Carry On.
May your past be the sound, of your feet upon the ground.
Kieran DeLuca, District Ten Female.
I brush out the next branch that flies into my vision. It snaps back and from behind, Margot yelps in slight pain.
"Kieran, be fucking careful!"
I can almost still hear the faint, brushing sound of the cannons that recently erupted. They happened only minutes ago. They also happened to cut through Nate's calling for us. I wanted to shout back, but Margot insisted that we shouldn't. In a sense, that could have been Nate's downfall. Someone could have found him simply through that. I can hear my heartbeat thudding in my ears as I push back the last tree, noticing the pooling blood of red on the dirt.
Nate's body lies on the floor, slightly drifted up over a large root from the tree.
Margot comes in from behind, and when I see her eyes, they mirror mine almost exactly.
"N-N-Nate..." Margot mumbles.
A large, ragged hole is clear in his back. A spear, probably. I look to Margot and then the spear she collected from the bloodbath. The metal arrowheads are almost identical. I bend down, ignoring my shaky knees, pressing two fingers to his neck despite knowing the outcome. He couldn't have survived that. First Chip and then Nate. Two of our allies, gone. Half our alliance, dead. I look back to Margot as she stands remotely still.
"It must have been a Career..." Margot decides. "I didn't see anyone else try the spears."
"They could have hidden their talents." I bite back.
"Don't get snappy with me! It wasn't my fault you ran!"
"Ran?" I shout, standing up, the protest in my legs screaming. "I done anything but run! I tried to fight anyone that came near us! I saved Nate whilst you were too busy kicking a girl that wasn't even fighting back!"
"I was getting into the zone!"
I slam my jaw tight, fighting all the words I want to scream not to come out. It's not that I have a short temper - it's prolonged over the years - but sometimes, some people just grate me the wrong way. In this case, I can't fight back. I've lost two allies out of the three I gained. I can't do this alone and now Margot is the only one I have left. Whether I hate it or not, I have to suck it up and hope all the acidic words die on my tongue.
"Look, lets not argue," I try to reason with her. "We lost Nate and Chip. Now, we ne-"
My words are toppled over by the sound of the anthem. My eyebrows knit together, mirroring Margot's once more, and we strain our eyes to see the dark sky through the canopy. The cannons sounded merely five minutes ago. The gong that rang, when twenty-four heartbeats still were around, wasn't that long ago. There is no way whatsoever that a few hours have gone since I sprinted off that plate.
The first face, no surprise, is Chip, face stoic and calm. I can see Margot wince from my side. We both watched her district partner crush his skull, so brutually and angry. He never looked that evil in training - he looked withdrawn and reserved, a mask of stone. Following him is then Nate, grinning wide, the only tribute with a thumbs up in his picture. A mixture of a laugh and contained sob escapes my throat. I never spoke to Nate that much, but he was an ally, a semi-friend and a trusted one at that. I never thought I could get attached to someone, but I will miss Nate's positivty.
After him is the mute girl from Nine. I feel slightly guilty; she had no chance.
Then, it's a little shocking when Sawyer's tiny, harsh face pops up. Both my allies and then my district partner. True, me and Sawyer were never exactly close, but to see his face in the sky shocks my core. It makes the whole ordeal much more real and painful. The little boy from Eleven is next, closely followed by his district partner, the girl with the curly hair. The sky goes dark once more and the sound of the crows fill the air once more.
Nineteen of us still have blood pumping through our veins.
"You know what this means, don't you?" Margot mumbles.
"What?"
"That sneaky bastard from Five was never dead," Margot shakes her head in disbelief. "He evaded everyone. Hate to say I told you so, considering everything, but I was right about the bloodbath. Shouldn't have done it. Or, we should have, but more the way he played it, not attacking everyone that came along. Chip wasn't that smart as he made out."
I nod slowly, eyes still lingering on the leaves above. She doesn't even understand she's being a hypocrite.
Three people I could actually name are already dead. Besides Margot, I don't know anyone else through word of mouth.
After a while, Margot walks away a bit and sits down on a stump, shuffling through a backpack to grab some food. A squawk from a crow echoes above as I sit down with her. We wait and wait for the hovercraft to come and collect Nate, but it never does. His body stays still, waiting, a pool of ruby liquid like a blanket underneath him. My eyes find the bird above us but it watches intently, never moving, almost like it's waiting for the hovercraft to come for Nate, too. It's perplexing, but Margot stays neutral as she digs into some beef jerky.
