I do not own the Hunger Games. The tributes belong to their respective submitters.
BLOODBATH - Arena Day 1
Show me how it ends, it's alright
Show me how defenseless you really are
Relly Jay, District Six Female
"Let the Sixty-Fourth Hunger Games begin! And may the odds be ever in your favor."
For a brief moment, no one moves. I'm sure that the stunned silence only lasts a fraction of a second, but it stretches for what feels like minutes, even hours.
Then everything around me bursts into action, and everyone makes a break for the tree-Cornucopia, arms flailing and legs pumping, stony faces showing how determined they are to survive the next fifteen minutes. I, too, am running down the narrow cement walkway, which is no more than three feet across, and I actively keep myself from looking down. I have no idea how high up we are, but I know that we're higher than we should be. A lot higher.
Frantically, I search the platform for Alder and spot him to my left, about nine tributes away and almost on the other side of the Cornucopia. I wave to get his attention, and he gives me a nod of acknowledgement. Good.
We agreed to meet just outside of the Cornucopia and then run, but there isn't really anywhere to run to. It sorta just drops off into empty air.
Is the entire Game supposed to take place on this single circle of cement? I guess we could try climbing the tree. It's big enough to hold everyone, and then some. But that would just be silly.
As I pass one of the upright boards, I notice that one side has two imprints that look like shoe prints. I look at the bottom of my feet, and it looks like the underside of my shoes would match up almost perfectly with the imprints on the board. Maybe we're meant to stand on them?
I pull it out of the slot in the ground and lay it flat on the ground. It immediately turns from black to an ivory white, and the light on the side turns from red to green, telling me that it's ready for takeoff. But I need to collect some supplies first. I mean, since I'm already here, I might as well take some stuff from the Cornucopia while I'm at it, especially if there aren't many resources out in the arena.
As everything goes haywire around me, I creep along the ground, searching for anything useful. It looks like all of the general survival equipment has been placed in backpacks and scattered around the platform, but the weapons and other highly valuable equipment can only be found in the Cornucopia itself. Drat.
Maybe…
No. I should just take a backpack and run.
I reach for a small lavender pack, but before I can pick it up, a foot stomps next to my hand, and I pull my arm back like a scared snake. Looking up, I see the silhouette of the blonde Career boy, the one from District Two. He holds a sword in his left hand, and I watch a grin creep across his face. How did he get a weapon so fast?
My heart hiccups as he raises the blade. It shimmers in the sunlight, and I see a sliver of my reflection in the shiny metal. I look absolutely terrified.
Before he can deliver the blow, someone else shoves him to the side, yelling, "No!" The Career boy steps back, simultaneously angry and afraid of the newcomer, but he turns and runs away, leaving me with the stranger. Looking down at me, dark hair falling in front of his black eyes, I recognize him as the boy from District Seven. The scary one. "She's mine."
He holds a red axe in his right hand, and he pulls the weapon over his shoulder, as if spring-loading the axe. Oddly, the movement causes him to wince with pain, but it doesn't seem to hinder him at all. I scramble back, feeling the tears run down my face, whimpering as he takes a step towards me, closing the gap between us in one fluid movement. No, no, no, I don't want to die.
"This is for Daphne," he bellows, his lips pulling back over his teeth in a hideous snarl.
"No!" I scream, putting my hands up, as if I could ever defend myself from this monster. Everything seems to stand perfectly still for a moment. My heart beats at a million miles a minute, roaring in my ears, trying to make up for all of the beats it will never get the chance to have.
The blade strikes me on the right side of my skull, splitting through everything with a white, searing agony. I think I hear a scream, maybe myself, maybe Alder, maybe Linden. But I don't have very much time to linger on it. In fact, I have no time at all.
I feel myself collapse onto the pavement. My body refuses to respond, and everything, even the pain, quickly ebbs away, becoming nothing. Linden keeps hacking away at my body, until I am certain that there isn't enough of me left to cut apart. He'll find a way, though, I'm sure. Crazy people always do.
Slowly, I sink into darkness. The sound of a cannon punches through the air, the vibration running up through the platform.
