yes, he’d done his utmost over the years to ensure his white roses bloomed year round, but there was nothing quite like a freshly cut flower. His office currently overflowed with them, perfuming the air with a strange mix of musty floral and astringent stems. One could not survive without the other, and neither lasted long once snipped. But there would be another crop next year, and the one after that, and the one after that.

So went most things in the President’s life.

Perhaps that revelation, coupled with a slow and begrudging acknowledgement of his age, had led to this morning’s meeting. The other man in the room had been shifting his weight hip to hip for some time but hadn’t dared so much as coughed. President Snow knew from his surveillance reports that he’d been a model citizen for the last several years, after licking his wounds. He hadn’t so much as put a toe out of line, which ultimately did very little to convince the president he was trustworthy.

For the citizenry of Panem, he somehow remained a popular and familiar face. Everyone likes a comeback story, after all.

“I’ve read your proposal,” President Snow began, turning slowly to take in the art gallery in which they stood. Several paintings of himself hung on the walls, interspersed with Capitol murals. “You understand how generous I’m being by even hosting this tête-à-tête.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. I’ll speak plainly. Your missive came at a vexing time for me. On the one hand, I never give second chances,” he said, casually brushing the white rose pinned to his lapel. “On the other, for this to work, I need someone with the right narrative – the right backstory. Do you understand?”

His guest’s eyebrows come together. It’s not at all what his sniveling letter was about. “I think so?”

“I don’t think you do.” The president smiled. “In the next room, there are several stylists waiting. In the room thereafter, the grand ballroom, there is a camera crew at the ready. If you accept, you will walk through those doors and into your next life.”

“Oh, I do! Mr. President, let me begin to thank you by saying –“

President Snow held up a gloved hand. “Spare me. I wish to make the announcement immediately.”

He waited a breath. The man blinked, and then started scurrying towards the exit doors. Nearly there, he slowed, then turned and bowed. “Just one thing, President Snow. The other Gamemakers – have they already arrived?”

Something glinted in the president’s eyes. “I thought I made myself perfectly clear, Mr. Kinkade. You are to be the only Gamemaker at the helm of the 80th Games. Whatever glory this Quell brings to the Capitol will be entirely your doing.”

“And whatever ruin, entirely your responsibility.”

Glamour’s face turned ashen.

President Snow took his leave then, departing the other end of the gallery. He walked a little bounce in his step. Yes, everyone loved a comeback story, but there was no such thing as a second chance.