Brown eyes. When I think of him, that's what I see. Brown eyes tinged with olive green and spots of black, just like the forest around us. Every time he looked at me it was like I was flying, and I never wanted to come down. There was just something about him, something magnetic, something warm, something… soothing. That was my first mistake, I guess. The first thing they tell you when you're training for the Hunger Games is to never trust anyone and to never get comfortable, but why would I start listening to other people all of a sudden? They aren't important. I don't even like listening to The Creator and I wouldn't even be here without Him. No, meeting him was worth it, even at the end.
When I close my eyes to block out the darkness, I relive it all again. It was just two days ago, after all. Even I'm not that forgetful. The Creator instructed me to walk through the Nether portal in the Hunger Games lobby, the place I've been awaiting and dreading since my creation. I've been training so long and hard for this moment, and I need to show Him that I'm finally ready and that I can make Him proud. I have to do this, I will do this. I look around at the other tributes and see them cowering in corners and quaking in their boots, shaking as they try to wolf down one last meal before the Game begins. This is just pathetic. I'd feel sorry for them if I didn't feel more sorry for myself. I'm not here to make friends: I'm here to win.
"Just survive. That's all you have to do, Preston. Just survive." But I know I'll have to do a lot more than that. I'm here to win for The Creator, and I know I can't expect to win just by surviving – I have to make sure no one else survives first. I walk further into the massive room and I see a stone wall at the center with someone perched on top. He isn't cramming food into his mouth or shivering in fear or praying for his Creator to let him leave like everyone else is. He's just staring up at the sky, watching clouds pass and the sun move from east to west. Who knows how long he's been sitting there and he might be a little crazy, but I wish I felt as confident and calm as he looks. I watch him for a while but he never looks down, his eyes locked on the deep blue sky and his feet dangling dangerously from the top of the ten-block-high, vine covered wall. When everyone else is down on the ground praying for an escape, he's up in the sky, searching for stars.
I pick a spot against an oak tree and sit down to rest until the Game begins, not wanting my legs to be tired before I have to run until the edge of the world to escape and hunt, but never hide. It's harder to see him from here because his sweater blends in with the sky, but he can't see me watching him in the shadows below the tree. He doesn't look down until the countdown begins, when he snakes his hands between the vines and skillfully slides down to the bright green grass. He stretches briefly before walking over to the next portal, the one that'll take us to the arena. The other tributes slowly follow, hesitant and afraid, and I quickly get to my feet and follow him in, hoping to get a better look at his face before the Game begins. With such a carefree attitude and so much confidence, I need to know who this guy is and where his pedestal is: he needs to be the first one I kill.
He's only a few blocks ahead of me now and I start to worry that he might make it to the portal before I do, but he stops and bends over to pick a red flower, twirling it around in his hand while he walks. I can smell the rose even two blocks behind him. He doesn't seem like the kind of person who belongs in the Hunger Games; he doesn't deserve to be here like I do. Only the people who are about to be deleted become tributes, and the Games are our final chance to show that we deserve to live. If you die in the Games, you don't exist anymore. I adjust my lava Creeper mask and slow down to match his speed, doing my best to make sure we enter the portal at the same time and get placed on pedestals next to each other. He tosses the rose into the portal in front of him, watching it disintegrate into millions of red and green pixels and inhaling the scent as we walk through the portal. Everyone knows The Creators don't allow outside items in the Hunger Games, not even flowers.
I open my eyes after the teleportation is complete and I look around me for the guy in the blue. I see him three pedestals away, staring up at the top of the arena while he pulls his hood over his head and zips his sweater up to his chin, pulling the drawstrings to keep it in place. The Game is in a thick forest this time and the freezing wind is blowing leaves and dust into our faces. I get ready to run as the hologram clock over the cornucopia counts down, and when it reaches zero I sprint for the chests scattered at the center. I find a wooden longsword in the first chest and I start swinging at the other tributes, watching droplets of red blood and chunks of multicolored pixels fly into the air. They disintegrate before my eyes and leave their loot behind for me to take. I slip into the armor as quickly as I can and stuff the rest of the items in my backpack before I dash into the trees behind my platform, searching for my next target.
