THE HAND OF LUCK
A Hunger Games Story
It's come again, like every other year. We don't think about it much, talk about it even less, yet it always lingers over us. There's been nothing but light hearted stories and celebratory documentaries about how this day brings us all together on the official Capital News programs. But here in the Districts, most 12 year olds are waking up screaming from nightmares, mothers weep late into the night feeling helpless, and everyone else whose name goes into the big glass bowl just tries to act bravely. I think we secretly hope it never comes, but we also know better. It always comes, at the same time every year.
The reaping.
Today happens to be a nice, cool, sunny day. The wind blows softly through the trees, and the sun shines brightly overhead. It's a good day to be working in the lumber yards. Every year, on the day of the reaping, I always walk by the lumber yards. I walk by, keep a low profile, and watch the sixteen year olds mostly. There usually given lighter loads than usual today, because later on they'll be standing the square in front of the Justice building, holding their breaths, hoping their name won't be called.
When the time comes, the men stop working, and help the kids finish their tasks. Then they all go to the public square, and gather in front of the Justice building. I head to the square as well, dressed in the prettiest blue dress I have. However, I don't stand with the other adults behind their children. Instead, I take my place on stage behind our Districts mentor, the capitals representative, and other past winners. I'm the last to arrive, so they all shoot me a look, which I pretend not to notice.
"Welcome everyone, to the 64th annual hunger games," says our Capital representative, Priscilla.
The crowd remains silent, despite the joy and enthusiasm in her voice.
I gaze out at the crowd with all those in District 7 who are between the ages of 12 and 18. The boys lined up on the right, the girls on the left. There faces are still, shoulders tense, each staring blankly at Pricilla. It was the same the year my name was drawn.
It had been a day much like today. Cool and breezy, but more overcast. I was seventeen, and would only have my name in the bowl once more after this year. My older brother had taken the tesserea for my family several times each year he was eligible, so my younger brother and I would only have to have our name in the bowl once each. However, he had turned nineteen this year, and was no longer able to compete, and no longer able to take the tesserea. It fell to me next, and this year my name was in the bowl eighteen times.
Sometimes luck doesn't deal you a good hand.
"Tessa Heartstring!" Priscilla had said.
Her voice was giddy, and her smile infectious. And while she clapped and congratulated me for this so called honor, my heart had become still, and my body numb. Hardly believing my name had been drawn, I slowly made my way to the stage, and knew my life was over. The hand of luck had dealt me a poor hand indeed.
Along the way, I helplessly looked to everyone around me. I'm not sure if I was hoping for someone to miraculously volunteer to take my place, wake up as if this was a bad dream, or even get a last moment to hug my boyfriend who couldn't even bring himself to look at me. But it wasn't a dream, the cries from my mother with my father and brother struggling to hold her still, told me so.
Today I stand before the boys and girls of District 7, and know today will be the begging of the end for two unfortunate souls. Pricilla reaches into the girls bowl, and draws out the first name.
"Eevee Longbottom!" Pricilla reads in the same giddy tone while clapping obnoxiously.
A young girl in a plain white dress makes her way into the isle. She's skinny, with blond hair, sunken eyes, and undefined shoulders, and maybe 13 or 14. I see her fight back tears as she reaches the stage. She walks by us, the former winners, and looks to us for any sign of encouragement. The others try to give her confidence with small smiles, or nods of their heads. I remain still. This girl won't stand a chance, and I'm not a good liar.
"Arthur Curry," Pricilla reads next.
Same as Eevee, a young boy silently makes his way to the stage. He's older than Eevee, but hasn't worked in the yard yet. That's the only chance you really have if you're from District seven. Working in the yard, and learning how to use Axes. It's how I won my games….well, mostly. But this kid isn't sixteen yet, which means he's not old enough to work in the yards. Like Eevee, he won't last long. In fact, by the time Pricilla ends the reaping with her usual capital approved speech about how important the games are to our culture and tradition, I've already forgotten his name.
That used to bug me, but not so much anymore. I don't think I ever bothered learning the name of the boy who was chosen with me.
"Excellent roast this year," says Bradley.
"Is it?" I reply half heartedly. "It tastes the same to me."
"Bah, you're always so dry. How did I end up sitting next to you this year?"
"Guess you're just lucky," I say dryly.
Bradley is another former winner, like me. He's District seven's most recent victor, having won three years ago when he was seventeen, like me. District 7 has four total winners today at the champions feast put on by the capital, and one winner eating with the tributes. Our oldest winner, Diana, is our tributes mentor, and thus has the busiest job. It's her job to keep them alive, but she'll fail.
"Too bad your tributes can't enjoy the roast. It would be a fitting last meal," says a snaky voice across the table.
I lift my head slowly and glare. Bradley leans back and crosses his arms. The voice belongs to a winner from District 2, whose name we don't care to learn. Small bits of laughter come from those next to him, his fellow winners from Districts 1 and 2. The other side of the table, from one end to the other, is lined with winners from Districts 1 and 2. They have the most winners, and aren't afraid to boast about it.
"Perhaps they would," Bradley replied. "A last meal is a terrible thing to waist. I certainly hope Biggs and Boggs had good last meals."
Bradley laughs obnoxiously as the winner from 2 slams his fist on the table and rises to his feet. I sit up slightly, thinking he might strike Bradley, but the peacekeepers quickly move behind us, and the winner from 2, reluctantly lowers himself into his seat. Bradley's obnoxious smile remains, which annoys me probably more than it annoys them.
Biggs and Boggs were the two tributes from District 2 in Bradley's year. Not much of a physical fighter, he used his mind and wit to win. I'm not sure how to describe it exactly, but with a few tricks, decoys, and smoke and mirrors, he got Biggs and Boggs to accidentally shoot each other with their own weapons. He's never let them for get it.
"Why would you do that?" I whisper so only Bradley can hear.
He takes a large mouthful off a leg of chicken, chews it with his mouth open, and shrugs.
"Why not," he says. "Someone's gotta knock'em down a peg."
"But you know what will happen to our tributes then," I say harshly.
He shrugs again.
"They're dead anyway," he replies. "Besides, when did you start caring?"
It's a good question, because I don't care. I've never let myself care. Sure, I want them to win, its good for the District. But in the eleven years since I've won, I've seen 21 tributes from my District die. We don't have the advantages those from District 1 and 2 do.
"It's not that I care," I reply. "I just would like them to last a little longer than the opening rush. It's embarrassing when they die right away."
"Meh, you're right I suppose," Bradley responds without looking up. "Oh well, maybe it's a mercy, dying early as suppose to prolonging the suffering. Maybe we just did them a favor."
"Maybe…" I say silently while I observe the career side.
I see several of them whispering. They'll take a quick glance towards Bradley, nod their heads, and whisper some more. They're talking strategy for the games, they always do. They'll talk now, form an alliance between their districts, and relay that information to their tributes. Tributes from District 1 and 2 are what we call "career tributes." Chosen at a young age, I'm not sure how young, they train their whole lives to compete in the Hunger Games. When they turn 18, and have become as equally vicious as lethal, they volunteer. Then, they compete, and 7 out of 10 years, someone from District 1 or 2 wins.
It wasn't any different my year. The four tributes from District 1 and 2 formed an alliance and systematically hunted down and killed every tribute. However, I took all four of them out in one swift stroke. It was replayed across all of Panem for days and days afterwards. Every year its replayed with many commentators saying it was the greatest strategic move they'd ever seen. Needless to say, they've been bitter towards our District ever since. The following year our Tributes were killed fast and early. And not just fast and early, but brutishly butchered beyond recognition by the careers.
