If you recognise it, it's not mine.
As I sit in my old chair in front of my home in the Victors Village, I listen to the waves lapping on the shore. The last cry of a late gull. A soft breeze floating through the trees. It would almost be peaceful, if I could forget everything. But today they announced the Quarter Quell. I could go into the arena again. Or worse, I could watch one of the young girls I've mentored over the last sixty years go in. I am one of the oldest victors, probably the only one who remembers, however faintly, how it used to be. But when I was about four years old, everything changed.
My family owned the fishing supplies factory. Me, my parents, my brothers Trawler and Crest, and my sister, Anya. Anya was two years older than me, but she was my best friend. We both worked with the hooks, hammering gleaming pieces of metal into shape. Every so often, though, a siren would go off, and we would run down to the cellar, to hide from the riots, the bombs. Trawler was eight, Crest was nine, Anya was six. They sort of knew what was happening. I didn't. All I knew was that in the Capitol, someone was trying to kill my home. Our family weren't rebels. Father made that clear. If any of us attempted to join the fight, we were no longer welcome in our family. A few months later, District Thirteen was destroyed. The Capitol won. The First Hunger Games started a matter of months later. I watched the terrified children turn from victims of the adult's crimes to ruthless, mad killers. That year, the victor had only won because so many committed suicide. He was about to slit his own throat when the hovercraft picked him up. That night, the first nightmares came.
Ten years later, they became worse. Crest was safe from the reapings, and Trawler was in his last year at eighteen. Anya was sixteen and I was almost fourteen. As the names were drawn out, I recognised the boy who was called. Net, everyone called him, because he was so good at making the things. He must have been about seventeen. Then the girl's name was read out. And it wasn't Anya, or any of my friends from school.
It was me.
All I knew was a empty, roaring silence as I mounted the stage. The woman cheerily asked for volunteers. Nobody speaks up. As she turns to finish her little ceremony, I hear it. A sobbing shriek.
"Stop! I volunteer! Please, please, I volunteer! Please!"
Dizzy with relief, I step down from the stage. I don't even notice who my rescuer is, until she says her name into the microphone. And the voice is the same one which has laughed with me, talked to me, soothed me to sleep ever since I can remember. As I turn round, I know who I will see standing on the stage. My sister.
Anya.
That year, I watched my sister parade round the streets of the Capitol dressed up in a skimpy fisherman's outfit. I watched her learn to survive, to fight, to kill. I watched her getting one of the top scores, a ten. I watched her in the interviews, so confident, so smooth.
I watched as she grabbed the best supplies from the Cornucopia. I watched as she saved Net's life by throwing a knife into the back of an attacker. And I watched as he turned round, spear in hand, and threw it. I watched my sister die. And that was all I could do. Watch. Net didn't win. The girl from Nine did. But nobody at home watched it. Except me. One day, Crest went out and never came back. Then father. Then Trawler. As he left, he told me to look after mother. But a few days later, a body washed up on the shore. I watched as every member of my family was taken from me. I was fourteen.
I would have gone to live in the community home, if it wasn't for the Blakes. They had a daughter, ten years old. Sweet, tiny Flow. I used to babysit for her, until they took me in. I became a sort of big sister to her. I stayed with them for two years, until the unthinkable happened. It was her first year. I was sixteen, she was twelve. Her name was in five times though. We weren't exactly rich. Mine was in... I had lost count. I had put it in just once when I was twelve, but then taken out tesserae when I saw Flow doing it. It's kind of confusing. I prefer fishhooks. At least then you can see what you're doing. But back then, at the reaping, I could see, hear, the whole lot. So I heard her name being read out. Saw the tears on her parents faces. Because the name they read out was Flow Blake.
I couldn't let this happen to Flow, little Flow who I'd known since she was a toddler. I couldn't let this happen to her parents, who had been so kind to me. So when the woman asked for volunteers, my feet moved until I was standing in the narrow path to the stage. People moved to let me pass. "I volunteer." My voice came out as a croak, and for a minute I'm terrified that nobody will hear me, that they'll take her away and I will lose another sister. I try again, louder. "I volunteer as tribute."
The woman smiles. "And we have a volunteer! Up you come dear, don't be shy! What's your name?"
Flow is crying, her thin, starved body clinging to mine. "Mags, no! No! Mags, you can't go! Let me go, please, Mags!"
But eventually, a peacekeeper prises her away.
"Well, no need to ask your name then!" That woman again. Why does she have to end all her sentences with exclamation marks?
The boy gets chosen. A tall guy, kinda skinny though. Lanky. I know his name, sort of. As he walks to the stage, he catches my eye, just for a second. But it's long enough for me to remember. It was just after they found my mother's body, swept up to the sand like a piece of driftwood. I was stumbling back along the cliffs to my house, when I met him. Just lying in the path. I didn't see him at first, eyes blurred by tears. So I tripped. I would have gone over the edge, but he shot his arm out and grabbed my leg. I fell heavily, landing on a pile of sandy pebbles, but at least I was alive. I looked up and saw a pair of deep green eyes, exactly the glassy colour of the sea after a storm, a slow, sad smile on his face. I didn't say anything sensible, just gabbled my thanks and ran away, to the horrible privacy of the empty house.
