Castle of Glass.
Wash the sorrow from off my skin. And show me how to be whole again.
Carnelian Ritter, District One Male.
Everyone files out of the small room, grief smothering the once happy atmosphere.
How can I be positive about this? It feels so wrong to try and cheer people up when Haven was burned to a crisp before our very eyes. Yet, I can't let it consume us. It's my duty as leader to make sure that everyone is able and fit, in case of an attack or preparation. Everyone is expecting it of me.
As we stop in the hallway, they all look lost, Kiara's eyes for starters finding me. She's expecting me to help too. They all are, because that's what I have to do. And I will try my hardest...
"Art room, like Kiara suggested," I answer in a clipped tone. The whole scenario feels... bitter. If I was smarter, or quicker, I could've seen it coming from a mile off. But I was lousy. I was too clouded to notice the tick in the air, or even take a bigger notice of the chemistry set. "Come on." I place my hand on Kiara's shoulder, guiding the remnants of our team alone.
Calder steps ahead to remember the directions. I wouldn't blame him if the bomb literally knocked it out of his mind.
The noise still echoes in my ear. The moment it was clear, I just ducked. My stomach boils, sickness rising. I didn't think to save Kiara nor Nelida, I just thought of myself. It makes me feel sick, and weighs my shoulders down. The leader who didn't think of his team? It's irony at its best. Calder, despite all hesitation, went for Kiara. He didn't think, he just acted.
I need to be more like that. Forget the consequences, or the perfections, and just do it. Act now, think later. It's always been one time I sucked at.
"Here," Calder motions towards a funny set of doors that only cover the middle section. "This is the art room."
Kiara perks up a little. "I can still smell the paint." she mumbles against my side.
Calder leads us in, and I follow for once. It's nice to know that, if I step down, Calder or Caine will gladly take over. It releases the pressure a little.
The room is huge, much like the bloodbath area. But the ominous gust of wind reminds me of the place we're in, and that everything is not what it seems. Paintings line the walls, sloppily thrown together. A few hang by one corner, the bombs shaking them loose. It's not the layout that bugs me, it's the actual paintings. A chill runs up my spine as I focus in on a particular one, a fierce boy shooting arrows... Fedora Clos. I recognise the short stature from anywhere. At Kingston Academy, we're trained to remember the fallen, and learn from their mistakes. I, of course, went above and beyond, to make sure I could be as perfect as I could.
The next one is of a little boy, strung up by his wrists and ankles, hanging over the mouth of the Cornucopia as rats snap towards him. Another contains Kit Felix, leaning over an opponent, his eye cut open and bruises on his skin.
"These... these are unpleasant." Nelida says, stepping near me. I'm surprised she can even stand to be so close to me.
"Calder, what's wrong?" I turn around, Calder frozen in front of a painting. I can just quite about see a girl cut in half, the rest masked by Calder's broad shoulders. Kiara tugs at his arms, but he doesn't budge.
I sigh. "These must be the deceased in art form," I mumble bitterly. "What a way to make them legends."
I step away from the sight, slightly repulsed. It's one thing to honor the death; it's another to glorify it. I already know the names and methods of death for every District One tribute in the last two decades, I don't need to see the illustrations of them. Caine hangs in the corner of the room, looking aimlessly at the setting. I cross the room quickly, my mind a blur. Caine killed... and there's no denying the fact that Caine could've helped Haven, being so close to him and all...
"Hey," I say shyly, the hulking man noticing me. "Are you okay?"
"I don't need a leader pep speech, Carnelian." he mutters.
I chew my bottom lip. "Then how about a friend speech instead?"
"We're allies, not friends," he reminds me, eyes glossed over from fresh tears he hasn't quite spilled. "And I'm fine. Just a bit shocked from the explosion, is all." he answers, tucking into himself.
"You can talk to me about anything," I quickly input. He looks up, obviously frowning. "We might be allies, and we might not be friends. But the fact is that bottling things up isn't good. And, well, I've been told my advice is great," I smile. "So please, don't shut me out. It'll be better for you, me, and the team."
