Chapter 11: Night 3 and Day 4
Anise Sartell, District Twelve, age 16
Around mid-afternoon on the third day, a small parachute falls through one of the holes and lands at my feet. The number two is stitched to the outside, so I pick it up and hand it to Troy. "It's for you."
"Well, I must have done something right," Troy says, grinning a little. He unties the parachute to find a bag of jerky and twelve dinner rolls, and his grin widens. "Great, more food."
"Are you planning on sharing?" I ask light-heartedly.
"I'll think about it," Troy replies in a teasing tone. "Come on, let's look for more firewood. The branches we have aren't going to last very much longer."
I nod, and follow Troy down the snowy tunnel. "So, what's your story?"
"My story?" I ask.
"Yeah. Everyone has a tale to tell about their life before the Games. I enjoy hearing other people's stories. You could say I'm a very good listener and sympathizer," he says proudly.
I tell him about District Twelve and the poverty I encounter on a daily basis. I explain my once tightly knitted family has been slightly unwoven by war and paranoia. I remember the days how they used to be and wish for life to return the way it was. Nothing can ever be the same now, though, not when I'm in the arena.
Troy nods. "Ah, family troubles. I understand."
"What about you?"
My ally looks surprised, and perhaps a little uncomfortable. "Oh, uh… Well, I'm not going to lie, my father and I have our differences. He's majorly concerned with our family's appearance more so than he is with the family itself. I was raised to be polite and respectful towards everyone, though, including my father. My mother is probably one of the most intelligent people I know. She likes her life neat and orderly. She's not the type to shower anyone with love and affection, and I'm okay with that. At the end of the day, we're a family, and that is what counts."
I don't know how to reply to that, so I simply nod. After a few seconds, Troy speaks again. "If you could bet on the Hunger Games, who would you bet on?"
"You can bet on the Hunger Games?" I ask. Being from the poorest district, I have little knowledge of betting on anything, much less the Hunger Games.
"Sure. My dad has bet ever since the idea to make a profit came into a Gamemaker's head two years ago," Troy says, letting out a small sigh. I have the feeling his father didn't bet on his own son. I would definitely be hurt if my father didn't believe in me enough to place money on me, but if Troy is bothered by that fact, he doesn't show it. Hiding his disdain prevents sponsors from being scared off.
We wander back to camp, chatting as we go. As we approach our clearing, we freeze in place. Juniper, the twelve-year-old girl from Six, is curled up in a tight ball, her dark brown hair covering her face and her glasses sliding off her nose ever so slightly. She shakes in her sleep from the cold and I want to cover her with a blanket, but don't have any to spare.
"What do we do?" I ask Troy, keeping my voice low to prevent waking Juniper.
Troy hesitates. "We'll do what we were placed in this arena to do."
"You mean kill her," I whisper. "She's only twelve."
"Yeah, and I'm only fifteen. You're only sixteen. The oldest people here are only eighteen. Yet, sooner or later, all but one of us will be dead. If we want to go home, she has to die. We might as well do it while she's an easy target," Troy says, but he sounds uncertain as though he doesn't even agree with the words coming from his mouth.
"This isn't right," I say, stating the obvious.
Troy sighs. "No. But you rather someone like Flarissa get to her and torture her? How about my district partner? She volunteered for this. Think of it as doing us all a favor."
"Okay," I say weakly after a moment of hesitation.
Troy raises his crossbow, but stops himself, staring at Juniper before lowering it slowly.
"What?"
"I don't want to wake her up," Troy says softly. "She deserves to go peacefully. I don't want to miss and have her live her last moments alive in fear."
He takes a knife from the pack he is carrying and holds it directly above her chest. Taking a deep breath, he plunges the knife into her heart and I quickly avert my eyes. When I bring myself to look again, Troy is sitting motionless, bloody knife in hand. Juniper's stomach is no longer rising and falling like it had been only minutes ago.
"Let's go," Troy mutters. "The capitol can't pick her up if we're here."
I nod, heading in the direction we came from. The mood has changed drastically and we don't speak to each other. After all, what can be said when we just decided to take the life of an innocent?
Day 4
Concordia Afton, age 18, District Two
The district is abuzz with discussion. Some voices are excited, because Patriot Salem has brought fame and honor to District Two. A select few are disgusted, wondering why anyone would volunteer for the Capitol's death match. Some even wonder if the eighteen-year-old is insane.
My parents drag me to the train station on the day of Patriot's arrival back in District Two. We push our way through a crowd of people, my parents hoping to sneak a glance at the glorified Patriot. The train rolls in and the crowd rumbles with more excitement. The train car doors slide open, and Patriot steps out. Voices, mostly high-pitched and feminine, scream his name as he displays a smile of perfectly white teeth. His escort, Adelaide, clears a path for him as he struts his way to the justice building for a speech.
