I do not own The Hunger Games. The tributes belong to their respective submitters.
Arena Day 2 - Afternoon, Evening, Night
Today is the greatest day I've ever known
Stark Everglade, District Five Male
When I regain consciousness, I'm not entirely sure that I prefer it to complete oblivion. It feels like a porcupine decided to take up residence inside my skull, and with every heartbeat, it finds a new place to stick its quills. I'll be surprised if my head doesn't end up splitting open like a blooming flower.
A few shafts of sunlight fall in through cracks in the ceiling, but otherwise, the room is unnaturally dark. A thin sheen of water coats my skin, and the dry patches of cloth crack with crusted salt and blood. Where am I?
As I try to rise, a soft voice says, "Don't rush yourself." The shadowy figure leans over me, knotted hair falling over her shoulders, and I involuntarily flinch away. She brushes a dark strand behind her ear, leaning back with a cautious posture. "Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."
Dark hair, lank build, gentle demeanor. I can't stop her name from rising to my lips. "...Rion?"
She shakes her head. "No. Sorry." A brief pause, then, "Evaine. My name is Evaine."
Oh. The girl from Thirteen.
Disappointed, I run a hand down my face, wincing as my fingers pass over the swollen, tender bruise around my left eye. It's nothing compared to the crippling pain in the back of my neck. As my vision slowly comes back into focus and adjusts to the darkness, her features become more easy to distinguish. She looks nothing like Rion, and I feel idiotic for entertaining any such notion in the first place.
A warm humidity hangs in the air, weighing down on my already heavy limbs. "What time is it?"
"I'm not entirely sure," she says, glancing up at the cracks in the ceiling. A few slivers of blue sky stare back. "One or two in the afternoon, I'd guess."
My stomach lurches. How long was I out? What happened?
I remember the attack, and the shadowy muttation that smelled like roses. Rion ran, like I told her to. But after that, my memory cuts out, as if my brain stopped recording. I don't know where Rion is, and I doubt Evaine knows, either.
"How many cannons have sounded today?" I ask, attempting to pull myself into a sitting position.
"Three, I think."
My mouth goes dry and I sink back against the stone table. "Do you know who?"
She shakes her head, her expression holding something akin to pity. "No." Her hands begin tracing circles around each other, though whether due to nerves or boredom, I can't tell. "Sorry. I haven't been paying much attention to the other tributes. I've been too busy hiding from..." The words peter off into silence, and she goes a few shades paler.
"A muttation?" I ask, the memory of creaking limbs and needle teeth still at the forefront of my mind.
A cold spark of realization shines in her dark brown eyes. "Yes. A spindly, creepy, spider thing. Is that what attacked you?"
"It is," I say, neglecting to mention that it likely killed my ally, too. She has enough to worry about already.
Despite the relative heat, a shiver runs up my spine, likely inspired by fear or shock or both. The stone above us groans with seemingly ancient suffering, even though the gamemakers built it within the last year or two. I can appreciate the artistry behind it, but I can't ignore the blatant irony of making something new look as old and decrepit as possible. It's a waste of time and energy.
The girl seats herself across from me and draws her knees up to her chin. It makes her look much younger than she is.
"Why didn't you just leave me here?" I ask, unable to contain my curiosity. "I could pose a threat to you." Not that I do, but she doesn't know that. I narrow my eyes. "Why take that risk?"
She places the hammer by her side. "Because I was worried you were going to die, and no one should die alone." Averting her eyes, she adds, "And I had nowhere else to go. I can leave if you want me to."
The offer surprises me. Either she's confident that I'll tell her to stay, she genuinely doesn't want to be a nuisance, or she's afraid of me and is searching for a polite means of escape. Her expression, one of unease and carefully cultured hope, indicates that she is searching for companionship.
"If you wish to remain here, I won't prevent you from doing so."
She perks up. "Do you want me to stay, though?"
A spike of pain needles through my mind as doubt creeps through my gut, and I wince. I don't want to offend her, but I also don't want a repeat of what happened with Rion.
