A/N: I tried to hit a bit more of some emotional-ish stuff in this chapter.
Prepare now if you like some certain characters. Can't tell you which.
Anyway, check out WriterFreak101! Seriously! Especially his 'More Than Just Pieces' story. Come onnnn! Do it for Finnick!
And check out Rikachan101 and, of course, CallingMeFakeWontMakeYouReal. All three have fantastic stories and are great authors.
Okay, speaking of Finnick, am I the only one who cannot believe they offered the role to Sam Claflin? Don't tell me I am! *awkward head roll and finger shake XD* And Jena Malone for Johanna! Both are great actor/actresses, but not for this part. I mean, come on. I didn't love Catching Fire when I read it! (Okay, that's a lie. I so did. But it was my least-favorite of the series *stubborn*.) And now… just… Just…
CHECK OUT WRITERFREAK101'S MORE THAN JUST PIECES AND ALL OF HIS WORK, EVERYTHING FROM CALLINGMEFAKEWONTMAKEYOUREAL, AND EVERYTHING FROM RIKACHAN101 AND BLOOD DREAMS BY 24 AND 24!
"And the worst part is, before it gets any better, we're... headed for a cliff,
And in the freefall I... will realize I'm better off when I hit the bottom,
The tragedy - it seems unending,
I'm watching everyone I looked up to breaking bending,
We're taking shortcuts, and false solutions, just to come out... the hero,
Well, I can see behind the curtain,
The wheels are cranking, turning - it's all wrong the way we're working towards a goal that's nonexistent,
It's nonexistent! But we just keep believing.
And the worst part is, before it gets any better we're headed for a cliff..."
-Turn it Off, by Paramore
Title: Help
Day Two and Three?
Meaning some POVs are one Two, some Three. Everything before Blessia's is Two, and Blessia's down is Three.
D3- 16- (Drew Reox)
She's dying. That's all that goes through my head. She's dying. Idiot! Grab. Her. Hand!
It is seconds later that I have both hands grasping her fingers very hard, but I don't care. I carefully lower my grip until I have a firm grasp on her and yank, yank, YANK! But I'm so… stiff. It's like my muscles are… shutting down. Before they can, I work up all my muscle and pull, with all my might. The pain of shutting increasingly slowly down makes is in the back of my mind. But then… slowly… in the… front. Oh, no, I'm gonna black out. Hurry up, Drew! DRAG HER UP!
And then I do. I do. My arms hurt in the end. They ache with a fury. My torso and stomach muscles are in pain. I have a headache. I think I'm going to barf up acid. And it starts to rain. But… there's no rain. Just lots and lots of thunder that would block out Myra's cannon. I look to my side and see a dart in my shoulder, and a… ninja-like person with a dart gun in their hand—only, it's not a tribute. It's a… mutt.
When I wake up, I realize I was unaware I'd drifted off, and then I remember Myra and sit straight up. The ice we sit on is now black and a regular ground temperature. I hadn't heard her cannon, and I wasn't far enough away for them to pick up the body. Myra De La Rosa—dead. Myra. Mrs. De La Rosa's daughter. Makena's friend's big sister. That girl I barely knew.
How had I never seen her awesomeness, her beauty, her perfectness? The way she matched me like worn-in boots? The way it's easy for me to melt when she smiled? How hadn't I seen that her eyes were the best things in the world to look at? Why couldn't I understand that we were perfect other halves?
No. It is unacceptable.
"Myra!" I yell, any sense of staying hidden gone. "Myra!"
She looks so gorgeous when she's sleeping. Only, is she really sleeping?
"No," I whisper. "NO. NO, NO, NO!" I let out an angry whisper, and then I stand up and look down in the flames of the pit. Did they…? Was she…?
I whip around and see her feet, scarred and black and burnt and bloody. All the way up to her mid-calves. My mind reels. Even if she is alive, this damage… I can't fix it. She's a goner for sure. I just hope that she doesn't know that when she wakes up, because she will wake up. She will. I may not get into emotion, I may be the carefree Drew, but she isn't dead, and that is THAT.