Something inside of me stirs. None of us are exactly friends, but we're comrades, chosen to stay and work together. I may not want a weak link, but the fact is Caine is hurting over something, and I hate to see someone so strong and tough, look so weak. Damn, I should've said that to him.
But, Caine unleashes his crossed arms, showing me his hand. "What do you see?" he says, flipping me his palm.
I see a calloused hand, covered in burns and little scars, and a whole life of distinctive training etched within his skin. "What am I looking for?" I ask.
"Guilt. Sadness. A monster," he grows quiet, recoiling his hand like he's been burned. "It's what I feel like. What I have to bottle up, in order to keep going," he admits, and something inside of me can relate to that. I always have to overachieve in order to feel like I have a purpose in this rotten world. "What I can't so openly discuss," he stands straighter, swallowing thick. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone."
"Of course," I answer quietly. There's not much else I can say... my training or purpose obviously wasn't as bad as Caine's. And, being in here a day or two now, Caine's kill list is already at three. I can see why his conscience is slipping through. "Just... don't forget, okay?"
"I won't." he nods curtly, walking away from me.
I lean back against an open easel, admiring my allies. We might all have different lives, and different personalities, but we work well together. It's not even my leadership; it's them, it's the team. Kiara is latched onto Calder's elbow, whilst Caine observes the perimeter, probably to ensure no-one arrives. Kiara soon lets Calder go, skipping over.
"What's up with him?" I ask gently, knowing that Kiara is a little... fragile, at the moment.
"Sad," she answers quietly. "A picture made him upset. I don't know why, though... should I ask?" her eyes light up.
I shake my head, laughing lightly. "He'll tell us when he's ready," I reply knowingly, Caine lingering over her shoulder. "Just be there, in case he needs you."
She places her hand to her forehead, and salutes me. "Got it, boss." she chirps softly, jogging back towards him.
Because the further we last, the harder we'll fall. I slump a little, letting the pressure drag me down for a slight moment, just for a rest.
Angora Knight, District Eight Female.
I thumb back the pages, filling my mind with the glorious words. It's so wrong; something so spectacular shouldn't be here.
The scene sets perfectly in my mind. The princess and the prince, dancing on the ballroom floor, soft lights and the glitter of a chandelier raining down on them. They don't notice the people around them. They're so consumed in themselves, that they don't need anyone else.
It's so... magical, so unrealistic, that nothing could be similar. Reality that Panem and the great thirteen, well, twelve districts couldn't provide. I close the book gently and place it back on the shelf, just as another rumble happens outside.
I wonder if we can go outside? If this is a school, then there'd be a courtyard, maybe even a playground. Most of my summers were spent on the swing in my backyard, a book concealed in my arms. It was secluded enough to not be known. After all, District Eight has clamped down in recent years after Pippin's year, with patrols more often.
One time, they almost caught me. I would've been whipped within an inch of my life. Pippin done that. Pippin, encouraged by Darek. I don't know why, but my mother blamed them. My grandfather said that corruption was already a seed within Eight's soils, and that the Victors are simply gardeners.
Even so, I agree with them. Although I'm basically a sacrifice to their future goals.
I swallow down the emotions, standing up. I need to keep busy until the numbers dwindle. I don't trust myself enough to just stand around.
I scan the room. From sights, the thousand or so books were believed to be deceased profiles, obituaries of sorts. But no. Like a library, it's organised, with shelves containing different things.
From my mind keeps wandering to that Rowen girl. Was she my relative? Something inside of my gut tells me so. I flex my fingers, my mind running a mile. Just a few words. Just a sentence or two, to find out how she died. Or how she lived. Or even if she ever got remembered.
I move without thought. Like I'm being led, I find myself down the same aisle, the book just in front of me. I run my finger down the leather binder, popping it out of its place.
Everything tells me to stop. My gut twists uncomfortably as I flick the first page open, the name and picture standing out. But it's not that I see first. It's the eye - one is a shiny brown, whilst the other is clouded. She was... half blind? I twist my mouth into a frown, and carry on to read.