She could still be alive, a voice whispers in the back of my head. Don't be so cynical. Don't give up.
But I know I'm kidding myself. She's gone, and she isn't coming back. If Evaine and I team up, we'll both have higher chances of survival, though that isn't saying much since our original chances were approximately zero. I might have to deal with her death, too, but realistically speaking, at least one of us will have to die in this arena.
Evaine obviously doesn't want to kill me. If she did, she would have done it already. She's able-bodied, has a weapon, and isn't inherently irritating. And she's right. If I have to die, I'd rather not die alone.
"Yes," I finally answer. "I'd prefer that you stay."
Relief floods her features, culminating in a bright grin. "Then I will."
Azure Henderstern, District Four Female
The waves wash in through the room and lap at my calves, each surge of sea water slightly higher than the last. The tide is coming in.
Amelithe stands next to the pillars, silhouetted by the blinding ocean, and absentmindedly spins one of the chakrams around her index finger. Her golden braid, once so tight and orderly, has started to unravel.
On the dry sand of the Cornucopia, Adonis lies on his side, skin pale and eyes dancing under his eyelids. He appears to be sleeping, but I know better. He was complaining of a headache earlier, shortly after Amelithe gave him the tainted water, but I can't say for sure if the two events are related. Either way, he looks terrible. Fragile, even. Almost like a sick child.
"So," Amelithe says, letting the chakram come to a rest. Her voice is barely above a whisper.
"So," I repeat, careful to maintain an equally low volume. I don't know what to think of her now. If she drugged her own district partner against his will, I doubt she'd have many qualms about betraying me. I'm not that important to her. And now, with Lapis gone, I don't have anyone who's even remotely on my side. Sure, I'm part of the Pack, but that doesn't mean anything. Loyalty is a respected, yet all-too-often unattainable ideal among Careers. "Do we have anything planned for today?" Other than watching one of our allies die and willingly compromising the other?
"Hunting. I'm sure a number of tributes are still in the castle." Squinting up at the blue sky to gauge the position of the sun, she adds, "I'd say we have another hour of daylight, at least."
My shoulder blades dig into the sandstone. "If you say so. What will we do with our supplies in the meantime?" A cruel thought rises through my mind like a bubble through water. "Oh, wait. Don't tell me." I turn to her with a mocking grin, unable to hold my tongue. "We'll leave Adonis here. If we're lucky, then the other tributes will trip over him before they try to steal our stuff."
She meets my gaze with frozen steel. "You understand why it had to happen, don't you?"
"I understand enough."
For a while she glares at me, sizing me up, before giving her attention back to the sky. "You don't know nearly as much as you think you do, Azure."
I latch my hands together in front of me, more to keep myself from punching her than anything else. The size of her brain is only outmatched by the size of her ego. I hope she doesn't decide that my supposed lack of knowledge makes it worthwhile to drug me, too. "I'm not going to pretend like I get every nuance of the situation, Amelithe. You've known him longer than I have. But I'm having a hard time believing that this was the best course of action."
"Our mentors came up with the idea in the first place, Azure. It's reliable."
Shifting my weight, I cross my arms and scoff. "Reliable? Yeah, sure. Like a cement boat." She gives me a weird look, and I wave it off. "I don't trust drugs, okay? Even if they're supposed to help."
"And the alternative was...?"
A flame of rage licks up my ribs and I gesture to Adonis. "Not poisoning him, maybe?" I try to hide the fire in my voice, but my efforts are in vain. "An unconscious ally is a useless ally."
Although she shrugs, as if to dismiss her culpability, a split-second thread of guilt weaves through her features. I can't be certain I saw it at all. "Then wake him up. Or don't. The effects will probably wear off soon, anyways."
I shake my head with disgust. "If anyone wakes him up, it'll be you. Assuming he even can be woken up."
