Author's Note: This is now my second attempt at writing a Hunger Games one-shot. This is a quick one-shot combining elements of And Then There Were None with the 75th Hunger Games (my version, shown in 99th Games: Twelve Days to Midnight). Hope you enjoy, and make sure to review!
24 are raised up through the ground, up from the Catacombs. We rest in place as the whole arena rumbles. I can see the rocky arena around us. There will be many scrapes and broken bones this time around. But it doesn't matter. The Capital has broken the rules themselves.
24 young ones, from ages six to twelve. We stand nervously at our post, trying not to fall. But a little girl of 7 falls, and the mines around her stand go off, killing her instantly.
23 stare, and the Games begin. Anticipation, bloodlust, and nervousness are abound. I try to resist the urge to run for the Cornucopia, but I do anyway. I can't resist: there's piles of food and weapons and tools that we would never have money to buy at home. My eyes rest on a single, serrated dagger that lies on top of a few crates.
Soon our numbers are down to 21. One boy is shot in the face with an arrow, and another is trampeded under the rush of feet. I try to avoid the splashing blood. I run for all my might, but people die all around me. We are 18. I manage to grab my dagger and a backpack, and make a run for it. It is not easy to dodge the flying arrows, but I make it. Tumbling down a hill, I make my escape.
The day goes on, and the cannons confirm my fears. Our group numbers 17, seven of us having been killed in the bloodbath, the girl with the mines included. The faces flash up in the sky, but the anthem is interrupted by a cannon. That makes 16.
It is impossible to survive in the arena. Food is in short supply and so is water, seeing that we are in a rocky desert. I defend my tree eagerly, but no opponent ever comes. Luckily, I can see far from this post, but still, no one comes. I climb down from my tree, only to come face to face with a boy of 11. He has crawled through a cave system that emerges below my tree. He snarls, and I realize he is a career. He almost cuts my Achilles tendon, but I avoid him yet again. The end comes when my dagger goes through his right eye and out the back of his head. I cannot bear to look, and the cannon goes off. We are 15.
Days pass quickly, but no one dies. The Capital is obviously eager for death, and a drought brings me and five other tributes to a waterfall. Unfortunately, we have not forseen the Gamemakers' trap.
Rocks tumble down on top of us, and I hear a quick succession of cannons. One boy has his head crushed, and another girl is flattened by a boulder. A boy I befriended in the Training Center cries for help, but his screams are cut short by another tribute's blade. That makes 12.
I can't resist screaming as the boy walks towards me, sword in hand. He has a glint of battle lust in his eyes, knowing I am defenseless and all he has to do is bring the sword down on top of my head. My arm is still trapped underneath a rock. The final tribute sits with his back to a rock, obviously dazed with all of the dust floating around in the air. But as the menacing boy walks towards me, the final tribute gets up.
He yells with a fury I have never heard before and impales the other boy on his spear. The cannon goes off, and we now number eleven. This is going to be a quick death, but the other tribute stops in front of me.
"Live long and love life." he says, before committing suicide with his spear is front of me. He falls, and I scream. I couldn't guess why he had done it, but then I realized. There was no point to the Games. Here we were, some of us only six years old. The Capital was mad, but this was the 75th Hunger Games. This was the Quarter Quell.
And then there were ten, it seems. I and nine others. It's our new destiny to fight, but I can't believe I've gotten this far.
I trudge back to my tree, the blood of the others on my hands, but there's nothing I can say. To survive, you have to become brutal, leave all of your mercy behind. To win, you have to kill on sight.
Later that night, two more cannons go off. So we are eight. Claudius Templesmith invites us to a feast, and I know the drought is coming before it happens. He will bring us back to that waterfall. We will be forced to fight to the death there, so I pack my bags and begin to travel.
Before I arrive, three cannons go off.
And then there were five.
I watch a battle as I travel towards the waterfall. Blood stains the ground and mixes from the water overspilling from the waterfall. It is disgusting to watch, as a girl tribute uses the suicidal boy's spear to gore another. Torture to watch, just plain torture.
So we are now four.
I jump into the fray and stab a boy in the neck, killing him instantly. It's just me and two other tributes, a boy from District 4 and a girl from District 9. The boy ruthlessly cuts open the girl's throat, and she joins the pile of bodies resting in front of the waterfall.
And then there were two.
As I stare at this murderer, I realize I am just like him. I have killed just as many people as he has. The boy stares at me, and I suddenly remember his name. He calls himself Adam, the name of the original man created by God. He thinks it will intimidate me, but it doesn't.
We dance back and forth, jabbing at each other, but neither of us cause serious damage. But then he starts to get tricky, sweeping his sword around to cut my neck, but he has left his armpit open. I jump forward and stab him there. He roars, cutting a gash in my leg. I get shoved onto the ground, and he stands over me, creeping in for the kill. But I see his opening again.
Adam is stabbed in his stomach, and the cannon goes off as he collapses on top of me.
And then there was one.
I hear people chanting my name as Capital people come to pick me up.
"Eve!" My stylist shouts, but I don't care. It's been a successful victory for District 3, and only in six days. This has been a quick set of games.
But even as I smile for a second when I recognize my victory, it doesn't last for long. Even though I am only eight, I have gained wisdom in the arena. No matter how hard the Districts will protest about these outrageous Games, nothing will happen. Children will die and the Capital with clap, but it will only make the Districts more gloomy.
The Games will continue, possibly even reaching the 100th Games.
I remember this now, twenty years later. I lie in my bed with some sort of sickness I contracted from a dead dog. Loved ones crowd around me, but I know it is the end for me, just as it is the end for all who go into the arena.
I have no famous last words. My last, dying breath escapes before I can think to say anything. People around me cry and call for a doctor, but it is too late.
And then there were none.
Author's Note: So, what did you think? Make sure to leave a review!
NOTE: This is not part of my 99th Games story. It is all by itself.