With both of them gone, it shows that anyone can die. Chip's brain didn't save him. Nate's cheery attitude didn't save him. Sawyer's reclusive, protective nature didn't save him. To survive, you need to be a monster. A monster of power and tact. You must kill. You must take a life to spare your own.
And, against everything I believe, I have to blend with the notion.
I have to kill. I have to take a life. For some unsettling reason, it doesn't bother me as much as it should.
I guess, deep down, there was a monster that just needed growth. And I'll give it that to save myself.
Nomen Clature, District Five Male.
A smirk ghosts onto my face as the sky turns dark. I slowly pull myself up, the sticky feeling of little Eleven's blood lingering on my back and neck. I run a hand over it roughly, the thought of his blood on my skin making me feel squirmish. My eyes skip to the boy, though, the sight of the veins in his neck exposed. His head tilts up, barely holding onto the shoulders, decapitated but not fully.
I pull myself to my feet and spin around, the bounty inside the Cornucopia full. Somewhere in those backpacks will be the wires I require to conduct my plan. Quickly, I skip over the little boy and dip into the mouth, digging my way through the first bunch on the outside. Through observation of recent years, I've learned that the backpacks closer to the mouth contain simple food, items and maybe a knife if you're lucky. Deeper, more dangerous, is where the better stuff lie. Poisons. Darts. String and wires and cords. To anyone else, they're pathetic. To a District Three or Five tribute, they are a safe ticket for offence.
The next backpack I pick up contains what I need.
I pull out the Cornucopia, expecting to see the bodies around me gone. Instead, the five bodies lay still, bleeding or burned, white eyes staring out into nothingness.
The faint smell of Nine's charred skin still lingers in the air.
When you look at her plate, where she leaped so valiantly, you see nothing but a mass of ash, white bones and a barely visible face. The boy from Eleven sits near me, his district partner some distance off, around the skin is Ten and up by the hill, so close to freedom, is the boy from Three. Another smirk forms on my face.
I always assumed he was smart. Three tributes usually are, but his district partner seems quiet and meek, whilst he seemed to ooze that confidence that comes with a superior brain. If he was clever, he wouldn't have gotten killed so easily. A boot to his skull. You don't have to be strong to avoid that - some intelligence would have sufficed.
I loop the bag over my shoulder and begin to walk away, throwing the backpack into one of the neatly designed coffins.
My base camp will be here. Here is where everything will come together. Here is where I shall show the world that messing with children, smart children at that, is wrong.
I can almost imagine the shock on Hayl's face when she realises that I'm not actually dead. As I take a seat on one of the plates, I close my eyes to try and picture it better. Zeke's face would be hilarious, too. Pilus never tried this. Zeke, apparently smart, never tried this either. His mouth might be agape and his eyes simmering with shock.
He knew it would happen.
I made that much very clear when he came to see me that day.
The Gamemakers won't know what hit them when this comes to fruition.
A crow squawks once more in the distance, the six red lights burning into the ground and trees, turning them a crimson colour. Six red lights for six types of blood that has been spilled. Clever. Poetic. Also rather easy to decipher. Most idiots will be able to tell that much straightaway. And, here I was thinking that the Head Gamemaker might have been a decent human with an average sized brain.
Shuffling through the backpack, I collect an apple and take a bite. It shouldn't be hard, really, to just go ahead with this plan.
Of course it won't be hard. Not when you're not only as smart as me, but have also been waiting this long to enact that plan. This place is about to get a real treat. Nobody will understand my full reasons for this. I, myself, don't even know the full reasons. But I know that somewhere in my heart and my head, there's a connection, a want, and that want is to honor Pilus' death with something memorable. Something so astounding that in years to come, when I mentor hopeful tributes, they'll be stunned by standing so close to a legend. That their mentor caused a rift in a perfect, deadly timeline of spilled blood.
Another smile forms on my face as I take another bite, the feeling of Eleven's blood still clear on my back and drenched in my hair. My brown curls are now dip-dyed a dark, sticky crimson.
Of course I can do this. I don't even know why I'm questioning my brilliance.
