Pain.
"Some old wounds never truly heal, and bleed again at the slightest word." - George R.R. Martin.
Kennedy Ames, District Eight Female.
Sleep carries me away from the Arena, into a distant dream that smothers the fear with a sweet longing. On and on I go, scene after scene. I'm talking with my father, laughing alongside my brother, playing with my best friend. Even in my dreamlike state, I sense what reality is, the terrible harshness I'll awaken to. I try to fight it, but it's the one thing I can't beat back. I see a crack, feel it chipping away, and...
"Woah, got you!" My eyes snap open. Two arms heave me up and set me down gently against the wall. Elijah's face is a picture of worry, lips tightened when I blink away sleep and stare up into his eyes. I plaster what I think is a smile, relieving him and shuffle forwards. My joints make a little snapping sound when I stretch out, my muscles tense and painful with each movement. Curling up into a ball is obviously not the best sleeping form, especially when the mattress is a bed of harsh stone digging into my skin.
"You nearly fell off," Atarah giggles. Elijah looks over his shoulder in her direction, immediately her cheeks go a bright red and she brushes away the laughter and looks down. These two. Friends, definitely. No longer just allies, they never were allies. The moment Elijah spoke to me at the Chariot, I knew there was something about him, something that as I trained would hopefully draw him to offer me the alliance. As harsh as I was in the approach, as distant as I put myself sometimes in this Arena, I care more about them than anything.
But I care more about myself, I always have been selfish. Lawson wants me to do the unthinkable. And I don't even have the right conscience to disobey him, because it's the right thing to do when the time is perfect. The little bottle of pills dig deep into my leg, even though they're barely the size of a pinhead. I'm feeling the unspeakable evil behind them, what it is I'm planning to do. It's not enough to stop me.
"Try not to do that tonight," Elijah's worry sheds for that same smile we all know. The expression that sets our fear back a pace or two. The same smile I plan to eradicate, once and for all.
I nod my head and yawn, pulling my backpack closer. The pair of them get the idea and follow suit, searching through their contents for a breakfast of some sorts. I pull out a bag of dried fruit, not exactly a feast, but better than some of the colder nights back in Eight.
Elijah and Atarah finish up the bread we started yesterday, eating in silence. Neither of them want to admit to what we have to do today. The talk of me not falling tonight, I won't fall because we won't be here. We can't be here. Elijah and Atarah think we're just lucky, but I know we've only been allowed to sit here because of what Lawson sent me in the sponsor gift. He hid it well, just in case Elijah or Atarah were the ones to pick it up.
Now that it's a point of excitement in their eyes, it'll be what keeps us going. But not for long, not until I realise my own sick sense of self-preservation has to come before my humane side. It won't take forever, so we need to get moving. Do something. Go somewhere.
"I'm going to check the stairs again, Atarah sort through our inventory and check what food we still have left. Kennedy do the same for water." Elijah stands up, nods kindly, and jumps the gap between our platform and the rocks over by the staircase.
Atarah does what Elijah says, no question. She moves at shocking speed over to his backpack, and I begin to ruffle through mine. She has her back to me, that sweet mane of blonde hair. She's serene, a gentle girl. The complete opposite of me. In times of distress she uses her soft words to pull herself out of it. Life in Nine seemed good for her, as far as she's mentioned. For me, it was the opposite. I fought, hurt the ones who set out to hurt me.
These two don't want to hurt me, and I'm planning on not just hurting them... but killing them.
"Kennedy!"
I realise I've shuffled along closer to Atarah, leaving a backpack teetering on the edge. Elijah's loud shout snaps me back into attention and I follow his shaking finger. Over my shoulder, water splashes upwards and smothers me in an icy, green embrace. I wipe away my fringe and stare at the backpack, a water bottle open that wasn't open before.
Kicking through the water, fighting against the invisible current, Sabrina Calladine tries to put as much distance as she can between us and herself.
Poison. My feet react instantly, my entire heel pushing the bottles lying outside the backpack into the water. It's not enough though, because she'll be back. And the worst thing, she just tried to do exactly what it is I'll be doing. Not now though, not for a while.
Atarah stares with wide eyes, her jaw hanging open at the scene. Elijah jumps again, propelling his arms through the air to balance out the impact. He lands perfectly and I stand up, bringing out my knife to chase the girl with. We share a nod, me over here, him closer to her flailing form.