"I don't know," she says, winding the chakram into the chain around her waist, alongside the sheath of her dagger. "And I don't care." But the note of guilt in her voice indicates otherwise. She casts a glance at her district partner, and a grimace twitches at the corners of her lips. "I'm going out to look for tributes, whether you accompany me or not."
My face involuntarily contorts into a scowl. "I guess you're going alone, then."
Casting me a solemn glance, she nods. "So be it."
She leaves without another word. All the better for it. I don't know how much longer I can deal with her.
As soon as her sloshing footsteps disappear, I look down at my sais. Could I go it alone? Of course I could. I'm just as strong and capable as any of the other Careers, and definitely better than the untrained outer-district kids. I may not be the biggest, or the angriest, but I'm the fastest and the loudest. And the cutest, but that's another matter entirely.
I rub my temples, willing the stress to subside. I can't win if my mind is cluttered with pointless worry.
I look over at Adonis, but my eyes alight on an empty patch of sand.
My heart leaps into a gallop. He was there thirty seconds ago.
I take a step toward the place where he should be, but a figure appears on my left side and clasps a hand over my throat, throwing me back and pinning me against the pillar. Every molecule of air rushes out of my lungs at once, and I gasp with pain. The fingers dig deeper, and a sliver of cool metal presses against the exposed skin between my neck and my shoulder.
The eyes that bore into mine are full of rage and hate, but they're nearly overflowing with fear, too. Strange. I didn't think he was capable of fear.
"What the fuck did you do to me?" he says, voice wavering. I don't reply, and he repeats the question, so loud that my ears keep ringing even after he falls silent. How much did he hear?
"I don't know what you're talking about," I answer, trying to wriggle free of his grasp. He responds by pushing the blade into my skin, just hard enough to draw a few drops of blood. I wince as the fire in my gut freezes over, replaced by the searing ice of fear. Before now, he'd never so much as touched me.
"Don't fucking lie to me," he spits. "Amelithe did something, didn't she?" I remain silent, which is all the answer he needs. His eyes widen, and blank horror fills his features. "The sponsor gift."
"Why does it matter?" I cry. "They're just painkillers, anyways."
"No, they aren't." He leans closer, and in the low light, I realize how blue his eyes are. Not the color itself, but the size of his pupils. They're almost nonexistent, and the disproportionately high ratio of blue to black gives him a foreign, almost alien expression. I'm no doctor, but I know that isn't normal. "They did something, and I..." Without warning, he releases me, stricken. "I've never wanted to hurt someone as much as I want to hurt you right now and I don't know why."
I raise my fingers to the injury. They come away bloody, but the cut isn't very deep. "I thought that was your normal mode of existence."
He blanches. "You thought wrong."
The back of his hand flies up and connects with the side of my face. I slam my eyes shut, surprised by the suddenness of the action.
"If I see you again, I'll probably kill you." He sounds... desperate. "Stay away from me."
His splashing footfalls echo through the wide room, growing more and more distant until they disappear altogether. When I look up, he's gone.
Something has gone terribly wrong with Amelithe's perfect little plan, and I don't intend to stick around for the equally terrible outcome.
Nyx Hale, Victor of the Fifty-Second Hunger Games
Cold light spills from the holographic map of the arena, casting garish shadows across the gathered faces. A number of gamemakers and their assistants bustle through the room, heading for the main control center, where Asteria sits on her twisted throne, doling out death and doing all she can to set us against each other. After hours of bickering and paranoia, most of the other mentors are gone, either asleep or no longer needed after the death of both tributes. Unfortunately, with Rion's demise, I fit into the latter category. District Six still has some leftover sponsor money, though, and I might as well stick around in case someone else needs my assistance, as Cyprion did yesterday. I wanted to help him, of course, but I didn't do it out of the goodness of my heart. Favors now demand favors later.
To my immediate left, Trance Berrill sits with his head in his hands, looking so bereaved that if I didn't know any better, I would have thought he recently lost a loved one.
I lean towards him, careful to keep my voice low. "Did you find out who did it?"
