Hullo!
So, thank you for sticking around! It's been a week and a bit since my last post, and if you've been following this story before my 4 (5?) month hiatus, a big pat on the back to you!
Sorry if there are any typos and/or grammar mistakes; I'm not too big on proofreading.
I'm quite impulsive when it comes to stories, so I just write whatever without checking or thinking about whether or not anything sounds too stupid – same thing for naming chapters. I'm bloody terrible at those and just think of whatever comes into my mind first.
Now that I'm done with my little rant of what to expect (or what not to expect), here is the chapter!
Disclaimer: Suzanne Collins owns everything about the Hunger Games. Except for Hannah.
The next day, I am awoken by the monkeys again. And again, ten minutes later their blood is on my hands, and again their bodies are mangled and broken, and again, all signs are pointing to the fact that a human did not kill them.
I was hunting for more animals again, when I accidently stepped on a stick, cracking it. Normally I'm careful about sticks and leaves and any other things that creates loud noises when I'm walking, but I had my eye on a lizard, and my distraction led me to being found.
I froze the second the stick snapped, not daring to even breathe. I saw movement in the trees, and a flash of gold told me exactly who it was.
Finnick.
His trident was shining in the sun, his hand gripping on it tightly, awaiting danger as he prowled around the area, looking for the source of the noise. I was partially obscured by the trees, but he was inching closer and closer, and I knew I had to move now before he got too close.
As quiet as a whisper, I leaped up into a nearby tree, my feet making no sound as I jumped and landed onto a branch.
Finnick wasted no time, and upon hearing the slightest noise of my jump, he threw his trident at the tree where I was hiding in, but I was already leaping out of the tree and landing into another one.
Finnick wasted no time in yanking out his trident from the tree and trying to catch me. Instead of using his trident, however, as he knew it would be too slow, he followed my movements in the tree, trying to catch my legs and pull me down, missing by mere centimeters.
This continued for a while, until I stalled for a split second, allowing for Finnick to grab my leg and yank me down, hard.
I crashed into the hard forest floor, and rolled away just in time, as Finnick stabbed his trident down hard into the ground. I pulled the axe out from the vines that I tied around my back and swiped it at Finnick's fingers, missing by millimeters. I jumped back on my two feet, holding the axe in a death grip. Finnick stared me straight in the eye, something flickering in his own eyes.
Was it anger? Hate? Disgust?
I knew he was going to kill me. It was all just an act, friends my -
I didn't even get time to finish my thoughts, as Finnick started charging at me, making the first move. I dodged it swiftly and he plunged again. I swung the axe the hardest I could, only scratching his arm. The fight was brutal. He stabbed, I ducked. I swung, he dodged. There were punches and kicks thrown, scratches and yells involved, and soon we were both bloodied and tired. But we both didn't stall. Whoever showed any signs of weakness would be the one to die.
I took a good look at Finnick, pleased with the damage I did. There were multiple cuts on his arm, and a long scratch on his chest and back. There were long cat scratches running down the side of his face, and he had a black eye. Not to mention I also punched him a few times, finally. His beautiful face bruised and scarred, and blood gushing from every movement he made. It was probably one of the happiest moments in my life.
I, however, probably didn't look any better. He packed some hard punches, and I could feel bruises all over my stomache and legs. There were also scratches on my arms, and he managed to get a long cut where my collarbone was. I could feel I had a cut lip and another cut near one of my eyebrows, which was dripping blood into my eyes.
We were both bloody and tired, but it was a fight to the death, and we ran at each other again. Our weapons were long broken, thrown aside when they became useless.
I mustered enough strength to kick him hard in the knee, and he dropped to the ground, groaning. I pounced on him quickly, using one hand to hold both of his hands above his head, and the other clasped around his neck tightly. I sat on top of him, making him unable to get up again. He gagged, struggling for air. I clasped tighter, trying to ignore the guilt that was seeping through me, trying to tell myself that this is what I wanted, that this is what I've been waiting for.
I tried telling myself that this was avenging the death of my District 5 neighbor. That this was revenge. But deep in my heart, I knew that my neighbor didn't want to live in this world, and that Finnick saved him.
God, this was pathetic. And stupid. I was staring down at Finnick's sea-blue eyes, killing the one victor who could stand me enough to actually try and talk to me. I could almost feel the hate rays from all of the fangirls watching at home. Here I was, thinking how cruel and sadistic killing friends and children were, and then going and killing the one person who offered a hand of friendship. I felt sick. I was no better than those Capitol people who were watching.
I let go, and I could see the color returning to his face. I stood up wearily and cursed myself on the inside for being so weak as to be unable to kill one of my biggest competition while I had the chance. But deep down, there was a voice telling me I did the right thing. And for once, I let myself listen to that tiny voice, just to make me feel a little better.
I was ready to walk away when I heard rustling nearby. I tensed, standing still and ready to run if it came to it. I could see out of the corner of my eye that Finnick was doing the same.