She's panicking, it shouldn't be so hard to get away but her fear is dragging her down. It's hard to swim without practice, but it's even harder with death chasing you down. I feel a shred of sympathy for her, then anger at myself for the hypocrisy behind my actions.
But I care about these two, as friends. They mean something to me. And she tried to kill them. She tried to kill me.
Elijah cuts her escape off, then reaches down and pulls her up by her drenched scalp. She cries and tries to lash out at him, but Elijah is strong. He always has been, a threat that never really was a threat. Until now, until his friends were in danger.
"Why, we did nothing!" He shouts over angry tears pooling under his eyelashes. I'm rooted to the spot, watching him pull back the exposed Sabrina. She shivers with terror, her entire body almost shaking as if in a fit. The knife appears in his hand, somehow the blade seems deadlier when held by Elijah. The impact so much worse because the wielder does not want to do this. But he has to. He knows it.
Sabrina screams when its dragged across her throat. An awful, gurgling sound suffocates any coherent word as bloods spurts from the gash in her skin. It's so much worse than I thought it would be. Elijah holds on for one more second, then he lets out a broken sob and her body falls like a rag-doll into the water.
It turns red, like a mist that stretches along the rippling surface. Her body face down as the life drains from the wound.
BOOM!
The knife clatters and Elijah walks off, back over to the staircase and round to Atarah. They share a hug, and I turn back to face the dead girl who tried to kill us. She only did what she had to for survival, and this is what she gets in return. Elijah killed her, and I plan on killing not just him, but the gentle girl he clings to through his tears.
It makes me even worse than Sabrina. But it makes me human. It's something I have to do.
Tatum Caville, District Six Female.
Even through the pain, I can see it. Whatever it actually is.
My entire body feels stretched out, pulled and tugged on as my wrists and ankles chafe against the metal shackles. They're bolted deep into the wood, rusted which only adds to the irritation. There's nothing I can do to free myself, the helplessness is thick in my throat. An unspeakable, incomprehensible fear of the... thing, twitching by the cages with me no less than a hunk of meat trapped for its pleasure.
There's no more hiding away, locking the emotion deep under a scowl or a mask of anger. It's me now, and more than once I've cried and let it all out. The hook has been left in my train of sight, teasing me with my own blood dripping from the point.
Splash, splash, splash. My nightmares were a mixture of agony as it dug and tore into my arm, over and over the point slashing through veins and muscle and everything else that kept my limb together. But it was worse in my state, so much worse through sleep. It hit bone and snapped, chipped it away like a drill and cut through the entire arm.
After that, it moved onto my other arm. Then my legs. Then my torso. And I was alive through it all, because in a dream you don't die, you suffer. This isn't a dream anymore though, and I'm about to go through so much more, pain unbearable, and I'm tied down. I can't do a single thing to stop it.
It slapped me awake a few hours ago, its tongue clacking against the roof of its mouth. A weird, distinct noise that sounded almost like a laugh, full of that evil burning within its milky irises. Now it stands, hunched over more tools. The spots in my eyes continue to spiral alongside the agony burning my arm. I want it to end, I want it to let me go so I can have a fair fight.
That's all I want. A chance at my own survival, not this capture that leaves me in the hands of a mutt that thrives on my cries of pain. I never spoke words of mercy, because if I give in to that part, I'll cave entirely. I'll welcome death, and I don't want to die... death scares me. I can't die.
I'm aware of the blurriness in my eyes, tears hanging thick on my eyelashes. Is this my judgment, is it karma come back to haunt me because of what I did to Kitty? I never believed in all that. I believed in changing myself when it was tough, rooting out the pushover and instilling a side to me that would stop the pain. That's why I killed Kitty. I wasn't going to fall over and let her kill me, so I fought back like any other person would do when placed in such a situation.
Why is it my fault then? The brick splashed with blood is my fault, the caving of her skull, the sickness as I stole the backpack she had wrapped round her shoulder. But that was because I had to. The Games, they made me do that. It's not fair for this mutt to take away the chance I killed another human girl for.