She was killed by fire. Lots and lots of fire. Apparently, it devoured her flesh whilst... I swallow down the rising bile, blinking back the sickness. She was burned alive. It says she saved her allies, and sacrified herself instead.
"Enough," I whisper, slamming it closed. I shake my head, Quinn's round face appearing briefly. We were close - as close as allies could be - but I can't say whether I'd sacrifice myself for her... nor would she do the same for me. Rowen Knight was simply selfless, as it seems. As I put the book back, the crisp corner of a note seems to call for my attention. I blink a few times; is that for me? I slide my fingers over and pry it free from the next book. "What's this?" I say aloud, as I pull it open.
The words make my eyes widen. And when something hits my book, a scream erupts from my throat. I look down, terrified, at the small canister. A sponsor? It feels... suspicious. My hands shake as I crumple the note, detailed words of my death trashed away. I bend over, scooping the canister up. I pop it open, surprised to see a small dagger.
Another note falls. I catch it mid-air, scanning the words. Something just... twists in my stomach, telling me that it isn't going to be good. Not when I've been sent a weapon.
Hide -D.
My mind races, everything falling into place. I rush over to the small fire I only put out, and relit, moments ago. I stamp out the flames hastily, the knife rattling in the container. I dart my eyes around, the ceiling lights just flickering ominously. My heart hammers against my ribcage, thump, thump, thump-
The doors swing open.
Every part of me runs cold. My blood turns into ice. My flesh becomes a layer of steel, cool and smooth. I throw myself to the floor and pull myself up against the bookcase, chest pressed against the dusty ledgers. Despite the confusion, I bend down, to peek through the shelves. A shadow moves in, followed by another, before the door slams shut.
"Let's see what this has." a feminine voice growls, freezing my heart. Temperance Clarion... I clench the dagger, but deep down, I know my chances are barely anything.
Hide? Darek should've said run. Or even pray.
Corin Roscoe, District Nine Male.
I fall behind as Temperance marches on ahead. For some reason, my will has been sapped away.
I know why, but it's always hard to come to terms with. It makes me feel... weak. Weak to know that a small space and darkness, like a cupboard, could bring back so many horrid memories. When I was... when I was trapped in there, I wasn't thinking about how I pissed off Temperance or if she would let me go at one point or another, I was thinking about his face, and his words laced with alcohol.
To everyone, we were the family to be envied. But behind those closed doors, he was distant and standoff-ish. When alcohol was involved, he was abusive, telling me how I killed my own mother, that I was such a poisonous child, it destroyed her body from within the womb. And then the cupboard came into effect. If I said - or did - something wrong, then I'd be thrown in there, sometimes for hours. Night would fall half the time and I'd sleep on the floor, curled up uncomfortably.
"Pay attention," Temperance's voice snaps me from the memories. "We need to make you into a man," she adds, with a subtle husky tone. "Which way?"
"Any." I shrug, no longer interested. The thought of my father makes me want to curl up into a ball, and disappear into nothing. Sometimes he could be so loving and generous, splashing out money on the most expensive items for me to brag about... but then he'd change in the snap of my fingers. It was hard, just me and him.
And the cupboard. Always the cupboard.
Temperance clicks her fingers in my face, snapping me out of it once more. "Which way?"
"Left," I answer. I follow her down the hall, until large doors appear. Library, the sign says. "In here?"
"I can smell the sense of fear in the air like a wolverine," Temperance clicks her tongue. "We go in here first, and then hunt. Someone is bound to be stupid enough to hide in here with the books, hoping to use the dust as a muting tone."
I never understand her. "Sure."
My shoulder throbs in pain as I push open the door. Temperance steps in, I follow, and then we shut it.
"Let's see what this has." she growls.
I look around, scanning the high ceiling and flickering lights. Nothing too standout. It looks like every other place, including the gymnasium. I just hope the lights won't go out fully. Darkness makes me uncomfortable.
Then something clatters.
