blair murdock - pre games interview

Harlan Godfrey thinks rather highly of himself. That much is painfully apparent in this whole song and dance they've put us through. I'm willing to bet he doesn't give a shit about getting to know me, he just wants to stand there looking posh in his red coat and well-trimmed beard. Which, to his credit, he wears well but that's entirely beside the point.

It's unsettling how earnest he is in his examination. He doesn't hide the fact that he's picking me apart, until I'm little more than threads to weave into a much prettier picture than the woeful boy sat in front of him. It's not my first interview but it's the first time I haven't had to wade through a veneer of admiration and flattery to even figure out what the fuck he wanted to know.

"Now, you're an Olympic-track swimmer back in Four- no, sorry You were on the Olympic track. Is that right? I suppose we're all wondering... what happened?" I preferred the purple prose, I think.

This polite smile of mine stretches thin. I cross my hands in my lap to stop them from shaking, the emotion welling in my chest is somewhere between fear and rage. Either way it is a luxury I can't afford. There's no time to be human if I'm going to survive. In a few days time I will either be dead or I will not be the same Blair as I am now. No matter how much he this question might hurt him, it won't matter. I wont have to feel it for much longer.

"There uh-" My voice dies in my throat and some sick part of me hopes it earns some sympathy. Otherwise there's no fucking use for all this suffering, is there? "There was an accident and I lost someone I loved very much. Swimming became... harder... after that." It's certainly a version of the truth. So candied and sweet that it leaves a sickly aftertaste.

"So what was the new plan, then? Before coming here, of course."

Penance. I suppose that's what all that wasting away was for. A life ruined for the life I ruined. I was too much of a coward to outright kill myself but it's not like I was exactly living these last few months. I've watched as my skin hollowed out, clinging to bones - grief eating at the body I'd worked so hard to hone to perfection and I fucking reveled in the pain. In revealing the monster that had hidden beneath my skin all these years.

"I hadn't decided so I guess this all saved me some headache." Loathe as I am to admit it, that Ocean is as much of a home as it was a graveyard. "At least I don't have to get back into shape. It's a pretty strict training regiment and I've found I really enjoy ice cream."

Things start going smoother after that, we fall into a rhythm of less-personal questions and my answers don't even matter because we're both putting on airs. Nothing worse than honest conversation, anyway.

"And what would you most fear, going into the Games?"

"Forgive me if this sounds a bit... sardonic but is there anything not to fear in the Hunger Games?" Eight years running we've seen only blood and brutality - it's hard to imagine there's anything pleasant waiting for me in that arena.

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

Absolutely not. "Of course."

"Any parting words?"

"I really am sorry things turned out this way. I wish they could have been different. And... I wish I could have been better." If they're the last words anyone is going to hear me speak, let them be for the boy who will never hear them.