"Let me fight!" My own thoughts pour from my mouth. It's been the first string of actual words to leave me, through the shrieks of pain and anguish, there was no way I could barter with my captor. Now though, my voice strains and burns. Hoarse as it travels through the bloody air, reaching the ears of the thing that raises a knife the length of my forearm.
My heart thuds painfully against my ribs. My lungs burning, my throat constricting. It all hurts, so much pain. My arm, some of the skin in complete tatters as the breeze gets to it and brings out the pain to an even worse degree.
"Please, let me go..."
Mercy. I'm asking for mercy.
It twitches on the spot once more, feet kicking up in some kind of twisted dance. I stare at it through the blur of tears, tears that hurt more than the fire swarming my entire body. It's weakness, parts of me I've kept hidden and tried to lock away. Vulnerability was torture for me, back home, the things people could use against me. Now I'm letting it all out, because this thing could kill me and I'm only a girl, sixteen years old. A girl. How is this right?!
Something in its neck cracks when it tilts its ear to meet its shoulder. The eyes bore into me, all the way from over there I can sense the emptiness seeping out from the creature. A single torn, stained rag covers its body, revealing half of the upper torso. The skin I can see hangs from it, swaying as it moves closer and closer. Scabs, cuts and bruises dot each and every pore I can find. It's disgusting, but nothing compares to the blade clutched between its fingers.
The blade that will hurt me. "Please," I cry again, no more than a whisper. It tilts its head again, stepping closer and closer.
I can't say anything else. My throat closes up and I let my head clunk backwards against the wood. Lochlan and Tyndall aren't to blame, they couldn't get back. They did what I would have done. Hell, compared to what I did in the bloodbath and thought about doing, they took the reasonable option. Banging on a metal door would have done nothing but rile the creature up.
I'm at its mercy, at least... at least they now stand a shot at making it further. I want one of them to win, because they deserve it. I treated them like complete shit, scowling, mumbling under my breath, hurting them with my looks and snappish words.
But I cared about them, I really did. Tyndall's awkward nature that encompassed his kindness. Lochlan's ability to be strong without having to hate the world around him. It was all I ever wanted, more than I deserved.
The same clacking sound leaves its lips. I open one eye to stare at it, the sick grin pulling the lips taut, revealing those devilish teeth.
Sleep Tatum, if you sleep, it won't hurt so much.
When the knife enters the grisly wound in my arm, I scream. Lies. It's all lies. Nothing will ever make it go away, this agony, this petrifying state of fear. And this mutt won't even kill me. The Capitol wants my torture, so they have it.
The knife rises, dripping blood as it moves the blade over my face. I taste the copper tang and gag. Then it plunges deep into my other arm, cutting me from consciousness.
Davin Carrick, District Eight Male.
"If there's one good thing about this Arena, at least we've got nice beds." Alton plummets downwards into the mess of cotton and frill. The impact shudders the mattress and nearly knocks me off. I grip on and pull myself back upwards, landing quietly and resting my chin on the flats of my knuckles.
He's acting overly exuberant to make up for me, dampening the mood. Is it really my fault though? This isn't what I thought it would be like, not anymore. Not without Celene here, laughing, chirping, being Celene.
She'd be the girl bouncing on the bed, forgetting about what lurked beyond the door and down those stairs. She wouldn't care that the careers were on the prowl, or another tribute could pounce in with a knife and kill us.
She just lived her life, like I lived mine, pretending what other people thought of me didn't matter. It didn't hurt, I let it bounce off the surface and continued to act the way I wanted. Now without her, Alton makes up for it. Being someone he isn't, just to make me happy.
I'd be flattered if I could bring that up, but all I do is sit and sulk over something that's irreversible. I wish there were some kind of magical way to conjure her back from the dead, bring back the thing that kept me from becoming... well, what I am now. But then Alton wouldn't be bouncing on the bed, Alton wouldn't be his serious, cynical self which he now covers with that smile on his face. It's funny, seeing his face twisting and turning with the expression he tries to give off.
Funny in a sad way, funny because it reminds me of what I'm doing to him. I'm not being the friend he needs.
Something soft collides with the back of my head. The shock is what propels me forwards, losing my balance as I tumble to the carpet. Feathers spill out from around me, soft against my skin as I look up and see Alton sneering down at me. What he does, isn't Alton. I hate it, because in Eight I was always told that who I was, it was me. I was Davin Carrick and I didn't need to change. I loved those people that gave me the strength to be me regardless of what people thought I was just because I acted the way I did.