Temperance is on high alert. She jabs her finger down an aisle, telling me to go down there. I sigh, pulling the glaive forward. I step down slowly, making sure to make my footsteps quiet. A part of me doesn't want to find someone. The other, larger part of me, wants to find and kill, just to speed the process up. Temperance won't be satisfied until blood is on my hands. I look over my shoulder, Temperance at the door, her arms crossed and her eyes narrow. Impatient, too.
I scan the aisles for the supposed tribute. I highly doubt someone is in here at all. As Temperance said, it's too stupid, and as idiotic some of these tributes are, I don't think they're brain dead.
Another noise. I stop, the adrenaline pumping through my veins. I balance the glaive out, the blade pointing maliciously.
I have to find and kill. If not, well... Temperance suspects. She doesn't know, but she suspects, and that's bad enough. She might try and lock me away again, for displeasing her, just like my father.
Outside, a bomb explodes, and a small shriek echoes through the room. "There!" Temperance howls.
I snap my eyes forward. Through the parted light, I see eyes, staring straight at me. They widen as realisation catches us. Without thought, I charge through the aisles towards her.
The girl screams as I lunge the glaive forward. The knife slides through the book with ease, before stopping. I drag it back, freeing the weapon. The tribute - a girl, from the softness of the eyes - scrambles to her feet, and runs the opposite direction. And by opposite direction, I realise, means that she's coming at me. I see the flash of silver before she plunges it forward. I barely have time to move, releasing the glaive as I jump back, slamming into the opposite bookcase.
Her moves are jerky. She's as scared and unsure as Aubrey was, before she almost bested me. Her eyes widen in terror and she makes a fatal mistake by looking over her shoulder.
I fly forward, quickly disarming her with something Temperance taught me. I flick her wrist and twist a finger, loosening her grip. The knife falls and clatters to the floor, the noise reminiscent of what we all heard earlier.
Her weapon practically exposed her.
I bend over and scoop it up. When the reality hits her, she steps back. I only then notice her as Angora, that Jute's district partner.
"I'm sorry." I whisper, just so she doesn't hear me. Angora spins and tries to run, but Temperance is there without a flash, forcing Angora down a dead end.
I pry my glaive from the paper, walking over to meet the battle. Temperance has her sword pointed at Angora's chest, the reaped girl crying and breathing heavily, pressed against the brick wall. I blink a few times, the sight surprisingly uncomfortable. "Well do it then," Temperance says. I swallow down the building nerves, twisting in my stomach. "Take her life. Become a man."
It's Temperance's words, but his voice I hear. Do this, and do that. You're this, and you're that. But no. No, I won't let this happen. He can't always control me, and make me feel... like a loser, like I'm worthless. It chipped away at my confidence. I shake away the emotions and thoughts again, ridding them from my mind. Obediently, I step forward, raising the bladed side of my glaive. I close my eyes and I plunge it forward.
I keep my eyes closed until the cannon resounds in the air. I pull the weapon free, open my eyes, and turn away. "Well done, Corin," she compliments me. "Your first kill. How does it feel?"
I want it to empower me. But, it just feels... abnormal. I can't say what, but it's not as repulsive nor enjoyable as I imagined it to be. I guess it's better to be without emotion over it. "Fine," I lie. "Now what?"
"We continue to hunt, of course. The wolves will feast tonight."
Kiara Vaud, District Four Female.
Caine stacks the easel against the door, effectively locking it. He turns, face stony. I bite the inside of my cheek as he briskly walks past us, desperate to help him out. He looks so upset, like Carnelian said, like I'm sure Calder is. It just isn't right. I curl my knees to my chest, shuffling towards Calder's side.
"Cheer up," I mumble, even though it's hard. It's hard because Haven... Haven was killed, and I don't know what to say or think. "Everything will be okay," I place my hand on his knee, and he tightens, like he wants to move. I recoil, a little dejected. "Sorry."
"It's not you, it's me," he sighs. "Don't feel hurt."
I swallow thickly, the question on my tongue. "Are you... are you upset about that picture? Do you know the girl?"
His eyes slip closed. "I don't want to talk about it, Kiara."
"But it's good to t-"
"No," he exclaims, eyes flying open. "I don't want to discuss it. Will you understand? It's..." the words trip him up, and he chokes a little. "I'm... I'm sorry..."
