As the electricity binds my feet to the platform and the glass cylinder closes around me I look at Adoria, my stylist, smiling. We both know that I will be the one walking out of the arena, that I will stand as victor, that I will be the sole survivor. The countdown begins, and as the platform rises, pushing me through the tube into the blinding light of the arena, for the first true time I realize that there is a chance I might not live through this. I quickly regain my composure, pushing that sinking feeling out of my mind, and work to adjust my vision to the brilliant light surrounding me. I feel as if I'm in an ocean of gold, but quickly my eyes adjust and I see that instead I am in a desert. I am surrounded by gold sand and the cloudless sky above me is playing host to an all-too-close-to-be-natural sun. I look around at the other tributes, scanning for my allies. I first find Apollo from District 1 two platforms to my right, then Star from 2 a bit further from him. I cannot see Emily, which must mean she is directly across from me, behind the cornucopia. The cornucopia. My mind fixates on searching it for weapons, water, and food. As the countdown reaches zero, I've found a pair of knives that I want, and a jug that hopefully contains water, but no food. As the buzzer sounds, releasing us from our platforms, I race across the sand to the cornucopia. Unlike the rest, I am not hindered by the sinking of the sand, nor do I notice the scorching heat on my bare feet. I am used to running along the beaches of District 4, carrying baskets of fish on my shoulders. My feet have long been calloused protecting themselves from the burn of sun-scorched sand. I reach the Cornucopia before anyone else. I grab the knives I was eyeing, the jug, and a rope that I had not noticed before, before anyone else reaches me. I hear my name shouted from the other side of the Cornucopia in a familiar voice. Emily was the next to reach the center; she too has loaded herself down with weapons and water. We stand back to back awaiting the arrival of the other tributes. The first to reach the cornucopia was, to my surprise, a girl from district 12. As she reaches out for a jug of water, instinct takes over and I throw my knife, burying it to the hilt in her left eye. She reels back and I hear the cannon ring out noting her death. I'm paralyzed with shock as I watch her lifeless body slump to the desert below. Did I just do that? I hadn't intended on killing so early. I hadn't even thought about it before it happened. Just one moment I see those grey eyes fixated on something in my cornucopia and the next, the knife was no longer in my hand but in her head.
It's not until the rest of the Careers clamor onto the cornucopia with the rest of the tributes just behind them that I come back to reality. It seems busier here than the games that I studied in the training center back in four. Usually some kids try to avoid the initial bloodbath at the cornucopia, but it seems this year that no one has the intention of running away, prolonging the inevitable. While the rest of the careers pull weapons out of the cornucopia I rejoin Emily, taking note of her own look of shock. I notice why all of the tributes have come to the cornucopia. There appears to be nothing else around. For as far as I can see, it's desert. Flat desert. As Emily spins her head around, scanning for any potential threat, her sun kissed golden hair flutters in the wind, beautiful, dangerous, but most of all, a reminder of home. I am hit with an image from another video from the training center, of a younger version of my mom, fighting in the 49th games. She was seventeen at the time, the same age as Emily. Her arena was entirely water but for five small islands, each of which was riddled with poisonous insects. It was clearly the arena for a member of district 4 to win, not like this hell hole. When the final moments of the game came it was my mom fighting the female tribute from district eleven. They both were covered in poisonous bites and were barely conscious, but were managing to tread water trying to drown one another since they had both long ago lost their weapons. But, in the middle of the fight, my mom spun her head around for an initially unknown reason, her own sun-kissed blonde hair catching the light like Emily's. She was looking at a parachute that had been sent to her by a sponsor. The capsule contained a knife which she quickly used to finish off her opponent, securing her own exit from the arena.