Now Alton is having to act an idiot, when he's the brains, logic and heart that went into the alliance. Celene and I were just pretending that things could work out well, it never really could.
"You need to stop sulking, seriously, it's depressing." He stands on the edge of the bed, pillow in hand. It's reminiscent of the pillow fights me and my friends used to have, fighting and squirming around without caring where we lived and what happened outside the four walls. Here it's different. Here, she... she...
"Celene's dead, Alton. She's dead." I can feel tears pressing against my eyes, but it's the last thing Alton needs. Me, a sobbing wreck.
"Yes, she's dead." He drops the pillow, sitting down and letting his feet dangle over the edge, tickling my knees as his socks brush against my trousers. "And sitting there moaning is going to bring her back?"
I look up, slightly shocked. His words send a stab of pain through me, but they also ring true. My eyes fall to my lap and I twiddle with my thumbs, trying to ignore the look that burns against the top of my skull.
"Sensitivity isn't one of your skills."
"If you wanted sensitive," he falls to the ground, bumping up against me and nudging his elbow into my side, "you shouldn't have asked me."
He punches me lightly in the arm, then stands back up, reaching for the pillow. With one hand and a well-timed strike, it catches me in the cheek and before I know it, a laugh scratches up my throat and passes my lips.
It's nice to laugh, it fills my stomach with a semblance of happiness. Not much, but a slither of what I felt before the Games is better than nothing. Alton's trying his hardest to be the person he thinks I need, and it's true, I need someone who can laugh and share moments of elation that I used to feel without having to struggle for it. So it's important for me, now, to drop the sadness that cannot bring anyone back to life and stop him from hurting himself. It's not fair for him to fight against his true self just so I have someone to look at through my sorrow.
He lends me a hand. I accept it gladly and prop myself up, punching him back in the shoulder just as playfully and landing with a soft thump against the bed. These rooms, lavish as the one before, are better than we could have hoped for coming into a Hunger Games arena. Now I can try to appreciate them, without feeling as if my own sense of individuality is crumbling down around me.
"It could be worse than this."
Alton nods, murmuring his agreement. "Here we have a bed, an actual bed. I didn't even have a proper bed at home, just an itchy mattress of straw that felt better than the alternative."
There he is, the Alton I wanted to cheer up when me and Celene skipped on over to him. The Alton that's negative and angry about everything without any real passion to what he has to say. It's not the side of someone you'd ever really associate with a friend, someone you'd want to hang around with. But it's the Alton I want and need today, tomorrow and however many days we'll still be around to throw pillows at one another.
Alton leans over the edge of the bed, digging around underneath for something. He brings out a backpack and immediately my stomach lets out a groan, my entire body quaking with hunger. He's done his best to get me to stop moping and start eating, but all I did was sulk and refuse to take a bite out of anything.
Celene is dead. She's gone, off in the Capitol and ready in a box to be sent home. The thought of her smile never warming the room, or the feel of her arm linked with mine, makes my entire heart drop. But this time, from now on, I won't let it take me over.
It's me and Alton now. What I do, it's to help us survive, help us be who we are for the remainder of our lives. It's what Celene would have wanted, so it's what we're going to do.
Alistair Tempest, District One Male.
If I were stronger, the patient wouldn't scare me as much. If Matteo were Calliope, maybe I could face it, together, standing to take it down.
Instead we've ran, room to room, corridor to corridor. We've continued to hide away in the room we slept in, running lap after lap sapping our energy. Food doesn't restore much, it gives us something to keep our strength up, but it doesn't stop the images.
Saskia being cut from neck to chest. The creature that held the machete, then chased us in sickening fascination, drenched from its head all the way to its feet in her blood.
Last night, it was too much, too much to cope with. I didn't even care that Matteo saw me cry, because it's Matteo and not Megaera. He only sat there and watched me, face torn between crying with me and trying to repress it all in false strength. He's a good person to be around, he doesn't gloat about pretend strength he tries to show he has, he just sits there and listens when I have things to say and tears that need to be released.