Or maybe it was all just my imagination? I can't really tell.
I don't feel much of anything as I slip under the surface of absolute nothingness.
Trance Berrill, District One Male
Everything around the Cornucopia is kinda crazy. Kids are running every which way, dodging us Careers as we try to take them down, like a game of sharks and minnows, only more morbid.
Necali takes off after the guy from District Eleven, followed closely by Nemo and Waverly. Stellar is chasing after the girl from District Three, but I don't think she's really interested in killing her. She just wants to look good in front of the rest of the Careers.
Nearby, I see the District Five girl, scrambling around and obviously unsure of what to do. She takes a step towards the Cornucopia, but when she sees Linden Cooper swinging his axe into Relly's back, repeatedly, literally chopping the young girl into bloody pieces, she decides against it. Horrified, Mariah turns and runs towards the outer edge of the platform, hair trailing and arms flailing.
I think… I think she'd be a pretty good target.
I spin the dagger around in my hand and feel the weight of the blade, gauging what kind of approach would be best. Mariah looks flighty. I have to jump her, make the attack a surprise, otherwise she'll break and run and escape.
Gotta make this count.
I throw my body into motion, pumping my arms at my sides, allowing myself to build up momentum. She draws closer and closer, still unaware of my plan.
Reaching out, I wrap my arm around her neck and throw her to the ground, hearing the wind rush out of her lungs as her back collides with the platform. I clamp my hand over her mouth before she can scream. I don't like screams. Dazed, she pushes against me, but I can tell that she isn't really sure what just happened. Her blue eyes dart around helplessly until they come to rest upon me, and I watch the horror bloom across her face, like some sort of sick, fascinating flower. She presses against my chest some more, though the effort is futile. I'm bigger and stronger than she is, and she has no weapon.
As I pull the knife up to her jawline, her eyes track my movement, tears running down either side of her heart-shaped face, and her nostrils flare with a suppressed sob.
Quickly, I drag the blade across her neck in a smooth motion, surprised by how easily the knife cuts through her flesh, catching only on her trachea. A burst of blood suddenly pours forth, splattering across my face and almost catching me in the eye. She screams, though the noise only manifests as a low gargle and a vibration under my hand. She wraps her hands around her neck, trying to stop the blood, even though she knows that it's hopeless.
I lean down, close enough to smell the metal in her blood. She breathes out in a ragged, broken rhythm, and I feel her warm breath wash over my hand in twin jets of air. My curiosity gets the better of me, and I ask, "What does it feel like to die?"
Her eyes widen even more, something I thought impossible, and as her strength ebbs away, I remove my hand so that she can answer me. The only sound that she makes is a strained gurgle, though, so she doesn't answer my question.
The light slowly fades from her eyes, and her movements become more sluggish and weak, until her hands finally slip from her neck and land on the concrete with wet thuds. Dark crimson spills out across the stone, and a low gasp escapes from her, marking the end. Her face goes dark. I watch the pupils dilate, slowly growing until her eyes are nothing but black and white.
BOOM.
I stand, rather disappointed. I really wanted her to answer my question. It's one of those things that I've been wondering for a while, and now would have been the perfect time to finally learn the answer. But I guess I'll just have to wait until next time.
At the other end of the platform, I notice that Linden is done chopping up Relly. I suck in a sharp breath when he swings his axe horizontally and hooks Pagnotta under the jaw, tearing half of her face off and shattering the lower portion of her skull. I watch her drop, and the sound of her cannon speeds through the atmosphere, rippling through my chest as if I am nothing but a pond. Her district partner, Glen, stares in complete shock as Linden proceeds to hack the girl from District Nine into tiny pieces, just like he did with Relly.
Linden is wasting time and energy in order to prove a point. A very bloody, very messy point.
Narrowing my eyes, I grip my weapon tighter.
He's crazy.
Zeno Atticus, District Three Male
Three cannons have already sounded. Three people are dead.
In the past, most commonly, eight people died in the bloodbath, while six was the second most common number, then nine, then four. Seven and five are fairly uncommon, though not unheard of. Anything below three deaths or above ten deaths tend to be quite rare, although thirteen tributes died in the Tenth bloodbath.