I'm pulled back to my harsh reality by the sound of labored breathing behind me. A young boy from district six was struggling to pull himself up to the cornucopia. I gripped my knife preparing to kill him just like the girl from 12 when my mentor, Mags's voice echoes in my brain. "Listen, Finnick. You're going to playing a very different game than the rest of the tributes are playing. You're going to play differently from any game that you've seen in your training. Let the rest of the tributes do the killing for you. I want you to show mercy, compassion, but above all, love. Kill when you have to in order to defend yourself, and kill the rest of the careers when your parachute arrives, or after Emily has been killed. Finnick, the Capitol will love you and will want you to love them back. They want you to be a true hero, not just another mindless killing machine. You're playing to outlast. You're playing to survive, and not just the games, but life after. Only kill when you must; and when you do, look your best."
My heart sinks, thinking of the girl from district twelve, what Mags must be thinking right now. I release my knife, vowing to myself that I will make it up to Mags, to show her I have full faith in her plan. I reach my hand out to help the boy up to the Cornucopia. His face flickers from terror to shock to confusion in the matter of seconds it takes him to get his bearings. I reach my hand out to shake his, flashing a smile. "Hey I'm Finnick." Before he can respond, though, his warm blood splatters across my face, as a spear penetrates his neck. I feel torn between horror and relief. He had to die at some point, and I was not going to kill him, at least not right away. But, he just seemed so young.
As his body falls to the desert sand below, and the boom of the canon notes his death, I am able to look his killer in the face. It's Star, looking nearly elated. I swallow down any remorse I have and fake a smile "beautiful kill there Star. Do you always look this good, or is it just the post-kill glow?" She laughs, flipping her long hair back over her shoulder. "You know Finnick, the sun has to set at some point. It'd be a shame to try to sleep alone. We only have a few nights left anyways." My stomach turns. Is it nerves or revulsion? "I'm not one to count my stars before the day has even passed." I turn back toward Emily as Star smiles and turns away searching to pick off tributes as they reach the Cornucopia. Emily gives me a knowing smile, rolling her eyes, while she stands guard at the mouth of the horn.
Just as I catch myself wondering how the game makers are planning to prolong this battle, so they don't lose all of their tributes in the first two hours the ground below me begins to shake intensely. A noise so loud that I can hear nothing else, not even my own thoughts fills the arena. I drop to a knee, waiting for the commotion to stop. When everything finally stops moving and the sound fades into nothing but memories of echoes I look around. The desert is still there but only in a small oval no larger than the town square back in district four. Around the oval, towering mountains have appeared. They too are covered with golden sand, and appear to be just as arid as the center of the field, but they at least offer the illusion of protection. Instantly the game changes. The fighting that has been going on around the cornucopia nearly stops entirely as tributes who knew they stood no chance in the initial bloodbath seize their chance to escape, turning tail and running for the mountains. The cannon fires a few more times, I've lost count though at this point. Finally when the dust settles, Emily and I walk around the cornucopia looking for which of the Careers remain. We find, much to my chagrin, that all six of us are still alive and at the Cornucopia. I know that I've been taught to follow tradition to work within the alliance that has served Districts 1,2, and 4 well for the past sixty years. But, I just can't make myself like the tributes from 1 and 2. They enjoy the sport of killing. They are thickheaded and cannot see past the games. Last night, when I should have been preparing for the games, or sleeping and dreaming of the horrors to come in the arena, I found myself just resting in the enormous bathtub in the hotel. Holding my breath under water for as long as I could. Waiting till the water filled my ears and my lungs screamed out for air before I surfaced again. When I finally went to sleep, I had peaceful dreams of learning to sail and fish with my father, another victor of the games.
I find when I look at Star, Apollo, Emerald, and Drill that I see the death of the girl from 12 and that young boy. That I see nothing but a moonless night. I refuse to let them dictate my future. I refuse to die in these games, in a desert so far from the ocean. I will live and I will see the sun set on the ocean again. To do that, I have to kill them. But, in the same thought, I decide that I will not kill any of the other tributes, each of whom must be longing to see the sunset in their own homes. For now, however, I will play nice with the careers, waiting for the sign from Mags.