Now those eyes find me again, and again I can't say anything, because this is on live television right now. All I can do is shake his hand and smile for the cameras. But later, I catch his name. Brine. Brine Murphy. As I go to bed that night, I finally sort out this web of emotions inside me. My new family, Flow and her parents, will have to watch this. If it wasn't for me, her name would have been in there less times. But now they will watch me fight and probably die. That, or Flow will watch me become a murderer. Killer or corpse. That's what my future holds for me now. Brine Murphy should have let me die on that cliff.
During our time in the Capitol, our mentor, a slim young woman called Coral, explains what our strategies will be. "Well, I got sponsors by making myself seem likeable, funny, but a bit mysterious! Maybe you just have to find an attitude which works for you!"
I wonder if 'exasperated' would be appropriate. Probably not. Next to me, Brine looks as if he feels the same. Later, when Coral and the escort, who turns out to be called Rosalie Frill, have fluttered off somewhere, I catch Brine on his own. I'm planning to ask him what he was doing on the cliff that day, but he beats me to it.
"So, two years ago, you nearly fling yourself off a cliff before my very eyes. What was all that about then?"
The light, casual way he says this irritates me, causing me to snap back. "I tripped. Besides, you can't talk. You were just lying there, right in the middle of the path. Waiting for someone to roll you off the edge?"
He raises his eyebrows. "Well, now you mention it, I was actually planning on how to tell the girl I loved that I was going to volunteer for the arena in a couple of years, to test out a new theory of mine."
This boy has problems.
"Who is she then?"
"Who was she, you mean. She died. Two years ago, almost."
Mentally, I flip through the deaths two years ago. Not so many, I think. A couple of babies. A little boy who got pneumonia. The whole crew of a ship in a storm. Maybe more, but I might not have noticed. That was the year my family died, the year Anya was killed in the...
"What was her name?"
"I didn't know her second name. But I knew everything else. Her hair,pale yellow like the sand on the beach. Her eyes, clear blue like the sky in the morning. I knew where she lived, worked, everything. When she died, I thought I'd lost every chance in the world. But there was one thing left. One person. A girl. I didn't know her name. But she was the only thing which helped me hold it together. After Anya died."
"You loved my sister?"
"Yes. Did she love me?"
"I don't know. Who was the girl who was left?"
I ask, even though I think I already know the answer. Brine is suddenly flustered.
"You never answered my question. What were you doing, falling off the cliff that day?"
He's trying to avoid it, but I'm very, very good at getting answers.
"Who was that girl?"
"You already know."
"Tell me."
"Only if you tell me why you were on that cliff."
I glared at him, because I didn't want to relive that moment. I'm on the verge of walking out right then, when he speaks.
"The girl who was left behind. If I let her die as well, I would never forgive myself. That girl, I came to care for her as well. Her name-"
I know. The girl who was left behind.
"Brine, what do you mean, care for her?"
Tears in his eyes, he nods.
"Hello, Mags."
We sit in silence for about half an hour. Slowly, our hands find each other. Then I can't hold the tears back. Rosalie Frill pokes her head round the door, but quickly vanishes. I hear her silly heels clacking away down the train.
"I was on that cliff because the road was full of people. You remember a body washed up that year?"
He nods, not sure where this was leading.
"Well, that was my mother. My brothers and my father had left a few days before. I don't know what happened to them. My whole life just fell apart after Anya..."
Brine's face is a mixture of shock, horror and recognition.
"I had no idea. I knew that the business closed down, but I didn't know that was why. I knew a body washed up, but I didn't know that was who it was. "
He wouldn't. Vanishing isn't uncommon in District Four, but it definitely isn't made public.
"I'm going to bed now" I say abruptly, standing up. At the door, I pause and look at him.
"If Anya was already dead, why were you planning to tell her about that plan of yours?"
His only reply is a slow, sad smile. As I shut the door, I realise that I never asked what his plan was.
The next day, we get dragged off with our stylists, enduring hours of tugging and rubbing. My prep team chirp happily about mundane things, that or they shriek at me because of something like my bitten nails, or the tiny scars on my palms from accidents with fishhooks. Eventually though, my hair is swept up in a bun with little twisty curls straggling down. I can barely see through long eyelashes and my face feels heavy with powders and creams. My nails have false long extensions, painted deep blue with white tips, like a cresting wave. I have to wear a ridiculously high pair of heels, which are the same clear blue as my eyes. But my dress, my dress is a long, strapless wonder. The skirt flicks out on each side at the bottom. And the whole lower half of the sea green fabric is covered in sequins. They glint in the light, making me unrealistically beautiful. I turn to the mirror, and find that Orion, my stylist, has covered it with a cloth.
"Just one finishing touch."
He reaches out and places a mask over my eyes. Then he lets the curtain fall. The creature who stares back at me is wearing a dark mask studded with pearls. Her blue eyes shine clearly through it. Her hair is twisted into an elaborate, shining crown. And her dress flies into two parts at the bottom. Like a tail. Because Orion has turned me into a mermaid.
At our chariot, Brine is already waiting. He's dressed in a similar outfit to mine, though he doesn't have a dress, thank goodness. His hand reaches out to adjust my mask.
"Hair like sand on the beach,"he says wistfully, "and eyes like a clear morning."
