.: skin of the night :.
Johanna Mason parted the thick branches she was perched precariously behind. The moonlight illuminated the ground below her - by she guessed was about 10 feet – while the creatures of the night provided the soundtrack. Her arm ebbed with a slight pain. Probably from the knife that the boy from 10 launched into her with his dying breath. It didn't save him though and he died just as quickly as the rest.
She could hear them now; they were coming closer, walking through a clearing lined with forest green. It was the boy from 2 and the girl from 9 if she was remembering correctly. Yes, she was sure of it. There were only six of them left (counting herself) and these two were the last standing alliance in the bunch. They had formed it on the first day of training. Well, it was less of an alliance and more so he had promised not to kill her himself if she let him fuck her. From the way he was quickly ripping the flimsy cloth off of her body and dragging her to the ground, it looked like it was time to collect.
Johanna rolled her eyes at the twosome as the guttural sounds became louder underneath her. It wouldn't be too long now. Men never lasted too long. She used to hear her parents make such noises all the time, unbeknownst to them. She was always a very inquisitive child. She wasn't bothered by the same things other people were, even going as far to be intrigued by them. Once, when she was back home, she timed her father. Measuring the loud grunts and the deep breaths he took before she no longer hear them. He never lasted more than three minutes.
She knew they couldn't see her, even if they weren't preoccupied. She had become one with the trees, just like when she was home at 7. The climb taught her to use her speed. The axe that brought them down gave her strength. And the fall taught her to use her judgment.
The sound of the girl's scream and the cannon blast that followed quickly jolted her from her homesick thoughts. The boy stood over her smirking, so obviously proud of his kill. There was a high from killing. Most people shied away from it. But most people also wouldn't laugh manically after snapping someone's neck.
He didn't see her when she placed her footballs softly on the grassy terrain below her, the leaves mollifying her steps. Nor did he hear her as she steadily snuck up behind him.
Johanna hit him with the blunt end of her axe. He fell onto his knees quickly, turning around and backing up to get away from her. He searched for a weapon on his person, cursing when he realized that they were in the pants he had causally thrown aside. She sneered watching his eyes open in surprise. Surprise that his end was going to come from the small wide-eyed girl from 7 he tried to fuck up a wall before the training coordinator caught him.
She brought her axe down on him, before he had a chance to open his mouth and pathetically plead for his life, the weight pulling her body down with it. She laughed as blood splattered onto her face, laughed to keep from crying. Most people undoubtedly thought she was losing her sanity throughout all of this. When in actuality she was fighting to keep it. Johanna knew he was dead from the first strike. But she couldn't stop; she was way too far-gone. She had to think of home. She had to do this. She had to kill all of them, until she was sure they wouldn't come back and kill her.
Her mother always told her the same thing every year they watched the Games together on their small television, which was well beyond its years, at home in 7. Where the comforting smell of pine and tree bark assaulted her senses.
"No one ever wins these things by playing nice, Jojo. No guts, no glory."