I'm not leaving her side until she wakes up or I die. I'll take her with me everywhere. Even if that means dragging a dead body around the arena. But I won't be. Because I'll be carrying Myra De La Rosa, the victor of the One-Hundred-Fifty-First Hunger Games.
D9- 15- (Artemis Nightheart)
"Now, how would you like this to play out? Give up now, or should I cut those pretty little ears off so you don't hear your screams as I brutally make it long and slow after the battle is over?"
What does Addelynn do? Load her bow. What do I do? Black out.
It's a short blackout, in which I wake up maybe sixty seconds later, maybe five minutes later. Either way, I'm in a bush and Addelynn's frantically saying, "Anytime now, Arty! Anytime!"
I hear an arrow leave its place on a bow and slither my way out of the bush. I take my knife and prepare to try and take on this vicious girl. I'm okay with knife-throwing, gun shooting. Anything with a weapon that's not too big. And this girl looks kind of small. I think I'm okay. So I try to sneak around behind the girl to shove a knife in her heart. I stand up slowly, hopefully sneakily, slyly…
…when I hear, "Artemis, watch out!" And the next thing I know, I'm clutching my forehead after a failed attempt at dodging the girl lodging a knife down my throat. At least I missed that. She yanks her knife out of me, which hurts so bad that it almost burns. The warm, crimson blood trickles down past my eyes, narrowly avoiding blurring my vision at first, but then succeeding to do that, and tickling my lips. And my head kills. What with the headaches I get and the newly earned, excruciatingly sickening pain, it's overwhelmingly up there with my skull and my brain.
"I assume you'd like it the hard way," the girl hisses. "Artemis." I purse my lips. If I had any strength left, I'd lunge up and kills her. "Let's get started, shall we?"
"Addelynn!" I screech, and that's when I hear the moan. She hurt Addie—as I'll now call her, or maybe just Add… I like Add—too. Rage. That's what I feel. "How did you hurt her?"
"Arty, I'm… fine," mocks this girl as she traces a little pocketknife that I wouldn't think they'd put in the arena around my eyes. "She just… got my… stomach." An evil grin appears on this girl's face, and I refuse to look away, though I must seem terrified. No less, it's better than chickening out and looking away. "I… might live. I probably won't." The corners of her mouth turn up more.
"You sick, sick person," I hiss. And then I can't help but stupidly whisper, "Why? Why're you doing this for them?"
"It's not for 'them'. It's never for 'them'," she snarls. "It's for me."
I sometimes—sometimes—have hallucination after I have a blackout, but it's really rare. I'm guessing this is one of those times, and I'm about to black out again. Because what I see is fright entering her eyes. The girl backs up and starts to scramble away. I manage to sit up, but it makes my head spin and ache more. She shakes her head, over and over again, completely different from seconds ago.
"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry," she says, disgust and terror in her voice. "So sorry. Don't kill me. Please, please, please, don't kill me. Just this once, please don't kill me." I think I might see tears in her eyes.
"I couldn't if I tried!" I get out, but I do kind of feel bad for her, though she looks older than me and just tried to murder me. "Just this once, and only because I can't."
"Thank you!" she exclaims, and runs sheepishly away.
I crawl over to Add, though it's hard. So hard. I think about abandoning her, getting to safeness, away from this exposed place, where the Careers could pop out of nowhere and kill me in a split second, without hesitation. But then I think otherwise, because no matter what, I don't think Add would do that; I think she'd at least try to drag me to somewhere relatively safe.
"Add. Hey, Add." I poke her face. She groans. I look down to her side where she has her bloody hands. "Oh, my God, Add! It's my entire fault because I blacked out!"
"Uhnnnnn," she groans. I groan, too, because my head is literally killing me. "Arta- Arty- Atrem- Artemis," she croaks. "Get us… out of… here…. Now!" She smiles. "It hurts. Way bad. Very, very bad. But I'll be fine if you just get us out of here."