During the Twenty-Third Hunger Games, oddly enough, there were zero bloodbath deaths, and the arena lasted exactly twenty-three days. The Gamemaker denied claims that the duration was intentional, though it's fairly obvious that she manipulated the arena in order to keep the tributes alive for as long as possible, before forcing them to kill each other on the last day. I wonder if we have a similar Gamemaker in charge this year? I wonder if he has any plans to make our arena thematically congruous? I hope not. Pain tends to ensue whenever the Gamemakers unscrupulously intervene with the fighting.
Although, there's plenty of pain here with just us tributes killing each other in cold blood.
I creep along the edge of the platform, careful to avoid any tributes who aren't Wade or Taun. A short ways away, I see Wade struggling with his hoverboard, unable to gain proper balance, and I know that I need to help him if we both expect to get out of the bloodbath alive.
As I hurry towards him, I am forced to step over the body of Mariah Cassel, her throat cut and her blood pooling around her lifeless body. I avert my eyes, but not before the image emblazons itself to the forefront of my mind. I let out an involuntary, disgusted shriek, and scramble away from her as quickly as possible.
"Wade," I cry, running up to him and grabbing onto his arm. He looks down at me with fear, then surprise, and a smile breaks through the terror.
"Zeno!" he says, stepping off of the hoverboard entirely. "I wanted to get this thing working, then find you and Taun, but it's a little more difficult to use than I thought it would be."
I nod. "Have… have you seen Taun?"
Wade shakes his head, the terror returning in full force. "No, I haven't."
We both stop cold when the tall, blonde male Career spots us, the sword seeming to weigh heavily in his hand. When he sees us, a sick grin spreads across his face. I know that Wade and I are going to die. He's going to kill us.
But as he steps closer, the boy from District Eleven runs across Necali's field of vision, obviously distracting him and providing a much closer target. With surprising speed, the Career leaps after the boy, slicing his back open with a deft swing of his sword. A few other Careers descend upon him, making sure that he is really, truly dead. I can't help feeling slightly grateful for his death. After all, it provides a distraction and gives Wade and me time to find Taun and escape.
I grab a nearby supply bag, not even sure what's inside, and climb onto a nearby hoverboard. I demonstrate the process for Wade, emphasizing the balance and stability needed in order to safely take off, and he follows suit.
"We have to find Taun," I say, shouldering the backpack. I really wish I had goggles or something similar; I know that the wind is going to prove very uncomfortable and will make it nearly impossible to keep my eyes open at high speeds.
Wade looks at me, eyes wide. "I think we'll have to-"
A knife flies between our faces, barely three inches away from his nose. He throws his head back to look at the threat, which proves to be District One's very own Alpha Revere, sprinting towards us with the power of a bloodthirsty animal, a handful of throwing knives in her left hand and a cleaver in her right.
"Go!" I scream, leaning forward, willing the hoverboard to move faster. It picks up speed, but the pace feels far too slow, leaving me vulnerable to her killing blades. Beside me, Wade pushes forward just as slowly. Underneath us, the platform disappears, and I now have an unobstructed, sickening view of the ocean, about a mile below us.
Just don't look down.
Another knife flies past my head, though this one is more poorly-aimed. She can't get any closer, limited by the diameter of the platform, though she can still throw sharp objects at us if we're within her range, providing ample reason for us to get to cover.
"What should we do about Taun?" I ask, voice trembling.
Shaking his head, Wade says, "I don't know. We can't go back there, because the Careers are cleaning up all of the remaining tributes who were stupid enough to stay at the Cornucopia this long. We… we have to hope that he can get out on his own."
I'm surprised by his callousness. "Really?"
Wade refuses to look at me. "Yeah, really. If either of us intends on surviving until the end of today, we have to avoid the Careers as much as possible."
"So… we just leave him?"
Slowly, he nods. "Yes, for now. We'll find him once he escapes."
I look away, unable to bring myself to look at my ally. I see his logic, I understand where he's coming from.
But I also know that we're abandoning Taun.
This isn't right.