They did the same to the tributes from District 3, where Harris was….
I close my eyes and my heart stops a moment as his face flashes into my mind. Holding my breath, and trying to keep my composure, I forcefully push his round face, blue eyed, thick glasses face out of my head. Holding my breath, I realize my fist is clenched as my nails dig into my skin.
My eyes snap open and I quickly glance to my left and right. Everyone is continuing with their meal normally. No one bothers looking at me, which means no one noticed my little slip. Good. However, my mind begins to race as they serve dessert.
"Oh good," Bradley says. "Frosted pudding. I love this stuff."
"Yeah," I say slowly as they place a plate in front of me. My heart races as I stare into fancy pudding in front of me. "I'm not hungry anymore, I need to go."
"I'm having yours then," Bradley says as I get up.
"FINE!" I snap as I make my way towards the door.
By the time I reach the elevator my hands are starting to shake and I can't get his image out of my head.
Frosted pudding was his favorite desert.
I somehow managed to get into the viewing rooms the next day. I was up all night, unable to sleep, trying to stop the memories, all in vain. The latter I was up, the more tired I became, and the easier the memories flowed. I'm in that place where you're half asleep, half awake, when I hear the announcer begin the countdown.
"Let's see if they can even make it out of the gate," says Bradley.
I lift my head and blink several times. The large viewing screens are on full display ahead of us. Each District has their own viewing rooms, with several screens and controls. I sit up and adjust my own personal one on a wide angle view allowing me to see both District seven tributes. Bradley is leaning back, a mug in his hand, feet up on the consoles, and taking slow sips. Diana sits in a row beneath ours, with several screens at her finger tips, and furiously switching views.
"Yes," I reply exhaling. "Let's see."
"Ahh, rainforest, interesting," Bradley says.
Referring to the type of arena the games are held in this year, our tributes will be facing not only the others, but the natural dangers which accompany the type of environment they are placed in. This year, as Bradley pointed out, it's a rainforest. Hopefully our tributes have paid attention to survival skills, rainforests may seem pretty, but they are unbelievably deadly between their snakes, spiders, exotic fruits, and who knows how many other countless traps and hazards the game makers have decided to insert.
I take a sip of the coffee brought to me by a pair of Avox's assigned to us. I hate the stuff, but it gets me awake. Awake enough so I can hear the announcer. A female voice this year, just like my own. I adjust a knob and focus in on our female tribute, Eevee I think her name was. I have to blink several times as I haven't even thought of her since the reaping. That probably makes me a horrible person, but I learned that years ago, this is just more proof.
Eevee's small shoulders are tense, and her hands are shaking. Next to her is the girl from 2, and across is the boy from 1. While she stands quivering in fear, they stand looking fierce, eager…hungry.
No doubt Diana has told her to just grab the nearest pack and run into the wilderness. This one doesn't stand a chance, and we all know it. Diana knows her best chance is to run and hide and wait for everyone to kill each other off first. To do that though, you have to survive the opening. I look at Eevee now, and I remember what it felt like to stand there, as the longest minute of your life slowly crawls by. The funny thing is, when that announcer reaches zero, you'd give anything to have just a few more seconds.
"GO!" the announcer says, and the 64th annual Hunger Games has begun.
In less than fifteen seconds, the first kill is made.
It's a chaotic and bloody nightmare, just like every other year. Everyone scatters, trying to grab whatever they can, or are willing to risk, and takes off. In my year, we were placed in the ruins of an old city. Destroyed by wars which occurred centuries ago, it was nothing more than a landscape of half standing buildings, strange vegetation, and rubble, lots and lots of rubble.
A cannon fires to signal the first death, and is soon followed after by another, then another. Diana is switching her screens constantly, trying to keep our tributes in view. Bradley has his screen showing a wide angle, taking in the whole sight.
"Oh that was cold," he says as the boy from 1 snaps the neck of the girl from 4.
I keep silent and watch Eevee. She's grabbed a pack, and is trying to head for the jungle. She's listened to Diana's advice, I hope its enough. Camp out, hide, keep low and out of sight, avoiding any and all contact with other tributes. It's the best chance she has.
That's what Diana told me before my games. Like Eevee, I wasn't expected to last long. I had only been working in the lumber yard for a few months, and I wasn't very strong. I had one advantage, I could throw an axe. However, only the fastest and most aggressive were able to get weapons on the opening fight. So of course most, if not all, of the weapons were claimed by the careers.
So I took Diana's advice. I leapt from my pedestal, grabbed the nearest bag, and ran as fast as I could away from the blood bath. I still remember vividly how it all changed that moment. For the last two weeks the tributes I was to compete against had been pampered, trained, showcased, and overall, celebrated. It made me forget what was ahead, and I even almost enjoyed myself. That all changed when the announcer said "GO", and someone was dead in a few seconds.
That was when my heart started pounding, my chest heaving, my eyes became blurry, and all I wanted to do was run away. Run away from the chaos, run away from the destruction, run away from the fear. The last thing I remembered seeing before I disappeared in the ruins, was the boy from my District, whatever his name was.
"Ooh look, I think she has a chance," Bradley says.
We all rise from our chairs as Diana changes the largest monitoring screen to Eevee, dashing towards the jungle.
"Come on girl," another says.
I stand myself, and hold my breath. If she can reach the foliage, she can hide, and survive. Our District will gain some interest, we may even earn a sponsor. Everyone loves and underdog, that's one of the reasons I won. Who knows, she may even figure out a way to win….
Eevee lurches forward and hit's the ground hard. Everyone's heart skips a beat, and they stand perfectly still as the boy from District one strides towards Eevee. She's trying to stand, crawl, do whatever she can to reach the jungle. She's also struggling to breath. The fact that he's striding tells me all the other tributes except for one and two have either fled, or are dead.
He reaches Eevee and places a boot in the middle of her back, holding her down. Drawing another arrow from his back, he knocks it, slowly turns skyward and stares into the sky view camera. He mouths some words which we can't hear, and releases the arrow into Eevee's neck. The cannon sounds a moment later, and he walks away carrying the pack she took.
Everyone stands perfectly still, even Bradley. I cock my eyebrow and look to the other screens, and monitors. Eevee's icon goes dark, meaning her life signs have faded and she is dead. Next to hers is Arthur's, whose also dark. Both our tributes are dead before the first fifteen minutes of the game have passed.
"What did he say?" someone asks from the other side of the room.
I swallow and slowly look to Bradley, whose face is white as a ghost.
"I, uhh…" he mumbles.
"Don't worry about it," Diana says grimly.
"Was it something against the capital?" one asks.
"Oh please," I say shortly. I quickly turn and glare at Bradley, whose upper lip is perspiring. His eyes are glued to Eevee's body as her pack is stripped from her body by the boy from one. The color slowly drains from Bradley's face, and he knows perfectly well what the boy from one said. However, I feel he needs to suffer more.
"He said, I hope she had a nice meal," I say pointedly.
The room falls silent as I begin to gather my belongings. With our tributes dead, we'll no longer be needed in this place. The only things I brought were a small hand bag carrying some makeup our stylists insist we put on ourselves every so often, and my coffee. Firmly in hand, I make my way towards the door.
, I take one more look at Eevee's dead body before leaving. She's still and lifeless, her eyes still betraying the fear she had felt. Somewhere I know her mother is crying hysterically, and maybe her father is too. They don't realize its better this way.