I smile sadly, though the sting burns through my flesh. "It's okay. Don't be upset. I'm sure... I'm sure..."
I don't know what to be sure about. There's nothing I can say? If he knows the girl, it's clear that she's dead, and no amount of words are going to make that any better. I could be here, like Carnelian suggested, to see if he'll open up, but that seems too far away. And I don't think Calder should wait that long. He's like a dam, and they always burst at some point. My hand moves to touch his knee again, but falls short.
He turns, smiling sadly. "You're always so kind."
I try and perk up a little, but the horrified images and the smell... it turns my stomach, and makes me frown. "I just want to see you happy," I admit, because it's all I ever tried to do. No amount of rejection would stop me. But it's becoming harder. "Mr Tripe always said my kind heart would get me killed."
"Mr Tripe?" Calder presses. "You mean the weird guy who runs the theatre?"
I blush heavily. "I like to act," I admit once more, surprised that it's me opening up, and not Calder. He's good. "Though I never got the spot I wanted," I carry on. "I always wanted to be the District Four girl, but he kept putting me in District Twelve, and I always died in the bloodbath. Gruesome most of the time, too."
And then Haven penetrates my brain once more, and a whimper escapes my throat. "Haven?" Calder cuts in. I nod weakly. "It's... it's going to get harder."
I open my mouth, to tell him that if it gets harder we have each other, but Carnelian abruptly stands. Everyone looks at him, his lips twisted into a frown. "We... we can't stay here. It's too creepy for my liking."
I know that feeling. And I guarantee Calder would agree too. "Where should we go?" I ask, not taking it personally. I wouldn't have suggested it if I knew... these were here.
"Caine has offered to go out and scout," Carnelian continues. I look at him knowingly; Caine isn't stable enough at the moment. His words, too. "I think someone should go with him."
"It's not necessary." Caine cuts in.
"I'll do it," Nelida stands. "Or we could split up. See who finds the better place first."
When I know Calder is about to stand too, I grasp his hand, keeping him down. He looks at me with confused eyes, but I just stare and stress my need for him to just... to just stay here, with me, where it's safe and I can keep an eye on him and... and he can protect me, like he's always done. And I can help him. District Four will stand tall together!
Nelida and Caine carefully move the easel, slipping out of the doors. When silence settles, Carnelian moves towards us.
"Hey," I wave slightly. "So will they come back and tell us where to go?"
Carnelian nods. "Caine is heading to the swimming pool, and Nelida is going to check out the indoor gardens," he moves his eyes to Calder, who doesn't exactly shrink under his watch, but seems uncomfortable. "So, Haven..."
I swallow thickly. I understand what he's doing - it's like a trust exercise, or something. We discuss a mutual problem, and help each other out. "I feel sick just thinking of what happened..." I start. "He... it was so sudden."
Carnelian smiles sadly. "We couldn't of done much else. No-one knew until it was too late," he carries on, but I can see the wear and tear in his face now. "And... we can only hope he's not in pain or something," he quickly bows his head. "Yeah."
"I think we should help them," Calder stands. I go to grab him once more, but remind myself that Calder is a grown teenager, and he doesn't need me... he probably doesn't want me either. I'm just the annoying kid. Mascot, like Hermes mentioned. I frown, looking away. "I'll go somewhere else. Like the ceramics room, or something. You two stay here and barricade the doors."
Despite being the leader, it's like everyone wants to give Carnelian a break. His first casualty. I'm sure the death is hitting him harder than he lets on, considering his need for perfection. As Calder leaves through another door - the one on the other side of the room, compared to Nelida and Caine - I crawl along the floor, pulling Carnelian's face up with my hand.
"We're suppose to be the positive ones," I say quietly, willing a smile on my face. "No matter what happens to them, we're suppose to be rays of sunshine," I laugh lightly. "You gotta cheer up. Please. We can't do this without you."
Carnelian sighs. "Whilst they're not here, we can be sad for a little while," he smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "It seems appropriate for Haven. Not being upset, it's like... it's like we're just tossing him aside."
