Forever & Always by Taylor Swift (2010)
Shauna Morales (17), District 2 Female
I sprint as fast as I can through the thick jungle air, feet tangling with the roots of massive rubbery trees. At this point, I can't tell if I'm covered in condensation or sweat. It's probably a sour mixture of both. Even though I know I shouldn't be concerned, I heard his yell. The pained scream caused my blood to freeze, so full of terror that I just have to know if he's okay. The ensuing cannon is what has me so worried. I've never been worried in this arena, or quite frankly ever; I guess the arena really does change people.
It rains in your bedroom, everything is wrong
In my hurry, I left all my supplies behind. It shouldn't matter anyway- now that someone else has died, I'm in the final 5. All I have left is my bloody dagger. The dagger that he gave to me. Suddenly, I slip on the mossy undergrowth and slide down an incline on my back. The jungle was fairly flat, so since when does this part exist? Is it possible that the Gamemakers are altering the arena's terrain? Are they trying to bring me to him, or his killer, or what? Shut up Shauna, you are not helping yourself at all. As a child, I was raised in the academy like most other kids from Two. Grades didn't matter, and all my life has ever been focused on is winning the Games. I never had a reason to ask questions, or worry about the future. Now, the future is all I can even think about. As I skid to a stop, my muddy brown hair, frizzy with heat, flies up around me. I wish this rain would stop. Then again, he loved rain. Or at least, so I thought. I thought he loved a lot of things.
It rains when you're here and it rains when you're gone
We decided not to join the career pack this year, for they were all idiots. Marcel and I, both scoring a 9, were by far the most dangerous pair in the arena. That was until the 6th day. The day that we made it into the final eight. He said he would take watch, and I fell asleep watching his beautiful face. When I awoke, he was gone; so were most of my supplies and heart.
I was there when you said forever and always
He did. He told me he would always protect me. That liar, he had planned all along to do this to me. Should I be happy he is dead? No, he is probably just protecting you. What if he isn't even dead at all? My emotions are beginning to consume me. I felt nothing when I slit the throat of the girl from 3. If I felt anything at all when I shoved the axe through the boy from 8's head, it was glee. As a career we are trained to force our emotions down. Like a volcano, I can feel mine beginning to erupt. With that, tears begin to flow down my face and I sob until I can no longer produce tears. Why did he have to go? The only reason for my volunteering was to get to know him, the golden boy, better. He only wanted me as his backup. I am beginning to feel a new emotion now.
Hate.
But did you mean it baby?
Suddenly, the grasses ahead of me part and a tall, lumbering figure wielding a longsword runs through. I quickly slide the dagger up my sleeve and turn to face my adversary. I am shocked to see Marcel's bloody but beautiful face only inches from mine. He grins, but my heart refuses to flutter. Why not turn the heat up in this arena before the Gamemakers decide to?
"Shauna!" he exclaims, "I've been looking all over for you! Are you ready to win this?" If I didn't know any better, I'd think he was being sincere. He'd discarded his sword a few feet behind him, and was rushing towards me to embrace me. I can now clearly see the cause of his scream; he has a long, bloody gash stretching down the side of his face. While it is bleeding slightly, it is a shallow cut and does not appear to be serious.
"I've been looking for you too." I respond sweetly, purposely avoiding the last question. I have no reason to win, for I didn't volunteer to come out alive- at least, not until ten minutes ago. I mean, I could win for the glory of my district, but the victors say you truly never do leave the arena.
"Great. Now let's go down this trail to the lake. I think the remaining tributes will be drawn-" He starts, clearly going back into the unreachable, tactical sector of his mind that I'm not allowed to pass into. I hadn't even realized it existed until he left and I saw through his façade.
"Marce, I had a different idea in mind." I say with a seductive wink. I can't allow him to go all robot on me, so I guess I might have to appeal to his boyish side. He begins to smile wickedly and hungrily, meaning that my plan is working. "Now close your eyes and count to 10. The Capitol is about to receive a good show." All men must truly be filthy pigs, because he complies without saying a single word. News flash, horn-dog: this is the arena, the place where those with trust die. Well, I guess not- I'm living proof that's not entirely true.
I don't think so
He sits cross-legged on the ground like a 10 year old newbie in the academy. I gently shove him into the ground, landing on top of him. I can see him peeking at me, a little disappointed my shirt only has two lose buttons. Suddenly, I force my knees into his hands, drawing a sharp gasp from him.
"I don't think you realize what is truly going on, do you?" I say playfully. He looks perplexed but remains quiet. "Whatever, I'll explain to you in Hell." His eyes shoot completely open, but before he can fully comprehend my statement I am wielding my dagger, plunging it deep into his chest. His eyes roll back in his head as blood immediately flows from his mouth. As I twist the dagger, he screams in agony, causing more blood to ooze from his body. I then pull out my dagger, carving a small hole in his chest. There still hasn't been a cannon, but that just allows me to make him suffer longer. Unfortunately, his screams are gradually transitioning into moans. Using my blade, I rip his still-beating heart straight out of his chest. He stole my heart and broke it; it was simply my turn to return the favor. Finally, the cannon booms, and Marcel Young is nothing more than the corpse that receives 5th place.
Wiping off his blood on my pants, I look down at my dagger while still sitting on his corpse. I can actually make out my reflection in the blade; I can see a girl with long, dark red-brown hair and brown eyes. Wait, since when is my hair red? She isn't the girl who seduced half of Panem during the interviews, nor the girl that was a proud, strong, murderous career. This girl is nothing more than a measly tribute, looking worse than the girl from 12 that was cleaved in half. Then, I realize that she is me. The only thing I've never wanted to be labeled as is a tribute. I'm a career, and that's that. But looking at both the dead body under me and my own reflection, I can see that in death, status doesn't matter. It doesn't matter how hard you try to be remembered and make a difference; you die a tribute and nothing more.
I'm an evil, murderous bitch. I'm in the final four, and though the trainers back at home would be happy at my success, I don't see how the hell they could call the demon that I am "success." I let out a hollow laugh, realizing how big of an idiot I am and always have been. Before I even know what I'm doing, the knife that just claimed my partner's life is buried deep within my neck.