Even if she had made it to the jungle, found water, survived a few days, they'd find her. And even if she was able to defeat them, as I did, she couldn't do it alone. Most likely she'd have to ally with someone. But even if she and her ally had defeated the careers and made it the final two, only one can win. With any luck she'd find an ally like I did. However, the hand of luck deals as many bad hands as it does good. She could have found an ally like me, and in that case, it's better to die now.
I open the door and take one last look as the camera zoom in on our dead tributes. The boys name I forgot as soon as it was read, the girls I remember only for a little while, but now escapes me. I'll add it to the lists of names I've forgotten over the years, the top being the boy from my year. I only saw him once during the games, and it was during the opening.
He was trying to crawl to safety, a knife sticking out of his leg. He saw me, I saw him, he cried my name, I kept running.
A moment later I heard a sickening sound of a sword on flesh, and a cannon fire.
The hand of luck dealt him a bad hand too.
One thing I do like about the Capital, besides its comforts and food, is the sunsets. High in the mountains, the air is cool, fresh, invigorating, and even peaceful. The stars can be seen more clearly here than anywhere else in Panem. I know this because I studied the stars in each District during my victory tour. Right now I'm staring at the sun as it falls behind the mountains. The sky turns purple and orange, the air is still, and sometimes, I forget everything else.
That moment is interrupted by the swooshing sound of a door opening behind me.
"Coming inside Tess?" says Diana.
"Yes," I reply. "Just wanted to have a moment to myself."
Diana walks next to me and rests her elbows on the railing. A quick glance shows her carefully applied Capital makeup smearing under her eyes. She's been crying.
"You do this every year," she says. "Why?"
I take a drink of the red bitter tasting liquid in my elaborate capital wineglass, and shrug.
"Just part of my routine," I reply.
"Well why don't you come inside," she says. "I think Bradley is having a rough night."
She turns and heads towards the door. I take one last look at the sunset, and follow.
"He deserves it," I mutter to myself.
Inside is a small recreation hall for mentors and winners whose tributes are no longer in the games. It's meant to entertain us while we wait for the games to conclude. There is a long table filled with a buffet of delicate foods, exotic drinks, and rich desserts against a wall. The rest of the hall is filled with tables with comfy chairs, and couches where we all sit, eat, drink, linger, and trade game stories. Lined along the walls are dozens of screens showing the coverage of the games. The sound is muted, as most of us aren't concerned with them anymore. We'll start paying attention again when there's maybe five tributes left, but for now, we just don't care.
In the room now are the mentors and former winners of District four, six, us in seven, and nine. Just as I take note of those present, the door opens and in stumbles another mentor. The door crashes loudly behind him, and he immediately heads towards the exotic drinks on the buffet table. Everyone stares at him momentarily as he lifts a drink from the table, turns to us, lifts his glass high, and takes a bow.
"Two days," he says. "At least its not a total embarrassment this year."
"What did yours in Haymitch?" asks a friend of his.
"Stupid boy didn't make it out of the opening, tripped over his own feet," Haymitch replies. "The girl…" he pauses and takes a drink. "….Unfortunately stumbled onto the same water stream as the boy from eleven. Strangled to death, one of the worst ways to go if you ask me."
The roam fills with moans of agreement as he takes a seat. The conversations resume, and I take a seat next to Diana. Across from us is Bradley, staring blankly with glazed over eyes. I roll my own and look to the screens, not exactly in a mood to talk. I've heard most of these conversations before anyway. They sit around and pass the time by telling stories from their years. Laughing and smiling about how they outwitted a career. Paying respects to a friend they'd lost. Lamenting how people they had to kill.
I listen, half heartedly, but I don't really care to listen, just as I don't really care to talk about my games. First of all, my victory is well known, its replayed every damn year. Second….well there is no second, I just won't ever talk about it. No, I never have, and I never will.
"Bradley," Diana says. "Would you like me to get you something to eat?"
He blink rapidly a few times, and looks at her strangely.
"No," he says. "I'm not really in the mood."
"Bradley," says one of our other winners. "Don't do this to yourself. It's not your fault."
He opens his mouth too speak before a wineglass is thrust in front of him held by Haymitch.
"Don't waist your time with that sentimental nonsense," Haymitch slurs.
Diana frowns as Bradley takes the glass and looks at it uncertainly.
"Drink it," Haymitch says. "I saw what happened, I know you must feel pretty bad. And they're right, its not your fault, you're girl was dead anyway. But words won't make you feel better. Only time, and something to help pass it with."
Bradley looks to Haymitch who takes a drink of his own.
"I'm not of age," Bradley says uncertainly.
Haymitch lowers his glass and looks around.
"No peacekeepers here," he says. "And they wouldn't care anyway. Besides, if you're old enough to compete for your life in the games, you're old enough to have a drink. At least that's the way I see it. So drink."
Bradley slowly brings the glass to his lips, tips it back, and lets it flow into his mouth. Diana is about to say something when Haymitch raises his hand to her face. She sits back in her chair and puts a sour look on her face. Meanwhile, Bradley lets the drink flow into his mouth, and his eyes and mouth wince.
Haymitch starts laughing as Bradley chokes it down.
"It gets better," Haymitch says taking another drink. "In fact, it gets great."
He slaps him on the shoulder and turns back to his original seat. I stare at Bradley as he takes another drink. The color has returned to his face, and his once blank stare is now filled with curiosity. He stares at the liquid after taking another drink, and he's once again the Bradley who taunted the careers a few nights ago. He also smiles again, and it causes a knot to form in my throat.
It's the same expression Harris had….
I shake my head and quickly get to my feet.
"Where are you going?" Diana asks.
"Too my room, that ok with you?" I snap.
If she replied, I didn't hear her. I can't hear anything, and I can only see straight in front of me. Focusing on the elevator, everything else around me becomes a blur. I strain to keep my eyes from blinking, because every time I do, I see him.
Somehow I made it to the elevator and somehow I manage to get to my room. I fall on the bed and bury my face in the pillow, but he's. I quickly flip around and look to the viewing window. It's just showing the skyline with a full view of the moon. But my heart stops, because standing on an adjacent rooftop, is him.
I rip my gaze away from the window and quickly find the remote. I press a random button, just wanting to change the view. A nice view of a sandy beach on a day with a clear blue sky fills the screen. I feel my shoulders tense as the relaxing sounds of rolling water, birds chirping and soft blowing fill the room. However, standing on the beach, wearing his tattered Hunger games uniform with a bloody would in his chest, is him.
"NO!" I shout changing the viewer again.
It turns to the view of capital people partying in the streets below. Dancing and drinking in their elaborate clothes. But standing in the middle of them all, is him.
I change it again, and he's still there. Again, still there. Again, and again, and again, and he's still there every time.
"STOP IT!" I shriek throwing the remote at the viewer.
I know he's not there, its just in my mind. Yet I see him still. I always do, no matter how hard I try not too. Every year it's the same, I come here, and all I can see is him. No matter what I do, he's still here with me. I tried Haymitch's answer once, but being drunk only made it worse. I tried Diana's method, to be a dedicated mentor, but I only saw their faces with his. I've tried many different ways, but nothings worked. No matter what, he's still here.
So I do what I always do, I give in. I fall to the floor, curl my knees to my chest, bury my face into my arms, and sob hysterically. He stares right at in my soul as the damn which keeps the memories at bay breaks open, allow them to flow freely. The only good thing, is that I know no one can see me like this.