We step into the chariot, which is made entirely out of silver and shaped like a giant seashell. The first chariot begins to move. Our white horses prick up their ears as the second chariot rolls out. As we ride through the door, I catch glimpses of the other chariots. One has a little boy dressed in a huge mining outfit. Another has a couple of trees. District Eleven look pretty good, dressed in intricate braided fabric which looks like rows of corn. But I catch a look at the screens, and see that we look beautiful, majestic, powerful. Someone throws a bunch of beautiful blue and white flowers to me. I bring it to my lips, then scatter them to the crowd. I see Brine stoop to retrieve one of them, tucking it into his sleeve.
As we curve into the loop of the City Circle, the crowd is roaring our names.
We made quite a good impression, really. Enough to get quite a few unfriendly glares as we assemble for training. I look round. Several young kids this year, twelve or thirteen years old. A few stronger ones. Brine glances round too, pointing out some of the other tributes. As the trainer finishes her speech, I wander off to find something good to do. I'm alright at knots and stuff, but somewhat lacking in the weapons department. I go to an area with a large array of knives first. Glancing up, I notice a few Gamemakers watching me. Picking up a knife, I choose a target. Throw the knife. And miss. The Gamemakers turn away, bored. The trainer comes over and begins to instruct me. After an hour, I can hit the target from forty metres away, and I'm not too bad with a spear either. At lunch, I track down Brine.
"So, what's this grand plan of yours? The one you've been plotting for two years?"
He sighs. "I'll tell you later. When there's less people."
And sure enough, he does. I ignored Coral and Rosalie hammering on my door for me to come to dinner, and ordered some stew from the kitchen. When I finished, there was a tap on the door. I went and opened it, but there was nobody there. Then I heard it again, but on a different door. I strode to the bathroom and yanked open the door. Brine fell out, grinning all over his face.
"What were you doing there!" I yelled. He laughed.
"Waiting for you to stop wandering around. "
"What! This is my room! I can wander around as much as I-"
I stop, realising how stupid I sound. "What are you doing here now then?"
"Well, I was planning on telling you the story of my life, and where my theory fits in, but if you want me to leave..."
I really want to slap him now. "Fine. Stay. But you'd better talk fast."
"OK. I'll start when I first met your sister. I was about ten. She must have been eleven or so. Even then, she was the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen. It was the first day of term, and she was taking you to your class. She wasn't sure where it was though. I knew, so I stepped in. I walked up to her and asked if she was lost. She didn't like that. As I remember, she let go of your hand and told me that she knew the way around the school, thank you very much. But then, as I was walking away, she called me back."
"How did she know your name?" I interrupted. Brine laughed.
"She didn't. She actually said, 'fine, little skinny guy, tell me where my sister's class is.' But it didn't matter to me. Anya had noticed me. Back then, it was just a little crush. But a few years later, I met her again. Well, sort of. I was lying on that cliff. It's my favourite place. She was running along the cliff, I don't know why. She tripped over a rock. It sent her over the edge. I knew a path. It would take too long to get to the bottom, but I had to try. I leapt down, to a ledge about ten metres high. She wasn't there. As I peered over the edge, I heard a scream. Too late, I saw the hand slipping off the edge of the ledge. She fell, straight into a rockpool. I ran down. I was never really strong, but I hauled her out. I lifted her into my arms and took her back up the cliff. As I laid her down, I couldn't tell if she was breathing. I just sat there, stroking her hair. Even damp, it looked like the soft, fine sand on the beach. Suddenly her eyes opened, and I swear that they were the same colour as the sky on the morning after a storm. She moaned.
"What's wrong?" I asked, worried.
"Where am I? What happened?"
"You fell off the cliff. Into a rockpool."
"Who are you?"
"My name is Brine Murphy. I go to your school. I'm in the year below you."
She nodded, but then she seemed to remember something.
"My sister. I've got to get back."
She tried to stand up, but her leg buckled underneath her. I caught her before she hit the ground. She'd sprained her ankle. I had to carry her back, along the cliff path. As I left her at the house, she called after me. "Hey, Brine? See you around."
I remember that day. Anya came home with a limp. She said that she'd slipped in the street. That was odd, because she'd gone out to get driftwood from the beach. But I didn't question it at all. Maybe I should have.
"So where does this theory come into it then?"
"Well, in the Games, you sometimes get alliances. What I was thinking was-"
Coral stuck her head round the door.
"Oh, there you are. Everyone else is going to bed now. I suggest you do the same."
Brine gets up to leave.
"See you in the morning then, Mags."
"Yeah. See you around, Brine."
As the door closes, I catch a glimpse of a tear on his cheek.