Honor Elliot, District One Female.
Cyra laughs loudly at whatever Marlin says. But, you can tell it's false and more of an act. Everyone else might not realise it but I do. Cyra lacks the skill, and that much is evident. Azolla matches her in score, yes, but nobody expected Azolla to do well. Her personality, much more sedated and calm, matches her score. Cyra and her arrogance, loud demeanor and threatening behaviour... Well, you'd think she'd have the power to actually back it up. It doesn't match.
So, to make up for skill and her obvious role as Career leader, she tries to get on with people.
Everyone apart from Ajax, that is. They constantly bicker and Cyra seems to get a kick from each time he responds. She wants to be accepted rather than turned on. So, why not laugh at what Marlin said or compliment Lamont to his face and bitch about him behind his back? She doesn't bother with me or Azolla. Something tells me that Cyra doesn't like the fact that she needs to fight for attention against both me and Azolla, a year younger and with more apparent talent.
"She gets on my nerves," Ajax mumbles from my side. "Like anyone would believe that laugh was real."
I nod slowly. "Guess she wants to be liked."
"More like she doesn't want to be rejected or turned on so soon." Ajax deadpans.
In a sense, no doubt without realising it, Ajax is referring to my sister. His brother might not have been around to turn against her, but the rest of them were. Luckily, none of their siblings are in here. Otherwise revenge would be sweet.
The way he looked at me when Cyra was asking about killing the girl from Eleven... He knew. He knew that I wouldn't be able to do it after what happened to Vanity. In a sense, I knew Ajax wouldn't be able to either. He doesn't have the tie to it like me - his brother being killed by nature not tribute - but it shows a lot of humanity that seems to lack in both Lamont and Cyra. I look to Ajax and he frowns, probably knowing what might come next.
"Before you say anything, no," Ajax whispers aggressively. "I don't want to talk about our luck or the irony of it all."
"I wasn't going to mention it."
"Sure."
"But thanks."
"What for?"
"For remotely understanding." I crack the most minute smile, but it works.
Ajax shrugs nonchalantly. "You're welcome, I suppose."
"Hey, Ajax!" Cyra calls, and begrudgingly, Ajax looks up. "Wanna go catch us some food? You know, being the good little animal that you are?"
I can hear Ajax growl underneath his breath in response, but he climbs up without sniping back, grabbing his spear and looking tall and mighty. "Sure thing, princess, but lets not let the power get to your head, hmm?"
Cyra smirks triumphantly as Ajax begins to walk through the masses of trees and disappear. Cyra seems to enjoy the fact that she beat Ajax for just a small moment and goes back to speaking quietly with Marlin. Azolla sits nearby, apparently hating the attention Cyra seems to be dishing out to her district partner. Lamont, as per usual, is unfazed by everything, sat on his own with his back against us, looking up to the moon in our little clearing.
Azolla flashes a smile that I know all too well. It's a sweet, normal smile, but it's laced with something I know too well. The smile reminds me of the same one the girl from Two did as she dragged the blade across Vanity's body. Nobody understands better than me. Nobody knows how to act and hide things better than me. Cyra can't hide her lack of skills and real disdain for everyone. Azolla can't hide the fact that a Career, no matter how sweet they are, are still cold blooded murderers. Ajax can't hide the fact that beneath his rough exterior is a boy who misses his brother, no matter how much he openly denies it. Lamont... He isn't hiding anything, and Marlin is simply Marlin, no disguise or cloak.
Nobody understands how to truly hide everything and anything.
I've been doing it my whole life; and it's the one thing that will secure my victory and not the same fate as Vanity.
Dagan Grove, District Nine Male.
Hayl mindlessly runs her thumb over the gash on my cheek, a small smile on her face contrasting to the furrowed look set on her eyebrows.
"Is it bad then?" I ask.
"Not really," Hayl smiles it away. "You'll live."
Fighting the boy from Two proved to be more trouble than I expected. He managed to deflect each stab of my pitchfork with ease, the spear like an extension of his hand. But that doesn't mean he spent the entire time simply dodging each move. He done some of his own, and with that spear, he managed to swipe it across my cheek. Just another scare to add to the many I've collected over the years in Nine. Hayl moves her hand away and places it in her lap. The canopy of above provides shade and seclusion, both perfect for the pair of us.