The hand of luck was never harsher than to Harris Beeglebottle, from District three.
I had managed to survive the first week into the games. Constantly on the move, trying to avoid any and all contact with other tributes, desperately searching for water. I didn't want to be killed, and I wasn't sure if I would be able to kill anyone myself. The thought of taking another's life was just as terrifying as the thought of someone taking mine.
I don't think my pulse ever rested during those first few days. Every sound I heard in the ruins caused my heart to leap through my chest. I hardly slept, and I was starving. The pack I managed to grab contained some dried meats, a canteen, and some strange metal string wound up in a tight ball. However, I couldn't find water, and I wasn't receiving any help from sponsors. At this point there was maybe ten tributes left, and the career pack was hunting us down one by one.
They'd find me eventually, and when they did, I wouldn't stand a chance. Without any weapons, and no way to find more food or water, I'd be an easy kill. Ironically, the longer it took them to find me, the easier I'd be to kill.
That all changed when I happened to stumble upon Harris.
I had come to an old building whose bottom floor was still standing. The nights were bitterly cold in the arena, so finding shelter like this had become necessary. Inside it was dark, and the sun was beginning to set. Overhead I heard two cannons fire and knew we were down to 8 tributes. So I dashed inside and prepared to spend the night there.
It was pitch black, and the air had a strange musty smell in it. I carefully tiptoed through the building being sure not to make a sound. However, something clicked and I felt a wave of hot air, and a strange humming sound.
I quickly turned around and began to run, fearing it was a game makers trap. However, I ran into something small.
"Ooof," I said, but quickly put my hand over my mouth, flipped over, and scanned the darkness.
Something crashed to the floor and was followed by the sound of small feet running away. Reaching in the darkness with my hand, I found a pack, similar to mine. Inside was something cold, long, and round. Running it through my hands, I found a switch, which I clicked without thinking.
A bright beam of light flooded the empty room and we both shouted at the same time. The beam fell on a young boy with a round face, messy brown hair, blue eyes, and thick glasses. His eyes were wide and his lips trembling. I remembered him from the opening ceremonies, and he was the last person I expected to find.
My first instinct was to dash over and hit him. I'm not sure with what, perhaps this light beam thingy or a rock, I don't know, but I had to do something. He was an enemy, someone who had to die if I wanted to survive, and if I didn't kill him, he would try to kill me. However, we just sat still and stared at each other. It was then I realized how young he was, twelve I think they had said, and from District three, electronics.
I tried pushing those thoughts away. He was an enemy. However, he was also someone who didn't stand a chance against the careers and was probably just trying to hide out until they found him. Like me. I think that's what pushed me to talk to him
"Harris?" I said quietly.
Slowly, he nodded his head, his lip still trembling.
"What are you doing here?" I asked.
He remained still, his back against a wall, eyes never leaving me. I slowly stood up, but kept the light beam on him.
"I can make it warm here," he said. "Makes sleeping a little easier."
I tilt my head and take a step closer to him. I notice it is warm in here, almost cozy, and its from a current of warm air flowing throughout the remains of this building.
"How did you do that?" I asked.
He lifts a shaking arm and points to the darkness to his left. Keeping him in my peripheral vision, I point the light beam in that direction and see a strange device mounted on a window. The device is covered with a strange gray material I think is called plastic. It's humming softly and emitting warm air which circulates throughout the building. One of its panels are open and a mess of metal strings are all hanging about.
"Wow," I said. "You got that thing to work?"
"Yeah," Harris says in a more casual tone.
I turn the beam back to him and see he's actually smiling.
"It wasn't that difficult actually," he says. "I just had to crosswire the negative and positive reactors, replace the ignition fuse, jerry rig an intake valve, reset the cpu, and clean out the ducts. Works great now."
I had no idea what he just said.
"Wow," I said again. "Is that what you learn in District three?"
He nods his head slowly as a sad look comes over his face.
"Yeah, electronics," he says. "It's why I'm just hiding here until they find me."
My heart sinks. He knows he doesn't stand a chance either. The careers are too well trained, ruthless, and cunning.
"Well you've managed well so far," I say trying to be encouraging.
I was more encouraging back then, and sympathetic. I was able to make friends easily back home too, especially with boys. I'm not sure why, I guess I always felt I had more in common with boys. Same was true with Harris, but actually in a serious way. We were both from disadvantaged Districts, and we weren't molded to match the typical winner of the Hunger Games. No, we were the ones nobody ever expects to win. We were both dealt unlucky cards by the hand of luck, and as such, I started to feel a connection to him.
Harris's eyes became heavy again.
"Not really," he says. "I can't find food, and the only water I have is from condensation below. Not exactly a good survival skill. I wouldn't be surprise if the bacteria kills me before the careers do."
I didn't know what bacteria was, but it sounded bad. Not wanting to show that I didn't know what bacteria, cpu's, jerry rigging, or ignitions were, smiled at him encouragingly, and offered him a piece of meat from my pack. I've often wondered if that was wise. I go back and forth all the time.
"Well here," I say tossing him a strip. "Take some of this, and maybe tomorrow we can find water. I have a canteen, and there has to be a river or lake somewhere, the vegetation here can't grow without it, even if this was once a concrete jungle."
His eyes are so wide with gratitude as he takes the meat. It was so…innocent, and pure. It took me by storm, and I did something I hadn't done since my name was drawn in the reaping. I laughed.
His cheeks immediately turned red and he looked away.
"Thanks," he squeaks as he starts to nibble on the meat.
I raise an eyebrow as we sit down. I open my pack and show him all I have; the meats, the canteen, and the funny metal string wrapped in a spool. When he see's the wire, his eyes widen under those thick glasses to the size of silver dollars, and he starts bouncing on his bottom as if an ant farm crawled in his shorts.
"Ooh ooh ooh," he says taking it from my fingers. "This was in your pack?" he asks.
"Yes," I reply. "But I'm not sure what it is. I thought about maybe trying to use it to strangle someone…."
"No, no," he says quickly. "This is copper wiring. It conducts electricity. We grow up learning how to use this stuff."
"Oh," I say simply. "Well what good is it out here?"
"Well, I can rewire some the old things lying around, like the heater," he says. "Maybe the lights, or other old electronics around here. Hey maybe even…"
He pauses and smiles slyly.
"What?" I ask.
"Maybe I can even use this to make something's blow up," he says confidently.
I feel my lips slowly form into a wide smile.
"Might be useful if anyone comes looking for us," I say nodding my head.
He nods his head enthusiastically.
"Let's see what else we have," I say matching his smile. "What's in your pack?"
"Not much I'm afraid," he says. "Just some bandages, a sleeping sack, and two small axes. I used the axes to cut the wires, but I was sloppy with them…"
"Axes?" I say brightly.
"Yeah, two, hatchets, I think you call them," he replies. "I think you're suppose to use them make kindling for a fire…
"Show me," I say interrupting him.
He unzips his pack and withdraws the most beautiful things I've seen since I stepped in the arena. Two small hand hatches. I smile with glee and take them in my hands.
"You're from seven right?" he asks. "So you can make use of them?"
"I sure can," I reply. "I can start a fire, make kindling, even butcher up a piece of meat. Well it won't be very clean, but its better than nothing."
I pause and smile slyly again.
"One more thing I can do with these," I say.
"What's that?"
"This!"
I hurl one of the axes towards a wooden door barely visible in our light. It flies end over end until the heads sticks with a nice thud. I turn to Harris whose eyes are wide in aww.