"Step aside!" Adelaide calls in a voice that is surprisingly loud from her size."Your victor is coming through!" The crowd moves with Patriot, but at a slower pace, only quieting themselves when Patriot takes his place at the podium.
"Good evening, District Two," he begins. "It is an honor to be standing before you tonight. It brings me pride to know I have so many fans here, more than I ever could have expected.
"I think I need to make myself clear here. My parents were traitors. They pretended to be on the Capitol's side, when in reality, they were rebel spies. Key word: were. My parents are dead, executed for their treason. Admitting this is not easy for me. However, I am not my parents. I am not a traitor. I volunteered for these Games for one reason, to show my support for the Capitol, and what they do, and to take down any rebellious lower district citizens. I am proud to represent District Two, and I hope I did not disappoint. Thank you, and have a good night."
The crowd dispersed more slowly than it gathered, clusters of people branching off while others attempt to capture more pictures or obtain an autograph.
"That boy shows so much loyalty," Mother says. "What an honor it is for him to hail from District Two."
"Indeed," Father agreed. "If he were my son, I'd be swelling with pride. It's such a shame the boy was born of rebels."
"Oh, can you imagine what his life is like now, though. It must be heavenly," Mother says, sighing dreamily.
"That may be possible," Father says. "After all, who says District Two can't have two victors in a row. Concordia, you want to bring pride to the Afton name and your district, correct?"
"Yes, Father," I reply, even though I really don't give a shit about pride and honor.
"Excellent," Father says. "Next year, you will volunteer for the Games. I will help you prepare."
"Yes, Father," I say calmly, but inside, I wonder what I have just gotten myself into.
I wake up on the morning of the fourth day wrapped in a blanket, my head resting on a pillow. My sleeping supplies are my only source of heat, since my backpack did not contain matches or firewood. Last night, only one face appeared, the little girl from Six. Sixteen of us remain, now, two-thirds of the tributes. I am that much closer to coming home.
These first few days, I have been staying in once place, obtaining some idea of where I am. I just can't find the motivation in me to hunt tributes like Patriot did last year. This doesn't look good in sponsor's eyes though. I'm boring. I need to provide some source of entertainment to keep the Capitolites' interest in me, but I'm not sure how to go about it. I dig through my backpack, finding an ax, a lantern, a canteen of water, dried fruit and crackers. I could use some firewood and matches, because while my blanket provides some warmth, it's rather thin. I eventually decide to go above ground. Either I find firewood, or perhaps other tributes, or I'll draw sponsors' attention for actually making an effort.
By the time I find my way to the entrance of the cave, the sun is just rising. I venture out into the light, warily glancing around before choosing a direction. I make my trek through the snow towards a row of cliffs and mountains covered in a blanket of white. My journey takes a couple of hours. I stop short when I hear voices and cautiously peer around the snowy mountainside. Three tributes sit around a campfire, chatting casually. Even in their thick parkas, I recognize them as the girls from Seven and Ten and the boy from Six. They seem to have a decent sized pile of supplies, along with several weapons.
I chew on my lip and twiddle my fingers, two nervous habits I'd like to break, If any of these three were alone, I would take them on without much hesitation. However, this group consists of two sixteen-year-olds and a seventeen-year-old who I'm sure could easily gain up on me. For the first time, I really wish I had an ally. I stand in the snow deep in thought for several minutes until I make my decision. I turn around and go back the way I came.
Patriot may be swearing up a storm back in the Capitol. He, along with my parents back home and any potential sponsors, must view my actions as cowardly. They may be right. However, if I'm going to win, I need to pick and choose my battles and with this one, I just don't like the odds. Let the group get weaker. Then I can make my attack.
I make my way back to the cave, feeling as though I have wasted my time. The Capitolites are probably bored out of their minds. Just as I near the entrance of the cave, however, a gut feeling that won't be the case as I hear a terrified scream coming from the alliance of three.
Heather Bradshaw, 17, District Seven
On the third night, we see a face in the sky that hits kind of close to home.
"Juniper," Jackson mutters as the little girl's face flashed across the sky. She was my little brother's age.
"I'm sorry," I whisper. "Did you know her well."
Jackson shakes his head, his expression emotionless. "No. Both of us stayed to ourselves."
"Looks like we've all lost our district partners. It's all up to us to bring pride and honor to our districts now," Maggie states, her voice dripping with sarcasm in the second sentence.
Maggie takes first watch that night. She wakes me up when she becomes tired, in the very early hours of the morning. "I'm out," she says before curling up by the fire.