The rest of training passes without much happening. I learn to fight with a sword, spear, knife and axe. I try the bow and arrow, but when I nearly skewer one of the trainers, I give up. I learn to light fires, recognise plants and animals. Brine drifts around. I see him at stations quite often. He's excellent with fires, fights well with a sword, and had the trainer begging for mercy in hand to hand combat. He talks to the other tributes a lot. When we're alone on the floor set aside for District Four, however, he seems to avoid me. I try everything, hovering in the corridors, coming early and lingering at meals, sending messages via the Avoxes, but he never replies. One day, I even go straight to his room from training, hoping to slip inside and hide, like he did, but the door is locked. So we spend the last few days before the arena without exchanging a single word. Then, it's time for our private sessions. I've been avoiding the craft section so far, because I can already make fairly good nets, and of course, fishhooks. I also didn't want to reveal my best skill, my only skill, to the Gamemakers too soon. I sit next to Brine, but he ignores me. Eventually, his name is called. At the door, he turns and looks at me. 'Good luck' I mouth. He nods, and then he's gone. About half an hour later, my name is called. The Gamemakers are all smiling and laughing about something. I wonder what Brine did. I go straight to the hooks. It's wonderful, almost like old times. I make about two dozen in ten minutes. A bent nail, strands of grass, twigs, my own hair, a bowstring, a hairpin, nutshells. Anything and everything around. Eventually, I step back and the table rises to the Gamemakers. They examine my work, wiping greasy fingers before they touch them. After about five minutes, the table descends and I am told to leave. Back on floor four, we all gather in the lounge to see the scores. They show them in the same order that we went in. The tributes from One and Two get around eights. Three get six and five. Then Brine. The announcer double checks her notes before reading it out.
"Brine Murphy, District Four. A score of... eleven!"
"What did you do to them!" squeals Rosalie. Then my score gets read out. Six. Could be worse. The others get varied scores. The little boy from Twelve gets an impressive eight, as does the girl from Five. The girl from Six, however, gets a three. Afterwards, Coral and Rosalie force us to explain what we did.
"I can't see what I did which was so special," I say. "I mean, what's exciting or powerful about fishhooks?"
"They must have been exceptionally good." Brine smiles, as if he's thinking of another girl who made fishhooks.
"Well then, what did you do?"
Brine blushes.
"I beat up the Head Gamemaker."
"What!" shriek Coral and Rosalie.
"Well, I went to the middle of the room and asked for a volunteer. They all laughed and called for someone named Laurel to do it. Then he came down, in that purple cloak. I panicked then, but I led him over to the mats for hand to hand combat. And...well, he had to go for medical treatment after ten minutes. Everyone else seemed quite impressed. I guess he wasn't very popular."
Coral sighs. "You asked for a voulunteer, and they gave you Laurel Pride, probably the most powerful person in Panem, aside from the President. You didn't think that it might be a bad idea?"
Brine drops his head.
"I wanted...I mean, I wanted to make them pay. For everything."
He catches my eye, and I realise what he means.
"Well, I hope you know how you're going to explain yourselves in your interviews. Remember, don't say what you did!" Rosalie flounces out of the room in her ridiculous heels. A minute later, we hear her stumble and curse with some words that I don't think even Trawler knew. I wink at Brine. "Well, good thing I've got someone so elegant to learn to be ladylike from."
We certainly aren't joking the next day though. I have to spend two hours being prodded and pushed by Rosalie while she jabs little comments like," Don't scowl! Uncross your legs! Smile! No, not like that, like this! How is that supposed to impress the crowd!"
On and on and on. At lunch, I glance at Brine, hoping for a glimpse of the fact that the next two hours will be bearable. No such luck. We roll our eyes at each other at the same time.
Coral, if possible, is worse.
"What am I going to do with you?"
I could give her a variety of replies, but somehow, I doubt that any of them would help.
"What can you do, besides fishhooks?"
I shrug, mind on other things.
"What's Brine doing?"
"He's got some sort of story or something, but he wouldn't tell me anything!" I can agree with how frustrated Coral sounds. Maybe I can say something after all.
"I once had a sister. Maybe I can talk about her?"
Coral sighs. "Fine. I'll ask Venus if we can work in a question to lead into that. Now, go. You need to get ready."
I stare at her. "Who's Venus?"
The man who does the interviews is called Remus Beam. He's strange and creepy, dyed entirely lilac. From his toes to his hair.
"Venus Charm, one of the the new hosts? She's going to co-host with Marchell Crimson. Some people say that they were in the group who..." Her voice drops to an awed whisper. "Who decided."
Great. I'm going to actually meet some of the people whose fault it is that I'm here at all. Lucky me.
"Now, go and get ready! After all, you do need.."
I scowl at her. "Need what?"
"Oh, just a bit of...pruning!"
Okay. So I'm about to be tossed into the arena, where I could die a horrible death, and the one person responsible for my possible survival just compared me to a rosebush.
Orion, at least, doesn't try and compare me to a potted plant, but he isn't exactly positive. He doesn't say a word until I'm dressed in a simple blue gown which shimmers like light on water.
"You're going to look good, even if you don't say much. Try not to fall off the stage," he says, pointing to a pair of high heels which I would bet that even Rosalie wouldn't wear.
I protest, and he brings out a pair of sequinned flats which suit me far better.
"Thank you." I say. He gives a curt nod then beckons to the door. Friendly.
We all sit in a curve, lined at the bottom of the stage. Venus and Marchell sit on smart velvet chairs. As they open up to the crowd with some light-hearted banter, I study them. Venus is wearing a flouncy green dress which has so many frills, you could make another dress out of them. Her hair is dyed a garish shade of magenta, woven with blue streaks matching the tattoos all over her body. Marchell, if possible, looks even more freakish. His suit is normal enough, for the Capitol at least, but his head is shaved bald and dyed deep red down to his ears.