"No," he says, his hands muffling the answer. "Lourde is still asking around."
Someone on the other side of the room coughs, and I sit upright in my seat, narrowing my eyes. "Are you sure that was the wisest decision? Putting him on detective duty?"
Trance's hands fall away and for the first time all day, he turns fully towards me, face twisted with a pained expression. "You don't understand. He asked for the responsibility. You should have seen him." A conflicted smile plays at the corners of his mouth. "It's the most alive he's been since his victory, and I... I couldn't say no."
I frown. "That's a terrible reason, Trance."
Shrugging, he leans back in the chair. "Maybe. But even if I said no, he would have done it anyways. He can be remarkably stubborn."
"Can he really?" I ask, genuinely surprised. I haven't seen the boy do much beyond sulk, smoke, and intentionally cultivate emotional distance between himself and others. "It's nice to know that there's a person underneath all that melancholy."
I'm rewarded with a tired smirk. "Blink and you might miss it." His face falls. "He is getting better."
"You mean he was worse before?"
Trance averts his eyes. "We... were surprised he made it through the first two months, actually. Cashmere wasn't much help. I think she was so overjoyed by the fact she managed to bring someone home that she forgot to make sure the kid readjusted properly. But Sheridan, Gloss, Ophelia, and I did all we could to help him." He shrugs, seemingly at a loss. "You just never know."
"No, you don't," I agree. Remembering his mention of the other District One victors, I ask, "How is Sheridan, by the way? I haven't seen her in years."
"Well, she's alive. Healthy. And a grandmother."
"Really?"
"Yup. Her eldest daughter gave birth to twins in March. Girl and a boy. Myrtle and Mordecai, if I remember correctly."
"What old names," I say, shaking my head with annoyance. "Honestly, that isn't a trend I'm particularly fond of. Some names aren't used anymore for a reason."
He raises his shoulder in a half-shrug. "They could be worse."
"I don't see how."
Trance turns to me, ready to rebuke my comment, but his eyes immediately dart to the doorway, and his resulting expression prompts me to follow his line of sight. As I look up, I take in a sharp breath and my mouth involuntarily tightens with anxiety. This can't be good.
A few assistants make way as Lourde enters the room with a casual, controlled stride, the kind meant to hide seething rage. Though he walks at an unhurried pace, his vitriolic expression spells murder. It's a frightening change of pace from his usual air of disinterest.
Trance hesitantly rises from his seat. "Lourde?"
The boy ignores him completely. Instead, he approaches the mentors of District Two, completely ignoring Enobaria's irritation. He pushes past the woman, grips Griffin Sorcee by the neck, and with a sneer, slams the smaller man against the wall. Everyone in the room starts with surprise, but something about Lourde's demeanor keeps us rooted in place, even Enobaria. This fight doesn't belong to the rest of us.
"You smug son of a bitch," he says, voice dangerously level. "Did you honestly think I wouldn't find out?"
Griffin smiles, teeth glinting in the low light. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Delaplane."
The tendons in Lourde's neck go taught. "Bullshit!"
"My, my," Griffin drawls. "I didn't think you cared so much about simple painkillers." His expression conveys mock-disappointment, but the gleam in his eye tells me that he's gaining a twisted satisfaction from the situation. "You can't forget that your little Amelithe played just as much of a part as I did."
Trance edges towards them, but makes no move to end the confrontation.
"Lourde," I say, my voice cutting through the awkward gap of silence. "Let him go. He's a manipulative instigator who likes to watch people break down, and you're giving him the exact reaction he's looking for."
For a moment, nothing happens. Lourde continues to glare at the man as if he's a disease-ridden cockroach, but his shoulders relax slightly. One finger at a time, he releases Griffin, and the entire room breathes an inaudible sigh of relief.
Griffin raises his arms wide, blond hair falling into his eyes. "And there you have it," he says. Apparently no one ever taught him when to shut up. "Lourde Delaplane, a fool who makes empty threats, huffing and puffing, but to no effect." He gives a theatrical sigh. "I highly doubt-"
A bone-crunching crack runs through the room, and Griffin slumps against the wall. Lourde looks down upon the man's crumpled form with utter disgust, shaking out his bruised knuckles. Someone lets out a low whistle.
