Come Away to the Water
I counted two dead today, both from district six.
"How many are left?" Martin my district partner whispered. I stared into the fake, hazy man-made sky watching the last of the dead tributes pictures fade. "Hey, I said how many are left?"
"I don't want to talk." I said
"Are, are you still upset that I brought up…him?" I sat up smashing the dying embers of the fire discontented wishing Martin would shut his mouth.
"I told you, end of discussion." Martin bowed his head continuing to pick at the earth lethargically digging a small hole with his sharp, curved fishing knife. Are, are you still upset that I brought up…him? Upset? I'm not even sure upset is the right word to describe how I feel. Guilt? Remorseful? Disgusted? I felt like rolling into a ball never to unravel myself.
Keaton Slade.
Keaton Slade was his name. He was my best friend.
I never gave much thought about torture or the games until his name was drawn last year. We were both fifteen. Growing up we heard stories of people getting their tongues cut out. I've heard of tortures of denailing, hamstringing, and pitchcapping. These tortures where supposedly kept for the rebelling people of all districts, all tortures involved the removal of body parts.
That year I watched my best friend die. I never had a real family since the death of my parents at six years old. That's when Keaton and his father stepped in. Since then, Keaton and his father was the only real family I had left. When Keaton died his father step out of my life like I was a painful memory. Then my reaping came when I turned sixteen.
"Penny Hayes!"
A light ocean breeze swirled through the crowd sending the salty scents washing over me. Goosebumps consumed me making the hair rise on my arms. Automatically I scan over to the spot where Keaton stood the year before. A small underfed boy about the age of twelve stood where he stood. He stared at me with fear and relief in his eyes. That same relief I felt all the years before when my name wasn't picked out of that big glass bowl.
Everyone around me stepped back waiting for the peacekeepers to retrieve me from the crowd. Men in white informs stalked toward me.
"No," I whisper finding my voice. "I don't want to go. I don't want to go where Keaton went." I told the little boy. A flash of memories light my eyes. Memories back when they took Keaton away.
A woman with long white hair ending at her shoulders called his name. Her green static eyes searched in every direction. Beside me Keaton was trembling, but he stayed still. I was scared and the realization hit me hard in the chest. I tried to take a step forward but I stood still.
Help him. Help him. Help him. Help him.
The crowd parted quickly around Keaton. They parted so fast I wouldn't have been fooled if he had a disease. Keaton took a chance to run through a small break in the crowd. He didn't even make it out of the town square before Peacekeepers intercepted him. I watched his body fall limp.
Many people screamed or gasp in fear while I stood still watching my friend being dragged toward the stage. I didn't do anything but watch.
Help him.
"Don't worry, he is not dead! Your Peacekeepers have only stunned him," The Capitol woman called out. She seemed to find it amusing. "The games haven't even started! Where would the fun be in that?"
Snapping out of the memory I watched two big hands wrapped in white gloves attach around me. Forcefully dragging me they pushed me closer toward the stage.
Closer and closer I saw the faces I knew from town, Riley, Rhymer, Phox, and Tiberius; I walked more petrified.
"Help me." I said with dread clearly coated in my voice. I felt something sharply poke me in the center of my back. I turned my head, it was a gun.
"For motivation." The peacekeeper said coldly.
The moment I was at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the stage I knew no help was coming, just like the help that didn't come to Keaton. Climbing the stairs I blinked hard releasing any silent tears before the cameras found me. Someone grabbed underneath my shoulder helping me up the stairs. I wanted to scream when I saw Saffra Redpath. She was the same woman who had called Keaton's.
"Penny Hayes, District Four!"
The salty breeze ceased. Nobody volunteered. Nobody helped.
My name is Penny Hayes, my name was drawn, Keaton Slade is dead, and I'm in the Hunger games.
I turned up at the hazy sky again. "How many are left?" I remember Martin asking.
"Four tributes left…and we're one of them."
"May the odds be ever in our favor."