I wrap my arms around his shoulders swiftly, pulling him into a hug. And Carnelian breaks instantly, choked cries being burned into my mind. Our great leader, broken. "I'll always be here. A little chirpy, annoying bird, that'll keep pecking away and making you smile." I add with a tight squeeze.
Because, deep down, I have to be that. I have to keep them smiling, otherwise it's over for us all.
Jute Phillips, District Eight Male.
I'm so focused on the cherub in my hands that I don't notice the ceiling lighting up, at least not until the anthem blares sharply.
Slowly, I look upwards, the first face morphing into the boy from District Five, Lyle... something. I don't remember his name. He was kind of nice, if I remember, at least from what I saw. Angora mentioned something about him once. For some reason, as much as I encourage sympathy to arise, I can't. I didn't know him so I can't mourn him. It just feels like a waste of life.
Then, it happens. The cherub-like figurine slips through my fingers, falling on my boot. I barely snap myself out of the trance to scoop it up, having to tear my eyes away from Angora's face. Was she one of the cannons from yesterday, or the one today? Or were all three today? Without a clock, you just can't tell. I haven't been to sleep yet, and my body always tells me when that is.
I silently mourn for Angora. She was from home, only one of the few things I can actually remember thoroughly. I guess without her curly-haired ally, she just wasn't strong enough.
The emotions clog up my throat, forcing me down. I let out a shaky breath as her face finally changes. I bend over, pick the Audrey-doll up, and watch as her district partner is the final face on the ceiling. District Ten is out of the running then. I wonder if the people are sad about the deaths, or just the fact that their chances of supplies has vanished?
A lump forms in my throat. I forgot that my family are watching... is Ramie berating the screen, telling the family that Jute is silly for staying here? I look up at the corner of the room, as if expecting to see a camera aimed towards me. Nettle would be cuddled into his side, and Coir wouldn't even know what is going on, or why I'm not there.
I miss them all. I miss each and every member of my family, even if I never showed it all the time. I just... I just forgot.
I shake my head, standing up. A bomb bounces the room around, and the remaining figurines are shattered on the floor.
I have to get out of here. Go where? I don't know... I don't know anything anymore... I collect the backpack, sliding it on my shoulder. I even tuck Audrey-doll into my shirt pocket over my heart, to keep her close. I don't know how to avenge her, but I forget her, not this time.
Slipping out of the room quietly, I remove the knife from the backpack and into my hand, just in an emergency. You never know...
I freeze in my tracks when I hear footsteps. I hold my breath, frozen on the spot. I'm like an animal trapped in headlights. I snap my head around, the many doors still shut. I look to the ceiling and then down the hallway, using what little knowledge Audrey told me. I wait... I wait...
The flickering lights showcase a shadow moving downwards.
Silently, I move forward, opening a door quietly. I slip in and shut it once more, hoping not to have made a sound. I don't want to be caught, not now, not when I'm about to make my move.
The shadow glides pass the window, and I throw myself to the floor, curling against the wood. I strain my hearing for the footsteps, hearing them walk away, before the door opens. My heart tells me that, whoever it is, they've just entered the ceramics room. If I had waited but a moment more, I would've been cornered. My heart plummets in my chest when I realise that I could've been killed. I grip the doorknob, keeping it firm. Maybe they'll think it's locked...
Then, like a flash, a door slams. My stomach twists and I grip the harder, barely seeing my knuckles turn white. The footsteps creak slowly, just passing the door.
My breath catches in my throat.
The doorknob jiggles, and I have to squeeze it closed, forcing the door to stay shut. The figure catches on, though, and suddenly a body is slamming into the wood.
Their strength overpowers me, and my hand is ripped from the brass handle. The door swings open, slamming into the frame.
The force throws me backwards onto my back. I fumble for the knife as the figure - revealed to be a boy, from some Career district - charges forward. Panic overrides my body as I slash out with the knife defensively, causing him to pause. Our eyes meet briefly, before he raises a hooked weapon, with a blade on the other end. He jabs forward, but I slide out of the way, natural instinct taking over. I've never been one to fight - that was Weft's job, when his topics of discussion were personal and overheard.