"That's enough," says one of the security guards, though his amused tone implies that he isn't interested in doling out punishment. No one really likes Griffin, and watching someone put him in his place for once is immensely refreshing.
"Let's go," Trance says, finally grabbing the boy's arm with barely-controlled alarm. "You probably shouldn't be here when he wakes up."
In fact, none of us should be here. When that fool finally comes to, he'll be looking for blood, and he'll likely take it out on the first available target.
I guess it's time to leave.
Arena Day 3 - Pre-dawn, Morning
Zea Tillman, District Eleven Female
A gentle sea breeze comes in from the ocean, rustling the trees and pushing my hair away from my face. Other than the leaves and the gentle rumble of the waves, the arena is unnervingly quiet.
The moon shines down on us with a full face of silver. Pockmarks dot the white surface, supposedly leftover from ancient meteors. I never took a liking to astronomy, and I hardly had any time to study the subject, but I don't need to know everything about the heavenly bodies to appreciate their beauty.
My mother could be looking at the moon right now, too. The possibility, however unlikely, gives me a little comfort. No matter how far apart we are, we still see the same moon.
"How much longer do you think the arena will last?" Ky asks, glaring at the sky with studied seriousness.
I shrug. "A week. Maybe more."
He rests his chin on his knees. "It took two full days for nine people to die. That's an average of four to five people, and there are nineteen of us left. If the average keeps up, then this Game will last at least another four days, which makes a little less than a week. You're right."
The thought makes me cringe. We still have two thirds of the way to go, which includes dealing with seven Careers and three other kids who received sevens or above in training. As much as I'd like to pretend otherwise, the odds aren't really in our favor. But I can't let him know my doubts.
I open my mouth to reply, but a noise cuts me off. Voices. And they're getting closer.
"Ky," I say, my heart rate increasing with every passing second. He steps closer to me, eyes still fixed on the darkness, and I wrap my arm around his shoulder.
"What is it?" he whispers, obviously trying to keep the fear out of his voice.
I take a rattling breath. "I don't know."
The shadows flicker, and two figures emerge from the thicket of trees. The girl's unruly red hair identifies her as Padoa, which means the other guy must be Jorah. My heart hiccups. Two Careers. What are they doing here?
"They left us behind," the girl snaps, dragging a sword that seems a little too big for her. "Like we're some tagalong snot-nosed kids that they couldn't wait to get rid of. It isn't fair."
"It's about as fair as we could ask for," the boy responds. "At least they didn't kill us."
"If that's really the best thing you can say about them, then maybe they weren't the greatest-" She stops dead in her tracks, face turned towards Ky and me.
"What is it?" Jorah asks, but he catches sight of us as soon as the question leaves his mouth. A strange look of uncertainty crosses his face, as if he has no idea what to do next.
I don't wait for them to make the first move.
Backing away slowly, I hand Kyrie his pack and shoulder my own. He follows my lead, never letting the Careers leave his sight.
The boy holds his hands up, his face still full of conflicted surprise. "We don't want to hurt you."
Yeah, right, I think. Careers don't show mercy.
We keep inching backwards, hoping to put enough distance between us to run around the outer edge of the garden and escape. There's a stairwell on the other side of the building. If we could just reach it in time...
As I lay my bare foot against the stone, an ungodly snap sounds across the roof. The world begins to tilt sideways, and Ky and I start sinking, slow at first, but gaining speed with every passing millisecond. We're falling.
I try to scream, but no noise comes.
Jorah's eyes fly open with horror and he takes a step forward, but he's too far away and he knows it. He can only watch as the stone splits in two, sending Ky and me hurtling into empty air.
He would have helped us, I realize with distant surprise.
As I fall, I aim for the ocean. If I hit the boulders, I'll die. And that isn't an option.