"At least you didn't get injured." I smile softly.
"I guess I was just lucky."
"Well, I'm glad you're lucky. Might make things for us a lot easier."
Hayl laughs lightly and swings the backpack around her shoulder and into her lap. She unzips the bag slowly and pulls out the contens, all of which apart from the food proves useless to us. Not even a knife or weapon or anything. Hayl has nothing to protect herself. My pitchfork will have to do it for the both of us. Hayl takes a bite of an apple, slowly chewing.
When I'm around Hayl, I feel like a different person. A much calmer, nicer, softer person. After everything that's ever happened to me, I'm surprised it's still possible. People would call me defiant, cheeky or downright rude. And I am like that. Just not completely with Hayl. It starts off like that, and slowly, it fades away.
"No weapon for me then. I can't tell whether I'm sad or happy about that." Hayl says evenly.
"Be conflicted, that's the new trend." I smirk in response.
Hayl laughs lightly again and the sound, no matter how corny it sounds, literally lifts my body a little and makes things seem nice. To me, Hayl is like a light in the everlasting darkness that this arena seems to provide. The cannons sounded and not long after, the anthem and deaths. It's almost poetic when Hayl looks at me, like she's thinking the same thing as me.
"It couldn't have been hours since the cannons," Hayl decides. "Do you think, because it seems to be night and night only, that we don't have to wait until night for deaths?"
"Probably," I shrug. "I'm not as thorough as you. If anything, it means a constant update on who is alive and who isn't."
"I guess you could look at it that way."
"On the plus side, your ally is still alive. Poor Poppy..."
"She was the jumper, wasn't she?" Hayl asks quietly.
"I'm not sure. It could have been her or either of the boys from Eight or Ten. I didn't see any of them die," I respond just as quietly, the sound of the crows growing over us almost hauntingly. "I would think it was her though. Poppy seemed so defeated the day of the interviews, I wouldn't be surprised. But, as I said, at least your district partner is still alive."
"Yeah, that's great." Hayl deadpans.
"Don't like him, huh?"
"It's not that. Nomen is... He's got a lot of hate in him at the moment. And, well, it's changed him over the last few days. His confidence has sky rocketed."
I nod along, the first part of her words pounding my brain. A lot of hate in him? I can relate. Most of me is filled with hate. Hate against the Capitol, the Hunger Games, the President that allows the death of children to still happen. I thought that after President Snow had died, his child would abolish the whole idea. He was much kinder, but kept it up. Then, Esmeralda Snow came into power and if anything, the last couple of Games have been more brutal than before. All the young children with their blood on her hands. The whole thought of it makes me want to break out of this arena and go to the President herself to take her down. I would if I could, but before that, I have to win. The rest will have to die. What I hate the most will have to happen in order for me t complete what I want.
Hayl will have to die... But we'll cross that bridge when it comes down to it.
"You can't blame him." I reply easily, hoping that it sounds like I'm not lying but not going against Hayl's ideals.
"I don't blame him," Hayl sighs. "I just... I just wish Nomen wouldn't get confident over something so barbaric as others dying. He has an idea, you know."
That catches my attention. "What kind of idea?"
"I don't know," Hayl shrugs. "But it will most definitely involve everyone else dying. I know that much."
I nod slowly and let the silence settle over us. The crows continue to squawk and gargle overhead, the moon in the sky and the canopy of leaves making everything seem much darker. I look to Hayl, and through some streams of light, I can see her mouth pressed into a line.
"Are you that worried over Nomen's plan?"
And, slowly but surely, Hayl nods. "Terrified."
Milo Trivil, District Six Male.
I keep Noelle's hand tight in my own and continue to lead her through the thick forest. Seeing Sawyer's face only made Noelle cry, and really, a part of me feels both angered and saddened by that. From what I saw, Sawyer treated Noelle increasingly bad, often making her seem like a lost puppy always needing his approval. But, her tears were genuine, real, and that broke my heart. I was trying to find Aspen, Evy and Danielle. I ran the outskirts but couldn't find them. I saw Danielle's district partner dead, but that was it - my allies had vanished.
I waited and waited and then, I saw Sawyer get whacked with the machete and then the boy from One approaching Noelle.