Together we dig through the rest of the cornucopia, finding only jugs of water and more weapons. I find a net, not horribly unlike those from home, which I eagerly tuck into my belt. We try to satiate our ravenous appetites with the water we found, but to no avail. Soon, however, the sun begins to set and the anthem of Panem plays. Images appear in the sky of slain tributes. The boy from 3, both tributes from 5, the boy from six, both from seven, both from eight, the girl from 9, both from ten, the girl from 11, and both tributes from twelve. When the girl from 12's face appears I double over with the need to vomit. I manage to force the feeling down along with some of the regret. There would be time to mourn in the future, after I win.
Fourteen kids died in the initial blood-bath. Only ten of us remain. Six careers and four others. As soon as the last face disappears from the pink sky, the last ray of sunshine fades and the arena is bathed in darkness. No moon. No stars. Just darkness. A shiver runs down my spine. The temperature begins to fall almost immediately. Our sweat-laden clothes now begin to chill our skin as wind starts to blow. In the distance, I hear a foreign sound, almost like a dog, but different. The howls begin to grow but I can't make out in the darkness what is making them or where exactly they are coming from. It feels like they might be coming from all around us.
The cacophony increases to a roar. Instinctively I reach for my net and my knife. Cries for help join the din, while the seemingly tangible darkness presses in on me.
"Emily. Emily where are you?" I whisper, reaching my net hand out to where I thought she might be.
"Shh." I feel her soft hand grab mine. She pulls herself into me, clenching me. I assume it's for warmth or protection or both, but then she shifts her head and I feel her warm lips on my neck. Her hand finds its way into my hair and she pushes my face down to meet hers. As our lips meet I pull her in closer to me until there is no space left between our bodies. She feels different than I thought she would. I am not sure what exactly I was expecting, but she seems bulkier and yet softer than…Softer. Her hands are so soft and smooth…not at all like the calloused hands of a girl from district 4. Dread fills me as I realize this isn't Emily. I realize I'm being groped by Star. I feel the impulse to pull away but Mags's words come back to me "above all show love." Ok. They want a show? I'll give them a show.
Star and I sink down to the cold metal of the cornucopia, grabbing each other like beasts. She must be sixteen or seventeen and clearly has much more experience than I do with this sort of thing. She flips me over onto my back and straddles me, pulling my shirt off. I suddenly feel extremely exposed. Even though she is on top of me, I can't see her because of the darkness. I can't even hear her because of the roar of the wind, the howling of the dog creatures, and the cries of other tributes in the dark. I buck my hips and lean forward, pulling her legs behind me, effectively reversing our positions. The chill of the wind on my back fights the rising heat in my body. I pin Star's arms to the ground with my hands and lean in kissing her neck, and chest. As my lips work their way back to hers my hands slide down her arms to her wrists and her hands. Then I realize just how stupid I was and just how close I came to being killed. In Star's left hand I feel the cool metal of a knife's blade and her fingers wrapped tightly around the handle.
I stand up immediately and just run. I can't see anything. I feel the sensation of falling and hitting the cool sand below, realizing I must have fallen off of the cornucopia. I don't care, Star is probably chasing me. It makes perfect sense. In this craziness no one in the career alliance would know who killed whom, just that someone ended up dead. I continue to run in whatever direction I'm facing. The wind is whipping grains of sand against my bare chest and face, cutting tiny slices into my skin. I keep running until I reach the mountains around the desert. I slow down a bit because the hard rocks of the mountains are much more painful to run on than the sand, but it's not until the pain in my chest physically forces me to stop and collapse to the ground that I stop running. I try to listen for the sound of Star following me but it's useless. I can't hear anything above the wind and the howls.