That's not the worst, however. As he roars with laughter to the crowd, I see that his eyes are dyed red as well, whites, pupils and irises. It makes him look mad, bloodthirsty, terrifying. And suddenly, I really don't want to get up on the stage. But I will have to. The anthem plays, and as it fades, the first tribute is called. A beautiful girl called Aurora. Then a tall boy called Shrine. The girl from Two, Lupa, is only twelve and reminds me of Flow, a bit. The boy is called Strider and seems quite tough. Two fifteen year olds from Three. Then me. As I walk to the stage, I'm so glad that Orion didn't force me to wear those heels. I'm trembling like a tree in the wind. Then I'm sitting in the chair and Venus is beaming at me.
"So, Mags. All ready for the arena then?"
I force a nervous laugh. "I don't know if I'll ever be ready. I mean, who could be?"
Marchell laughs heartily.
"Well, I suppose that's one way of putting it."
Venus smiles again, and with a shudder I notice that her teeth are tattooed like her skin.
"Now, Mags. Have you got a story for us?"
Here. Now. My chance to...to what? Then I remember Brine's words last night. "I wanted to make them pay. For everything. "
And suddenly I know what I'm going to say. I smile back at Venus and Marchell.
"Actually, I do. Would you care to hear it?"
They nod eagerly. So I begin.
"Two years ago, I had a sister. Her name was Anya. She was sixteen. She looked like me, blond hair, blue eyes, except far prettier. Two years ago, my sister sat in this very chair. Then she went into the arena. She had trained so hard. But she was killed by her district partner. In the bloodbath. She didn't even make it through the first day. This year, I'm here. My big sister volunteered for me. I volunteered for my little sister, Flow. Because that's how it goes, isn't it. We never want to see our sisters die."
I'm on my feet now. The crowd is so quiet, you can hear the lights buzzing.
"I watched my sister die. Then my family drifted away. It wasn't until she was gone until we realised what she meant to us. I never even got to say goodbye. I never said goodbye."
I turn and look directly into the camera.
"So, Flow, this is for you. You'll be sitting on the creaky old sofa at home in District Four. Maybe your dog has jumped up next to you, even though he's not meant to. He'll get hairs all over you, but you won't care. Just remember, I'll always love you. Goodbye, Flow. Goodbye."
The crowd is still silent, then one person, then another, slowly begin to clap. Tears are streaming down my cheeks, and as I sit again, I glance at the line of tributes and see that I'm not the only one. The tall, lanky boy in the seat next to mine drags his sleeve across his eyes, as Venus and Marchell take control again.
"Well then Panem, you heard her! Don't let those sacrifices go unnoticed!"
The buzzer goes off.
"Ladies and gentlemen, Mags, District Four!"
As I make my way back to my seat, Brine's name is called. He steps up, dragging at the sleeves of his grey-blue suit.
"Hello Brine, how are you doing?"
He grins. "Not bad, considering."
"However did you get that score? Eleven, wow!" Venus gushes.
"Ah. Well, I'm not really allowed to tell you, but all that I can say, is that Laurel Pride is probably very glad about that rule. Am I right?" he asks, glancing up at the Gamemakers. They laugh, pushing Pride to the front.
Marchell sighs, red eyes flashing.
"Oh, please. More than that. What did you do?"
Laurel Crane calls down to them. "Calm down, Marchell! The boy won't tell you anything, will you?"
"Don't worry, sir, my lips are sealed."
Venus claps her hands, eager to move things along.
"Now, how about your tactics? Got any big ideas?"
Maybe this is when he'll tell everyone what he still hasn't told me.
"Well, I was wanting to try something out. Mags's sister, Anya. She was killed by her district partner. My idea could prevent this. I want the tributes from districts One, Two and Four to join me in an alliance. We could fight together at the Cornucopia, share the supplies. It might work. It might not."
Venus is almost bouncing out of her seat.
"Why just those three districts?"
"Because they agreed. Aurora has a good job waiting. Shrine is engaged. Lupa is only twelve. Strider's mother relies on him to feed the family. And Mags doesn't want that to be her last goodbye. They all need to go home so much."
Marchell leans forward.
"What about you? What do you have to go home to?"
"I don't know. Just... the knowledge that it worked would be enough."
"What, no family?"
"I live in the community home-" Brine begins to explain, but Venus cuts in with a teasing comment.
"What does your girlfriend think of all this?"
Brine drops his head, but not before I catch the glimpse of tears in his eyes.
"I don't know. How would I? She's dead. For two years now."
Venus gasps dramatically, blinking out at the audience. "You don't mean..."
"Mags isn't the only one who misses Anya."
The buzzer goes off. And he returns to his seat. The next tribute goes up. And the next. And all the rest. I don't notice any of them. I'm too confused, worried, lost.
Later, back in the lounge, he asks me, "So, what do you think of all this?"
"What?"
"You were the only one I didn't ask. I thought you might say no."
"It sounds like an...interesting idea."
"Interesting meaning genius, insane and rebellious all at the same time?"
I laugh. "Maybe."
He stands up. "Well, I'd better go to bed. Big day tomorrow."
Then I remember his interview. Venus, "What does your girlfriend think of all this?"