You're so cold, keep your hand in mine
Wise men wonder while strong men die
Idrial Coven, District Ten Female
"Charcoal!" I screech, ripping a dagger off one of the stone tables and holding it up towards the guy from District Five. He gives me an unsettling grin, and amidst the chaos of the bloodbath, he has singled me out as his target. Raising his own dagger, the metal glinting white in the afternoon sunlight, he advances towards me, grin slowly melting into an infinitely hideous snarl, and I back up against the smooth trunk of the tree. I need to fight back. But the fear wraps around my throat, paralyzing me.
I need to move.
Dominic tenses up, ready to leap.
A flash of blue flickers behind him, and I hear Charcoal let out a yelp as the butt-end of a machete cracks against the side of Dominic's head. He crumples to the ground, the dagger slipping out of his hand.
I stare at my ally, awestruck. She lets the weapon slip from her trembling hands, her eyes welling with tears, and I rush forward, folding my hands over hers.
"I killed him," she whispers, eyes widening.
"No, no, no," I say, too quickly, my own fear bleeding into the words. "See? He's still breathing. He's alive. You didn't kill him."
Casting her eyes downward, she watches his chest rise with an intake of breath, then fall with a labored exhalation. Granted, he may not last for very long depending on how hard she hit him, but for now I need her to believe that Dominic will survive. I need my ally to keep it together, at least long enough for us to get out of the bloodbath alive.
I look around, knowing that we can't stay here. The Careers, or that Linden kid, are bound to notice us sooner or later. Grabbing a backpack of supplies off of the table, and stuffing in a couple of extra weapons and bottles of water, I turn back to Charcoal and grab her hand again, but this time with force. "We need to go."
Wiping away a few lingering tears, she nods, finally regaining her senses. "You're right," she chokes. "You're right."
"Grab a backpack," I say. "In fact, grab two, three, if you can carry them. And get a pair of goggles or some sort of eye-protection, because it looks like we're using hoverboards." I grab a silver helmeted visor off of the wall and stuff it under my arm, then turn back to Charcoal, surprised to see that she's all ready to go, clutching a green backpack and a pair of black goggles.
We worm our way through the tree roots, unwilling to face the Careers at the main entrance, and immediately stake a claim to two of the untaken hover boards.
From what I've seen, the kid from District Three had the right idea. I pull the black board out of the slot in the ground, and a light shade of ivory immediately washes over the surface, the tiny light on the side switching from red to green. I guess that means it's ready to go.
I pull the helmet on over my face, immediately hating my now-limited field of vision. If it means being able to see while I fly, though, I guess that it's worth it. The glass has a very dark tint to it, preventing the other tributes from seeing my face very well, though they'll know who I am because one dark blue ring around my left jacket sleeve signifies that I'm from District Ten, and I am very obviously not a boy. So, despite the mask, most people will probably be able to tell who I am at first glance.
Laying the board flat on the ground, I place both feet onto the two indicated shoe-shaped imprints on the top surface. Immediately, a magnetic click sounds from the board, and I watch the imprints morph to match the soles of my shoes exactly, effectively locking me in place.
Slowly, I rise off of the ground. I'm surprised by how solid the board feels; there are no errant vibrations, and despite the wobbly feeling in my gut, it feels just like I'm standing on the Earth.
Charcoal rises beside me, goggles already strapped to her face and backpack straps slung over her shoulders.
I lean forward, and the board obeys by gliding forward, slowly picking up speed. Charcoal follows close behind.
"Where should we go?" she asks, voice wavering.
At this specific elevation, I only see the Cornucopia platform, though a couple thousand feet below us, I see a series of platforms interlocked in a ring of trees, each one connected by little thin spiderweb paths. Even farther below us, tiny waves glimmer on the surface of the ocean. Running around the circular border of the arena, I see a dull, hazy force field, just opaque enough to make it impossible to tell what exactly lies on the other side of the barrier. Clever on the part of whoever designed this place; the visually indistinct border makes the space seem a lot bigger than it actually is.
Above us, there is another ring of interlocking platforms, about the same distance from the Cornucopia as the platforms below.