I couldn't let it happen.
No matter what I wanted or what I thought was best, I couldn't let him so easily murder a little, innocent girl; the whole time my mind was against me. I could be like Uncle Titus. I could look after her, protect her, devour her warm body after a few seconds of taking her life. They always told me I'd be like him. They always said that, one day, Titus and me would become the same person. That cannibalism and mental disorders pass down through blood and genes.
They said I was him; reincarnated.
"Milo, are you okay?"
I realise that once again, my hand has squeezed on Noelle's too tight. I stop and release her, her hand instantly being rubbed by the other, bright pink lining her skin. Her eyes are a bit puffy and red, but when they stare at me, they look hopeful and needy. She needs me. They scream those three words at me, over and over again, whenever our eyes meet.
"I-I'm fine," I assure her. "W-We should sit down and rest."
We choose a certain root that seems unearthed and sit down. Noelle skims through the contents of our backpack, concluding that we have a small set of throwing knives, some string, a water canister that happens to be empty and a single peel of orange wrapped in a small, translucent bag. No real food.
"We could try and kill a crow?" Noelle mumbles, pointing to the sky. "I mean, there must be loads of them to actually do it. We just need one that's close by."
I acknowledge her words and nod slowly, when a small chime fills the air.
Noelle lets out a relieved sigh when the familiar, trademark Capitol white parachute begins to descend towards us. It drops down by her foot and she instantly scoops it up. She pops it open, passing me the slip as she opens the small container inside. I read over the small note carefully, understanding that it's for me.
Your act of heroism proved to be popular. Dinner is on us tonight. -L
"Milo, it's some soup," Noelle says, and you can almost hear the sound of her bright smile in her voice. "What did the note say? Who was it from?"
I scrunch up the paper carelessly. "It was from Wisp; for you. You pulled in some sponsors, 'Elle."
Her eyes cast downwards and a fond, appreciative smile creeps onto her face. She seems almost shocked that someone would put money on her. That only adds to the minor heartbreak. Noelle is truly one of the most kindest people you could ever meet, and because of that, she's an easy target to a cruel world. I'll never let her know that the note and sponsor money was actually for me. It would only discourage her. I get the feeling she might have given up the slightest bit of hope in surviving, and, well, that would only make things worse.
"I-I didn't think anyone would want to waste money on me."
"I told you from the start," I smile, rubbing her shoulder comfortingly. "You're cute as a button with a golden heart. Who wouldn't want to see you happy?"
Noelle mumbles something in return, but I don't quite catch it. Her mood drops a little as she tilts the canister of soup up and swallows some, before passing me the rest of it. I take my share and sigh when the taste floods my tongue. I look at Noelle once more and her eyes meet mine. She's a year younger than me, but when you see her eyes and tiny stature, you'd think she's under the age limits of what the Hunger Games allow. I'll protect her. I'll make sure that she survives and returns to her family. I'll make sure of it.
And all the while, I won't fall to what everyone says. I won't become Titus. He and I are two different people, and at the end of the day, I'm a better person.
Hacket Bruckwill, District Twelve Male.
I should feel sorry about what I done. Any normal person would; taking a life isn't exactly easy. But, then again, the Capitol have made it very clear that they can do it without a conscience or thought, so why can't we do the same? No, because we're judged by it. Unless you're a Career, it's kind of frowned upon to take another life so willingly.
Except, when your will has been stripped by the higher power, you are no longer willing, and therefore, it should be easy.
Seeing his face in the sky was tormenting. I should feel guilty; but instead, I feel more guilty that he never got the chance to try. I didn't let him. He was just stood around, waiting idly for his allies that seemed more preoccupied. Margot, I mean, she's always been brass and she was too busy attacking someone who wasn't fighting back. Ten seemed to fight anyone that came near her whilst Eight, also dead, seemed to be running around without a thought or care.
He didn't fight back. He didn't accept his death either.
He... He wanted someone to save him. He couldn't do it on his own, and instead, wanted to play the damsel in distress and be saved.
That's why he died. Because in here, no-one can save you but yourself. Your death is your own fault. Your casualities are your own fault. Everything is down to you and you only.
