THE HUNGER GAMES: the taste of Whiskey and Snow // CORIOLANUS SNOW

Eight

Whiskey didn't sleep. Her bones were aching for rest, having slept no more than five hours over five days but she couldn't bring herself to be venerable again. She lay as still as she could, listening. Her whole body was alert, on guard, just in case something happened.

She guessed based on the stars it was around two o-clock in the morning. The breeze was gentle and calm, rocking her branches she lay. Too anyone else, she would've looked at peace. But that was nothing further from the truth. In her mind she was waging a battle of emotions.

Of course she blamed the guy from district 7 and she also blamed the three girls. But most of all she blamed herself. How could she have been so stupid to miss the signs? She brought this on herself. That's why whiskey couldn't tell anyone else. Because of her ego. She had too much pride to admit that she let this situation happen to her like a stupid, helpless girl. It was so damn stupid of her. She was just a stupid, helpless, useless girl.

Suddenly, a branch snapped. A wall adrenaline hit her so hard in the stomach she thought she was going to throw up. Whiskey was on her feet in the tree, scanning at were the noise came from. 

Then she heard it, "Round two?" The voice was mocking, laughing. It was the man from district 7 once again. He thought it was funny. Whiskey was struggling to understand if she was in a nightmare or not.

"W-what?" She whispered, hoping she misheard him.

"Come down here now or I kill Rat boy," he smirked, stepping into view. Sure enough, a knife was at the edge of Ratley's throat and he was whimpering like a baby.

Whiskeys mind raced, thinking of ways to get out of this situation. How did she not notice Ratley was missing for the past few minutes? Her heart was thumping in her throat as she saw his expression. "Please..." he called out. "I'm not ready to die."

In that moment, Whiskey knew what she had to do. She silently climbed down the tree trunk, trying to force her brain into the furtherest part away from reality as possible. As her feet touched the grass, Ratley grabbed her arm. "I'm sorry," his voice cracked. "I'm sorry you have to do this because of me."

But whiskey already knew it was all her fault. The district 7 man tossed Ratley on the ground and clasped his hand around whiskey's waist, hand on her thigh. Ratley looked at the ground guiltily and scrambled up the tree like a rat, leaving her to fend for herself.

She followed the district 7 man with his big knife back to the cave. She tried to think of anything else. She tried to imagine it was Ratley. She thought of home, flowers, sunshine. She questioned her life, her purpose, her reason for being here. Was it fate she ended up here? In this cold cave? With this cruel man? It could've been anybody else. Why her? What did she do so wrong she deserved this?

By the time it was over, her brain was so far away she didn't feel real. Once again, he slapped her so hard he brought tears. Same threat of her life. Of keeping it a secret. But whiskey didn't flinch this time. She had nobody to tell who truly cared anyway. And if this was her life, was it really that valuable?

The district 7 man seemed dissatisfied. He seemed angrier than yesterday. Maybe he was scared of his fate in the arena. But he had no right to take it out on her.

"Did you hear me?" He repeated, frowning at her disconnection or care with his threats. Whiskey, however, just stared back. A second later, fuelled by man rage, she ended up with a black eye and a heavily cut left arm from the sharp rocks.

This time, he left quicker than before. He looked guiltier. That didn't make him any better a person.

By morning, Whiskey felt destroyed. Her sleepless state was weighing on her soul, along with everything else. She crawled out of the hole she spent the night in and waited for the plans for the day to be over so she could die sooner.

Because of the meeting with the mentors today, all the tributes were told to line up as the guards came in to chain their hands. Whiskey floated at the back of the line next to Ratley.

"Listen, I'm so sorry about last night," Ratley tried to explain himself as Whiskey stood there.  She turned her head and studied his expression. Was he only apologising to make his guilt less? "Are you okay?" He finally asked.

"No talking," the guard warned, flashing his gun in their face.

Whiskey frowned and stared at the ground, leaving Ratley hanging. She watched a beetle moving through the dirt, pretending not to notice Ratley staring at her.

Finally, a guard came and chained her hands. As she lifted up her wrists, she noticed a stream of blood rolling back up her sleeve. Surely in a few hours, the blood would reach her finger tips. The cold metal from the chains sent a rush through her skin. It felt refreshing and she felt safe, which was ironic.

In a line, each tribute was marched out of the zoo for the first time their entire stay. Ratley seemed alert, excited to see at least a small part of the capital city before he died.

As the guards marched them through the city, crowds appeared and stared at them like they were animals. People yelled and threw things, trying to get their attention, but they walked on, ignoring them. From her perspective, the people of the capital acted more like animals than she did.

To distract herself from the walking, whiskey stared at environment. Her eyes landed on a statue fountain in the middle of a roundabout down the road. The capital city was so hideously ugly to her.

She missed her home.