I slash out again as I roll on my side, attempting to get up. But he drops the weapon and jumps on my stomach, knees on either side. I slash again and again, but each swipe only cuts air.
With an easy force, he grasps my wrist and pins me down completely. The breath is knocked from my lungs as I shrink under his power.
"P-Please," I mutter, the words slipping out without thought.
He doesn't look, like, conflicted, but he seems sad. Downtrodden, even. He leans to the side for his weapon, still effectively keeping me down. And, in that small moment, I swear I see my eyes flash before my eyes. Calico leading me around like I'm some blind kid. Ramie with his intellectual mind, telling me that I can't just space out all the time. Or even little Coir, and his large, blue eyes.
No. No, I won't just give in easy, not when Audrey fought and I have everything to live for. Tears spring to my eyes and the adrenaline flushes through my veins.
Without even thinking, I free an arm from under his knee. It happens so fast, I'm surprised I managed to do it so fluidly.
I pluck Audrey-doll from my chest pocket, and with a slash of her clay wings, I cut a fine line across his cheek. The boy hisses, confused, and I thrust all of my weight into my arms to shove him to the side. He tumbles to the floor, quickly scrambling for his weapon.
But I'm up and out the room within seconds, abandoning my backpack. My fight or flight instinct just stays on flight as I barrel down the halls. Somehow, in the pit of my stomach, I know he won't chase after me. I begin to slow down when the stitch in my chest becomes too much. I clutch Audrey-doll harder in my palm, her right wing chipped and stained red.
She's all I have. But I need to find others.
Tierna Rowe, District Twelve Female.
Excitement builds in my chest as we reach our destination. Sienna proudly throws the door opens, and a wave of acid hits my nostrils.
Sienna's lips turn into a frown. "I don't think pools are suppose to smell like that."
Slowly, we step in, and the smell becomes obvious. My heart sickens when I see the pool, water looking stale. It doesn't look as pretty as I imagined. In fact, when you look down to the bottom, you can see green moss growing in the corners, or ugly cracks that ruin the intricate tile patterns on the pool floor. It was suppose to be nice... and it just looks as ruined as everything else does.
Saddened, I peel my eyes away, to study the large room. The pool takes the most focus, but I can see showers in the corners for each gender, and a supply closet on the side.
"Well this is impressive," Onatah adds with a cynical tone. "Looks like everywhere is rotten or ruined," she continues. "Effects of war, and all."
I hear Sienna growl, but turn away. I can't stand the fighting. I mean, if it was just one person, I could. My temper is very short... and part of me wants to blow up at the pair of them for being selfish, always bickering, but then I don't want to further the divide. It takes all of my restraint to stay at the side, away from it all. "We didn't know this, though," Sienna argues. "We thought it might be safe!"
Onatah scoffs. "Nowhere in this school is safe," she moves away from us, towards the showers at the back of the room. "This is an arena, not a field trip." she turns, holding out her weapon, the light glowing on her now crooked jaw.
I bite the inside of my cheek, studying the pair of them. With the pool between them, it's unlikely that anything is going to happen. But Sienna's posture is rigid, whilst Onatah seems to be mocking her without actually doing or saying anything. Maybe Sienna just takes things too personally. "Let's not fight," I choke out, the emotions flooding my insides. I'm literally about to burst if they carry this on. "We're an alliance, a team. We shouldn't be arguing all the time!" I scream the last part, just to make a point.
I regret my words. It's growing again...
Instantly, the pair grow silent. Onatah looks at me with a knowing smirk - or a smile, depending on what her jaw is doing - and nods. "Tierna is right. You really need to get over yourself, Sienna."
I clench my fists as Sienna growls again. "You need to get off your high horse!" I sigh, walking away. "Tierna, where are you going?"
"Supply closet." I mumble.
I carefully twist the doorknob, but it's locked. I jiggle some more, desperate to see what's inside. At least, I think that's why I'm doing this. It doesn't help that the pair of them are pushing me too far. I chose them because I thought we'd get on, I'd be able to avoid awkward conversations or bouts of depression and darkness, but no, no they're just like the people I wanted to avoid, for my sake.