The guy in the blue didn't run to the center like the people I just killed and he could be anywhere by now. I watch the ground for footprints and broken twigs while I run, hoping for some kind of clue about where he went. I need to get rid of him before he can get a weapon and kill me. I stop at the edge of the forest, scanning the shoreline and the abandoned ship across the river for a sign of life. I squint up at the crow's nest of the ship, half expecting him to be perched up there, staring at the sky again. I creep down the hill towards the beach and decide to follow the sandy path for a while, hoping I can find another victim, maybe with some food this time. All of the chests I've found have been empty and there'd been nothing to eat at the center. I reach the sand and feel it sink into my shoes and between my toes, and I hide just inside the entrance to a small cave while I search for footprints in the sand. I don't hear the footsteps until it's too late.
A guy in a black and lime green trench coat is running at me, his stone sword raised up in the air above my head. Our weapons smash together and splinters of wood and specks of stone rain down on us while we fight. We trade blows and I start to think this battle is over for me when he explodes into thousands and thousands of tiny sparks of light, his gear crumpling in a heap on the ground. I slump over and cling to my damaged sword to keep me upright. I'm too exhausted and weak to even sort through his items. I'm one good punch away from death and I can't stand disappointing The Creator like this. That's even worse than the pain. He must be so angry at me right now; I deserve to be erased. I try to stand up, but I get so dizzy I just fall down on the scratchy sand, the other tribute's loot too far away for me to reach. I sit there for quite a while, feeling the salty sea spray on my face while I wait for the lightheadedness to subside. It doesn't.
"Are you okay?" My eyes snap open and my hand grips the handle of my pitiful wooden longsword, preparing to cut into whoever found me. The guy in the blue is standing to the right of the cave, his short, messy brown hair blowing back in the cold breeze and his eyes shining in the bright sunlight. He has a bow drawn, the silver arrow gleaming menacingly as he shifts his aim away from me and points it at the ground. "Let me help you."
"Stay away from me! Get the frick away from me!" I hold the sword up and threaten to strike, a wave of blinding pain tearing through my body. I can feel rapidly cooling drops of blood streaming down my chest and the left side of my leather armor is becoming sticky and heavy. He raises his bow half-heartedly in defense, watching me and waiting for me to make the first move. When I don't budge, he slips the bow and arrow back in his quiver and carefully draws a small, golden knife, walking slowly in front of me, moving closer and closer. What is he doing? Does he want to die? This might be the easiest kill so far.
"I don't want to hurt you. If you would just let me fix your arm, we could work together and win this. Throw your sword in the pile and I will help you."
"I don't need your help! Why should I trust you?" He lowers himself down on one knee and takes off his backpack, his eyes flitting back and forth between me and the bag as he opens it and digs around inside for something.
"If I wanted to hurt you, I would have done it already. I am not afraid of you, especially when you can't even stand up on your own." He finds a bundle of brown paper and carefully tosses it over to me while he continues digging. I can smell the fresh, roasted chicken through the wrapping and my mouth begins to water. I can't eat this, no matter how much I need it. He might've poisoned it, or he might be waiting for me to stop watching him so he can stab me. "Please, just let me help you."
"I don't trust you."
"I don't trust you, either, but neither of us can win this alone. If you lower your sword, we can help each other." He finds a small first aid kit in his bag and pulls it out, and I put down the packet of food and beckon for him to throw it over to me. "No, you can't reach the back of the cut or see what you're doing. If you don't let me help you, I am going to leave you here." I want to tell him to get lost and go die in a hole, but my shoulder hurts so much I have to grit my teeth and try not to make a face. He slowly crawls towards me on his knees and he carefully grabs my longsword and tosses it out of my reach. I draw my fist back to punch him, but he jumps to his feet again and his hand wraps around my wrist. He overpowers me easily and, after another jolt of pain flashes through my body, I stop trying to hit him. I'm too weak, and now I'm gonna die.
"Just get it over with!"
