Falling Chapter I
You know, to be honest, I never thought that I would choose my own death, even before all the Hunger Games bullshit. And in this moment, I couldn't care less; I may be just another name on the list of people that have died in these games, but it will no longer matter to me. Soon, I'll be dead and gone. I will no longer have my life dictated by a government that does not care for me. My death will mean something, with my lover in my arms as he is now. In death, I will be free. Free of my horrible life, free from my hateful mother and her children. Free from the government controlled by frivolous people to whom my life was something to be tossed away for a moment's thrill and amusement.
It's weird, how being sent to my death has made me feel truly alive.
I hear a cannon blast, and realize one of us is dead. Could it be me? I suppose it could be. I have heard stories, about how people can still sense everything for a short while after they die. But after a second of thought, I decide I am still alive. I can still feel my heart beating frantically in my chest, as filled with adrenaline as I am. Could it be him? No, my arms are wrapped so tightly around him I can feel his own pulse. Pump, pump. Our hearts manage to stay in sync, though they are both beating extremely fast. They alternate in their life giving pulse, mine, his, mine, his, mine, his, still going on and on.
If only I could hold him like this forever. In a perfect world, I suppose I could have.
So, if it is neither me nor him to die, then it must have been her. Good riddance to the competition, though in other circumstances maybe we could have really been friends. Many a night during this hell, I have regretted saving her life so long ago, though I suppose now it doesn't particularly matter. Now that she is dead, I suppose those that betted on her are weeping in 'grief' and wishing my own death. They will get their wish, soon enough, though I have no doubt they will forget her quickly, fickle as they are.
Who will win, I wonder, with just me and him? I know he has thousands betting on him, more than the rest of the tributes by a long shot. The odds have been in his favor since the beginning, as I long learned has been nothing but a painful irony. My own odds have been slim, and I may have had a hundred voting on my victory at a rough guess. The payoff for those betting on me would be enormous, if it were at all likely I am going to survive the next thirty seconds. Of course, all those viewing at this very second know I'm going to die, so my odds are probably as quickly falling as I myself am. Not as if anyone is surprised, least of all myself. Every second I've lived up to this point has shocked me more than the last. Hope those betters aren't too disappointed. Had I stood a chance, I would have been the only shot at someone hitting it big at this point.
Funny, how what should have taken seconds seems to have taken up a year, almost like how training was several months that seemed to fly by like hours. I suppose this sudden slowing in time explains how people can claim to see their whole lives flash before their eyes in the moments before death. But I guess that will come later on for me. The only part of my mostly insignificant life that I value has been the past… Good god, how long has it been since I actually started to care about these stupid games. Months? Weeks? So much time spent in training, where I was so wrapped up in my own little world, hardly anything mattered but me… And him.
I have some time, now, as these moments seem to slow, and I may as well use them to tell you my story. I guess, if I have time enough to watch my life from start to finish, I have time enough to tell you the only part of life I actually enjoyed. It all began when I heard my name called.
"Peeta Mellark." Effie Trinket's chipper, exuberant voice rang throughout the town square. I had just been announced as one of the 'lucky' six chosen in District Twelve to compete in the Seventy Fifth Hunger Games, the third Quarter Quell. The Quell had been announced mere days after the last Game had been won by some cripple named Phaestus, from District Three, who had managed to survive the Seventy Fourth by surrounding himself in mines and then sitting in one spot the whole entire games. He almost died of thirst in the process, but not even Mutts had been able to get at him. That had been less than a week before President Snow had announced the next game's theme.
As soon as the hype from Phaestus' victory had died down, all possible comments on his victory mentioned at least twice, Snow had come on the air to say that they were choosing the combatants for the next Quarter Quell nearly a year before the games are to actually commence, and that six would be chosen from each pool of possible tributes rather than the usual two.
They had been eagerly anticipating this quell for years, Caesar had raved, a Game that was projected to be bigger, more exciting, than any before. Not only that, but all of the participants were to train for the intervening time until the games were to actually begin, as a show of generosity from Capital. I had no doubt it was just to increase the blood and excitement associated with the games.
Apparently, the arena was already close to ready by the time the games were announced, but the Head Game Maker, Heavensbee, had been inspired by the exciting theme of the generosity of Capital and begged the President for the chance to provide a better arena to fit said theme, so they planned to possibly push the games back a few weeks even past the already distant date of one year's time to give the Game Makers more of a chance to bring that idea to fruition. And that means the combatants get a few more weeks to train, "Luckily for the tributes!," Caesar had proclaimed joyfully. "And the arena will be big," he had continued excitedly. Very big. With three times the normal amount of fighters, this game is going to be talked about for years and years to come.
And I get to be in it. Oh joy.