I nod. "So you're going to be fine?"
Add rolls her eyes. "Duh. I think I can walk, but you'd be damned if you think I could do it soundlessly."
"I know. I'll help," I suggest.
She nods. Then I prepare for a painful journey to the castle for both of us. And we're, oh, five feet away? Thanks, mysterious girl. Don't you just love insane strangers who try to kills you mercilessly and viciously, and then start to run away, begging for mercy for themselves, out of the blue, after horribly, horribly wounding you and your friend that you might have to later kill? Yeah, me too.
D4- 17- (Blessia Fornbrex)
Last night, I got nothing done with Drake. And we're stuck in the most boring place ever! There is nothing to do, and Drakey won't even talk to me. He just sits by me and looks at the door a lot, willing it to open. He doesn't hold my hand, or sit close to me. Not close enough to get him… enticed. I just need him alone and close. Alone and close. Then I'll be satisfied.
"Drake," I whisper in a singsong voice. I scoot closer and pick up his hand, rubbing it. He closes his eyes. His jaw muscles, like, do something. I have no clue how to describe it. I lean into him and lay my chin on his shoulder gently, humming a tune. It's like I'm a mermaid from those stories and movies and TV shows all on TV or in books and fairytales, and I'm drawing the men closer, closer, closer. Or like a femme fatale! That's so cool. Except, I'm not going to hurt Drake. I roll my eyes at the thought.
"It's so boooring in here," I complain seductively. I bring his hand up to my lips and say, "Let's go in the tent, what do you say?"
He nods weakly.
Checkmate.
D9- 18- (Gray Hager)
Moans. It's all we heard as we tried to escape. From what, we're not sure. They weren't human, that's for sure. But they were very close. Some inhumanly human mutt? It was sickening and that's all I know. No, wait, I know we're out, too, and I could not be the least bit more grateful to that and that only right now. Well, I'm grateful I'm alive, and kind of that Ryan is too.
"We're out! We're out of the Death Room!" he sings in a quiet, horrible voice, and I smile. "Aren't you glad? Why didn't I think to shoot him? Why couldn't we speak? I'll admit—I was pretty afraid when I got out before you did and I was all alone." Then he starts to sing randomly again: "Out of the Death Room! Out! Out! Out! Everything's bright, no moans heard!" in a deep voice.
I'll admit something, too: That "Death Room" was pretty scarring admittedly. I mean, we were stuck in endless fog for almost a whole day, and the only thing we heard was moaning, groaning, sobbing, distant screaming that may or may not have been our imagination. There was no sleep. At night we were propelled to keep walking because of the thought that whatever that moans came from would kills us brutally. My heart never stopped thumping, thumping, thumping, you know? I could hardly breathe, neither of us could, for fear that if we showed any difference from the things that they'd come and find us, somehow, and kill us. There were so many thoughts about them killing us. There is no doubt that we'll both have nightmares about that for the rest of our lives—however long they may be.
"Hey, Ryan, let's look around," I suggest. "You know, to get away from the room of doom."
He nods vigorously. I nod once and then sit up from my spot on the floor in the first room you see after walking out of Fog Mania Room, Now with Extra Zombies. Once I leave the room, I feel better and better, because the farther away from that awful room I am, the less chance I have of them killing me. That would be my worst nightmare, absolutely. Actually, it will be a nightmare, a real nightmare—as in, nighttime hallucination—soon.
I don't think anyone else is in the castle. The doors are pretty loud if you're not careful; Ryan and I learned that the hard away. And unless someone's just being really cautious about that and all, this place is dead empty. Or maybe they might've come during the time we were trapped in the worst part of this house of horrors. But I doubt it. The fact that we were also moaning—so we could blend in—added an extra layer of humanness to the noises, most likely scaring off a lot of the paranoid tributes. And those who are paranoid didn't go into the doors for fear of what they held; no, they stayed back here.