"Let's go up," I say, voice more hurried than I'd intended. "No one ever thinks to look up."
She nods, and we both angle the boards up towards the sky, pleasantly surprised by how intuitive the machines are.
As we rise, the sudden urge to cry overcomes me, as if an emotional dam had been waiting for just this moment to burst and flood me with tears. I let a few slide down my face, glad that the visor prevents the rest of Panem from witnessing my slip of emotions.
We made it through the bloodbath.
We might just stand a chance.
Nemo Dedecus, District Four Male
Necali glares down at the boy from District Eleven, shoving the kid's face with his shoe. "That wasn't as exciting as I'd hoped it would be."
I try to hide my disgust. "What, are we killing them for sport, now?"
He shrugs. "Better than nothing. If we have to kill them, I at least want to enjoy myself. But he didn't even fight."
Looking around the platform, I see a few other tributes still struggling to get themselves organized, collecting food and hopping on their hoverboards as quick as humanly possible. "Well, maybe he didn't want to fight. Maybe he didn't want to waste the few seconds he had left fighting a lost cause."
Our dear leader looks up, giving me an odd stare. "You're just Mr. Sunshine today, aren't you?"
Killing people tends to dampen my mood, I want to say, but I know that expressing such sentiments would discourage people from sponsoring me, at best. At worst, it could scare them off altogether. Empathy does not make for a good Career, and subsequently hurts my chances of becoming victor. And yet, despite the life-or-death-or-kill situation I now find myself in, I'm happier here than I could have ever been if I stayed in District Four. I finally feel like I'm in control of myself. No one here will judge me based on the actions of other people. It's nice to have a blank slate.
"That's my job," I respond. "I'm Mr. Sunshine." Necali just shakes his head.
Glancing around the Cornucopia, I don't immediately see any remaining outer-district tributes. Most everyone is gone now. A few scattered supplies remain on the grassy area near the tree and I can tell that most have been absconded with, though the majority of the supplies and weapons in the Cornucopia have been left alone. I managed to pick up eight javelins, an extended quiver, some water, and a rucksack full of dried food, so I'm pretty much set, even without the other Careers. Truth be told, I'd probably be better off without them. Or, at least without Necali, Erizelda, and Alpha. For now, though, I'm stuck with them, if only to keep up appearances.
"I'm going to look around for other tributes," I say, doing my best to sound nonchalant.
Necali waves his hand dismissively. "Go, then. Clean up the remainders."
I trot off, javelin in hand. Honestly, if any outer-district kids decided to stay behind this long, they're complete idiots and deserve to die.
As I snoop around the Cornucopia, someone blindsides me, pushing me aside as they make a break for the edge of the platform. Blood runs down the side of his head, dying his curly hair a dark shade of mahogany. From behind, I recognize him as the guy from District Five. Donnely? No. Derek? No. Dominic?
Yes. Dominic Monipule.
I could spear him with a javelin, but I decide against it. He's already out of range, and it's not like he poses much of a threat, anyways. Training score of 3 ring a bell?
I watch him take off on a hoverboard, carrying absolutely no supplies, save a tiny little dagger. Like that'll do much good in the arena. Eh. I guess it's better that way. When we catch him later, it means that he won't have the proper equipment to oppose us.
Staring up at the sky, I wonder who the Gamemakers are currently focusing the cameras on? Probably Necali, since he just killed Cascade. Or maybe they're interested in the alliances of the outer districts, detailing who cares about who, which tributes got left behind, how the deaths are affecting the remaining members of the alliance, why people did what they did during the bloodbath, and all sorts of other unimaginable things. Maybe they're even looking at me. I hope not. I don't want millions of eyes all following my every move, judging, speculating, betting on my survival. The thought of them all staring makes me uncomfortable.
Something shifts on the other side of the Cornucopia, through the tree roots, drawing my attention and breaking me out of my thoughts. I tentatively circle around the trunk to get a look at what the commotion is all about. To my surprise, I find the boy from District Twelve, weighed down by four different backpacks, shuffling along the white cement as quickly as his body will allow.