Part of me is screaming to keep moving, but the rest of me just can't. Not yet. I begin to think about the situation. Star wanted to kill me under the blanket of darkness, an easy kill. She would have no way of knowing exactly where I ran, considering I couldn't even see her when she was on top of me. If she did make the risky choice of trying to follow me out into the darkness, there's almost no way she stayed on my tail. I decide I'm safe from Star. I'm safe from the Careers. I'm not safe from the cold, or the growling beasts, or whichever tributes were out here before sunset. I try to think if I heard the cannon fire since the sun went down, but there is no way I would have been able to hear it anyways.
I draw my knees up to my chest, resting my head between them. There's no point in trying to guard myself from tribute attack or from whatever dangers lurk since I can't see or hear anything. I just try to protect my face from the cold and blowing sand. I finally realize that I left my shirt behind on the cornucopia and that I am left without anything to cover my bare back with. I just curl into myself waiting for the light of morning. Moments or minutes or hours later, I can't be sure since it felt like an eternity but I had no true way of telling time, the first rays of light began to appear over the mountains. In the grey light I begin to look around me to assess the situation. The wind has died down to a gentle breeze, the howling has stopped completely and I am sitting literally feet away from the girl from 3. She is similar in age to Emily and Star but looks nothing like them. Her porcelain skin is covered in tiny scratches, her black hair dirtied with sand, and her legs are all but torn to shreds. She is conscious and silently sobbing, waiting for the end, I'm sure. I walk over to her, not really sure what to say or if I can help.
Her eyes widen in terror as she sees me approach. I take a knee near her face and smile weakly. "Hey, I'm Finnick. Shitty night?"
She chuckles a bit, though it clearly causes her pain. "Muttations. Some type of wolf-beast with bio-enhanced vision. We were blind but they could see us perfectly well. It got my legs before I managed to stab it. My name is Chimi."
"Chimi. I don't understand half of what you said, but I'm going to look at your legs and see if I can't help fix you up. Can't let a pretty thing like you be in that much pain." I swivel down to face her legs and see that the gashes are deep, but not immediately life threatening. With the proper care she'd be able to live…but she wouldn't get the proper care her in the arena and would be forced to die slowly and painfully.
Suddenly two parachutes appear drifting toward us. I open the first and it's medicated rubbing alcohol with a note from Mags: "Try. Stay with her till end. Give her your pants. –M" The second parachute contains a full breakfast of eggs and bread from district 4 and another note from Mags "Good work with Star. They love you. –M"
I head back to Chimi carrying the two parachutes and metal pods. "Here. Let's have a bit to eat and then I'll get to work on those legs of yours. Don't want to be doing that on an empty stomach." So I break the bread in two handing her one half and eating the other half myself. There were two eggs, already boiled, so I hand her one, but she refuses to eat it. "Finnick, it's illogical for you to be trying to help me live. Only one of us can and I'm so much closer to death. Please just let me die." I lock my eyes with hers, looking grim, before breaking into a smile. "Way to be dramatic Chimi. It's just an egg. How about you get the egg and I get a kiss?" She looks confused, on top of pained, but nods her assent. So I lean in, pressing my lips to hers, gently bringing my hand to her face.
"OK. Here's the egg," I say, handing it to her. "I'm going to see what I can do about your legs. I have medication they sent us. It will probably hurt… a lot. I'm going to have to take off what's left of your pants to make bandages out of the scraps. I'll give you mine to wear once it's all done. Deal."
"I don't under…whatever…deal." I gingerly pull her shredded pants off and cut the remaining material into strips with my knife. I don't really have a way of soaking the strips effectively other than just putting them on the gashes and then pouring the alcohol on. Each time I do, Chimi squirms and cries in pain. Her eyes fill with tears but she remains conscious. When I've finally treated all of the wounds on her legs, I pull my own pants off, leaving me in a small tight pair of underwear. I pull my pants up her legs and lay back down next to her, leaning over to give her a kiss. "How you holding up?"
