District Four: It Will Rain
Rain Lakura, District Four
Well, I've been having a pretty fun morning. I've been suddenly thrown into a brutal free-for-all with twenty-four other insane teenagers on this miserable rock in the freaking middle of the ocean. To top that off, I currently have no food, no water, and no supplies AT ALL, save the spear and dagger I jacked from some dead guy back at the Cornucopia. And now I've managed to get myself stuck in a fight to the death against some creep armed with a freaking flail. A bloodstained, spiked, and highly unsanitary flail that looks like it would hurt on contact, I might add. Looks like my day's just getting better and better.
We've already established a routine. Flail Guy swings his monster of a flail at me. I duck. Flail Guy swears like a sailor (Ironic, considering that we're from the Fishing District) and swings at me again. I dodge him again. This clown really needs to work on his aim. I swear, could hit him from fifty feet away with my eyes closed and both hands tied behind my back. Unfortunately, I'm not fifty feet away from him. Which calls for some improvisation on my part.
The poor sap really does look like an idiot, flailing around all over the place like he seriously expects me to stay still. I'd feel sorry for him if he wasn't trying to bash my brains out. Unfortunately, my range of emotions is seriously limited right now, considering that I'm stuck in the Hunger Games. There's no room for kindness, no room to be sentimental. There's no way I'm going to end up like my sister. I'm going to win these Games.
Oceana volunteered for the Games four years ago, when I was ten. Watching her mount the stage before the escort lady had even picked a slip (she was never really patient), ready to take on the challenge, ready to bring honor to our district, was probably the most frightening moment of my life. I was proud, yeah, but mainly scared. Our district hadn't taken home a single victor in over twenty years, not since the last Quell. The mentors were growing more drunk and desperate, the escort more flustered and irritable, with every passing year. I was glad that my sister had taken it into her hands to restore our district's reputation. But I was afraid. Oceana was capable of winning, it was true, but I was worried, worried about the worst that could happen.
Things couldn't have started out smoother. Oceana scored a ten in training, and managed to get in with that year's Career Pack: A muscled hunk from One, two raging freaks from Two, and her district partner, some quiet guy who never said much but had managed to score an eleven in training. With twelve dead by the end of the bloodbath (Oceana scored two kills), the five of them set off to explore more of the creepy-alpine-forest-arena. That was when things started to go downhill. The two weirdos from Two had an argument on Day Three and literally tore each other apart. Later that evening, Eleven Boy decided to ditch the pack, leaving Oceana with the guy from One. Oceana, was, of course, thrilled (not) to be alone with some creep who had killed three people and decided to hop on the bandwagon, leaving the boy from One while he was sleeping.
Then she was alone and completely at the mercy of the Gamemakers. For the rest of the week, she tried to keep a low profile, fishing in some ice-choked-river, sleeping in a hole in the snow, not daring to make a fire out of fear for attracting other tributes. The other Careers weren't doing so well either. Eleven Boy had raised his killstreak up to six, but an avalanche ruined his stuff, leaving him starving as he desperately searched for well-supplied victims. The boy from One was killed on Day Six by the joint efforts of the guys from Districts Seven and Nine. Compared to her former allies, Oceana was prospering.
On Day Eight, Eleven boy bumped into Oceana. He must have been completely out of his mind with hunger by then, recklessly charging at her from twenty yards away. She shot him in the head before he had even gotten within reach.
Of course, killing your district partner is usually considered a taboo in the districts, right up there with cannibalism. Oceana must have realized it, realized that even if she came back home, she had no future. She would be shunned by everyone, rejected by her friends. Like what any sane person would do, she had a lovely little mental breakdown.
Unfortunately, she had let her guard down. The boy from Seven axed her in the back before she knew it.
The days went by quickly after that. I don't know if it was because I was in so much grief, so emotionally detached from the world that I no longer cared, or if it was because the tributes, knowing that they couldn't last much longer, were growing restless. My mother had been dead for years; my father was trapped inside the torments of his own head. Now my sister had died in the Games. I was ten years old and completely alone. I only remember that the boy from District Nine turned on Seven and split his head open with an enormous sword (props to him) and went on to win the Games. Watching him being crowned victor, sitting in the throne that should have belonged to my sister, I made a promise to myself: I would win one day; I would bring honor to both of us.