I hit the water with enough momentum to force the air from my lungs. I sink under the surface and a stinging pain works its way up the left half of my body, no doubt caused by the impact. The ocean's current nudges me about as if I'm nothing more than a ragdoll. It's almost serene here, suspended underneath the waves. Nothing like the rest of the arena.
Forcing myself to surface, I take a deep, gasping breath of cool night air. I spin around, searching for my ally.
When I see him, I wish I hadn't.
Kyrie lies on the rocks, surrounded by broken limbs, gasping and choking on his own blood. The backpack cushioned his head and upper back, but only enough to prevent him from dying on impact. Now, he'll remain alive just long enough to watch himself perish.
Nausea bubbles up in the pit of my stomach.
"Zea," he croaks, black eyes rolling towards me. A crackling noise rises from the back of his throat, accompanied by a low gurgle. "Zea, I'm scared."
Struggling to keep my hands steady, I kneel beside him, hoping he can't see the absolute horror on my face. My vision blurs, smearing the black eyes and red stone and pallid skin into one indistinguishable blur. I blink. The image clears.
"It's-" I stop myself. I can't tell him it's okay. Nothing about this is okay. He's thirteen years old and he's dying.
Shaking my head, I bite back the tears, though I can't force myself to smile. "Do you remember how the orchards look at sunset?"
Blood pours from his mouth, streaking down his chalky skin and slicking the rock with a glittering sheen of black. His chest rises and falls in spasmodic breaths, and a choking, drowning whine rises from his parted lips. He stares at me with glassy, dying eyes that suddenly look too large for his sallow face. I want to hug him, reassure him, do something other that stare at this shattered little boy. But I don't want to put him in more pain.
"I like how the sunlight makes everything look golden," I whisper, voice wavering. The burning in the back of my eyes gives way to tears. "And the warblers keep singing high and sweet until twilight falls."
He takes a wretched, painful breath, struggling against his own brokenness, until he reaches the end. His body rocks with a strangled hiccup, and he goes limp, gaze never leaving me. One by one, the muscles of his face smooth out into a sheet of utter peace, absurdly dissonant from the scene of ruin before me. His cannon punches through the unnatural quiet.
He's dead.
Solaris Noven, District Zero Male
A bead of sweat tickles the side of my face, and I raise my arm to wipe it away. The ambient temperature seems to have risen ten degrees in the past thirty minutes, even though it's only a few hours past sunrise. Granted, hiking through the jungle probably isn't helping with the heatstroke.
"I'm hungry," Etiliasè moans, dragging her feet along the sandy dirt in a display of half-faked exasperation. "Can we just eat the bread already?"
"No. Better safe than sorry."
"Fine." She huffs and flips her pink hair with indignation, and I feel a pang of guilt. I hate it when people are mad at me. She pulls out a bottle of water from her pack and sends me a dirty look. "I guess I'll drown my starvation, then."
I smirk and push a few branches aside, holding them out of the way to make a path for her. "Just keep looking. We're bound to find something eventually."
"Unless the gamemakers didn't leave us anything to find." Letting her head drop, she adds, "Besides, we don't have 'eventually'."
I nudge her lightly, trying to remember when she became so cynical. "Not with that attitude."
Her slender fingers curl into a fist and she punches me hard in the arm. "I'm hungry, I'm tired, I'm scared, and your rays of sunshine aren't doing anything to help."
"Well. What do you want me to say, then?"
With an irritated sigh, she raises her arms into the air. "I don't know." Glancing up at the sky, she crinkled her nose. "Nice weather we're having."
"Oh, please. That's the best you can do?"
She drags her hands down her face and glares at me with drooping eyes. "Don't blame me. I can't think on an empty stomach."
We come across a relatively clear patch of the jungle, where the sunlight falls in scant, sporadic patches across the thin vegetation. Five wide pillars, standing at irregular intervals under the thick canopy of trees, immediately draw my attention. They rise from the soil in a claw-like fashion, half-hidden by moss and vines. A chill runs down my spine. We probably shouldn't be here.