"It's remarkable. The pain is gone. It feels like my legs are just heavy and fat." As I lay next to her I ask her about her home district, what her favorite thing to do is. We keep an eye out for danger while we talk, but no one seems to be moving. Only the sun. Another parachute drops out of the sky carrying more bread and this time cheese with another note from Mags "Time to move. Emily. –M"
"Here's some bread" I say breaking my loaf in half. "Think you can walk? I want to head back to the cornucopia for more water." Chimi's forehead furrows quickly with concern, but then relaxes and she nods in assent. I help her to her feet, pulling her in for another kiss before we slowly make our way down the mountains. I'm surprised at how quickly Chimi is able to move given how her legs looked just a few hours ago. But, somehow we manage to make our way back into the main desert. I see the cornucopia through the waves of heat radiating up from the desert. I can make out the shapes of four people standing on it. My heart starts to race wondering who is missing, and how exactly will I be able to handle the careers with just my knife and net. Suddenly, Chimi collapses next to me gasping for breath.
"Chimi. Is it your legs? What's wrong?"
"I…I can't breathe."
"I'm confused. I thought the mutations only got your legs?"
"There must have been a neurological agent. Some sort of venom. I'm dying Finnick."
"No. You're fine. You'll be ok. We'll just get you some water."
"It's better this way. Now you won't have to be the one who kills me. Finnick, will you kiss me and hold me till it's over. It shouldn't be long."
I sit down, crossing my legs, and pull her head into my lap. I kiss her, my chin bumping against her nose and hers against mine. I cradle her head and begin to sing a song from District 4. It's a song they sing on the boats when someone dies at sea.
The wind in your hair
The salt on your skin,
The sun setting there,
We'll see you again.
As the moon rises,
As the tides churn,
Boats of all sizes,
Will take us, take us all in turn.
Chimi's chest stops rising and falling, and the cannon fires signaling her passing. I kiss her lips once more as a hovercraft appears to collect her body. As I stare up at the hovercraft I see next to it a rather large parachute appear, attached to a very large capsule. When it finally reaches the ground I rush over and open it surprised to find, what is probably the most expensive gift from sponsors I have ever seen, a silver trident. The note attached to the trident simply says "End it. –M"
Alright. This is it. This must be the sign. Let's do this. I grip my trident in my right hand. It feels almost like an extension of my arm. Just like the ones I grew up fishing with. I pause for a second imagining how much like my father I must look right now. Unlike the rest of District 4, I was well-fed growing up, having two victors as parents meant there was never a shortage of food or even luxuries. But that didn't stop my dad from taking me out on the boat fishing with him every day. Nor did it stop my mom from teaching me how to make nets from just rope every night. I grew up more quickly than the rest of the kids in the district. I already had the makings of a pretty decent beard, that in a surprising turn of events, Adoria let me keep. I was already as tall as my father and only slightly less muscular. I was even mistaken for him a few times in the markets back at home. I took that one moment, thinking of myself as my dad, posing trident and net in hand, before I charged forward to the cornucopia.
Star is standing armed with two sabers next to Apollo who is wielding a cross bow. Emerald stands ready with a pick axe. Drill is carrying a mace in one hand and a hammer in the other.
There is no way I'm getting out of this unscathed, I think. But, there is definitely no way they are making it out of this alive. Apollo fires a bolt from his crossbow, missing me by at least six feet. Thank God he's a poor shot. I switch my trident to my left hand with my net. Reaching back, I pull my knife out of its resting place in the band of my underwear. While running, without thinking about the repercussions, I throw the knife, hitting Apollo in the neck before he even has a chance to reload. He crumples to the ground as I near the cornucopia.
