Silence [Hunger Games Fanfiction]

Traumatized by her brother’s death, Raven Verona desperately wants to escape her past. But when she is chosen for the 31st Hunger Games, that becomes impossible.


An unwanted admirer.


A true soul mate.


23 enemies.


Let the Games begin


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39. Thirty-Nine

I allowed myself a few hours to grieve. With just three of us left, I knew they’d be coming for me. Avery wouldn’t be a problem, but Roger was a different story. If I was to battle, I couldn’t be weak. I needed to get the pain out of my system. Or I had to try. After all I’d been through, I had to win. I had to.

 It occurred to me when I was sat hugging my knees in the tent that I had Logan’s diary. Nervously, I fumbled for it and flicked through the pages, seeing leaves of papers filled with Logan’s big, rounded writing. And then suddenly, nothing. Blank pages. A teardrop ran down my nose and landed with a splat on the page. I wiped my face furiously with my sleeve and turned to the very first page in the book. It had obviously been sifted through often, the paper crumpled slightly and the corner yellowed with over-use. It was dated several months earlier, and I recognized the date as his birthday.

 So, another great birthday! Can’t believe I’m finally seventeen! My party just finished, and I’m sat at my desk, using the new diary and writing set from Father and Mother. I think they want me to write about things such as updates in the District’s affairs, in the hope that someday I will take over father, but where is the fun in that? I plan to record all the interesting events in my life. Maybe one day I’ll look back and remember all the fond memories. Or perhaps I may show it to my wife and children.

 My chest tightened. I was sure he never expected me of all people to be sat reading his personal diary. Flipping a few pages, I read another entry. It was written about a month before the reaping.

  School is such a bore! I swear, if I ever hear the words “District rebellion” again, I may have to scream.

 I smiled at Logan’s attitude to the school curriculum. I was almost certain he was referring to the tedious Panem history lessons we were forced to endure.

 One day, maybe someone will start another rebellion. I pray for that day. I pray.

 I skipped forward again to read the final entry. His fine ink pen had been exchanged for the stubby pencil I’d seen him use many times since arriving in the arena, and his writing had grown lopsided and scruffier than ever. I suspected he had written it in the dark. I struggled to read the almost illegible script.

 Dearest Raven,

 I fear that soon my life will be at end. We both know that only one can win, and I can honestly say that I want it to be you. I know how hard it is for you. But one day, you can make a difference. There are people who matter and people that do not. You matter. And I swear to you, Raven, I couldn’t live without you. My best friend. I couldn’t bear to lose you. Though it is selfish of me, I’d rather let you face the consequences of my death.

 There may have been times in which we have quarrelled, years of constant battling over social status and the differences we have. But rather than dwell on our mistakes, I believe we should think fondly upon the times of happiness. Raven Verona, you must know that I loved you from the moment that we met, and I never looked back. The time we have shared together is beautiful. Just remember that. And when I do leave this world, my last thought will be of the friendship we have shared. Of your green eyes, and the golden flecks in them that reflect in the sunlight. Of the smile you try to hide when you’re angry at me. Of the battle scars you received taking the blow for me. All the little things that make our friendship so beautiful.

 And I don’t regret anything.

 Always yours,

 Logan

 I couldn’t see the page any longer. My eyes swam with unshed tears, and I let out a strangled choke. I let my finger follow the loops of Logan’s pencil scrawlings across the page, the place where his hands had touched not so long ago. It was dated on that day. He must have written it just a few hours before his death. I cried then, curled in a ball with my knees tucked to my chin. My wails could probably be heard throughout the arena, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t care. I clutched the diary to my chest, my face crumpled in the agony of losing the most important person in my life.

 My sobs subsided a while later, and I lay still for a while. When I felt up to it, I began to nibble on some of the bread I had salvaged from the Cornocopia. After my emotional outburst, and with a full stomach, I was better prepared for what was coming.

 I crawled out of the tent and waited. I had a throwing knife in one hand, my carving knife in the other, and my sword on my belt with my other knives. I didn’t have to wait long. Roger marched fearlessly out of the tunnels and towards me. Avery trailed behind him like a dog. Roger’s eyes met mine, and the corners of my lips twitched. This was the moment we’d been waiting for.

 “Let the Games begin, Roger,” I whispered. “Let the Games begin.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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