"Finnick! Finnick!" a girl's voice was calling. "Where are you?"
I recognized it as Katniss' voice. I heard another voice calling the same thing, and this time it was Johanna Mason's voice, the female tribute from District 7.
They were close. I should've run. But I don't know how hard Finnick must've punched me, because my brain was telling my body to move, but my body was rooted to the floor.
Go, stupid! My brain was screaming. You idiot! Move! They're going to kill you!
By the time my body came to its senses, it was too late. I could hear Katniss and Johanna stepping through the trees, seeing Finnick beaten up, on the floor, bleeding. I leaped up into a tree and darted away, and Johanna had thrown her axe at the tree I jumped into, narrowly missing my legs. Johanna and Katniss were chasing after me as I darted from tree to tree, trying to escape Katniss' arrows and Johanna's axe.
But this time I was slower. Finnick and his stupid punches and bruises have made my joints creaky and sore, and it wasn't long before my brain miscalculated, and I slipped and tumbled out of a tree, landing hard on all of the bruises and cuts, the pain shooting through me, worse than before. I bit my lip hard, tasting blood, trying to stop my face from contorting out in pain. I knew there were cameras nearby, and I knew Panem was waiting for the long overdue death of Hannah Salven, on the edges of their seats to see if they'll find wires and electricity inside of me instead of blood and organs.
Katniss and Johanna were with me in a second, and I could see Johanna's axe lifted high in the air, gleaming wickedly, while Katniss left the scene, sure that Johanna would be able to finish the task herself. I just lay there, unmoving like a robot out of batteries.
I didn't want to close my eyes – I wanted to enjoy the last time I'll see the colors of the earth, the last time I'll breathe in the fresh air around us, the last time I'll be able to feel anything in this body, even if it is pain.
Her axe is coming down, and I'm trying hard not to think about the pain, trying to just live for the last time – when a glint of gold appears and knocks over Johanna, the axe millimeters away from my neck.
Johanna is still holding on to her axe when she falls over, and as she falls, the axe leaves a long, deep gash on my side.
If I thought the pain was bad before, it was nothing compared to what it was now. I could feel the pain slicing through me, like my body was being chopped up, hit by a thousand arrows, dipped into acid, and then torn apart by rabid dogs, and then repeated ten times.
I turn my face to the side, unable to keep my face straight any longer. I guess I came off lucky in my first Games, never suffering more than a few scratches from rabid tributes, though their attempts were useless when I was about to kill them. I got bit a few times when I killed all of those mutation alligators, and the last Career boy did cut me up pretty bad, but I did manage to dodge the worst of his swings, and he was quite sloppy with a knife.
But it was nothing like this. I could feel the wound pulsing, warm blood spilling out, the pain magnifying with every growing second. I try to even out my breaths, closing my eyes tightly to try and block out the pain.
It doesn't work.
I guess Finnick must've knocked my ears out as well, or maybe the pain was taking up so much of me that my hearing was failing me, because Johanna and Finnick's conversation was muffled and hazy to me. I recall hearing muffed yells and shouts, but it stopped soon, after some stomping away, which I'm guessing belongs to Johanna.
I was right, because soon the sun that was shining on me was covered by a shadow, and I saw familiar sea-blue eyes staring at me.
"Thank you." Finnick whispers to me, while trying to stop the gushing blood.
"You should've let her kill me." I rasp to him. "It would be easier."
"You'll be needed in the future for something important." He whispers, mouth centimeters from my ear as he continues trying to staunch the blood. He's saying it so quietly I almost didn't catch him.
It suddenly hits me that he's talking about the rebellion – the way he made it so private – and plus, I'm not exactly handy for the future in the Games, since I'm probably going to die soon anyways.
He pats my shoulder softly and says loud enough for the cameras to hear, "Keep holding on, Cat." The tone in which he said it was mocking, as if he knew I was going to die.
I was going to die, and there was no stopping it. But his warm, friendly pat showed that he really meant it, that he knew I should try my hardest to hold on, for whatever reason he needs me for in the future.
He must've pretended to be checking out how bad the wound was, while actually trying to stop the bleeding. Clearly for the cameras, he wasn't going to go all buddy-buddy on me after I tried to kill him and after one of his alliance members tried to kill me.
So he left me like roadkill on the side of the street, while I tried to even out my breathing.
I lay there, against the trees, my blood flowing out of me, along with the last of my hopes of surviving.
I was going to die. And there was nothing I could do.
So that's it!
Some action there, eh?
I figured it was time for some suffering – it's no fun to write a Hunger Games story without any blood in it – even if the suffering in this story was kind of lame.
Anyways, so, thanks for reading, and reviews are very much appreciated!
Seriously – a review completely makes my day. Thank you to everyone who reviewed so far!
Stay tuned for the next chapter!