He sees me, and fear sparks in his dark brown eyes. Dropping two of the packs, he instinctively starts backing up, forcing himself into a corner of the tree trunk. I tighten my grip on the javelin, working hard to keep my hands steady as the adrenaline floods through me, preparing me to kill this child, take his life, eradicate him from this plane of existence.
But… he's only twelve.
Age shouldn't make a difference. All of the other tributes here were twelve at some point or another. Yet, there's something inherently unfair in killing this specific boy, here, in a "game" set up by his own government. I... can't. I can't kill him. Not like this.
"Leave," I say, harsh and low.
He looks like he's about to pee his pants. "Wh-what?"
"Go." I step aside. "Get out of here. Now, dammit."
The sponsors can get lost. I'm not killing him just to impress them.
He grabs only two of his four backpacks, hightailing it out of here, breaths coming in short bursts. I don't know if I've done the right thing.
Without warning, a depraved shadow passes me, light brown hair trailing behind her, sprinting towards the young boy, weapon raised high above her head. I don't have time to react, or yell, or warn the kid, who is turned away and cannot see his approaching death. All I can do is watch as she brings the cleaver down between his neck and shoulder. He falls with a pained gasp, not even a scream, his blood spilling everywhere. Again she raises the cleaver, and again she strikes his exposed flesh. I stare, unable to tear my gaze away, and in less than a minute, the twelve-year-old is dead. His cannon runs through the arena, rumbling, mournful, like thunder after a heavy rain.
Alpha turns back to me, her hands splattered with blood.
'Weak', she mouths, though I cannot tell if she's talking about me or the dead boy. Perhaps both.
She wipes the blood off on her pant leg and goes on her merry way, laughing to herself while I simply stand here, awestruck. She killed him without batting an eye.
Is she even human?
Selene Briony, District Eleven Female
The endless onslaught of wind burns my eyes, and the tears of irritation blur my vision, making it difficult to see exactly where I'm going. We got out pretty early, so I didn't have enough time to grab any sort of eye protection.
Five cannons have already sounded, though I only saw the first two deaths and can't say for sure who the last three cannons were for.
Birch and Flavia both made it out alive with minor injuries, for which I am grateful. I didn't even get a scratch.
As for supplies, I managed to nab a backpack full of food, Flavia picked up a bag full of basic survival gear and a crossbow with ten steel bolts, while Birch picked up a huge butcher's knife and some packs of food that he promptly stuffed in his pockets. All in all, I'd say that we're in pretty good shape.
We fly down to the lowest platforms, though it feels more like falling. Along the way. I'm forced to stare at an ocean that's a couple thousand feet below, which definitely doesn't make me feel safe. However, it takes a surprisingly short amount of time to adapt to the hoverboards. As long as I know that there's something to keep me from falling, the height isn't much of a problem. Even if it was a problem, I suppose, it wouldn't be for very long. One moment of hesitation, and either the Careers will be there to solve the problem instantly, or the Gamemaker will find some way to spice it up in order to entertain the masses. Which is why I'm thankful that both of my allies made it out of the bloodbath alive; we can all look out for each other.
Blinking my eyes furiously to rid myself of the blurry tears, I shout at Birch to ask which platform we'll want to land on, but the wind steals away my words and wraps us in roaring silence. We're traveling much too fast for him to have heard me.
It's only when we finally slow down, puttering towards one of the massive, quarter-mile long platforms that the wind finally stops its assault, and I'm able to see clearly again.
We fly in low and come to a stop near a towering redwood. Flavia and Birch both pull their goggles up into the tops of their heads, leaving me to feel like an idiot for not picking up a pair.
For a minute we stare at each other, until Flavia finally asks, "So, how, exactly, do we get off of these things?"
I shrug. "I don't really know."
Birch scrutinizes the craft for a moment, before kneeling down, inspecting the entire board, and eventually pressing the green button on the side. It immediately switches from green to red, and he slowly sinks to the ground, where the board unlatches from the soles of his shoes and switches back from white to black. He safely steps off and stores the board under his arm. Flavia and I repeat the process.