And then him,"So, what do you think of all this?"
I spin round.
"Brine..."
But he's already gone.
As Orion helps me dress in the tight green suit and dark sandals, he tries to explain the various materials. "Well, the suit could be water repellent and the sandals seem fairly tough, but overall, I don't know what you'll be facing. Sorry, Mags."
Then he reaches into his pocket and brings out something else. A bracelet made of shells threaded together.
"This arrived last night. From your sister."
Flow. She sent me a token. I hadn't given it any thought, but now, I'm so, so glad. The topic of sisters makes me think of something else.
"Orion?"
The voice tells me to step on my platform.
"Did you know my sister?"
"Yes."
As the glass rises up around me, I almost miss his last words to me.
"You're so like her."
Then I'm in the arena. One minute to look around. The golden Cornucopia sits in the centre of a grassy meadow. The supplies are scattered round it. Wait, I know this grass. It's the sort which covered the dunes back home in Four. Tentatively, I sniff the air. The sharp, familiar smell of the sea wafts around me. And there are cliffs there, and there. This meadow is ringed by cliffs, perhaps with sea behind it. The gong rings out and instantly, I grab some knives, a pack which could hold anything, and whip round to see the tiny girl from Two, Lupa, dashing towards me. I raise a knife, ready for defence, when she calls out.
"Wait! We're allies, yeah?"
Oh. Right. I try and toss her a knife , but she waves it away and produces a huge sword. Then she swings it round. I yelp, and dodge to the side, but the blow isn't for me. The body of the boy from Eleven lands beside me. Lupa grins at me, an impish smile flickering across her face.
"Let's get started."
We meet up with Brine, Aurora and Strider, each splattered with the blood of other tributes. There's no sign of Shrine. I see at least four tributes escaping to the cliffs. The cannons fire. One, two, three, four, five, six...up to twelve. Half of us gone in the first day. Brine suggests we search the bodies before the hovercraft comes.
"You've got this all planned out, haven't you?" I sigh.
That's how we find Shrine, in the end. Lying spreadeagled on the ground, an arrow sticking out of his chest. The girl with the bow lies several metres away with a gaping hole in her throat. Aurora goes to kick her, but Strider holds her back.
"Don't," he says in his strange deep voice. "Somewhere, her family are grieving too."
I remember part of his interview. Marchell had asked how he would feel about killing, and he had replied "If I can, I won't. But just in case, I'm sorry."
I decide to trust him. And Brine, of course. Lupa seems like an ally, if a lethal one. Not so much like Flow after all. I'm not so sure about Aurora though. She seems a little unstable. Maybe we all are, a bit. I suppose being forced to fight to the death has that effect on people, really.
The next day, we pack up our camp round the Cornucopia. Brine wants us to move up to one of the cliffs, see what's behind them. On the way, however, we meet a small alliance. A fourteen year old with a wounded leg and a tiny twelve year old who jumps in front of us with a knife.
"D-don't come any closer!" he squeaks. It's pitiful. His hands are shaking so badly that he can barely hold his knife. It's obvious that he has never had enough to eat. Lupa steps forward, sword strapped to her side.
"What's your name?" she asks in a smooth, calm voice, as if talking to a nervous animal.
"S-smokey. Smokey Ryan. District Twelve. You're Lupa. They're Aurora and Strider and Brine and Mags. This is Drake. She's from District Six. "
"And she can speak for herself." the girl on the ground adds.
"Though not walk, it looks like. How'd you get that? The bloodbath?" Strider asks with concern. Drake winces as she tries to sit up.
"As I escaped to the cliff, someone threw a knife at me. It caught me hard. The cut's quite deep, I think. Then Smokey found me. He didn't want to kill me, so we became allies."
"Well, we don't want to kill you either, so we could just walk by, all of us. With a bit of luck, we won't meet again." Strider replies.
"Before you go, can you look at Drake's leg? Just bandage it or something." Smokey's voice is so pleading, that Aurora steps forward. The Gamemakers must be furious. This is not how the Games should work. Soon, the audience will get bored, unless something else is happening. And then it happens. The ground begins to crack, a thin line along the middle of the ledge. I shout a warning to Aurora, but she doesn't hear me. It is too late. The other half of the cliff begins to dissolve. Drake begins to drag herself towards the other side. Smokey slips, almost falling off the edge. Aurora leaps to save him, and the ground crumbles under her feet. All we can do is watch as she falls to the ground. Drake makes it to the other side, just, but Smokey stays motionless, staring down at the girl who fell from the sky. A cannon fires.
"Smokey, jump! Now!" Lupa and Drake reach out their arms toward him. He hesitates, then leaps. And misses. His hand clings to the edge of the cliff.
"Smokey! Grab my hand! Smokey!" Lupa stretches off the edge, leaning as far as she can to the boy. Brine drops to his knees beside her, and helps pull him up. Strider finishes bandaging Drake's leg.
"Are you alright?" he asks.
"Yeah, I think so," Smokey says. He turns to Lupa.
"Thank you. Why though?"
"Because... Because none of us were here by choice. And I didn't want to make a choice to kill."
Strider nods.
"Are you our allies now?" he asks. Drake shakes her head.
"If your plan works, then we would all turn on each other. I don't want it to end like that. Odds are, someone will kill us before then, anyway."
