greer halstead; interview. 4f. 8th games.

One? Two?

Days? Hours?

It was impossible to tell here. They rushed them from the train to some secluded place with barely enough time to even sneak a glimpse of the Capitol. There were no people around, just silence. Peacekeepers whisked her away into some room, far from others, not a window in site. So, Greer sat, and she wondered if there was even daylight anymore.

It seems that in the Capitol time is nothing more than an illusion.

She does her best to drown out the sounds of her stomach by shuffling cards or fiddling with the puzzle pieces they provided in her room. Greer had to remind herself that she was not here to play games, but this was her prison cell that they would keep trapped in until it was time to make a spectacle of her death.

Though, the least she could do was look nice she supposed.

Moments after slipping on the simple, knee length, cerulean blue dress provided in her closet there was a loud, demanding knock. Without a single word spoken the Peacekeepers practically dragged her down the halls and she put in her best effort to keep up with their strides. They shoved her onto the makeshift stage, every last bit of her dignity left back in District Four. Her eyes met those in the crowd and she forced herself to not look away. She would be strong.

Not for herself.

But for her father.

Greer smooths out the bottom of her dress as she sits in the seat across from Harlan Godfrey. She carefully crosses her legs at her ankles, sits up a bit straighter, and forces a genuine smile to find itself on her lips.

Just like mother always taught her.

"You lost your brother when you were very young, correct? What do you remember about him?"

Fifteen seconds in and he already struck a nerve. She forces herself to keep her composure. ”Yes, I was only ten,” Greer decides to gloss over the reason that he died. There was no need to bring up the war, or to mention that the Capitol slaughtered him. That might dampen the mood. Instead, she decided to focus on the best parts of him, the parts she still keeps. ”He was a kind soul and so so strong. I always used to say I wanted to be like him when I grow up, and I still do. Hopefully I’ve made him proud.”

The lights are beginning to blind her. It is impossible to see the crowd’s reaction, but for some reason she hopes that they like her.

"And of course, your mother- ah, didn't take his loss well. Says here that it's just you and your Dad now? Do you worry what will come of him if you're unsuccessful here?"

Another question she would have rather avoided. They clearly did their research on each of them. She can only imagine what some of the other tributes may be hiding. ”Yes it’s just us,” she shifts a bit in her seat, but forces herself to look back up at Harlan. ”I learned the hard way that people can die of a broken heart. My Dad is strong too, but I plan on being successful,” another forced smile.

Mother taught her so well.

"Be honest: do you think you have a chance of winning this?" He looks more and more unimpressed with each question he asks "Why?"

”I-“ she wonders how much to share. Is it illegal to train your children to survive? Greer knows it will be important to tread lightly. ”I have a chance. I know how to use a spear and a knife. My father is a fisherman after all,” she adds light heartedly. ”Hopefully, one or the other will be an option in the arena.”

"Pardon my forwardness, but I wonder: Are you willing to do anything it takes to survive?"

”Yes,” Her face is stone cold. Greer offers nothing more in response. They have all watched the Games for seven years now. They all know what is about to happen. They all know what she has to do.

And she’s willing to do it.

"Any parting words?"

”I made you a promise. And I plan on keeping it. I’ll see you soon Dad,”

With a final smile and a small curtsy, she makes her way off the stage.

She may not know what day it is, but there is one thing she is certain of.

Hers are numbered.