Cecil was tired. Not like wanting to get sleep, but of people. He was sitting in a hallway, on a chair. Almost everyone he had saw was wanting something from him. Either an autograph, or some kind of object from him? He hated being a Victor, and hated that his fame, came from slaughtering people. Other than these thoughts, he thought of something good. He was going to be back in his house soon, after all of the stupid flooding was over with. It wasn't even that bad in his District, the roads were just watery. When the rain season came around, they almost got that much.
Cecil looked around. He had thought he heard someone, but he hadn't. He didn't want some stupid little fan girl coming up, tugging on his tie, asking him for an autograph. The only reason people like him, was because when he did fight, he didn't exactly hurt them. he had only trapped them, or disabled them and left them to die. He wasn't the kind to just go out and kill a person. He then felt a little sleepy, and began to doze off.
The fear of death follows from the fear of life. A man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time.