"Nice huh," I say.
His sly smile returns.
"Might be useful if anyone comes looking for us huh," he says.
My cheeks are so wide they almost hurt. We spend the rest of the night making plans, sharing stories, talking about each others Districts, and having a good time.
He's a nice boy, very smart, polite, and full of bright energy. Harris reminds me of several of my friends back home, all good people, all facing the same struggles, all getting through each day as best they can. We're an odd alliance, no doubt, but it's still nice, and I realize something strange. I care about him. Because together, we both have a feeling neither of us have felt since our names were drawn at the reaping.
Hope.
I slowly open my eyes at stare at the viewer again. Tears still streaming down my cheeks, and my chest trembling.
My eyes are so heavy. I haven't slept much this last week and half. I never do during the games. Every night I see Harris, relieve the moments when we first met, and weep until the sun rises. Then I drink as much coffee as I can, and try to keep it together until I can retreat to my room again. I don't need anyone asking about it, I certainly don't want to talk about it. I hate myself enough already.
Today is the last day though. We're at the winners ceremony and in the middle of watching a three hour montage of the highlights of this years game. Following this, the winner, who is the girl from District 1, will return home for a few months and then take a tour of the other Districts. The winner is all smiles, which isn't a surprise. She's a career, and expected to win. Having spent her whole life training for this particular time in her life, she now feels all her hard work has paid off.
It was completely different for me.
"You, gonna eat thash," slurs Bradley whose sitting next to me again.
He points to the leg of poultry untouched on my plate. However, he leans too far and falls, his face landing in my lap. I quickly push my chair away and tumbles onto the floor, laughing and gulping at the same time.
"No," I snap. "It's all yours."
Diana and another mentor help a disoriented, yet still laughing, Bradley to his feet. His face is covered in gravy, his cheeks are flush, and one eye is swollen, but his lips have formed a very satisfied smile.
"Hehe, nice," he says.
My fist connects with his nose and after a sickening crunching sound blood begins to flow from his nostrils.
"AHH!" he yelps.
Diana and the other mentor quickly sit him down, tilt his head back, and put a cloth over his nose. He starts whimpering, but doesn't seem too coherent enough to know I hit him. When they have him settled, Diana stands up and glares at me.
"Was that necessary?" Diana asks.
I take a cloth and wipe off the gravy on my knuckles, which used to be on Bradley's face.
"Do you think I care," I respond. "At least now you can get him sober for the ride home."
I toss the cloth on the banquet table and walk away disgusted. In the background, Cesar Flinkman has begun his interview of the winner. Cesar, a genuinely nice guy, asks her questions about various moments in the games. What was her key strategic move, did she ever feel she might loose, when did she realize she had a chance to win, and finally, how did it feel when it was announced she had won.
I stand against the back wall and look to the floor, listening to her answer.
"I can't even describe the feeling Cesar, it was so amazing," she says. "I've spent my whole life working towards this goal, and it all paid off. I'm still on a high, as they used to say in the dark days."
Cesar and the crowd erupt in applause and cheers. I shake my head in dismay. The careers are trained well. Even now they still play the crowds, knowing their actions will be reflected upon future tributes. I walk out of the hall and head towards the train. As soon as this interview is over, we'll be ushered back to our Districts, no need to keep us around longer than they have too.
I board our train and collapse into a window seat. My eyes are so heavy I allow them close, but only for a moment.
Next thing I know the sun is breaking over the horizon and the familiar forests of District seven are coming into view. I slowly lift my head and see the rest all keeping to themselves. A TV is on and its replaying the highlights from last night, and explaining the order of Districts the winner will travel too.
I don't remember much of my victory tour. All the Districts seemed to blend together, and my memories of my visits are hazy. I did what the capital wanted, I smiled, waved, thanked the families, wished them luck the following year, and moved on. I don't remember any of their faces, what kind of reactions I got, or even if anyone cared I was there. I take that back. I do remember one. Harris' mother.
District three was a concrete jungle, similar to what I think the city our arena was made of used to be. There's nothing green there. No fields, meadows, wild grass, weeds, nothing. Not even a stray dandelion growing in the cracks of the pavement. It was a District made of rows upon rows of the same looking houses and buildings. It's a good thing I didn't live there, I'd always be lost.
In the middle of the District, like most others, was the town square and Justice building. I was there, doing my usual performance which had become routine by now. It was just another hazy day for me, until I saw her.
In the front row, there was a familiar round face, familiar wide eyes, and familiar thick glasses on an older woman wearing a modest dress with graying hair. Harris' mother. I remember my heart stopping as our eyes met. I may have been in the middle of a sentence, because I vaguely remember Pricilla stepping to the microphone as my mind went blank and I couldn't think of anything to say. Pricilla must have finished whatever I was saying, because there was mild applause from the audience and I was quickly whisked away. I've never been sure, and I've never asked, because in that moment, all I remember is the look Harris' mother gave me.
I remember some of the looks from the other families of tributes who hadn't survived. Some were indifferent because I had nothing to do with the deaths of their kids. Some were grateful, because their kids were killed by the careers who I eventually defeated. Some had nothing but disdain for me, those were the families of the careers from one and two. All of these I could handle, and like everything else, I never learned their names or remembered their faces. But I'll never forget her.
In her expression wasn't gratefulness, disdain, or indifference. No, none of these, I could of handled those and she'd be just another faceless woman I'd forget as soon as I left. Instead, it was the worst expression I could have possibly imagined. And every time I think of her, and the look she gave me, my chest tightens and I feel like crawling under a rock.
Her expression reflected deep hurt.
After they whisked me away from the stage, I ran back the train, and refused to speak to anyone until the next day. They didn't fight me, and we just continued on to the next District. When I came out again, they tried comforting me, reminding me this was a celebration of my victory, and how honored I should feel. Piss on that. I didn't feel honored, or even proud. Sure, I guess winning the games is a huge accomplishment, after all everyone else who competed is dead, but its just….well they can never understand. At least Diana and the others do.
When I returned home, there was a huge festival in the square, and everyone was excited to see me. But I skipped the festivities and just went home, well my new home, in Victor's lane. I didn't even bother to talk to the boyfriend I'd left behind when I was chosen. I've been told he's happily married now.
"Home sweesh home," Bradley slurs loudly as the train stops.
He takes one last gulp of the drink he's been enjoying and makes his way to the door. Silently, we all gather our things, and exit the train. Outside, the square is deserted even though its still early evening. The sun hasn't even finished setting yet. A few lights can be seen in various buildings, but most people are getting ready for bed, resting their bodies for tomorrows busy workday.
As I'm making my way down the stairs, Diana hangs back blocks my way.
"You going to be ok for the mayors dinner?" she asks.
The mayor holds a dinner for us every year when we return. It's his way of thanking us, hearing our account of the games, and wondering what we can do to improve our chances next year.
"Of course I will be," I reply indignantly.
I try to push ahead, but Diana blocks me.
"You sure," she says after a moment. "You've been particularly…difficult, this year, even for you."
"Don't worry, I won't embarrass you anymore," I sneer.
"It's not me I'm worried about," she says as I make my way past her.
Diana takes the mentor role too seriously. Always has, probably always will. But that's her way of dealing. Trying to help others win makes her feel good about what she had to do to win her games. She's pretty good at it too. She's helped five of us win in the thirty some years since she competed. Believe it or not, that's pretty good all things considered. I'll admit, she was a huge help to me.
