We Don't Play Pretend Anymore
The countdown has begun. Each second is marked by a clear beep, but the longer I wait the more beeps I hear, and I can't tell if they're seconds anymore or just my mind mockingly echo the last sounds of my life. The sound grates on me, pulsing louder and louder, building up in my head until it feels like something has to give.
Bing.
Then, something does. The platform beneath our feet gives way. The concrete and gravel clash together, cracking into pieces. Amongst the sounds of rocks exploding and caving in on one another I hear screams, some merely of surprise but others of agony. I wonder, out of all those snapping noises, how many were bones breaking and skulls crushing? Did the popping and cracking cover the sounds of little, dainty children gurgling on blood, with tears in their eyes hoping that they're suddenly going to be able to breathe easy again?
My body lies on top of a dirt covered stone slab. My head aches, and out of the corner of my eye, I see a few droplets of blood splattered on the slab I lay on. Blood flows down from my forehead and clings to my eyelashes. It reminds me of the pretty makeup I got to wear when I rode the chariot down the narrow street; people chanted my name like I was their god. Now I think I was really just a sacrifice. I'm just a virgin, destined to be thrown into the pits of the volcano.
I blink once. The blood droplet, once stuck to a single eyelash, drops from hair gracefully. It slides down the side of my face like a tear. When I think about it, it describes my transformation excellently, the queen of rubies to the corpse of crimson.
Looking up, I can see the sky that we'd fallen from. Debris still erodes away from the cut corners of the land our feet stood on moments ago. It flakes away and falls from the sky. I'd get gleeful and call it snow if it didn't look so much like ashes. The dust has yet to settle, the embers have yet to die, and the ashes have yet to stop drifting from the opening in the sky. It looks like the world has ended and for twenty three of us it is.
As beautifully disastrous as the scene is, I can't take a minute longer to admire it. I move to get up but nothing budges. My arms work, my fingers wiggle, my neck leans, my lips twitch, but all my legs do is hurt. All they do is burn and ache and pinch.
Oh, please, let me move. Let me have a chance. This isn't fair. I'm sixteen. Don't make me wait. The tears that have built up begin to spill, not in calm streams but roaring rivers.
Everywhere I look people are fighting. They're screaming and pleading. The little girl from district seven is hiding in the shadows, face red and hands drawn together. She's praying. She's praying for someone to save her when no one will and her hands shake because she knows no one will, too. A red headed boy tries to claw his way up the steep incline to get out of the hole we're all trapped in. He curses every time his feet slide out from under him but he doesn't give up. He doesn't curl up and wait to die.
The careers are having a field day. They carve holes threw their opponents with ease. The girl from district two looks gleeful, like she's making art. The lady from district one looks remorseful, like she's sorry, but that doesn't stop her from dragging the little girl from seven out of her hiding place. Her mumblings become screeches. Her skin tight white shirt blooms with roses every time the older girl thrusts a weapon deep into her stomach.
I use my arms to pull my body away from the carnage. I don't get far. My fingernails pop off and each one bleeds more than the last. My arms and knuckles scrape themselves on the rugged ground. I leave a trail of blood in my wake.
I want to live. I don't want to die here.
The district two female sees me from across the way and her malicious smile makes me sob. I shake my head as she gets nearer. I bite my lips and taste blood and I close my eyes and feel tears. I open my mouth and hear whimpers.
"Please, please, no! I want to live. I don't want to die here. I don't want to die like this, "I cry.
Her smirk grows and she raises her knife.
"Stop," The girl from district one orders from behind her back.
They exchange meaningful looks. D2 growls and spits and hisses but D1 just stares, she stares blankly with a dead look in her eyes and D2 howls and spits some more before she scrambles away.
D1 looks at me. She looks at my tears and my bruises and my scrapes and I look in her eyes. Her eyes aren't dead anymore. They look warm.
"I don't want to die," I whisper. She grabs my hand gently and holds it in her own. I don't feel safe but I feel warm again.
"I don't either," She confesses, I think I almost hear a crack in her voice.
She gathers me in her arms and runs a hand through my hair, so soothingly. I tremble against her with sobs. A sharp pain hits me in the side and I hear a wet sound and then I feel the same sharp pain and another thud, hitting me in the center of my back.
I'm overwhelmed with the need to cough. When I do, I see blood come from my mouth and splatter the front of the D1 girls' shirt.
Blood fills my mouth at an alarming rate now. I can feel by body began to struggle and my hands and arms spasm but my legs still lay prone. I look up again, into the green eyes of the D1 lady, "I didn't want to die."
When my sight bleeds from color to darkness I hear a single thing, spoken so softly and kindly that I swear it must have been from an angel.
"I didn't want you to either."