Hello again! Here is chapter ten, again, I apologize if it is late. I have a lot going on in my life as usual. I hate keeping people waiting but it takes a lot to write a chapter.
(A/N - Here is a little secret, I've already written part of the ending for this fic. I was so excited about it that I needed to put my thoughts and ideas down on paper. I now have a little structure for what I want to happen in every chapter. Organization skills.)
Chapter Ten - United we stand, together we fall.
Time comes to a standstill as the first rays of morning sunlight weave their way through the layers of wispy clouds that blanket the sky. They reflect off of the perfectly polished expanses of glass coating the towering buildings that seem to support the sky itself. At my feet, an equally reflective surface - gleaming marble tiles and small lights imbedded within them, awaiting the embrace of cool moonlight and stars among a velvet night sky. For now, they stay hidden, as the world is imitating the sun, which is alight. Hues of red and orange tint everything around me, commanding attention.
One would think that I was in the Capitol, admiring a rare sunrise seen through the constant haze of pollution, yet here, the air is too fresh. The streets and buildings tell their story of abandonment in the simplest form. Silence.
There are only twenty four people here, hardly enought to inhabit a small village, let alone an entire city, but we have not come her to live or thrive. This unusual place is not a modern haven for the living, but in fact a dystopian hell for those who are staring death in the face.
We stand united in a circle, poised on concrete podiums, as if we have already won, but there is a long way to go until one of us stands tall upon the real podium on the President's balcony.
At one point, many years ago, I was convinced that I would be the one standing atop that podium, a crown placed upon my head, a bouquet of delicate white roses clutched inbetween unscathed fingers and perfectly manicured nails. That vision was to be my reality for many years.
Now, as I run towards the cornucopia my heart is in my throat, every beat resounding loudly in my head so loudly that it begins to hurt, and my feet are moving beneath me faster that they ever have before. Uncertainty consumes every inch of my broken body.
I now realise that a fairytale ending would not be the ideal ending to my story. My story, which I once saw as a fairytale in itself, deserves and ending that I see fit. I do not know what that ending is yet, but when I imagine it, I do not see that podium. Perhaps that means I desire to die here.
However, it is not time yet.
I slam myself against the cool metal surface of the cornucopia to bring myself to a halt, and begin to collect anything that stands out to me as useful. Backpacks which I assume are stuffed with essential survival kits, belts full of shining weapons, a bow, which I can start to use immedietly.
As I move closer to the center, wary of any potential traps, the items become increasingly more useful. I notice a coil of wire amongst the stacks of weapons, and take it, knowing that nobody in our group will know how to make use of it. My reasoning for taking seemingly unnecessary items? I have watched the games many times before, and know that anybody from District three would know exactly how to use it as a deadly weapon.
As more tributes take a chance and dive into the cornucopia, the noise behind me becomes uunbearable. And as I turn around, the metallic stench of blood fills my nostrils and burns the inside of my skull.
I was trained, but the scene that is laid out before me is beyond anything my training could even begin to prepare me for.
They lie scattered like children's toys, porcelain dolls, upon the once spotless tiles, their limbs at awkward angles and their heads held in such away that they cannot be peacfeully sleeping amongst the carnage. I am left to question, as I watch crimson blood spill to the soundtrack of canons firing, who will mourn these people? Will the Capitol have the compassion to let their familes weep over their shallow graves? Who will sing them a farewell lullaby and listen as the gentle breeze blows them heaven-bound? Likely nobody. I doubt that the Capitol will return these empty shells of what were once innocent children back to their home districts. They may just be left until they give their flesh to the ground beneath them and show their once hidden bones to the blinding sun. Tortured souls, even in death.
I once had little time for sentimentality when it came to the dead, but now, I stand amongst them, with unused weapons clutched tightly in my hands, and I realise that there is nothing more mentally scarring than standing in the centre of a graveyard wherein not one body has been buried.
I search frantically for my allies, and catch sight of Wolf around the other side of the cornucopia signalling that we should probably move away from the bloodbath.
Suddenly, the situation I am in becomes less dreamlike, and I am plunged into the freezing cold water that is reality. That was a wake-up call. Lives have already been lost at the hands of others in this arena. Murderers. I use this word accusingly, but I too will become a monster if enough time passes. The fact seems inescapable.
The cityscape flashes by me as I join my allies, choosing not to hear the heartbreaking screams that fill the surrounding area.
"Okay, everyone is here. Let's move." commands Wolf.
The six of us move through the shadows created by strangely shaped buildings and statues, with the intention of finding a place to use as our temporary base.
Isabelle and Yves are watching the space behind us, whilst everyone else searches for a suitable space to take refuge in, for tonight at least. Our two requirements are simple. We must be able to see around us, so that we cannot be ambushed, and we must be near a place where we can obtain relatively clean water, which we will then filter so that we may drink it, presuming that our survival kits contain some form of filtration system.
It is not long before we stumble across a wide open space, which is relativley flat, and covered in grass. It is empty, with the exception of some structures which seem all to familiar to me.
"Looks good." breathes Pascal as we approach it.
"Wait. It could be trapped." I hiss, holding my arm out to prevent us from moving any further. The first thing that came to my mind was mines.