So here I am now, beating on some amateur teenager who looks like he has no idea how to handle a flail. He's getting tired, and I don't hesitate as he begins to slow, letting down his guard. My spear punctures straight through his right lung. I slit his throat with my knife, finishing him off. The cannon sounds out seconds later. That wasn't so hard, was it? I feel bad for killing him for a moment, but I push that aside. No room for emotion, I tell myself. That should be my new catchphrase. I can't fail now.
I. Will. Win.
Ryan Aquarium, District Four
These Games have been going great so far. Being able to run around to kill my friends and classmates without any concern for the consequences...this is pretty awesome. I've managed to get in five kills so far, and it's been only a few hours since we were released into the arena and all hell broke loose. Something tells me that this is going to be a pretty good day.
So, how many of us are left? Ten dead at the bloodbath, and three since then—that makes eleven. Eleven tributes left. My allies, James and Dylan, and I are three of them. I don't know who the other eight are, and I don't care. I'll figure that stuff out when I kill them.
Right now, I'm scouring the woods around this demonic island arena. If there are any other tributes nearby, they're doing a good job of hiding themselves. I have just about turned this entire place inside-out, and there's still no sign of any people, other than James, Dylan, and me. The frustration is literally killing me. As I feel several sharp, stabbing pains in my head—a side effect of the Accident—I begin to fantasize about killing Dylan. It's sick, I know, but I'm getting bored. And when I get bored, people start dying. The poor guy's only gotten in two kills so far, anyways. No one will miss him. Or maybe James. He's starting to get pretty annoying, the way he's just staring at me, not saying a word, with that mysterious half-smile plastered on his face. As if he knows something that I don't. Or maybe he's just waiting for me to snap. At the moment, I'm just about ready to kill both of them.
Another cannon sounds. Great. Nine more to go. I'm irritated that some bastard is stealing my kills, but I shrug it off. There are plenty more fish in the sea—or tributes in the arena, in my case. Two more cannons ring out. Okay, now I'm getting seriously pissed. That bastard had better get ready to get his ass kicked by the amazing Ryan Aquarium. I feel myself getting pumped just thinking about it. Vengeance will be sweet.
Of course, I'll have to deal with these two clowns first. Which one should I choose? Whatever, the next one that talks is going to die. It's going to be hard, since neither of them are very big talkers. These two idiots aren't worth the effort. Without a word, I turn right and stalk through the thick undergrowth. I hear the two of them follow me silently. One of them has to talk sooner or later. Right?
A fourth cannon shot. Okay, screw the system. I spin around and nail Dylan straight in the neck with my sword. He gurgles and falls to the ground as the cannon rings out. I notice that James' annoying smile has disappeared. Instead, it's been replaced by an even more annoying scowl. Must be having second thoughts about teaming up with me. Well, it's too late for him to back out now. He's stuck on this crazy ride with me.
A flash of movement streaks across my vision. It's some scrawny, unarmed kid who looks about twelve. He's running. Hard. Before I can chase him, another tribute sprints past me, a bulky guy who's got a bloodstained sword brandished high above his head. Looks like I've found that camper who's been stealing all my kills. As I'm about to run after the two of them, an arrow suddenly sprouts out of the camper's head. Two cannon shots. The little kid falls to the ground, an arrow sticking out of his back, as dead as a doornail. I dive to the ground, narrowly avoiding an arrow as it whizzes over my head. Oh yeah, I forgot James was an archer. I guess he's actually turning out to be pretty useful. There's only one small snag…
"Don't EVER steal my kills again," I snarl as I stab him through the chest. He coughs, gurgling as blood streams out of his mouth, and grins—altogether, it's pretty messy. His entire front side is slick with blood. "Well…that escalated pretty quickly…" he rasps and goes limp. A cannon shot announces his death.
Two of us left. The tributes from Four. Let the Games begin.
Aaand here are your District Four tributes.
FINALLY done! Sorry for the delay, but this chapter has been the hardest for me to write so far. Writing something this long has really drained my down. And thanks for the reviews! You guys really motivated me to get up and finish this today :).
Well, I guess I have kind of an excuse for updating so late this time. It's secret for now, but you guys will find out what it is the next time I update. Which will hopefully NOT be two weeks late ;).