I gaze around, but the night is silently besides the crackling of the fire and the rustling of the wind. Above me, an odd greenish light dances across the sky, swaying back and forth to an inaudible song. The atmosphere is peaceful, until I hear a soft but distressed whimper. In the dark, I have trouble identifying the source before deciding the sound is coming from Jackson. Trying not to wake Maggie, I tread carefully through the snow towards him.
"Jackson," I whisper, shaking his shoulder. "Jackson, wake up."
He gasps, bolting upright. Even though I can't see his face, it's easy to see he had a nightmare. He had one when I kept watch on Night One too. "Are you alright?"
Jackson doesn't reply. I call his name softly.
"Y-yeah," he finally says.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"No," Jackson says sharply. "I can't."
"Are you sure?" I ask. "My youngest sister, Keeva, has nightmares often. Talking about them helps calm her down."
"Drop it, Heather," he snaps.
"Fine. Okay." I fall silently.
"It'll be okay. It'll be okay," Jackson mutters, repeating those same three words over and over. I'm not sure if he knows I can hear him, so I don't respond.
The following morning, we go about doing our daily chores. Jackson gathers more firewood while Maggie hunts. I stay behind to guard the supplies.
Jackson returns first. We get a fire started while waiting for Maggie to rejoin us. Suddenly, I here a scream behind me, loud and piercing. Jackson's head snaps up. Grabbing the nearest knife, I pivot around towards the source of the scream, ready to help defend Maggie if need be. Instead of danger, I find my grinning ally, her arms full of three plump, white rabbits. She laughs gleefully. "You should see the look on your faces!"
I don't laugh. Instead, I am filled with anger. "That's not funny! What if you were really in danger?"
"Oh, come on!" exclaims Maggie. "I was only trying to have a little fun."
"Did you forget where we are? We're in the Hunger Games! You had us scared half to death!"
Maggie stares at me for a moment. "Fine. Whatever. I was just having fun."
"Just please don't do it again," I say.
Maggie nods. Camp is quiet as we skin the rabbits and roast them over the fire. The tension slowly disappears and Maggie and I begin to make small talk again. Jackson, as usual, keeps quiet for the most part. I am in the middle of a sentence when I suddenly hear a low, rumbling growl behind me.
"Maggie… was that you?"
"No," Maggie says slowly. "I'm not that realistic."
At the same time, Jackson's face drains of color. "Guys. Look behind you."
Turning my head, I find myself staring into the chilling yellow eyes of my first real-life Capitol mutt.
Tristan Ramirez, 16, District Ten
Even though viewing the Hunger Games is supposedly mandatory, I haven't seen more than a few minutes of the Games since they started. I've been on the streets of District Ten with Maggie since we were thirteen, around the time of the first year, and therefore, had no access to a tv. Of course, there was the justice building, which broadcasted the Games on a huge flatscreen twenty-four-seven, but Maggie and I never watched it. We were too busy just trying to survive. This year though, I've barely left the area. I keep out of sight, knowing how suspicous a sixteen year old boy who hangs around the justice building alone for hours on end looks to a common person. This year is different, because Maggie is in the arena. She's going to make it out, she has to, and I'm going to watch her. I feel like a chunk of me is missing and I can't fully function without her. As Maggie always says, I'm the muscle and she's the brains of our friendship.
I grew up in a family of six brothers. We are similar in appearance, with black hair, green eyes, and tanned skin. All of us are built of solid muscle from our work on our families farm. I was known in the area as "a Ramirez brother" rather than Tristan. At home, I fought for my parents' attention and longed to stand out as an individual. I craved something more. When I was thirteen, the something more came knocking on my window.
I had known Maggie for a while through school. We talked on occasion, but weren't officially friends, so I was surprised when she came to my house at three in the morning. I shared a room with two of my brothers. One had snuck out, probably to spend the night with his girlfriend, while the other was a heavy sleeper which ended up in Maggie's favor as she threw pebbles and sticks against my window. I don't know how long she was out there before I woke up, but eventually, I stumbled out of bed and cracked open my window. Down below, I could make out a figure standing in my yard, her head tilted up towards the window and a bag tossed over her shoulder.
"Who's down there?" I kept my voice low as I called out to the intruder.
"It's Maggie Tenebrose," Maggie replied. "Can you come down?"
"Uh, sure." Despite being confused, I was really curious, so I put on my shoes and headed out the door, meeting Maggie outside my window.
"Hi," she whispered excitedly.
"Hi. Do you want to tell me why you're at my house at three in the morning?"