I push away the next bunch of branches that fall into my vision. That's when I see it. A large, concrete wall stands clear, cemented into the ground and poking the sky so finely. I run my hand across the rough exterior, back and forth, until a pebble that is loose cuts me. Blood drips down, the same colour as my outfit. I scan around the trees near me, but none of them are strong enough to climb. There are branches low down at eye-level, yes, but too flimsy and weak to climb up. The large, thicker branches are out of reach even for the older, taller tributes like myself. There's no telling what lies behind this wall. A sense of curiosity settles in me.
I should look. I should climb.
I grab hold of the first branch, but my grip snaps it easily into two.
I swing my backpack around and grab the knife that lies inside. It stabs into the trunk and I attempt to lift myself up, once again, to no avail.
Instead, I decide to make camp here. The arena proves to be expansive despite being rounded up. I walked and walked, the pain in my legs evident and the dark shadows lining every inch of sight. I'm no doubt a few miles away from the Cornucopia, which means I'm probably either deathly close to a tribute or, like the Cornucopia, miles away from them.
I roll out a thin blanket from inside my backpack and lay down, hand still holding onto the knife.
You can't trust anyone. I don't even trust Margot and we've had sex twice now. This knife will be my protection in case someone decides to take me on.
Soon enough, sleep lulls me in.
I remember everything vividly. The way she pushed me down onto the bed. The way her eyes lit up with a sultry, defiant look. She looked both seductive and insane. There was no going back after she unhooked her top and threw it to the floor. There was no returning to district partners that only acknowledged each other when they were forced. Everything was going to change and after that night, it did.
It happened again.
I watched her climb aboard the hovercraft. I watched her in the bloodbath, unleashing the insane side I saw glimmer in her eyes that first night. It was the same Margot. The Margot I could easily have called my own but chose not too. It was a fling and nothing more, and after a few days, I'll return with a heartbeat and she'll be locked away in a coffin. I won't kill her. I doubt I could do that, and in Twelve, we at least have the honor to not turn on our own. Someone else will kill her and I won't have to worry about being the one to do it.
When I saw her run away, a part of me wanted her to be killed. To make everything easier. The other half of me wanted to run after her, push her into the trees and then rip her clothes off with my teeth so painfully slow, Margot would scream for me to hurry up. I can almost imagine it once more. The look of longing in her eyes as I worked my lips across her jawline. Her nails digging into my back. The way her hips move so fluid against min-
I feel pressure build around my chest and instantly, my eyes snap open.
A girl, face hidden by chestnut hair, leans over me.
It almost seems like a dream. Then, a flash of silver is pressed against my neck and seering pain rocks through me. My initial reaction is to throw her off, but my hands are pinned, tied tight in knots. I've always been a heavy sleeper; my biggest downfall.
"I'm sorry." the girl mumbles meekly, almost sad.
And the seering pain stretches out rapidly across my throat, the tightness strangling me until I feel my heartbeat, slowly dying, thudding against my eyes.
I'll return home in a coffin. Margot, well, I hope she doesn't. I hope she can make it. If anything, she needs too.
Carry On by Fun.
The blog for this story is bttw hunger games . blogspot - all deaths will be notified here!
Hacket Bruckwill, District Twelve.
All deaths will be based on realism, story arcs and whether or not the submitter is reading the story. Obviously, reviews let me know this, and if said submitter chooses to not review, I have no idea if they're reading the story, and therefore, am more inclined to keep other tributes over said submitter's tribute. Each decision is painstakingly hard but must be done. Everyone knew the odds when they created a character. I would hope you stick around, but if not, I understand.
I would love for you to answer a specific question I have for each chapter!
What is behind that wall, do you think? Who was the girl that killed Hacket? What will happen to the Careers?
And of course, a general review on my writing or the storyline is much appreciated and noted!
So. What to discuss...
There isn't anything that interesting, I don't think. Oh. My new laptop for Christmas happened to have a technical malfunction and, therefore, it had to be sent back to the company so that they can either fix it or send me a new one. I managed to get this one done on my parents laptop but I can't do it again - I'll have to wait until my one comes back to me. :(
So, I ask that you wait patiently for another update for this and Glasshouse if you read that. My new SYOT, Wild One, will start once I have my laptop back; there are no reservations and I can't hand the form out early, so if you want to submit, you'll have to wait until I have my new laptop and the prologue has been posted.
