AN: I closed the poll today and I thank all of you who voted. The question was "Who do you think will be the victor of the first Quarter Quell? Ironically, it was Rosemary who won. Congratulations to Rosemary! Unfortunately for her, it was a bit late…
Anyway, enjoy reading!
Fiorella Gage, D1
While sitting and sulking all alone, I hear screaming from around the corner. Curiously, I peek my head around the corner towards to noise and see a peculiar sight. I ready my throwing knife in my adept right hand.
Two tributes stumble out of a strange little door in the wall. That peaks my interest more than anything else and I mentally berate myself for not noticing that before. How could I have missed a freaking door in the wall? Is it an escape from the arena? Obviously not, or else those two tributes wouldn't have come back into the arena. This is a noteworthy development; I think I'll investigate some more.
I recognize the two tributes right away when I see their faces clearly. It's Saul, the valiant leader of the outer district alliance, and Rosemary, the maze wanderer from 8. She gets around. I wonder if she joined the alliance. My thoughts are immediately cast aside when I see Saul turn on her.
Pinning her to the wall and choking her, I watch and wait as Saul turns into a murdering monster just like Romilda and Rudyard. With every breath I take, I hate to see it happen to another innocent tribute that's just trying to survive. But surviving means different things to different people. Some think you need to fight and kill to survive. Others think you need to run and hide. It's all about perspective, I suppose.
Casting her aside, Saul composes his rage and tells the girl to run. I take this as my opportunity. I fling my knife at the girl and it slits her throat, slicing through her neck and clattering to the ground, stained red with blood. Rosemary's eyes roll back in her head and she collapses to the floor. Her cannon booms in the distance. Saul doesn't hesitate to unsheathe his sword. Glancing around warily, he holds the silver weapon above his head and comes towards my way.
I can't take on this boy. He is too skilled with that sword. Besides, I just used my last knife. All I have left is a whip that I found at the very bottom of my old backpack. I just kept it for looks, but now it seems I might have to actually use it.
Unrolling the whip and taking a few steps back, I prepare for the battle of the Quell. This is the final showdown. This is it. Career versus outer district. 1 versus 12. I feel like the whole game has come down to this very moment and the whole Quell will change in correlation to this decisive battle. There are no distractions this time. No other players to get in the way. It's finally dwindled to the last two tributes with fighting ability and the whole Quell hangs in the balance.
To bring pride to my district, I have to become victor. To become victor, I have to win the Quarter Quell. To win the Quarter Quell, I have to beat Saul from District 12.
This is the showdown that decides it all.
Other than Saul and myself, there is only one tribute left. I won't worry about that little kid running around right now. I need to focus and get my head in the game.
In a flash, I pick up an hour's worth of observation of my opponent. I only take a fraction of the time other people take to analyze situations. Saul has a heavy sword, but the weight doesn't seem to be a burden upon his shoulders. His clothes and boots are tattered from wear and tear of the arena, but there seems to be a slight scorched scent about him. Was he caught in a fire? That explains the smell and puff of smoke that came out of that tiny door along with Saul and Rosemary.
Before I can notice much more, Saul springs into action. He doesn't waste any time at all. Ducking to dodge his slashing sword, I hear the whistling of the blade hissing through the air with certainty and strength. On my knees, I flick my whip around and it slices the boy's ankles. Blood pours profusely through his thin socks and his head snaps up to meet my gaze. I keep my expression blank and even. While he is distracted within our gaze, I kick his bleeding ankles and he is knocked off his feet and falls to the floor, landing with a hard thump. I wince at the sound but pick myself up and gather my whip up again, preparing to strike again.
I bend over Saul's lying figure and while he's fingering to find his sword near him, I knock the weapon from his hand and it slides across the floor. I pin him to the floor, using my feet to nail his kicking legs to the ground and both my hands to keep his hands still and above his head. The boy from 12 is forced to stare straight up into my eyes and face his imminent death.
Being the Career I am, I stretch the misery out, just like the trainers at home taught me. They also said that nothing quick and done easily is efficient or honorable. Plus, they said it is always more fun to bring the squeamish fear of tributes out into the spotlight. I can practically hear them cheering for me, screaming at me to make this long and painful.
