This is an entry for Starvation forum's Writing Challenge: One-Shot Hunger Games, July 2012, with the prompt of 'Icing'. I hope you enjoy reading it, because I certainly enjoyed writing it!
Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games. But I do kind of own this story, if that makes sense?
Death By Icing
The metal plates rise up to reveal the arena to all of the competing tributes. And it wasn't what they were expecting. They expected some sort of natural-looking landscape. Maybe woodlands, plains, mountains. Beaches, rivers, lakes. Even a desert, despite its unpopularity in the Capitol – it made the competition end way too soon for their liking. They certainly weren't expecting a giant cake for an arena. What kind of a Gamemaker designed this?
The answer to this was simple. A Head Gamemaker with nothing to lose. Peeta Mellark knew that the audience would want a surprise, and with President Everdeen practically signing his execution order this very moment, he didn't see why he couldn't be a little spontaneous for his final job. After all, all they want is a show, and what better show could there be than a load of kids killing each other on a giant dessert? It adds in the humour factor, which no Head Gamemaker has ever attempted to achieve in the past. But this could be a breakthrough. Perhaps if it were popular in the Capitol, future Games could contain this sort of entertainment too. And it might even spare Peeta Mellark his life. Yeah, right.
Claudius Templesmith is already thirty seconds through his countdown. Half a minute to go. Peeta is ecstatic in his control room along with his colleagues. It is nearly time for his creation to come to life. After all those years working at the bakery, with nobody believing he would amount to anything, here he finally was, standing before his dream.
Ten, nine, eight. He watches the screen intently as it flashes between each of the tributes' poised positions.
Seven, six, five. He bites his lip and covers it with his hands through anticipation and nervousness.
Four, three, two. An over-head shot of the arena reveals the gigantic cake in all its glory, icing and all.
One. The gong sounds and the tributes charge across the great amass of blue frosting - handmade by Avoxes, of course – some running towards the Cornucopia, others away towards the lower tiers of the edible masterpiece. Of course, none get far. Peeta knew they wouldn't. He made sure of it, by ordering the frosting to be seven foot deep. They would never get out once they went in. Almost simultaneously, twenty-four teenagers disappear from view of the cameras, from view of Panem, from view of the world. Never to be seen again. Alive, at least. Because Peeta knew that the icing wouldn't sustain the weight of a single one of them. He knew that they were all doomed from the get-go. Doomed to death by icing, suffocation by sickly-sweetness. If Peeta Mellark has to die, let there be fire. The later repercussions for the president would be revenge enough.
The Head Gamemaker crosses the room to a small panel on the wall, taps the numbers '2' and '4', then hits 'ENTER'. Twenty-four cannons are heard all across Panem, on every television set in the country. There is no victor. The Games lasted ten seconds at the most. Peeta smiles as Peacekeepers break into the room and handcuff him to be taken to the president. He had won now, no matter what they did to him.
He is thrown upon his knees before President Everdeen, the first ever female president of Panem. As Peeta looked up at her, he simply laughed. "Did you like your surprise, Katniss, my dear root?"
"No," she replies, hostility in her voice, "But I'm sure the rest of Panem has thoroughly enjoyed itself."
"Well, you always were a hard one to please," Peeta Mellark replies to her. With a harsh crack like a whip on every step, President Everdeen walks over to a clear desk on her high heels. She takes a hold of a drawer's handle, and pulls it open, before placing its contents on the desk. All that sits there is a cupcake, carefully swirled with a deep purple coat of icing. The president delicately peels off the paper case, before splitting it into two halves. She hands one over to Peeta, nodding to the Peacekeepers to undo his shackles and then leave, which they do.
"Eat." She says. Peeta takes hold of his cupcake slice. The colour of the icing seems familiar to him somehow. He knows he must have worked with one of its ingredients whilst designing the arenas. Whatever it is, it can't be good – he knows that, but he welcomes it with a bite, anyway. He's pretty sure that this will kill him, because the president is just twisted like that. She is no longer the desperate young woman he met in the rain all those years ago.
Once the bite is taken, there isn't even enough time for his life to flash before his eyes before he slumps dead to the ground. Nightlock acts far too quickly for that.
President Katniss Everdeen laughs a short, amused laugh. She delves her index finger into the icing of her own safe half of the cupcake. After licking the sugary mixture from her finger, she smiles to herself. "Death by icing. How sweet."
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