I switch my trident back to my right hand as the cannon signaling Apollo's death. I throw my net at Drill. As he struggles to free himself, I hurl my trident toward him, impaling him in the chest. He falls to his knees as I reach him. I pull the trident back out, pull it back, then drive it home into his neck. Blood sprays from his wounds to cover the front of my body. As I pull my trident back out, I feel the metal Emerald's pickaxe bury into my left shoulder. Before she can remove it, I drive my trident backwards into her gut forcing her to double over. I grab my net with my now blood socked, nearly-numb left hand. I turn around, throwing my net at Star as soon as I see her, trapping her sabers and arms. I drive my trident down through Emerald's skull with both hands, though it sends waves of pain through the left side of my body. Star frees herself from the net as the cannon booms for Emerald. I remove my trident from Emerald, the pickaxe still buried deep into my left shoulder, take aim and throw it forward. It tears through Star's stomach, sorely disappointing me. It should have been a kill shot. Probably the pain of the pickaxe in me was ruining my aim. As Star slumps forward grabbing her gut, sabers still in hand, I saunter forward, pulling the pickaxe out of my flesh. My arrogance got the best of me, and Star, in her final act, pulls her sabers down in an X motion, leaving painful glistening slices across my chest. Only flesh wounds though.
"Thanks for the memories, Star." I swing the axe, driving the already bloody point into her left temple. She falls to the side, lifeless. The cannon that fires confirming my suspicions. Is this it? I wait for the announcement of the end but it never comes. There must still be a tribute alive out there, in the mountains. Shit.
Just as the pain from the pickaxe wound becomes excruciating I see two more parachutes coming from the now pinkening sky. I, along with every other citizen of Panem, have watched every hunger games and have never seen a tribute get this many parachutes. I can't imagine what deals Mags is spinning but, I don't mind. The first parachute holds more medication, this time a goop that I liberally apply to the wounds on my shoulder and chest. Instantly the pain subsides, and maybe I imagine it, but I swear I can see the crossed slices across my chest already beginning to fade. The note with the medication simply says "Good job. –M" The next parachute contains a freshly roasted fatfish. Nearly fifty years ago, there was a famine on land. The crops and farm animals all died and all of Panem relied on the fisheries of district 4 for food. The capitol stepped in and created a genetic alteration of a catfish. This mutant ate seaweed, which was readily available on the coasts of four, was dumb, reproduced rapidly, and above all, was incredibly meaty. One fatfish could feed a family of four for three days. Of course, after the famine ended, the capital came back in and collected almost all of the domesticated fatfish, but they couldn't do anything about those that had made it past the fish-farms into the ocean. It became illegal to ship fatfish to any district but the capital, so it was the staple food of District 4. I began eating the greasy fish, not caring about the blood that still dripped from my hands. It tasted so good, almost just like home. The note with the fatfish was just two words "Do nothing. –M"
As the pink in the sky turned to red, the anthem began to play. Time to see who was left. The faces of all four careers and Emily appeared in the sky before any others. Chimi appears, the girl from six appears, the boy from 11 appears. Ok. So it's me and the boy from 9, whatever his name is. I try to search my memory for all I know about him. I can't remember his name, but he was old, almost certainly seventeen. He had a shock of red hair, and had received a 6 from the training judges. That's all I know. But if Mags says do nothing, I'll do nothing. I guess I can just sit here on the cornucopia, blood-stained and nearly naked, eating fatfish. The anthem ends, the sun fades, and the winds pick up. Screw this. I walk around to the opening of the cornucopia, still munching on fatfish and carrying my bloody trident, and sink down into the belly of the horn. I'm sheltered completely from the winds, and even the cold is tolerable with a belly full of warm, greasy fish. Soon the howls being. I have no idea where the tribute from 9 is, but I definitely would not want to trade positions. I wonder how he lasted this long. If the hounds killed most of the tributes in the mountains from the night before, he must have been lucky, strong, or smart to avoid death himself. Just as I think this, I hear a whisper of a cry in the wind. Almost immediately after the winds stop, the anthem plays, and I hear the congratulatory voice of the announcer "Congratulations to the victor of the 65th Hunger Games, Finnick Odair."