Maggie laughed quietly. "I ran away. I don't want to be a farmer like my parents want me to. Everyone in Ten farms. I want to do something else. Anything else. So I've been living on the streets, pickpocketing people to have enough money for food. But I need a partner in crime. I'm the brains of the operation, and now I need muscle. So what do you say? Want to run away with me?"
To be honest, I almost said no. At the time, Maggie was only an acquaintance. She was asking me to leave my home and join her on the streets of District Ten, where I'd have to steal from others to survive. On the other hand, I realized I might never have an opportunity to change my life, so I agreed. Since then, Maggie and I have been sleeping at farms at night, and scamming the district by day. Maggie would arm wrestle for a prize of food and intentionally lose while I discreetly walked by and pick-pocketed the victim while they were distracted. Before long we had a reputation and Maggie began calling us the "pirates of Panem". We were having the time of our lives. I haven't looked back.
We thought we'd go on like that forever. We'd never fall in love with anyone, get married, or have children. It would always just be us two, two good friends wrecking havoc in District Ten. Then Maggie was reaped, and I don't know what to do with myself.
In some ways, I wish I was there with her. Now, she's still surviving, but with two totally new people. I feel as though I should be sitting around the fire with her, not Jackson and Heather. When Maggie tried to scare her allies, I would have laughed. Instead, Heather snapped at her and Jackson was as nonreactive as ever. I wonder if Maggie misses me as much as I miss her.
Other alliances are shown, but I couldn't care less about them. I want to go back to Maggie and make sure she's okay. Finally, her alliance reappears, but they are not alone.
The camera zooms in on paw prints in the snow. They look like a dog's prints, but without claws. After giving us a good look, the camera returns to its normal view, giving Panem a glimpse of the animal that made the tracks. Three leopards surround Maggie's alliance. They're not ordinary leopards, though. These animals are gray in color, rather than yellow like the normal leopards I've seen in books. They may be a bit smaller, but nevertheless look deadly. The animals have thick fur and wide, snow-shoe like paws as well as a long tail. These creatures are built for snow. It seems Maggie has stolen their rabbits, and they are out for blood.
The leopard nearest Maggie growls, and that is when the group notices them.
"Maggie… was that you?" Heather asks hesitantly.
"No. I'm not that realistic," Maggie replies.
Meanwhile, Jackson pales as he spots the leopards. "Guys. Look behind you."
Heather turns her head around and locks eyes with a leopard while Maggie leaps to her feet, grabbing the nearest knife. She skims the area frantically, locating all three leopards. "Run," she whispers, keeping her voice low.
The three of them sprint off, scooping up their packs and weapons but leaving behind the fire and the half-eaten rabbits. However, it's clear that the leopards are gaining on them. Maggie looks over her shoulder and bites her lip as she realizes how close the creatures are. Then, for some reason I will never understand, she stops.
"Go on! Keep going!" She shouts, before pulling out her knife and facing the leopard. The big cat nearest her growls again before pouncing, knocking her off her feet.
Jackson continues to run, but Heather slows down and looks back. "Maggie!" she screams, her eyes full of horror and fear. Jackson seems not to care.
"Run!" Maggie shouts. "I've got this! I'll join you! Please, Heather, go!"
Heather hesitates, before she too deserts Maggie. As for me, I'm doing all I can not to shout out. How can they just leave her? Why would she let them? More importantly why would she sacrifice herself.
Why would she leave me?
All three leopards are upon Maggie now. She fights back with all her might, but she's no match for them, and they soon overpower her, tearing into her flesh like she's prey as she cries out in agony. Meanwhile, her back-stabbing, selfish allies are gaining more and more distance as they continue to run.
Tears fill my eyes as I watch the leopards tear my best friend apart. Maggie and I have always been there for each other, but she has never truly needed me. She would have gotten along just fine on her own. Now, when she needs help the most, Maggie is alone. Never have I ever felt so helpless and lost.
CQ: Because school has just started for many of us, here's a six part question. Receive one point for each correct response (two of them are gimmes. :))
1. Guess my high school's colors. (Hint: four colors)
2. my high school's team name.
3. Guess my university's colors (Hint: two colors)
4. Guess my university's team name.
5. What are your high school and/or university's colors? (If your homeschooled, say the school closest to you)
6. What is your high school's and/or university's team name?
Author's note: That last scene was hard to write. I'm sorry I had to do it so soon, but I couldn't find a better place for it. Maggie was a favorite of mine, despite me killing her so early. Thank you for her, singtothesky. I hope I did her as for Juniper, I'm sorry I didn't get to write more of her. Thank you for giving her to me, Vaan Levy.
If you didn't realize, the mutts are based on snow leopards. Beautiful animals, google them if you've never heard of them.
Remember, sponsor points are listed on Chapter 9, two chapters back.