"Can anyone find a key? It won't open." I call out.
"It's hanging up there," Sienna replies. "To your left."
She's right. I look to my left and pluck the key from the stand, jabbing it into the lock. With a twist and a flick, the door swings open.
And, of course, there's nothing of importance in here. A few water equipment, like I've seen been handed out during some arenas that involve open waters. A javelin or two, and some rubber arm things. Nothing dangerous, but nothing useful either. I slam the door shut, spinning around. "Calm down," Sienna smiles softly. "You'll make too much noise, and then we'll be found too soon."
I didn't even realise I made the noise. A blush creeps on my face and I look away. "Sorry."
"I'm going to check the showers," Onatah joins in. "Keep an eye out for me."
Sienna simply rolls her eyes. I don't even know why she continues this grudge. It's rather childish, if you ask me, but I guess that's just something Sienna does. We stand around, awkward, the annoying lights still flickering overhead. I mean, they even hang over the swimming pool, which can't be safe. Out of curiosity, I begin to walk, attempting to find the source. Maybe we can turn them off? Darkness in here - as much as I hate it - would be the best cover possible.
That, and going in the water. Though the thought doesn't please me as much anymore.
As I reach the door, I don't expect to find anyone. It happens so fast though. A hard hand grapples my hair, and a cold weapon touches my throat. I fly back instantly as the weapon slices down my chest - just missing a deadly strike - as the fiery sensation overwhelms me. I stagger backwards as Caine from District Two is revealed, his eyes wide in shock.
Spots dot my vision, but hands are suddenly on me. I go to scream, only realising that it's Sienna. "Onatah!" she shouts.
Onatah is soon with us, her face flushed red. Everything spirals in my mind, making me sick and dizzy... and... and confused. My knees buckle, blood spilling over my shirt. I glance down, despite everything inside protesting. It doesn't... it could just be the blood that makes it look worse... I'm not dead - I miss a sliced throat, after all - but it doesn't help with... with the pain...
In an instant, Sienna flies forward, a sword in her hand. Caine counters the deadly weapon with his larger sword, the spit of metal bouncing around the hollow room.
Onatah gently lays me down, but she doesn't need to. I have no fight in me to counter the pain... I'd rather just lay down, and let it slip away.
And then I see her join the fray, now that Sienna is easily being overpowered. I swallow thickly, my tongue suddenly furry. I swallow again and again, and I have to remind myself that I'm not going to die, the wound wasn't even that deep. With shaking hands that won't quit, I pop open a button, tracing the wound with my finger. It's barely above skin. Nothing more... than a scratch. But it's caked in blood.
Darkness curls at the edge of my vision, taunting me. Onatah somehow manages to make Caine try harder, but even with two people, Caine is trained. He basically bats them away like pesky flies.
Sienna hits the ground, her weapon skittering away. She doesn't get back up. Onatah counters, but she's tossed up against the wall, a crunch breaking the heated fight. Crumpling, our eyes meet, but Caine easily blocks the view.
I can't... I can't hold on much longer. It's like a warm embrace is waiting for me. I slip into the comfort, and my eyes close.
And that's when a cannon sounds, another one losing their life.
Castle of Glass by Linkin Park.
The blog for this story is ffyl hunger games . blogspot - all deaths will be notified here!
Angora Knight, District Eight.
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.
Hearts, Angora was a very realistic character. Sweet, but without fight or much will. She was caught between a rock and... well, a Temperance.
I would love for you to answer a specific question I have for each chapter!
POV that stood out?
Who do we think died at the end there? :o
And, of course, a general review on my writing? It's invaluable!
So... who died? :o
Doesn't necessarily mean that Tierna has died. Doesn't necessarily mean that she hasn't died. It's all up in the air.
I miss cliffhangers. I'm going to do them more often.
So, yeah. Things are now starting to kick off. You can expect things to continue to spiral, considering that we're over halfway with the story (but that's including the epilogue, so.)