"I would if you would stop trying to fight me. Stop struggling and I will help you." I try to kick him to make him let go of me, but I miss and he jumps over my leg easily. He lets my arm drop and he darts around behind me, cutting through my ruined, bloodstained leather armor with his cold, sharp knife. He gently peels the soaked fabric away from my wound and begins cleaning it up, his cool, smooth hands working quickly but capably. The sun's setting by the time he finishes, and he stands up and cautiously moves in front of me, his hands and arms stained with my blood. "We're almost done. Please don't try to kill me again." I don't answer but he moves closer, anyway, his fingers untying my face mask while he stares into my eyes, watching me. His eyes are intense but they aren't cruel like mine. His are light brown with so many different colors and shades while mine are just dark, almost black. His eyes are gentle like his fingers, and I almost feel bad about having to kill him now.
"Thank you," I whisper as he backs away, his eyes still never leaving my face. He knows what I plan to do. He isn't stupid even though he's way too nice for his own good. His niceness just killed him, brutally.
"Don't thank me, just eat your food. All of that will be for nothing if you don't heal before someone finds us." He sits down across from me, about a block away, and he begins eating a loaf of bread while he searches through the pile of items from the dead tribute. We watch each other warily while we eat, our eyes meeting every few seconds after one of us looks away. I gingerly move pieces of cold chicken up to my mouth, wishing I was at home so I could eat it right out of the oven.
"Why?"
"Hmm?" His eyes widen in confusion and he cocks his head to the side a little, a cheesy smile spreading across his face as he chews on another bite of bread. The look on his face is just so derpy I can't stop myself from smiling, too.
"Why'd you help me, you pleb? Why didn't you just kill me and take my stuff?" He shrugs and starts sorting the extra armor into two piles, the last chunk of bread hanging out of his mouth. When he finishes looting, he stuffs the food in his mouth and slides a pile of armor over to me, keeping all of the weapons on his side of the cave.
"You're more useful to me alive, and I couldn't just let you die like that. Leaving you here by yourself and in pain… It would be torture for both of us." He looks over at me again with his too-kind eyes, and I feel warm for the first time since I left the lobby. Something about him makes me want to trust him and not hurt him, but that makes no sense. I can't trust anyone in the Games and I'm here to hurt people. Why does he trust me and take care of me?
"Why would it be torture for you? You could be out killing people right now. You can't win by sitting around and playing nurse with everyone."
"I don't do this with everyone. I only do it with you." He makes it sounds like this isn't a one-time thing, but I've never met the guy before, have I? I don't remember him and no one's ever helped me like this before. He must have me confused with someone else.
"What do you mean you only do it with me?"
"I don't like to see you get hurt, Preston."
"How do you know my name?" He looks at me knowingly and unrolls the sleeping bag the other tribute was carrying, then takes it to the back of the tiny cave and unzips it against the wall.
"Every time. You have to do this to me every time. Come on, you have to get up. I'll help you put your armor on and you need to get some sleep." He holds out his hand and pulls me carefully to my feet, then he props me up against the side of the cave and strips my leather leggings off before I know what's happening. It's like he's done this so many times it's not even weird to him anymore, but it's freakin' weird to me! He helps me slide on gold pants and a matching chestplate and I lean on him to walk to the back of the cave. I sit down on the sleeping bag and he hands me a pair of leather boots to put on while he goes back to get his own armor. I watch him suspiciously as he hurriedly upgrades his supplies, catching a glimpse of his flat stomach when the front of his sweater lifts up as he throws his leather chestplate aside.
"You already know my name. What's yours?" He slides a chainmail chestplate on and pulls the hood of his sweater up through the back of his armor, a strange expression on his face. Does he look… sad? What's he upset about? It isn't my fault he's crazy and mistook me for someone else he knew.
"Rob. I'm Rob." He pushes the unneeded armor and weapons into a dark corner and covers them with a rock before he grabs his supplies and joins me at the back of the cave. He sits next to me and pulls the sleeping bag over both of us like a blanket, wrapping me up completely so it's hard to move. Maybe that was his plan? Either way, I feel like a baby, getting fed and dressed and swaddled. I don't like it. He pulls his hood up over his head and crosses one leg over the other, his arm pressed against mine as he settles down. "I told you, you should get some sleep. If I was going to kill you, I wouldn't have wasted my supplies on you."