After our first night in the old ruin building, Harris and I spent the next two days strategizing and preparing. Odd though we may have seemed, we seemed to make a perfect team.
"Ok so listen," I remember saying as we assessed our location and supplies. "We don't stand a chance beating the careers one on one, they'll slaughter us in a heartbeat."
"Yup, a heartbeat," Harris replied brightly.
"And, they're not stupid," I continue. "They'll always be in their pack, never alone. So even if we get lucky and take out one, the other will just jump in and…"
I make a slashing motion across my neck with a finger.
"Yup, just like…"
He mimics my movement with his own finger.
"So here's what we gotta do," I say smiling slyly.
His head nods quickly several times and forms a sly smile of his own.
"We takem out all at once," I say cockily. "One…swift….stroke."
"One…swift….stroke," he repeats.
"They may have strength, speed, and pretty sharp weapons," I continue.
"Big swords, sharp knives," he says.
"But we got the brains," I say pointing to him. "And the…well lets just say I'm the bait."
"Brains and bait," he says smiling ear to ear.
"So what do you say brains?" I ask.
"Well, here's what I think we can do," he says eagerly. "We find all the scrap metal and parts we can find. With this copper wire you have, I can create some small explosives which we can hide all over this place, like a minefield. Then, we lure them here, they step on the mines, and are blown sky high."
He raises his arms and makes a corny explosion sound. I laugh and raise my hands as well.
"One…swift…stroke," I say again.
"Hehe, that'll show them," he says.
"Sure will," I reply.
Just then we hear a cannon in the distance, and our smiles fade. We've been keeping track, and we know that cannon means there's only seven tributes left. The four careers, someone else from some random District, and us.
"We better get started," I say soberly.
"Yup," he replies straight faced. "I'll start wiring, you start getting the camouflage ready."
We move in silence, and begin creating our trap. We work the rest of the day, and long into the night. I gather every piece of metal, shrapnel, and other strange metal thing that I know nothing about. Meanwhile, Harris sits down, fiddling with wires, fuses, igniters and all sorts of gizmo's I know even less about.
"You know, we're very lucky we found this place, and all these old circuit boards, heating coils, motherboards, and fuses are all lying around," he says.
"Uh huh," I respond after dropping off a load and leaving to get more.
After he's rigged several explosives, we begin laying them in a large clearing around the old building. I hate being out in the open like this, it makes me all jittery. The careers are out hunting, and whose to say they won't find us before the last non-career out there. They could be spying on us right now for all I know. But then again, if they were, we'd know it, because we'd be dead.
With each spastic movement I make, Harris snaps at me.
"Careful!" he spits. "You'll blow us to smithereens."
"I thought you said they could only be set off by the trip wire," I hiss back.
"Well that's how they're suppose to work, but common, its not like I have the highest quality material to work with here."
"So what are you saying?" I say standing straight up, eye wide. "They could go off at any minute?"
"I'm saying…." he pauses and his eyes shift uneasily. "Just be careful ok."
I open my mouth to shout every profanity I know at him, but stop as another cannon erupts in the sky.
Our eyes lock, and our faces become blank. Only six now, and we're all that's left. We shut our mouths and finished laying the traps. When they're placed, I quickly covered the traps with various twigs, branches, dead grass, and tree bark I've gathered while he was working. Soon, but not nearly soon enough, the traps are set, and we retreat to our abandoned building.
We sit down and rest a minute, catching our breaths, realizing the moment will soon be upon us. After a few moments, I gather up my pack and nod my head.
"Ok," I say. "Phase two."
"The bait," Harris says softly. He swallows as I put the two axes in my belt.
"Yup," I reply. "The bait. Hopefully I can clear the field before they step on one."
Silence.
"Damn it," Harris says shaking his head after a moment.
"What?" I ask.
"It's just, if only I had something to make a fuse with, and light it, we wouldn't have to hope they step on one. They could just move into the area and I could blow'em manually as soon as you've cleared."
"You could do that?" I ask revealing I know nothing of electronics.
This kid is a genius, and as I'm continually impressed by him, I realize how lucky I was to be allied with him.
"Yeah," he says distressed. "And honestly, I looked and looked for anything I could use for a igniter. But it would need a fluid fuel source and any fluid around here probably evaporated waaaaay before we ever got here."
"Damn," I say. "That would have been good."
"I know," he says exasperated. "I'm sorry…."
We stop as a most welcome sound is heard. A tiny jingle. We lift our heads and our eyes widen with delight at a most welcome sight. A parachute with a tiny capsule attached to it. We both leap to our feet and jump towards it. I manage to reach and bring it down to us. With eager hands we open the case and stare at the tiny object with in. He gasps and pulls it out, holding it like it's a precious gem. Me however, well I have my usual confounded look on me. Whatever this item was, it was clearly meant for Harris.
"What is it?" I ask.
He holds the tiny plastic object in front of me. Inside, I see there is a small amount of fluid inside, along with a metal jagged ring with a switch on the outside.
"It's a lighter," he says. "Watch."
He flicks the metal ring and a tiny flame leaps forth from the object. My eyes widen in delight. This is exactly what we needed. Plus, its late in the game, and its expensive, but its just what we need.
"You know what this means?" I say.
"Yeah I can make the fuse…"
"No, it means people are rooting for us," I say. "It means they think we can win! They want us to win!"
"Oh yeah!" he squeals. "Oh thank you, thank you, thank you."
With renewed hope he quickly assembles the fuse which is the last part of our plan. It doesn't take long, and when he's finished, I gather my axes and prepare to take off to find the careers. The plan from here is simple…though very dangerous. Basically, I find them, get them to chase me, and lure them here. Then, Harris hit's the switch, and blows'em up. One…swift….stroke.
"Well," I say pulling the pack over my shoulders. "Wish me luck."
Instead of wishing me luck, he runs to me and wraps his arms my waist…tightly. I pause for a moment, then before I realize it, my arms are around his shoulders…tightly.
"Good luck," he whispers.
"Thanks buddy," I say.
I wait for him to let go, but he keeps holding me. Even after I lift my own arms.
"You're gonna have to let me go if we're gonna pull this off," I say after a moment.
He drops his arms, steps away, and tries to hide his blushing face.
"Sorry," he says.
I allow a small laugh to escape and I ruffle his hair with my hand.
"Don't be sorry," I say.
He shrugs.
"I know, its just that…" he looks to the ground and bites his lip. "I never thought I'd meet someone who'd actually want to align with me. Much less a girl."
My mouth hangs open and I can't find any words to say. His cheeks are bright red, and the longer I stay silent, the brighter they become. I can't think of anything to say. He's such a good kid, and in a normal world, he'd have so much going for him. One day he will make a very lucky woman happy. I decide to tell him that, in my own way.
"Well look buddy," I say slyly. "When we pull this off, all the girls in your District will be all over you."
His lips widen into a sheepish smile.
"Oh come on" he says.
"No I mean it," I say matter of factly. "You're gonna take out four careers just like that. How many other boys in your District have done that?"
His smile widens, and widens even more after I wink while turning to leave.
After the games, Diana told me how she cashed in every favor she had to get us that lighter. I punched her harder than I punched Bradley.
"You know, our biggest problem is just the stupid hand of luck," the mayor says while chewing loudly with his mouth open.
The rest of us pretend to listen, except Bradley whose ordering another drink.
"Hey," the mayor shouts at him. "You're still underage."
"I'ss won for your fat ash, and that maksshh me old enough forsa drink," Bradley manages to say.