We make sure that all of our supplies are in order before we set off into the densely packed, floating island of evergreen trees. We keep expecting some muttation to jump out from under every rock and from behind ever tree, so our progress is slow and paranoid, and the quarter-mile long platform takes more than half of an hour to cross.
After some searching, we decide to set up camp underneath a large Douglass fir, happy to find that there appear to be no spiders or bugs on this platform.
I lean my hoverboard up against the tree trunk, unable to stifle a yawn. Surviving certain death is an exhausting experience.
Curling up against a fallen log as Birch and Flavia divide a granola bar between themselves, I wonder just how long our supplies can last. Sure, we have a lot, but split between three people? We'll probably run out by tomorrow night, if not sooner.
But until then, we have more than enough other things to worry about. Safety, muttations, water, our health, the other tributes, the thousands of feet that separate us from the Earth…
I awaken to the sound of the Capitol anthem, proud and pompous and upbeat, playing out across the entire arena. Rising slowly, I rub my eyes and yawn, surprised to see a dark, star-studded sky overhead. Nighttime already?
"Hey," Birch says, offering me part of the granola bar from earlier. I accept gratefully, realizing that I haven't eaten since this morning. "Sleep well?"
I nod. "How long was I out?"
He shrugs. "Four hours at the most. Probably three and a half. Flavia decided to take a break, too." He gestures to her sleeping form. I guess the anthem isn't loud enough to rouse her from her dreams.
"Hmm." I only allow myself to take small bites of the bar, in a desperate attempt to make it last as long as possible.
High overhead, partially obscured by the reaching trees, appears the face of the blonde girl from District Six. I remember that she got chopped up into little pieces by Flavia's psychotic district partner. Honestly, I'm not surprised that she died first. Poor girl.
Her face is quickly replaced by Mariah Cassel, the girl from District Five. She got killed by that boy from District One.
Then comes Pagnotta Millet, from District Nine. We must have left by the time she got killed, because I have no idea how she died. I wonder how her delusional district partner is dealing with her death?
But the fourth tribute to die in the bloodbath takes me completely by surprise. Up in the sky, I see my own district partner, and a wave of nausea immediately floods through my stomach. His stern face looks down upon us all, angry that we abandoned him, that I abandoned him, to get killed by some stranger in the bloodbath.
I feel like I've let down my entire district.
How could I have allowed this happen?
I feel Birch watching me, gauging my reaction, but I can't bring myself to put on a mask. No, no, no. I should have been there to save him.
The twelve-year-old from District Twelve replaces Cascade, but I can't force myself to feel bad for Taun. No, I cannot worry for an unknown child when I failed to save my own district partner.
Drawing my knees up to my chin, I give the rest of the granola bar back to Birch. "I'm not hungry."
He looks at it doubtfully, then back at me. "You sure?"
I nod, unable to even consider eating the rest of the bar. I'm afraid that I'll just throw it all up, anyways, and we have little enough food as it is.
He wraps it up and delicately places it in the backpack. "I'll save it for you, then."
I can't manage a verbal response, so I simply give a short nod.
Yes, later. Because I can't deal with it now.
You're so cold but you feel alive
Lay your hand on me one last time
The lyrics belong to the song "So Cold" by Breaking Benjamin.
And so it begins.
Relly Jay, District Six
Mariah Cassel, District Five
Pagnotta Millet, District Nine
Cascade Zephyr, District Eleven
Taun Navarro, District Twelve
Relly, Mariah, Pagnotta, Cascade, and Taun were all great tributes, and I loved writing for them. However, they were either simply too weak to survive the bloodbath, or I struggled to capture their character and had difficulty writing them into a plot.
Also, as a side note, to clarify the whole colored-rings-on-the-jacket situation: The rings indicate which district a tribute is from. It works rather like roman numerals, and it's solely additive. White rings represent 1, light green rings represent 5, and dark blue rings represent 10. So, for example, if a tribute has one light green ring and two white rings on their jacket, it means that they are from District Seven. If they have three white rings, it means they're from District Three. If they have one dark blue ring and one white ring, they're from District Eleven.
The blog has been updated with the deaths.
Stay tuned for Day 2.