So we part. Lupa presses a package of food on Smokey anyway. Later, far higher than before, we hear two cannons, followed by a third a few hours later. We exchange glances, hoping that it wasn't them. Or perhaps wishing it was, that their suffering could end. As we make it to the top of the cliff by torchlight, the daily record shines in the sky. Four deaths today.
Aurora appears first, of course. Then the boy from Three. Then I hear Lupa gasp, and see Drake's face in the sky, for a few brief seconds. The last face is Smokey, the boy from Twelve. Sixteen of us dead, in just two days. I turn round and see Lupa vanishing into a clump of trees. I hear her sob. Strider comes over to me.
"At a guess, I'd say that Smokey died defending Drake, but somehow managed to kill the boy from Three."
"What do you think happened to Drake?"
"When I bandaged her leg, I saw it was worse than she thought. It had cut down into the bone, severing veins. She..she'd lost too much blood already. She couldn't have survived longer than a day. I think that after the boys died, she hid and died there."
Brine calls us over.
"Who's left, besides us four?"
None of us know. Between the three of us, we remember the girl from Five and the boy from Six, but nobody else. I go to get Lupa out from the trees. She's curled up beneath a willow, the sweeping branches hiding her from sight.
"Hey," I whisper. A muffled sob reaches me in return.
"M-Mags?"
"Yeah. Are you alright?"
"I don't know. Yesterday I killed someone. I killed someone. I didn't even know his name. Today I saved someone. And he died anyway."
I understand, sort of.
"I feel like this is a bad dream. I want to wake up, but I can't. How do you wake up, Mags?"
"Lupa, come out from the trees. Strider and Brine are waiting. They have food." I try to coax her out, and am rewarded with her face peering up at me.
"Sometimes you remind me of my little sister," I say.
"I have a sister. And a brother. Back home. Their names are Pine and Howl. Howl is my little brother. He's ten. Pine is seventeen."
"I used to have two brothers, Crest and Trawler. And Anya, my sister."
"Yeah. She volunteered for you. And died. You volunteered for your sister. Nobody volunteered for me."
She has a point. And suddenly I realise how horrible she must have felt, standing on that stage all alone, then watching me volunteer for my sister.
"They don't want me." The whisper stuns me.
"Pine, she's clever, and strong, too. And Howl is the boy, the one who'll carry the family name. I'm nothing, not strong or clever. I can't even sort myself out."
"Anyone who can swing a sword that well must be pretty good. And you're kind, too."
The mention of the sword brightens her face for a second, then it crumples.
"I killed someone..."
I pick her up like I did Flow when she was upset, rocking her gently. She doesn't resist, just burrows into my shoulder sobbing gently. I carry her back to the others and lay her down in the pile of blankets. I stroke her hair until she drifts off to sleep.
She's so different now from the quiet person who scored a nine in training, the sweet kid in her interview, the excited fighter at the start of the games. She is a broken little girl who just wants to go home.
Brine and I volunteer for the first watch, so Strider goes and lies down next to Lupa. I wait until his breathing has settled into a smooth rhythm before turning to Brine.
"So, here we are, on another cliff."
"Yeah. Strange, isn't it?" he replies.
"How about some answers?" I ask. He smiles.
"Ok. Forty-two. Bread. District Eight. Twelve point five-"
I cut him off.
"I don't want to know our chances of survival. I have different questions." He looks surprised, then laughs.
"You were keeping track too, huh?" I ignore him.
"On the train, you said you were to tell the girl you loved about your plan. You also said you came to care for the girl who was left behind. In your interview, you were asked what your girlfriend thought of your plan. You didn't answer, but you asked me later."
"Does all that count as a question?" he says, still trying to avoid answering.
"Am I jumping to conclusions here, or do you really... Brine, what did you mean, care for me?"
He smiles at me, the same sad, slow smile from two years ago on the cliff.
"Does it need saying?" he pleads. Does it? I think I know the answer. But I wish it was different.
"I know," I whisper. Matching tears are streaming down both our faces. Because Brine has lost everyone he cares about, one by one. Usually, winning the games means a better life, but if Brine wins, all he has is an empty, bitter heart.
The third day of the games dawns bright and sunny. We all go to the edge of the cliff, eager to know what lies beneath. A beautiful golden beach lapped by clear blue waves. The smoke from someone's campfire wafts toward the sky, giving away their position. We exchange glances. Now it would be sensible to make our way down to them, and take them out. But as we watch, a second tribute jumps down from the cliff, sunlight glinting off the sword held in their hand. We're so engrossed in the battle beneath us that we don't notice the people behind us until it's too late.
There's two of them. A tall, thin girl and a shorter one. The tall one is armed, with a sword. I recognise the tall one as the girl from Five. The short one, I have no idea.
"Daina, Daina Lock. District Three." How did she know what I was thinking?
"I'm not stupid," she says, still looking directly at me. Ok, this is creepy. We automatically move into a line, me, Brine, Lupa and Strider. Lupa draws her sword. Strider lifts his axe. Brine passes a knife to me and raises his own. This is how it could end.
Daina is still looking round us. She turns to the girl from Five.
"Mire." The girl nods.
"Kill them. The annoying girl first."