The mayor glares at Bradley, but takes another bite. I slowly move Bradley's glass out of his reach, he's too drunk to notice. Diana nods a thank you at me, while the rest just continue eating.
"Anyway," the mayor says. "I'm trying to think of ways we can improve our chances. Make our potential pool of competitive tributes larger."
"What kind of ideas are those?" Diana asks.
"Well," the mayor says chewing loudly. "What if we lower the working age? I mean, that's basically what all you have in common. You'd worked in the yards for a few years. It toughened you all up. Built your strength, taught you how to work on a near empty stomach, stay up late at night, think while exhausted. Most importantly, you learned how to use axes. Like how the four's use tridents, or the 6's use their damn farming tools."
I slowly inhale as my grip around my steak knife tightens.
"I'm not sure that would really improve our chances all that much," Diana says. "Besides, we actually do very well compared to other Districts…."
"But it's not enough," the mayor says slamming his fist on the table. "We need to win more so we can open our own academy like one and two."
My eyes fly wide open and my head snaps in his direction.
"The yard is dangerous," says a man next to Bradley. "The 16 year olds have to be given mild jobs as it is and have a shorter school year. We'd have to do the same for anyone younger, and they'd fall behind in their studies."
"What good are those anyway?" the mayor says. "They learn all they really need in their first few years. No, if they start younger, more people will learn what they need, and our pool of competent tributes grows larger. Plus, we'd get more productivity out of the yard. Win, win, if you ask me," the mayor says proudly.
"We didn't," I say darkly.
All eyes slowly turn to me. Diana's eyes are wide with alarm and she gives me a pleading look.
"Oh yeah Tessa," the mayor says. "Well maybe I didn't ask your opinion. And I'm not sure I'd ever want it again. Not after the way you acted this whole weekend. That's right, don't think I didn't hear. Pricilla went on for several hours about your behavior."
I open my mouth to snap off something nasty, but I see all the others. They all have the same look on them, begging me not to start anything. I look to each one, and slowly close my mouth. They all want the same thing I want. They don't want a career program, and they don't want the working age lowered. However, pushing the mayors buttons will not help anything. It has to be done diplomatically, which clearly isn't my strong suit.
"I'm sorry," I say. "It was just hard to see our tributes die so quickly."
"Oh I agree," the mayor says jovially as if nothing has happened. "Which is why we need to make our pool of candidates more…prepared…for the games. Bigger pool, means better odds, and as they say, may the odds ever be in our favor."
He goes on and on, and each moment that passes I hate him more and more. He's serious about creating a career program. As if that's what we need, a pair of psychopaths volunteering for our District every year. Will it help our District? Maybe. But he's never faced them in the arena. Never seen how every ounce of humanity is stripped from them. No, he's the mayor, and he enjoys the games as much as the people in the Capital do. He loves us when we win, we're his favorite people and we can basically do whatever we want, as Bradley just found out.
And when we loose, he starts talking like this. Lowering the working age, making our pool of candidates more preferable, starting a career program. One year I even heard him suggest making every eleven year old take a special class on the games to try and "encourage" them to learn the skills they would need on their own. As if they need that! They watch the damn games every year as it is, and I can't tell you how many times I was woken up in the middle of the night as first years are screaming from nightmares.
As soon as dinner is over, I storm out of there without saying a word. I kept my promise to Diana, I didn't leave early, and I didn't make a scene. I walk straight home, to victors lane, and slam the door. Once it's closed, I start kicking it over and over again, pounding my fist against the door and shouting to myself.
The victors homes are more private than others, so I never hesitate to let my emotions fly. And boy do they fly. I curse the mayor, I curse the peacekeepers, I curse the capital, I curse President Snow, and mostly, I curse the damn people of Panem for making us kill one another.
After my tirade, I sink to the floor and cover my face with my eyes. Shaking my head, I think about how many people just died these last few weeks for entertainment. Careers aren't born killers, they're created, and the mayor wants to create them here as well. I wasn't a killer before I went into the arena, and I'm not one now. I've never killed….My eyes fly wide open as the memories flood back to me again and I realize I'm lying to myself again.
I am a killer. I did kill people. Not as many as others in my games, but it doesn't matter. Is someone who murders one person any less of a monster than the one who kills ten? No. Yet there are some differences. The careers kill because they're trained to do so, the rest of us kill because we have too. However, I only had to kill one person in my games.
The trap was set, the bait was took, and I was running as fast as I could through the ancient ruins, the career pack close behind. They had been camped where we thought they'd be, by the cornucopia where we all emerged. They use the same damn strategy every year, gather all the supplies, make a camp, hunt for everyone else. Knowing this, I made my way to the cornucopia and waited until they were all together. When they were all sitting around, laughing and retelling some of the kills, I made my move.
My axe landed in a wooden crate between the legs of the boy from 1.
Their heads all snapped towards me, and I made myself appeared alarmed and terrified. I acted as though I wanted to take him out, but that I'd missed. Not so, and as I turned and began running as fast as I could, hearing them scrambling behind me with curses and taunts flying from their lips, I smiled slyly.
It was working.
Being from District 7, I had the advantage as we made our way across the ruins. The city was overrun with wild vegetation from centuries of overgrowth. So while they stumbled, tripped, and had to slow themselves once in a while, I navigated over the terrain flawlessly, making me a hard target to hit with their bows.
I never stopped, and only occasionally checked behind me, making sure all four were still following. Like a pack of mad dogs, they continued pursuing me, shouting threats the entire time. If they kept that up, I wouldn't even have too signal Harris, he'd hear them from a mile away.
I stay ahead, but not too far ahead, making sure no one breaks off and tries to outflank me. I'm playing to their savage instincts. I'm their prey, and their so close to sinking their teeth in my neck.
Soon I see the clearing ahead, and my heart starts to race. They've been shouting the whole time, so I know Harris is in position, just waiting for them to run through the mine field. However, I have to slow my pace, and sweep the ground with my eyes. I can recognize where I camouflaged the traps, but I have to be careful not to step in them. I also have to hope they don't notice the change in my behavior.
I make it through the most of the mine field, just as they start to enter it. I know Harris will wait until I'm clear before he blows it, so I only need to make it a few more paces. That's when I hear the sound of an arrow slicing through the air, and the excruciating pain in leg.
"Gasp," I cry and I fall flat on my face.
Instinctively I reach behind me and feel the arrow shaft protruding from my leg, along with the shouts and cheers of the careers. Holding my last axe in my hand, I try to ignore the pain and crawl the rest of the way. I don't need to go far, and I can take cover behind a half wall just outside the field.
Ahead I can Harris, peering through a small opening in the wall I'm trying to reach. His face is white, and he's breathing rapidly. Behind, I can the careers have stopped running because they are taunting me as they make their way closer. I keep crawling, but my leg is in so much pain I cry out with each stride I make. Meanwhile Harris is making a throwing motion with his hands, frantically over and over.
It takes a moment before I realize his newest ingenious idea. I turn on my back, raise the arm with the axe in it, spot a camouflaged mine, and throw it as hard as I can, just as the girl from two draws her bow.
The explosion knocks two of them back, and causes the other two jump in surprise. The boy from one lands on another mine. It explodes before he can scream. One down.
The girl from one inadvertently steps on one. Two down.
The girl from one and the boy from two freeze immediately as they realize what they've walked into. Meanwhile, I've crawled my way out of the field, slid behind the wall, as Harris flips the lighter and ignites the fuse.