"They're towers," Etsy says, almost absentmindedly.
She's right. Thin, rectangular windows run up the sides of the stone, though the interiors are too dark to make out anything significant.
I rake a hand through my hair. "They're pretty short for towers."
"Maybe the're-"
A muffled snap reverberates through the ground, sending a shockwave through my feet. Etsy and I exchange a look of concern.
"What was that?" she asks.
"I don't..." I trail off, staring at the sandy soil as it slowly becomes concave, like in the top half of an upturned hourglass. At first I don't understand what I'm looking at, but as the divot keeps growing, the realization clicks into place.
"It's a pit!" I cry, trying to gain reasonable footing on the unstable land. "Move!"
Etsy's dark eyes grow wide, and she scrambles on all fours to reach the edge of the funnel, hands clawing and feet pedaling. She's closer than I am.
The earth yawns wide enough to swallow us whole. I throw my arms out to catch my balance, but it isn't enough. For a sickening moment, I'm caught between gravity and slipping dirt. Inevitably, gravity wins.
"Etsy!" I scream, reaching for her, even as the last glimmer of pink hair disappears into the swirling maw. Her scream rises above the rumble of starving earth, and my own cry rings in my ears, so strained by fear and shock that I don't immediately recognize it as my own. I slam my eyes shut, try to right myself as best I can, wrap my arms around my head, and bend my knees in preparation for the impact. Gwendolyn's face flashes across my mind, the image of her bright smile and warm eyes leaving me with a deep sense of longing. It may be the last time I ever see her.
The ground catches me with unforgivingly solid stone. A jolt of precursor shock surges through me, immediately followed by a wave of overwhelming agony. I fall to the side as blackness swarms over me, and my mind goes completely blank.
An indeterminate amount of time passes before everything returns in a rush. I open my eyes to a dusty, dimly-lit cavern. Dirt pours over me, a slowly shrinking waterfall of sand and detritus and debris, coating the inside of my mouth and lungs with a layer of grime. I choke, and it feels like my ribs have been replaced with shattered glass. I couldn't have been out for more than a few seconds. A minute, at most.
When I try to prop myself up, black stars swarm around my vision and the ground starts swaying, so I remain on the floor, surrounded by the products of the cave-in. Pain pounds the inside of my chest, but I can't tell if anything is broken or ruptured. I taste blood.
At least fifteen feet above, blue sky shines down from an irregularly-shaped hole in the ceiling. It's the only source of light. Etsy stands near the edge, pink hair swaying in the wind.
"Solaris!" she screams. Her voice pierces my brain like a superheated needle. "Solaris?"
I don't have the strength to respond.
My gaze falls to the cavern around me, which, upon closer inspection, isn't actually a cavern at all. Carved stone lines the walls, a swirling, intricate pattern that originates at the apex of a huge doorway on the opposite side of the room. Twin staircases sweep around either side of the hollowed-out space, both leading to separate hallways. Judging by the damp, cold breeze, there are other pathways carved into the walls behind me. I can't bring myself to look.
As unconsciousness descends like fog, a single thought lingers at the edge of my mind.
It's another castle.
Can't wait for tomorrow, I might not have that long
The lyrics are from the song "Today", by The Smashing Pumpkins
Kyrie Lilitu, District Eleven Male - Fell to his death; Placed 19th
Kyrie's cynicism and maturity made him one of my favorites, as well as one of the more easy tributes to write for. Unfortunately, I didn't have anything for him to do, and at this point in the story he had no purpose other than being the youngest character.
Yes, the last two POVs were rather similar. I didn't realize just how similar until I'd actually written them, and by that point I didn't want to rewrite anything, so there you go. The head gamemakers like traps and such and I needed to get some plots going.
And what's up with the mentors? Looks like the sponsor gifts this year are a little... unreliable. Huehuehuehue.
Thanks for reading, and let me know what you think.