"Fine," I groan, leaning back against the uneven, rocky wall. I fight off sleep as long as I can, but between the blood loss and just general exhaustion, it doesn't take long until my eyes drift closed. It's so warm and comfortable I can't help it. I don't know how long I'm asleep, but it isn't sunrise yet when I come to again. The top of the sleeping bag is pulled up over my face and the wall isn't as hard and sharp as it was earlier. I feel something gently brushing against my side, over and over again, and I jump when the movement finally registers. I straighten out my neck and back away from the spot on all fours, checking where I'd been sitting for a spider or a silverfish or something. "What was that?"
"What was what?" Rob asks, staring at me questioningly with his big, brown eyes. Even in the darkness his eyes send shivers down my spine.
"There was something over there, I felt it." He chuckles and sits back against the wall again, flattening out the sleeping bag I'd messed up. When I don't go back to my spot, he sighs and rolls his eyes at me like I'm being completely ridiculous.
"It was just me, Preston. You were cold and I was trying to keep you warm." I don't really understand what he's saying but I nod and slowly crawl back to the spot next to him. He carefully wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me closer to him, making me lean my head on his shoulder. This must've been how I was sleeping before. He rests his head on top of mine and lets out a long breath that rustles my hair. This is strange but oddly comfortable. If I didn't have to kill him tomorrow, I could get used to this. Before I know what's happening, I'm falling asleep again.
A loud splashing noise wakes me up a while later, right before the sun comes up. It takes me a few seconds to remember where I am and who I'm with, and I instantly feel guilty for not letting Rob get any sleep. His body tenses up next to me and he slowly withdraws his arm and moves my hand off his stomach. I don't remember doing it, but I wrapped my arms around his waist while I was sleeping. My face flushes bright red and I let go of him as fast as I can and watch him walk to the front of the cave to see what's going on. If I hadn't been asleep, I could've grabbed the knife out of his belt and been done with him. But now that he's alert with his bow drawn, I don't think I could kill him if I wanted to. Do I want to?
"What is it?" I ask, getting to my feet to follow him. I feel better than I did yesterday, but I still need more time to rest before I can hunt again.
"Two people are fighting out there. They might be the last two, I'm not sure. A lot of people have died already and I haven't been keeping count." I nod and move to the other side of the entrance, hoping to get a better look. We stay there for quite a while until we hear a cannon fire in the distance, but there's no sign of life outside on the beach. I stay near the front of the cave and continue watching for other tributes while Rob packs up our camp. He nudges me and beckons for me to sit down before he hands me a small pumpkin pie in a silver tin.
"This's the weirdest thing I've ever seen in a Hunger Games. They're giving us pie?"
"You're awfully picky for someone who is stuck in a Game. Relax and let me change your bandages." I lift the gold chestplate over my head so he can check my shoulder, and he dabs a gauze pad soaked with rubbing alcohol over my skin before he moves away. "It's almost gone already. Eat."
"But what're you gonna eat?"
"Don't worry about me; you need it more than I do. I can find something later."
"But that isn't fair."
"Life's not fair, is it?" He's smiling that derpy smile while he checks my forehead again, brushing my hair back out of my face and to the side when he's satisfied. I feel bad eating in front of him, but it'd be worse to refuse to eat and rub it in even more. He packs up his first aid kit and checks the cave one last time while he waits for me to finish. We wait a little longer before we leave, searching for a trace of the tribute we saw earlier this morning. We hike back into the woods and climb a small tree near the cornucopia, staking out to wait for new supplies to be delivered and for other people to wander back to the center.
We make a good team: when someone comes into our sights, Rob shoots them with his arrows and weakens them, then I sneak in and finish them off. I grab their loot and take it back to him and he sorts through it and hands me back the good stuff while I watch for more victims. We take out three more people like that before the end of the day, and we have more food and weapons than either of us know what to do with. When the sun sets, he climbs down from his spot in the tree and grabs my hand, leading me through the darkness into another little cave. We set up camp just like we did last night, but I make him sleep this time. I stare out the entrance of the cave, watching for another tribute to try to go to the cornucopia. I sit there for so long it almost feels like I fell asleep. Somewhere along the line, Rob's head drooped down on my shoulder and his hand found mine under the sleeping bag and laced our fingers together. It sounds really weird, but I don't mind. I listen to his breathing for a little while, gently running my thumb over the top of his hand. It's strange how his hand is smaller than mine even though he's tall than me.