Like Ryan and I.
I'm getting pretty attached to this kid. I know that's bad, but it's not as bad as it would be if he were capable of surviving. Then I'd have to kill him. But this way, I can have some company for a while. Eventually we'll get in a battle and he won't make it, and that'll benefit me. The anger I feel because of his death will make me want revenge, making me deadlier, harder to kill, less likely to chicken out, and my viciousness because I need revenge will give me sponsors. Really, knowing this kid will really help me. It's like people who have a lot of money invested are to their relatives—they're more valuable to other people dead than alive, like this kid is to me. It's sick, sure, but that's the Games. And at least I really do care for the kid. At least I'm not forcing myself to care for him. Then it wouldn't even be real. This way, the kid's safe, he's got food, shelter, a buddy—his last days will be a heck of a lot better than if we had never gotten lucky and hit the bulls-eye.
I still say it was beginner's luck.
"Sam." That's what I hear. I pull out my knife. "Sam, do you hear someone?"
"Mirrrrrr… Don't scare me!" says another voice.
"Sorry, sorry, I'm probably wrong. I'll inch out with my bow real quick, just to make sure," says the first voice, a young female's.
I nod over to the frightened, pointing to his gun. I take out my hand axe slowly and quietly, telling myself, We're all good, we're all good. This kid's got to be small…
The girl—Mirr, Meer, Mir?—steps out from a doorway, attaching an arrow to her bow. Then when she sees us, her eyes go wide in terror. She didn't think we'd be out here. I thought she was trying to keep her ally calm. She really did think it was just a mistake. Can I kill an unprepared, scared, little child? Look at me saying this right after I just thought of how Ryan is worth more dead to me than alive.
She's armed, Gray, not completely defenseless, my uncaring subconscious tells me.
B-but she's paralyzed! I… I have to do it, though, don't I? I shake my head and prepare to throw. No taunting—of course not—no suffering—of course not—just one quick blow to the head—something that'll kill her immediately. Mercifully. Yeah, an axe to the head. That is merciful. What a kind soul you are, Gray Hager.
But before I can, Ryan's shooting.
"MIR!" I hear the little boy she allied with scream. He lunges from his perch that was hidden from my view and tackles her to the ground. The bullet nicks his side. He screeches. "Mir! Mir! Mir!"
"I'm trying, Sam!" she hisses, but it's too late. For them, it's now or never. Because I throw my axe and Ryan shoots.
Since Ryan was farther away from the two, the bullet and the axe hit at about the same time. It hits the boy, "Sam." And then all I can hear is a deafening scream from both of the little kids. As the girl notches the arrow to the bow, she is screaming his name like it's all she knows. It almost breaks my heart. Almost. Because their death… is my life.
"SAM!"
Bwum!
BOOM!
That's the three noises I hear: Sam, bwum, boom.
The meanings: A little girl losing her best friend, the arrow leaving its home on a bowstring, and I cannon.
"Ryan, Ryan, Ryan!" I call out, running to my ally's side. "Ryan, wake up, buddy! Wake up…! Get up, kid!"
"Oh, my God, Sam, was that cannon yours? Please no, please no, please no," cries the girl across the hall. We're oblivious to each other as we both try and get our allies to show signs of life somehow. Even if it's just a groan of excruciating pain. I yank the arrow out of Ryan's heart as I hear a loud "Ewwww" as the Mir girl pulls out my axe.
Maybe it was the other kid. I mean, he had a bullet in his heart, and Ryan just got shot, seconds ago, I tell myself. But I know he's going to die unless there's some miracle cream back in the Capitol. Well, there is. How else do the damaged victors get repaired in a matter of days? But I don't have that many sponsors. No way is that possible. And we'd need something even stronger and more expensive.
"Get the hell up, bud!" I demand, and slap his face. He moans. "Yes! Okay, come on, got to get you somewhere safer than this battlefield.