It's better, in someways, to Calliope. I'm afraid of being weak in her eyes, because if I'm weak I can't look after her in what little ways I can. But Matteo still can't live up to her, no one can. Megaera tore us apart, she can shift the blame onto me and Matteo for Saskia's death, but it all boils back to her stupid planning.
I hate the feeling of anger, it leaves a taste I don't like, a feeling I can't quite get rid of. But I'm angry at her. I never liked Saskia much, hated her in fact for what she did to those two boys back at the bloodbath. The sickness brewing behind those eyes of her corrupted the career nature, the nature Calliope lives to and tries to fight with. Saskia still died painfully, she's still a corpse. That can't be reversed.
"It's her fault," I whisper with my back to the cell wall. It is her fault. And Calliope is stuck with a girl who can't make smart decisions, a girl who has the strength to kill her and the motivations to support such a betrayal with.
"We should move, better than staying here." Matteo speaks from the other side of the cell, half his face covered with shadow. The other half is coated with fear, his eye bloodshot, one of his cheeks tear-stained where he must have cried without my knowledge. I think it's alright to show weakness, he's obviously been taught otherwise.
I nod, standing up. The backpack feels heavier than it ever did, weighing me down as I pull it up and over my shoulder. Running has left me exhausted, paranoia setting in and stopping me from ever feeling safe. It can't be the only patient. In fact, I know it isn't. We've heard moaning in the night, banging and scratching against the walls either side of this room we slept in.
The stuff of nightmares, locked away within.
"We should try and find the other two, form a stronger group. We'll be prepared." The hint of my old optimism shines through, the naivety that Megaera scorned but I still believe has merit. Matteo doesn't even reply as he shuffles to the front, spear first as he peers left then right into the corridor.
It's a mess out front, a total destruction of what might have once been an ordinary asylum. It was created this way for effect, but in real life maybe... maybe it wouldn't have been so bad.
In our current state of wanting to sleep, or just wanting to be back at the Cornucopia, we continue to just walk in silence. Even if I could think of the words to say, my throat would close up and I'd be left with the same sense of fright itching away at the back of my mind. There's really nothing to do, nothing left...
"Alistair." The pole of the spear stops me in my tracks. I look up, not even sure how to react anymore. Everything is a jump scare. My shadow. Matteo. A rat.
Other tributes...
"Matteo, Alistair." Lochlan Clarington nods in our direction, towards me then at Matteo. By his hip, Tyndall his ally quivers like a leaf, face drained of colour. There's only one thing that could create such a level of terror, and it leaves my lips before I can put up a filter.
"You've seen them."
Matteo looks over the spear at me, lips tight. He knows he can't handle this, but it won't stop him from trying. That's the thing I like about Matteo, he's aware of his faults, but it doesn't stop him from fighting with dedication.
The pair nod, Lochlan paling. "One of them has Tatum... had..."
"I'm sorry." The cannon earlier, it had to have been her. Lochlan and Tyndall must feel the same way, they look beaten down, pained. I didn't care for Saskia and I still felt something. Losing a friend and knowing how they fell must be agony. But it doesn't stop where we are and who we're facing.
"I'm sorry. You know what we have to do."
The younger boy pulls a knife from behind his pack. His hand stretches out, fearful but with a firmness that's admirable for a tribute that's never had to fight before.
Lochlan nods once more, Matteo sharing the gesture and we charge. My feet glide on their own accord, taking me swiftly with my cutlass out in front. We clash, a battle Megaera would savour and I want over as soon as possible.
Lochlan takes on Matteo, stabbing out with his staff, only to be countered with the spearhead of my ally's weapon. I turn to Tyndall, frowning with sympathy and knocking away his knife with the point of my blade. He dances back awkwardly, almost tripping over his own feet as they knock against a lump of blackened rock. I press on, knowing that as a career what I have to do. As a tribute that might win, what Tyndall is to me.
I don't like it, not a single bit. Tyndall continues to pale with the fear, slashing left and right without really knowing what he's doing. With one eye shut he's sealed his fate. Lochlan and Matteo are battling strong, a career who isn't a career and a boy who only happens to come from a place that trains its tributes.
Over the rubble, Tyndall steps back and makes the mistake of bringing his other leg over at the same time. With his entire focus on me, attempting to counter each move I make without any real passion behind his strikes, his legs catch together and he falls. The back of his head slams against a piece of sharp rock jutting out.