I bend even lower so I am level with Saul's ear, and he flinches at the close proximity. I grin a tiny bit in evil satisfaction just for the Capitol citizens who are watching. They'll be hooting and hollering about this moment for decades. I can imagine the interviews I'll be having already.
"Nice of you to finally show up," I hiss in the boy's ear. "I've been waiting quite a while for you, Saul."
He doesn't respond, and I can tell that I am testing his patience. I decide to have a friendly little conversation with my old friend. Besides, when else will I have the chance to talk with good ole Saul? Never, if this goes according to plan.
"I see you were friends with the Maze Wanderer there," I say.
His eyes are confused now. "Maze Wanderer?" he whispers, bewildered.
I roll my eyes and feel his legs kicking again. I dig my long fingernails into his wrists and the skin breaks ever so slightly. I dig my claws into his wrists until blood drips from the scrapes. My grin returns when Saul winces in pain.
"Yes, I made up nicknames for the tributes that I didn't bother learning their names. Maze Wanderer was from 8, Skitzy was from 6, the Southpaw Savior was from 3. You, my good friend, are the Valiant Leader. But when I realized that you were worthy of being remembered, I caught your name. So, Saul, what will District 12 do when their last chance tribute is gone?"
I hope he catches that each one of those dead tributes I named were from his alliance and all perished. By the pained look in his gray eyes, I can tell that I hit home pretty hard. Good. That's just what I wanted.
To my surprise, his expressions morphs from one of suffering to one of crystal-clear smugness. His sly little smirk wipes my sadistic smile right off my face. "What do you call the girl from 11?"
He's obviously trying to stall, so I give him something to chew on. "The Wicked Witch."
I love provoking people. It must run in the Career blood. Saul's face turns red with anger and underneath my hands, his fingers ball into fists. With a new vigor, Saul throws me off and launches me into a nearby wall. My head hits the titanium with a sickening crack and my vision looks like a swamp for a really long time. When things finally clear up and the whole entire room isn't spinning in front of my two eyes, I see Saul's silhouette standing over me. Blood is running down his arms and ankles, but he lets it bleed defiantly. I try to crawl away but he catches me by the collar and shoves me to the ground.
I peer up over my lashes and see Saul has rediscovered his handy dandy sword. Shit. Just as he brings it down like a hammer, I roll in the other direction and narrowly miss a sword to the face. I literally see the blade slashing the thin air between me and where I was lying a few seconds before. The blade hits the metal floor and sparks fly, denting the sword and dulling it. The longer I can stall, the more it wears down until it can't slice an envelope open.
I use my lying position to kick the heavy sword out of Saul's tired and bleeding hands. He fumbles with the hilt of the weapon before I use my remaining strength to kick it. He loses his whole grip on it and it slides across the room yet again. I crawl away while Saul is distracted by his bloodied hands. I get up and prepare to run but my poor vision backfires and I slam into three walls while trying to escape.
Saul chuckles darkly. "They should call you the Escapist because you are quite the escape artist."
I whirl around, not caring about anything now but protecting my pride in front of the whole nation. This has gone far enough.
Boldly, I shout, "For your information, I am the one who escaped the clutches of the horrifying place of District 1. I was born and forced to live in that hellhole and guess what? I escaped and got myself here. I wasn't voted in by accident; I caused my reaping directly.
"I escaped the Career alliance. I am the sole remaining member of the tributes from 1, 2, and 4. And don't tell me that doesn't take skill, or talent, or wits because it takes a whole lot more than that. It takes guts to leave behind everything you've ever been taught just to live to see one more day where the light of day doesn't even shine.
"I will escape this arena," I stand up straighter when I talk of this. And Saul seemingly shrinks down into the wall, staring at his incompetent hands. "I will escape this arena and become victor. After all the years of hard work and heart I've put into this, there is no way I am going to give it up so easily."
I pick up the whip, rolling into a lasso and grabbing the handle. My target is slumped against the wall and looks completely defeated and inspirited. As I take one long last look at my weapon, I think to myself that I guess this is the end of Saul from 12. Just as I am about to life the whip, a small whisper is heard from Saul's shaking voice.