I think about him for a while, with his lame jokes and messy hair and scratchy beard. His derpy smile and warm skin and brown-green eyes. Something about him just draws me in and puts me at ease, and I can honestly say I trust him with my life because I actually do. I was such an easy kill: all he had to do was shoot one arrow at me and I would've been dead. But he didn't. He didn't, and that makes him special. I know it's stupid and I shouldn't've let him get to me like this, but he did and I can't help that I feel this way around him. I never thought I'd say it but… I think I'm in love.
I let him sleep as long as I can, planning to pull an all-nighter to make up for last night, but it's out of my control. The cannon goes off again as another tribute disintegrates into countless little pieces somewhere, followed by a booming voice announcing the beginning of the death match. Rob and I scramble to grab our weapons and supplies. This is the moment I've been dreading the most.
"Good luck," he whispers, gripping his bow and preparing to be teleported. I shift my sword over to my left hand and link my fingers with his again, our hands tightening their holds on each other as if they could prevent our separation.
"You, too." We both stare ahead when the transport begins, and I feel the pixels in my hand being ripped away from him, his thin, cool fingers being replaced by empty air. He reappears on a pedestal several blocks away from me, his hand immediately darting behind his head to grab an arrow out of his quiver, his bow as steady as ever.
"You have to win this, okay?" he yells, aiming his bow at the center of the arena to prepare for the other two tributes out of his line of sight.
"What about you?"
"I'll try to win, too. Don't worry about me."
"Don't be a pleb! Of course I'm gonna worry about you! It's the freaking death match!" The cannons blast again and I run forward from my platform, watching Rob skirt behind a tree at the edge of the arena. He lands a couple of arrows in a girl with a skeleton face mask and leaves her for me to finish. I'm so concentrated on getting the kill that I don't hear the screaming behind me. After her cannon goes off and her pixels blow away like dust in the wind, I turn around, expecting Rob to be grinning at me. Instead, he's pinned on the ground trying to hold off an iron sword with his damaged stone sword, his bow splintered all over the ground next to him. "Rob!"
"Are you gonna try to save your little boyfriend? Isn't it a little too late for that?" I charge into the smirking tribute in the iron armor and knock him off his feet, bringing my stone sword down on his chestplate over and over and over again, like an animal. It's slowly denting in his armor but it isn't doing the kind of damage I wish it would. When this guy finally dies, I hope it hurts like hell.
"Just… die already!"
"Oh, he will. Don't worry: I'll save you the heartbreak," he whispers, a tiny stream of blood leaking out from under his helmet. Before I can knock it out of his hand, he pulls Rob's gaudy little gold knife out of his belt loop and expertly throws it through the air behind me. It lands with a sickening squish and I already know what happened before I can see it.
"No!" I spin around just in time to watch Rob fall down to his knees, the bloodstained knife jutting repulsively out of the side of his neck. He chokes on the red fluid building up in his throat and I run over and fall down next to him, keeping him upright to stop him from falling forward onto the knife. "Shh, it's okay. Everything's gonna be fine." His eyes are filling up with tears and I can barely see him through my own. He can't die, he can't! Why would his Creator put him here? Why does his Creator hate him like mine hates me? I can't just let him die like this, not now that I love him. I have to do something… but there's nothing I can do.
I wrap my arms around him to keep him up on his knees, my head resting against his collarbone on the side away from the knife. His arms slowly rise to hold onto me but they aren't strong like they were before and his whole body is shaking against me. I can feel warm tears streaming down my face and I don't even know whose they are anymore. It doesn't matter: we're both crying for the same reason. Hot blood is flowing in between the gaps in my armor and it's soaking my clothes. I've never noticed how quickly someone can bleed out, and the smell of blood has never made me this sick. I've killed so many people in training and in this Game, but the only time it ever hurt was the time I didn't do it.