His shriek is piercing, laced with agony as he prods at the back of his skull, bringing fingers back bloody. Lochlan turns around but Matteo's on him, forcing him to break concentration from saving his friend.
There's nothing he can do. There's one thing I have to do.
The blade goes through his chest quickly, slicing through skin, muscle and organ. His face crumples with pain that's over in a matter of seconds. Lochlan doesn't even realise, not until the cannon shakes the entire corridor and his horror-filled eyes fall on Tyndall's lifeless form.
"You..." he spins around on his heels, about to strike out at me when his face stills. The anger either disappears, or he's kept it away. Over his shoulder, he sends one last look at him, before speeding off the way he came.
"I'm done with this." I open my fingers and let the blade fall with a clatter, steel ringing out amongst this broken room. Matteo places a comforting hand on my shoulder but I shrug it off, too angry, too upset to accept anything.
Killing is who I'm meant to be, it's what my District says. If I didn't kill him, someone else would have. In the long run, he could have ended up bringing about Calliope's downfall, or even Matteo's. Or mine. If I hadn't have put my doubts aside and struck out at his body, anything could have happened.
"You did what you had to do," Matteo says from behind me, when I turn the corner.
Had to. He says it, I think it. Had to. That doesn't justify killing, nothing does.
Megaera Cassian, District Four Female.
Her foot crosses over the threshold, reluctantly tapping away in the pitch blackness. With her back to me, I can't see Calliope's face, though I bet I can picture the locked down fear. Such a strong, pretty face, beating back the inner anguish that tortures her from the inside out.
I wish she'd just crumble down like the coward she is. All that talk about being mightier than the rest of us, knowing the Game is meant for one of us to reach their victory without actually playing it properly is bullshit. It's a game. The Hunger Games. Games are about fun, and I'm not about to let a prissy blonde bitch get in the way of that.
I shove her aside, knocking her into the door frame. Calliope's lips remain pursed, holding back the pain that twists her features for a split second. I take momentary satisfaction from that, the crack in her armor, and step into the room.
"Scared of the dark?" I pout, laughing when she slaps my hand away and strides ahead of me. I lose her in the lack of light, only the sound of her quick purposeful footsteps giving me her location. I'm not afraid of the dark, but it's not really knowing what's within the room that makes me halt for a moment. I run my hand along the wall closest to the door, double checking for a switch that isn't there and resign myself to the fate of having to explore the unknown.
Maybe I shouldn't have been so eager to exploit Calliope further. Maybe it was better to give Matteo over to her, then I'd be with Alistair her little puppy and Saskia. Saskia. I wouldn't have let her die. The only useful person amongst my alliance. I would have killed whoever took her down, easy as any other victim will be.
Unless it was Matteo or Alistair. Quick, simple kills for me. But for Saskia, with her back turned... yes, it must have been them. I'm been debating the idea, but it's the only thing that seems logical. Nothing else would have gained the upper-hand over Saskia, the second most dedicated career.
"Calli'! Wait up." I sprint after her, ignoring the pain when something hard knocks into my thigh. Tears build up, a result of some automatic reaction, but those are blinked away easily. The darkness continues to tower over me, pressing from all sides, clawing everywhere and blacking out my eyes. It's a struggle to not trip over my feet as I jog in the direction of Calliope's footsteps.
She'll want to kill me when I thrust my knife into that little backstabber's forehead. Little Ali', her confused pet she's managed to brainwash against our group. I'll deal with Alistair, relish in her shock, then kill her. She's a tough cookie, I'll give her that. But when she doubts the means behind killing, that's when you realise the weakness is there.
Perhaps people scorn my methods, but no one can deny they're effective. They get the job done, without any slight hesitation or remorse. It will be her downfall, sticking up for that idiot District partner, and I get to take them both down.
My hip slaps against another surface. I bite down on my tongue and feel against the rocky wall, rough with protrusions that signify how worn down this room must be. I ignore the slight prickle in my chest, the flex of my fingers as they unclench then tighten round the handle of my sword.
At least it's dark, at least Calliope can't see the shred of doubt in my eyes.
"Ahh!" My foot takes one more step, just one more, and something darts out at me. Round the corner I see the thick blanket of light, a warm beacon that instils hope. Only my back collides with the rock and I groan, propping myself upwards on my elbows only to be pushed down again.