"My reaping wasn't an accident, either." And then he shuts his eyes, as if I could kill him now that my interest in piqued. I couldn't kill him now, not when he's given me a piece of irresistible drama. I lower the whip and take a step towards my enemy who is not that different from me now.
Those strange gray eyes peer up at me in a state of bewilderment. He was expecting a quick death after that statement, but now I must hear more of this poor boy's life in the impoverish district of 12. Maybe more goes on there than anyone lets on. That is certainly an interesting development.
Saul cowers into his jacket, pulling his collar over his chin and mouth as if he was cold. He rubs his eyes like a small child and pushes his straight crow black hair out of his vision. His skin has lost that red glow of anger and has returned to its normal olive toned color. I can't help but remember that the girl from his district that I called Goldie Locks, and I recall her looking that exact opposite of this boy. She had golden hair and sky blue eyes with pale white skin like those old fairy tale princesses. I wonder why these tributes look so different when they come from the same district. All the Careers look relatively the same: all muscle and arrogant smirks.
When the boy continues to stare at me incredulously, I say simply, "Go on."
With my encouragement, he opens up. "My district is desperate for a winner. They all voted for the tribute who they thought could win the Quell. Apparently, I was chosen because I have been working in the mines for a few months now and I've grown up as a starving child. They thought I had the strength and spirit to fight and win." Saul shrugs, wincing with the effort. "I guess they were wrong."
This is crazy. The poor, feeble-minded wimps of 12 managed to do something intelligent for once in history? This is too weird. Back in District 1, we were always taught that the outer district, especially 10, 11, and 12, were filthy, barbaric dogs that have no chance of ever winning the Hunger Games. This has to be a brainwash.
Shaking my head to clear it, I say, "I'm sorry if this sounds rude, but we were always taught that the people of 12 were disgusting animals that can't ever win the Games or use their brains. I'm guessing that was a misconception?"
Saul gazes at me with his mouth gaping. I open my mouth to apologize and defend myself, but he jumps ahead of me, covering my mouth with his hand. I immediately jump to the defensive, but when I hear his hushed whisper, I understand his hesitancy.
"Don't say those things about your district here! The whole nation is listening in, including the President and his beloved Capitol."
And then I understand. I pull back, standing up and pacing. Now I have an internal debate inside of me. Can I kill this boy? I practically know him and his story now, so how can I so easily flick my wrist and end his life? He doesn't seem too concerned by the idea of death, the poor boy.
I take a good look at Saul and realize I have been calling him wrongly. The mere word of boy doesn't really describe the tribute from 12. He is more of a man than any other tribute that was or is here in this arena. After a moment of speculation, I can't stand the mystery any longer.
"How old are you, Saul?"
The mysterious tribute from 12 was rubbing his bloodied wrists that I now feel guilty for scarring. He glances up from his hands and then looks back down, answering gruffly, "Eighteen."
Just as I suspected. This boy, excuse me, man is one whole year older than I am. He certainly could pass for younger. I thought he was closer to sixteen or seventeen years at least. Looks are deceiving.
"I'm seventeen," I add to break the prolonged silence.
I get no response in words. Saul just glimpses back up at me and then back down to his hands. Whatever. I don't need his attention or adoration, although I received both back home from basically all the boys at school and the Academy. Now is the time to decide my next move.
Saul isn't going anywhere. That much is certain. Either he'll wait for me to kill him or he will wait for death to find him here. Should I string his life along? I wanted to before, but that was before I knew him. And even now I don't actually know the guy. I just know how he ended up with the death sentence.
Maybe—
The walls rattle.
I look over at Saul and he peers up from his hands that he wrapped in torn cloth. The walls continue to shake and rattle periodically. We listen carefully for any sign of mutts of Gamemaker device.
The ground shakes a tiny bit.
Suddenly, I hear a booming crash and more rattling sounds. It sounded like another wall fell. But that was only after an earthquake…
Oh no.
I barely have time to blink before Saul is screaming at me to duck. Foolishly, I look up instead of ducking and there is where it all went wrong. Saul still shouts at me and I don't hear him because all I'm seeing and hearing is the collapsing of the nearby wall over my head and the sharp snapping sound of my bones under crashing titanium.
"FIORELLA!"
And then it's all over.