His grip loosens on my neck and he stops shaking. I know he's dead before the cannon goes off. Rob's broken body shatters into a trillion little pieces that promptly disappear into the air, leaving nothing but empty armor and bloodstains. He's gone now, but I can still see his eyes like he's right in front of me. Brown eyes tinged with olive green and spots of black, calm and kind and full of wonder. I stare where he stood and I'm frozen in place, like my body still hasn't realized he's gone. I must look like a complete idiot to The Creators but I don't care anymore. Nothing matters now that he's gone. He helped me and protected me and loved me, but I couldn't do any of that for him. I feel dead inside.
"That was quite a show. You two must've got all the good sponsors," the last tribute sneers as he runs behind me and knocks me forward into the pile of bloody armor. I feel something wet trickling down my forehead and I don't know if it's my blood, Rob's blood, or rain. I snatch up Rob's chipped sword and lunge towards him, everything but my all-consuming rage wiped from my mind. I need to avenge Rob. This scumbag killed Rob.
It only takes two good hits to get him back on the ground so I can see the fear in his eyes. I kick his iron sword out of his hands and it goes sliding across the arena and into the trees. It would've make it quicker, yeah, but that isn't what I want. I want him to suffer now. I want him to suffer so bad that even his Creator suffers. And what better way to do it than with Rob's dull, cracked, bloody stone sword? I don't speak and I don't give him another chance to speak, either. He doesn't deserve to speak. I hack at his face with the blunt blade while he screams and for a long time after he stops screaming. He can't be dead yet or he'd disappear. It doesn't take long until it doesn't look like a face anymore, and he eventually stops struggling and gurgling. I guess the cannon fires but I don't hear it. I keep stabbing at the spot where his pixels are disappearing from and at the ground where he used to be after he's gone.
I see the flashes from the fireworks in the sky but I don't stop long enough to look at them. I can't see anything through my tears anymore. What kind of sick world is this where greater beings train lesser beings to fight to the death for entertainment and erase them when they lose? What kind of sick freak am I that I wanted to be here to kill other people? Why would The Creator do this to me? Why does it have to hurt so much? Would it hurt less if I was dead like Rob?
I feel the slow, creeping feeling that comes before a teleportation and I don't care where they're taking me next. I just want Him to delete me so I won't have to feel this pain anymore. Rob should've been the one who lived, not me, not the monster. I'm swimming in darkness at the other end of the teleportation, no ground beneath my feet and no sky above my head. But I can still see his eyes, so bright and sweet and warm. I just want to see him one last time and hold his hand and tell him how sorry I am that I couldn't save him. And that I love him. I angrily wipe the tears from my face and choke back a sob that splits my heart right in two. All I had to do was survive, and I did. But it wasn't enough. It wasn't anywhere near enough. And at the same time, it was way too much.
"Why did it have to be him?!" I scream into the darkness, hoping The Creator can hear me somehow. "Why did it have to be him?! Take me instead!" And with a blinding flash of light, He took me, too.
/\/\/\
The Creator instructed me to walk into the Nether portal into the Hunger Games lobby, the place I've been awaiting and dreading since my creation. I've been training so long and hard for this moment, and I need to show Him that I'm finally ready and that I can make Him proud. I have to do this, I will do this. I look around at the other tributes and see them cowering in corners and quaking in their boots, shaking as they try to wolf down one last meal before the Game begins. This is just pathetic. I'd feel sorry for them if I didn't feel more sorry for myself. I'm not here to make friends: I'm here to win.
I look over to the left and I see a guy in a blue sweater looking down at me from a tree, a sad smile on his face as he watches me walk into the middle of the room. Why is he staring at me like that? What a freaking weirdo! I find a spot under an oak tree on the other side of the lobby so he can't see me and I can't see him. I do my best to ignore the others moping and crying and shaking and pleading all around me while I wait for the countdown to start. They're all weak and they deserve to be erased. When I see the guy in blue climb down from his tree and head over to the portal to the arena, I jump up and hurry after him. He wasn't shaken and terrified like everyone else, so he has to know something I don't. That makes him a threat. I have to make sure we go through the portal at the same time so I can get the pedestal next to him. With such a carefree attitude and so much confidence, I need to know who this guy is and where his pedestal is: he needs to be the first one I kill.