A soft crackling sound fills the air as the tiny spark travels along a trail of wire Harris has rigged to the explosions. The remaining careers hear the sound and desperately search for it. The girl gasps and points as she sees the spark racing towards them. They try to run, but its too late, the spark reaches the mine, and they all ignite.
"Get down!" Harris shouts as he leaps on top of me.
I've just managed to pull the arrow out of my leg as the explosion knocks the wall down on top of us. My ears start to ring, and my face feel flush, but we're safe, and relatively unscathed. The sound of dirt and rubble falling lasts only a few seconds before all becomes quiet again. Slowly, we remove the rubble that fell on top of us, and examine the mine field. Lying all about, are four bodies burned, charred, and still.
Carefully, we move into the minefield, waiting patiently, and keeping our eyes trained on them. A moment later we hear four cannon fires overhead, and Harris leaps into the air pumping his fist.
"We did it!" Harris yells.
"Wow," I say placing my hands on my knees. I'm short of breath, but I can't stop smiling as my chest heaves.
My leg is bleeding, so I sit down and begin to wrap it, while Harris continues prancing around admiring his work.
"We did it!" he keeps saying over and over. "Guess life long training isn't everything huh."
"No it sure isn't," I say giving my wrapping one final tug.
I slowly stand up, look to the sky, knowing all of Panem is watching us, including our own Districts who are no doubt thrilled with our victory. My lips stay pressed together as they curl into a devious smile. I can't help myself, but I raise my hand slowly.
"This is for all the careers out there," I say.
All of my fingers curl into a fist, except for my middle one.
Harris starts giggling uncontrollably. I keep my hand held high and nod my head over and over, knowing this image is being broadcasted all over Panem, and especially in Districts 1 and 2. The joy overwhelms us, and in these few moments we forget everything else while we savor this victory.
It vanished with the announcers voice.
"Congratulations tributes Tessa from District seven, and Harris from District three," the announcer said. "You are the final two contestants in the 64th annual Hunger Games. The last one standing will be the winner. Good luck, and may the odds ever be in your favor."
Harris's giggling stops, and so the pain in my leg. My smile fades, and my hand slowly lowers. My breathing slows, and my mind goes blank.
Turning slowly to Harris, I see he's trembling from head to toe, the color drained from his round face, his eyes wide behind those thick glasses. We stare at each other silently, as the slow realization comes to us, something we've ignored ever since we stared working together. Only one of us can win, meaning the other has to die.
I remember every little detail of what happens next, even though I've tried everyday to forget it. I can see myself turning towards him, and as I do, I no longer see the small boy with the round face who took out the career pack. Instead, I just a threat, an enemy, someone who kill me, if I don't him first. A primal force takes over my body, and all I can think of is survival, and this boy is in my way.
He looks to his left, then his right, then back to me, and starts to back away. Meanwhile, I've already taken two steps towards him, everything in my vision blurry except for him. He stumbles, never taking his eyes off me, tears now streaming down his face. Struggling to reach his feet, he turns to run, but I've manage to grab the hood of his arena suit.
"Please!" he shouts as I throw him to the ground.
I see him laying there, struggling against me, but I feel nothing.
He cries for help, forgetting we're the only two left. I place my good leg on his stomach, letting my bad one hang out behind me. I push my right arm into his neck, where both his hands grab hold and try to pull it away. Tears are streaming down his red face as his eyes are filled with horror.
"Tessa please!" he shouts.
I hear him, but I feel nothing, only a desire to live, to survive.
I pick up the arrow that had struck my leg, and hold its tip over his chest. He struggles harder, pulling at my arm as hard as he can, kicking his legs wildly, screaming at the top of his lungs. I still don't hear him. I don't know who this person is, how they know my name, or why they think I'd fall for their trick. This boy will kill me, if I don't kill him first.
"Tessa!" he shouts once more.
He gasps as the arrow plunges into his chest. Coughing, blood flows where the arrow is protruding from his chest, and out of his mouth. Continuing to struggle, his strength slowly fades. The arrow is held steady, as his legs stop kicking, and his arms stop pulling. At last his eyes settle into a blank stare, and glaze over.
The next thing I hear is the cannon erupt over head, and my senses return.
I gasp and pull the arrow from his chest. Blinking rapidly, I see the blood on his body, and then my hands. My chest starts to tremble, and a knot forms in my throat.
"Harris!" I cry out falling to his side.
I take his wrist and hold it in mine, searching for a pulse. I don't find one.
"NO!" I shout and crawl backwards away from his body.
I stop and look at my hands once more. My hands are covered with his blood. I don't want to believe it, try to tell myself it isn't true, but its no use…. His blood is on my hands. The world began spinning at that point as I lost control. Tears flowing, legs shaking, chest heaving as I gasp over and over for air. My vision is cloudy, and my hearing muffled.
I can barely hear the announcer congratulating my victory.
"NOO!" I shout at the top of my lungs as I hurl a glass vase at a mirror in my home at victory lane.
I pick up a small stone sculpture and hurl it towards the wall. It drops harmlessly to the floor so I pick it up and start smashing it against the wall over and over until a large hole appears. I storm through the house, shouting and cursing at the top of my lungs.
"Damn the games!" I shout as I flip the mattress of my bed.
"Damn the career!" I shout as I kick down a wooden banister.
"Damn the game makers," I shout as I smash a window with a chair.
"Damn Panem," I shout as I kick down my front door and run into the streets.
I'm out of control now, but I don't care. Too many times I've relived these events, and it's never gotten easier. Yes I'm a victor of the Hunger Games, but it turned me into this cold hearted monster. I gave into my animal instinct, and I killed Harris. Poor, sweet, innocent Harris, who had been dealt the same hand as me.
Every year it's the same, starting with the reaping. I relive what happened, watch as the commentators replay Harris' minefield trap which is considered one of the best strategic moves in any games, and celebrate my victory.
Yet I never escape the torment brought on by what I did. I remember his face as we agreed to align together, full of hope. I remember the way he laughed, innocent. I remember how his arms felt around my waist, so pure. I remember the joy we felt as our plan succeeded and we beat the odds. I remember the blank stare as the life faded from his eyes. I remember the look his mother gave me, so hurt, that I could do that too her poor sweet boy.
It's dark out, and the only light available is from a few poorly lit street lamps. Somehow I've made my way to the town square, where several peacekeepers are stationed. They see me stumbling into the square, my rage inherent, and they place their hands on their guns.
I continue my tirade, not caring who hears anymore.
"Damn you all," I shout at the peacekeepers. "You want to be entertained! I'll give you entertainment."
Two make their way towards me.
"Stand down!" one shouts. "You get only one warning."
I hold still and raise out my hand. They pause and draw their weapons, fingers on the triggers, raising them to their eyes. I know what they're trained to do, and I'm hoping it doesn't fail them. I should have died in the arena, the odds were never in my favor. Yet somehow, I defied them, but its never felt right since. I should have died in the arena like I was suppose too.
"This is for the capital," I say.
All my fingers curl into a fist, except my middle one.
I hear several explosions, similar to the ones Harris and I created. I feel my chest lurch in several directions as pain rips through my body. Unable to control my body, I fall hard onto the ground, and gasp. Everything seems to be moving in slow motion as I open my eyes and see several people running towards me. My visions slowly starts to grow cloudy, and my chest feels so heavy I can hardly breathe. The last thing I see is a peacemaker stand over me and put a cold piece of metal to my forehead. I hear one more explosion, and all becomes dark.
The hand of luck has finally dealt me a fair hand.