Mire, who looks around eighteen, steps towards me.
Daina sighs.
"The other one, idiot."
So she raises her sword and steps towards Lupa. A cannon fires, then another. We'd forgotten about the battle on the beach below.
Mire takes no notice, raising her sword, ready to kill Lupa. The sword falls. A third cannon fires. And that's the end of one of my allies. But not Lupa. An axe clatters off the edge of the cliff, as Strider's body follows it. Daina smiles.
"So the brave soldier saved the little tiger. Who's next? Mire!"
But before she can complete the order, a knife whistles through the air, embedding itself in her head. She collapses to the ground as her cannon fires. So that makes me, Brine, who is now weaponless and Lupa, who has tears running down her face and is trembling like a leaf, against Mire, who seems to have gained some personality since her ally's death. Somehow, this doesn't seem fair. Mire speaks.
"How are we going to end this?" Her voice is so plaintive, so like a child's, that I hesitate. Lupa replies.
"I don't know."
None of us want to make a move, as killing Mire forces us to turn on each other. Just as I reach this, so does Mire. Before any of us can stop her, she rushes to Lupa. A short fight ends quickly. Lupa is fast, but Mire is stronger and bigger. A horrible clang as the sword clatters to the ground. Then a sickening sound as Mire slashes across her chest. I toss Brine my knife. Our eyes meet and the same glint of fury is in both. He leaps to fight Mire. I rush to the dying girl on the edge of the cliff.
When I reach her, her breath is coming in short gasps. The cut is deep and horrible. I can't tell her that she'll be fine. She's got too much common sense. The clangs and crashes as Brine and Mire fight is fading to the background. All that's left is me and her.
"Mags..." The merest whisper calls me back.
"I'm here." Her eyes have closed, but she smiles.
"Back home, in District Two, we live in a little log cabin. I share with Pine. There's mould in the corner above my bed, but I don't mind. It looks like a rabbit if I look at one way, but more like a sheep another way." I can't think of anything to say.
"My mother died when I was eight. She was the only person who wanted me. I'll see her now, won't I?"
"Yes, you will." I let the tears flow, dripping onto her hair.
"Hey, Mags?" The whisper is so faint that I barely catch it.
"I'll say hello to your sister."
And then she's gone. Her cannon fires. I stand up to see Brine solemnly standing over Mire's body. In death, she looks younger, maybe my age. I turn to Brine.
"So, this is it then." He smiles, that slow, sad smile which has haunted me for two years.
"The final two." That's when I notice it. No cannon has fired for Mire. My warning dies on my lips as he steps forward to retrieve the knife. Mire's leg stretches out, just a couple of inches, but still enough. He trips, over the edge. As I did, two years ago. As Anya did, two years before that. Except he can't save himself. He clings to a tiny ledge.
"Brine, grab my hand! Please!" I'm sobbing, tears falling down my face.
"There's no point Mags. We would just have to fight. I don't want to kill you."
"But..."
"Hey," he says, a light laugh escaping.
"Did I ever tell you about this girl I met? She was beautiful. Hair the colour of pale sand on the beach. Eyes the colour of the sky after a storm. She was clever and brave and just a bit sarcastic. She had a habit of meeting me on a cliff. I loved her. Still do. Still will."
"Who?" I whisper, because I don't know who he's talking about, me or my sister. Orion was right. I am like her. Except for one thing.
"Goodbye, Brine."
"Goodbye, Mags."
His fingers loosen from the cliff, and then he's falling, down and down and down. He hits the ground with a puff of sand, lying twisted and crumpled. A final cannon fires. And I am the victor of the games.
I never forgot him. Or Lupa, or Strider, or any of the others. I never will. I remember every face, dead or alive. Marchell and Venus got sacked a few years later. Some sort of scandal. The young woman who lost her mind, sort of, Annie Cresta. Finnick Odair. They have the houses next to mine. Coral died about forty years later, but by then I wasn't alone. The whole idea of an automatic alliance took off. Eventually, they grew to become the Careers. I hate how they're seen. Often, they were the winners. Brine's idea worked, like he wanted it to. But not in time to save another dead tribute.
Flow. She was reaped again two years later. I couldn't do anything, except be the best mentor I could. But she died in the bloodbath. Like Anya. Her parents moved out of my house. They didn't feel right, staying.
Last year, I watched a girl called Katniss win, with a boy called Peeta. Katniss volunteered for her sister. Then she had to follow the whole love story strategy to survive. I think it was almost not a strategy for her. It was real for the boy. Strange. Watching her, it all seemed so familiar. Except they both won. She will be in the arena again this year. The Third Quarter Quell. Quells seem to ask for rebellion, somehow. Maybe this one will be no different.
Back in my old chair, my thoughts drift again, to the people I've lost. Eventually, they all died. I really am the girl who was left behind. I hear a snapping twig behind me, and turn round. It's Finnick and Annie, the newest victors. I knew them when they were just children. They'd come to me for stories, sometimes. Silently, they bring chairs closer. They will have seen the announcement, know what it means. They have come to me for a story which will chase away the horrors lurking in the shadows. I can't do that. But I can hold them back, just for a while.
"Once, when I was young, I met a boy. He had sea green eyes and a slow, sad smile. He... Well, I guess he was a genius."