(A/N): Well, well. One of the most nerve-racking uploads I have ever made. All you need to know is that it's, well, a HUNGER GAMES piece, and that it happens a while after the book Mockingjay. I'm worried about this one because Hunger Games is one of my most treasured, most LOVED, trilogies ever, and I once told myself I should never write Hunger Games stuff because that would be like soiling Suzanne Collins' brainchild. But here I am, at inspiration's door. Enjoy. Comments would SO be appreciated since I wrote this really quick and would like to know what people think.
Disclaimer: I just said 'Suzanne Collins' brainchild' didn't I? I don't own, of course. The only stuff I own is the storyline for this piece and the names 'Madeline Cynder, Jason Santora, Jess Cynder'.
I shouldn't be alive.
God, what am I doing?
I shouldn't be alive.
Too late; I twist, the spear slips into my grip. I ram it through podgy flesh; ram bile down my throat. Blood flows.
God, what am I doing?
The boy chokes, gasps, all in vain. The spear's right through his stomach and out the other side. I can see his eyes widening in shock and fear of death as I let my grip on the spear loosen. The polished wood slips through my grasp as I step away.
For the first and last time I notice that his eyes are the colour of melting chocolate.
Oh, God.
I turn abruptly to face my final opponent, hoping, hoping so hard it hurts my heart to continue beating and for a moment I wish it would just give out. Then I could finally lay down and die and it would be all over. Finally. Forever.
I shouldn't even be alive.
I should have died when I first entered that arena and disobeyed my mentor's-sister's-orders to run as fast as I could out of there.
I should have died when three other tributes found the cave that I was hiding in for the night.
I should have died when the water in the stream of the arena turned acidic.
And even after surviving all that, I should have died when the tribute who came first in the rankings challenged me for the possession of the gift I had just received, a feast to die for.
Which he did.
I should have died somewhere, anywhere, but here and now. I should have just lay down and given myself up, because the choice between killing another person-him-in this sadistic, bloodthirsty game of lies and dying is going to be the worst choice I will ever face.
Even now, I don't know what to think; should I be praying he survives his own fight against another, nameless tribute I don't have the capacity to care for right now in this merciless arena, or should I hope that he doesn't so that I won't have to the make the most painful decision of my life?
Welcome to the 25th Annual Hunger Games.
It's the first special anniversary of the Hunger Games this year, the first '25' Hunger Games. Specially marked by the teenaged relatives or friends of previous Hunger Games winners-survivors-returning to bloody it out in a struggle of 24-against-24.
I am Madeline Cynder, 15-year-old sister of the 20th Hunger Games champion-survivor, Jess Cynder.
The cannon blows, signalling the death of my previous opponent. We are nearing the climax of the show. I can hear the whole nation of Panem holding their breath.
I still do not know what I should be praying for. My life? Or his?
This would have been much easier to bear if we hadn't kissed.
'Just keep your head above your heart.'
Guess what, Jess; I'm horrible at that.
He survives, using his thinner, more compact frame to dodge around the bulky hand-and-a-half sword of his opponent and get in close with his knife. Sharpened metal meets flesh again, and cuts through like a butter knife through Silly Putty.
More blood. Oh, wonderful.
I shouldn't be alive. Why couldn't I die earlier?
The cannon sounds, and I realize that the next time it blows either he or I will be here to hear it go. But not the both of us. My heart trembles at the revelation.
"Maddy," he says, his wild, exhilarated look from the rush of adrenaline flickering away like a short-circuited bulb. His eyes are wide and scared, fear flashing through them like I know it is flashing through mine.
"I can't. You'll have to-have to-" I can't finish my sentence.
"No, Maddy-"
"It's either me or you, Jason," I tell him, voice cracking on every syllable. "I choose you."
"No! Madeline-"
"Stop it now," Peeta Mellark growled, as he rises from his chair sharply and turns his body away from the screen to physically stop himself from having to watch. "Stop the Hunger Games now."
There is a silence as he clenches and grinds his teeth in agony. Katniss Everdeen-Mellark shifts just enough in her seat for everyone to know she is uncomfortable.
"I said stop it now!" Peeta roars, slamming his fists on the table. "Don't you see what we're doing? We're replaying history all over again!"
No one dares to say a thing. This was their decision, to continue the dreaded Hunger Games, except this time for the Capitol's children. But it was testing even their Games'-hardened emotions and consciences to watch the display down at the arena.
"That, is, us, out there," Peeta grinds out through gritted teeth, gesticulating forcefully with both hands at the screen and Katniss. "Us! That's the same position the Games put us in. Is this the kind of revenge you want?"
"Peeta," Katniss finally mumbled, barely moving her lips in her hesitancy. It was her vote that had swung the balance between having a Hunger Games for the Capitol children, or ending the gruesome televised game show forever.
"Katniss," he pleaded, widening his blue eyes. "Haven't we killed enough people? This is more than compensation. It's mindless bloodshed, Katniss, please-"
"You heard him, stop the Games!" she ordered thunderously by way of reply, though the command was meant for the attendees stationed around them. They scattered like leaves caught in a gale under the District 12 tribute's lowered brow and forbidding frown, scrambling to convey her request to the right authorities.
But Peeta Mellark wasn't quite done, not yet. He turned back to the rest of the former Hunger Games' survivors.
"That's enough. 25 years of stealing children, even Capitol children, from their homes and forcing them to fight to the death, it's over. Please. Let it be over. Make it stop."
Now it was time for the whole table of people to shift about in their chairs, squirming under the earnest, hopeful, kicked-puppy look of a baker's boy who had become instrumental in the rebellion against the evil Capitol authorities. They wouldn't meet his blue-eyed gaze.
It would take time. They would crumble.
But meanwhile, two lives were being saved.
"Attention: Madeline Cynder and Jason Santora. Congratulations. You are the joint survivors of this year's Games. The 25th Annual Hunger Games are now at an end."