I bash away with my knuckles against whatever's holding me down by the chest. A shoe... a foot!
"Calliope, what the hell do you think you're doing?!"
I hear her laugh, a bitter sound that grinds on my ears and makes me shiver with anger. I can't reach my sword, the handle only barely brushing against my fingertips. Half an inch... come on...
"You think we're all idiots Meg, idiots that can't see through anything you do." Angry. She's furious, I suppose she has a right to be. I was... am... going to kill her. Just as soon as I-
She pushes harder. I wince when my skull connects with the rough stone again.
"I don't think so. Most career alliances last a while. They never trust each other, but they see the skills they all possess and utilize them to the group's benefit. You. Megaera," she spits my name, laced with venom. "You think you have it all, and we aren't anything. Alistair and Matteo can't fight as well as you, I doubt even I can. But we have one thing over you, and that's brains. Intelligence. The fact that we see each other for who we really are. We aren't deluded."
The sound of something shattering distracts Calliope enough, halting her rant. It's not enough for me to reach my sword, but the pressure alleviates for a brief moment and I use it to my advantage. Quick, whilst you still can!
I shove her off and dive to the side, hearing her grunt and the sound of her sword slicing downwards. Lights flicker on in time to the shuffling of her feet kicking the ground. I recognise the distinct image of a table and shoot underneath, ignoring the feeling as my hands scrape against the weird, bumpy flooring.
Calliope takes one more step then freezes. Whatever the reason is, she takes one more timid footstep and then bolts away, shooting round the corner and out of sight.
When I try to turn, the top of my skull bashes against the table and I wince, loudly this time. She isn't here, so that doesn't matter. I don't care if anyone hears my sounds of pain, just not Calliope. I guess betrayal is taught in One, now there's nothing to stop me from taking out the pair of them.
When I shuffle out from underneath the table, there isn't anything in this room but me and the furniture strewn about, upside down and smashed to splinters.
In time to my breathing, the anthem blasts out from speakers. On the ceiling, the face of the wimp from Three is first, followed by the girl from Eleven. As they fade, a grin slides up my lips.
Maybe Calliope made a fool of me, maybe... maybe Mags' advice rings true with what Calliope had to say. But leaving me to live, ignoring the fact that I don't let a grudge settle, it's stupid. For her so-called intelligence, she's as dimwitted as the rest of them.
It gives me the opportunity to take them all down now. Calliope. Alistair. Matteo. And then the rest of these tributes, all of them, each and every one. Maybe the fact our alliance is over is a good thing. It means I'm by myself, a lone wolf ready to stalk my prey and strike.
It's perfect.
Sabrina Calladine, District Eleven Female.
Tyndall Martinez, District Three Male.
Dom. Sabrina had a great plan, skills to match it and a determination to do what had to be done that not many other tributes really had. Sadly, all she had was this plan. It's what was carrying her through and after it, success or failure, there was never going to be much left for her. The fact she fell failing, although sad, felt right.
Chaos. Tyndall was carried over from the first Madhouse for a reason. I love tributes like him, but those who are also more detailed and complex which Tyndall was. I won't lie and say he was easy, sometimes I struggled, but that's because I wanted to make sure I got him perfect that it never really came through. Rather than make him suffer (he already peed himself ;D) I figured now was the best time for him to fall. Thanks for sending him in!
Easter break = no life. Might as well sit down and spend my entire day writing this chapter xD Plus, these Games are fun to write!
Favourite out of these POVs and why?
If you had to choose, which of the Careers (including Saskia) would you be more inclined to ally with?
Yeah ran out of questions, enjoy that last one ;D
Anywayyy announcement time! I'm so impatient so I wanted to get this started now and considering my update speed, Madhouse won't be running for that much longer. A month tops! Yeah so on my profile are the guidelines for the SYOT after this, form and my weird acceptance format that probably won't make any sense. There is no deadline at the moment, so either get your forms in fast or get them in later on closer to when I set a deadline. I don't mind!
Knowing me, I'm desperate to get tributes so anyone who reads this and also ends up getting a PM sometime in the future, I apologize. Yep, so hope you enjoyed this chapter. Looking forward to seeing your submissions!