I bend down and pick up some loose pebbles from the ground, turning them over in the palm of my hand before throwing them as far as I can into the field. I brace myself for the impact of a relitavley large explosion, curling into the ground and covering my ears, as do the others. I wait for a few seconds, before standing again.
"Looks like it's clear." murmurs Steel, leading us into the centre if the strange, open space. "But what is it?"
I wait behind for a few seconds, as the others are clearly willing to test whether the field is a trap for me. When I realise that they have not yet been blown to pieces, I jog to catch up with them.
"I remember reading about these. They had them in cities and towns years ago. If my memory serves correctly I believe they were called parks. Those structures over there are what children used to play on. We could disassemble some of them and use them as weapons or firewood depending on the material they are made of." I whisper, dumping the heavy bags I had been carrying on the ground and beginning to organise my weapons. Playing dumb.
"Hm, interesting. Quinn, come on, show me how to take these things apart and make use of them then. Isabelle, Yves, you know how to get back to the cornucopia, don't you? Go and collect as many remaining items as you can. Steel and Pascal, keep guard and sort out all of these kits for us, will you?" Wolf's requests are met with nods by everybody but myself. I do not trust him in the slightest.
I watch as he offers me his hand, but I refuse and rise from the ground slowly, shoving the closest knife I can find into my jacket. He pretends not to notice.
We begin to make our way down to the children's play equipment, which is only a short distance, without a single word spoken between us.
I make sure that I walk at a slightly slower pace than him, staying behind him at all costs. He could easily stab me from behind if I were to walk in front, and I am not going to take that risk.
"Looks like it's wooden." Wolf says, turning to me and gesturing to the equipment.
"What?" I ask, "Sorry, I was distracted."
"The kids thing. It's wooden." he repeats in a slightly irritated tone.
"Firewood then. We could use any nails that we find, incorporate them into some type of weapon." I murmur, almost to myself.
We begin to pull apart the equipment, with the help of my knife and Wolf's newly acquired trident. It takes quite a bit of effort intially, but after a while we abandon the orderly technique and discover that the wood itself is rather flimsy. Jumping on it to snap it usually does the trick, as long as we co-operate.
I load most of the planks of wood over one shoulder, holding them securely.
As wolf piles another few planks onto both of his shoulders, we begin to walk back to the centre of the park. I take this moment to observe my surroundings , as I have not had much of a chance to recently. The sun is now high in the sky, glaring down on us, yet the air is not overwhelmingly hot. Nor is it humid, which is a relief, or we would have had to consider finding a new shelter. Buildings tower around us, obscuring any further view, but I would imagine that there will be a more diverse selection of buildings beyond the area surrounding this park and the cornucopia.
"So, do you think your parents will be proud of you for making it this far?" asks Wolf suddenly. That was unexpected.
"I do not believe so. You know my father. He strives for perfection. And you are still alive, along with about fifteen other people. Perfection, in his mind, will not be achieved until every single one of you is dead, and I am standing on the podium on the balcony of the presidential mansion with a pretty crown in my hair and the title of victor under my belt." I smile sweetly, in direct contrast with the words that I have just uttered. "My mother however, she will be horrified. I have dirt under my nails." I lift my hand, showing not just Wolf, but hopefully the cameras.
"What a tragedy." Wolf says flatly. "I have blood under mine."
We continue to walk, until I sense something behind me. I turn quickly, dropping the firewood, but not quickly enough to avoid the hands that grasp tightly around my neck. I feel the backs of my knees being kicked, and realise that this person has no weapons.
Wolf does absolutely nothing, besides stand and watch.
I panic and try to breathe. When I am met with nothing but oxygen starved lungs, I kick backwards, loosening the person's grip, and turn on my heels, closing my eyes tightly as I hold their head, shaking loose of their hands, before snapping their neck and letting their now lifeless body fall to the floor.
It may not have been a fair fight in terms of preparation, but not once did I reach for the knife concealed under my jacket. I gave them a chance.
The canon sounds immedietly.
"YOUR FIRST KILL! QUINN ELIZABETH HARPER, CONGRATULATIONS!" Wolf roars, knowing that I am anything but proud of myself in this moment to time. He knows that his excessive cheering and celebration will get to me, and he is anything but surprised when my eyes begin to water.
I kneel down and close the eyes of the twelve year old girl that I recognise from the hovercraft, before standing, picking up the firewood, and moving on, leaving my mourning for nightfall, when nobody can watch me suffer.
One word resounds in my head, over and over.
Monster.
(A/N - I re-wrote this chapter so many times. It took about five attempts, excluding the crappy little base with no detail whatsoever. Then I re-wrote the whole chapter in one sitting. It took five hours.)
Anyway...
To the person who reviewed the last chapter saying that I should consider writing (Forgive me I can't remember your username and I currently have no internet), your review made me super happy! I wanted to be an author as a kid, and I even wrote a few novels around age ten/eleven, but I was unsatisfied with my own writing, and I just kind of gave up on myself. I guess I might try writing a book again sometime soon, as I'm a lot more confident in myself now.
When i'm not in intense writing mode I suck at explaining I'm trying to say is thank you. Your review meant a lot.