The girl down the hall sobs. I feel sorry for her. No matter how cruel this sounds, I mean it in the best way it can be said: I'll end his misery soon. I don't think she'd want to go home without him—her ally—anyway. They seem like they have huge history. So I grab Ryan's knife and go up to the girl. The boy, bloody and grotesquely wounded—not as horrible as some cases in the Hunger Games history—is laying there, motionless, eyes closed, unseeing to the sad event that he must've died wishing not to happen. I almost can't kill the girl.
But I have to.
A stab in the back. One simple, swift motion. But first I whisper, "I'm sorry. I mean that. I'm sorry."
I've found perspective, and I realize that maybe I'm a killer, maybe I deserve to die because of all I've done, but I've found something in me. And I couldn't be more sorry and ashamed of all I had to do to figure that out. It's a terrible thing, these Games are. And though all of us who go through it slowly lost not only our sanity but what little slivers of pureness and innocence we all have.
It's stupid, yeah, but at least I'm not looking forward to feeling the next victim's blood seep through my fingers.
I start down the hall, toward Ryan's door. And I see him heave a breath. I know he's dying. I don't know what to do. So I just simply say, "I'm so sorry about all of this, kid. But hey, lucky shot way back there, huh? I'm, uh, glad that you made that shot." And I think he tries to smile. He tries. And then I walk down the hall, not crying, holding my head high, and feeling like a sick, deadly, evil person for ever thinking Ryan was worth more to me dead than alive. Because no one is.
And soon, two cannons have sounded, and I feel so, so, so alone.
A/N: I UPDATED EARLY! YAY!
Ha, you all still don't know if Myra's alive! HA! Heh, don't worry; you'll know soon.
Okay, does anyone watch freaking Hollywood Heights? I know zilch people who do, and I'm dying to talk about it with someone. So if you are too, feel free to PM the heck out of me!
Now, the alive and dead list:
The tributes whose names are bold are alive:
D1- (Luxuries)
Male- Kaiden Johnson 16. 22downwiththecapitol22
Female- Hunter Blackthorne 17. Rikachan101
D2- (Masonry)
Male- Drake Flint 17. jblonde123
Female- Collette Finch 16. jblonde123
D3- (Technology)
Male- Andrew "Drew" Reox 16. CallingMeFakeWontMakeYouReal
Female- Myra De La Rosa 14. CallingMeFakeWontMakeYouReal (Since I'm leaving her condition secret, I'll only bold half of it. Ha-ha. Still hangin', peeps. XD)
D4- (Fishing)
Male- Ryan Melly 12. Bowserboy129.
Female- Blessia Fornbrex 17.
D5- (Power)
Male- Sam Ryans 12. goldie031
Female- Miracle Rawlins 13. goldie031
D6- (Transportation)
Male- Apollo Ephraim 14. Rikachan101
Female- Melanie/Aureliana Dove 15. CapitolRules
D7- (Lumber)
Male- Tasi Merkava 16. RockSolid
Female- Temari Hyuga 18. ladyyuuki16
D8- (Textiles)
Male- Colin Crowe 15. experiment15
Female- Sahra Lemo 14. Bowserboy129
D9- (Grain)
Male- Gray Hager 18. Bowserboy129
Female- Artemis Nightheart 15. Rikachan101
D10- (Livestock)
Male- Maxmilian "Lion" Leone 18. CapitolRules
Female- Addelynn Demetriu 18. iJustMightBeCrazy
D11- (Agriculture)
Male- Rogis Trakholm 17. blueyoshguy
Female- Roslynn Ellis 17. experiment15
D12- (Mining)
Male- Haver Grale 17. Bowserboy129
Female- Chaste Christensen 12. Araka-chan
That is 12 ½ out of 24! They are going quick!
Sorry if I killed your character. It had to be done. I mean, there is only one victor, right?
So seriously, check all those people at the top that I recommended out. Right now. After you drop a review, go read their stories and drop a review. Okay? Alright. *nods*