District 5: Adelaide Hampton (16) Pov-
I set down the shovel before leaning against the wide, smooth trunk of the willow tree. The sunset is stunningly beautiful—arcs of yellows and reds and purples stretch gloriously across the sky, rippling slightly as clouds pass and only fading once the large yellow orb sets completely below the horizon. There's no way I can do it justice with the English language. A picture really is worth a thousand words.
A sigh of veneration tumbles from my lips. It's hard to imagine what life once was like in District 5—being a normal sixteen-year-old girl, immortal (of course) because I had so much time to waste, I was so far from my death. But in the games, things are the exact opposite. Every slight gust of warm wind and every birdsong is a gift. Every second is a priceless treasure given that at any moment my life could end.
I have no idea how long I sit there staring at the stars. It could be twenty seconds or it could be twenty minutes. I only get back up once I feel my well-deserved break is done for and it's time to get back to work.
Wiping the grime off of my pants, I get slowly to my feet and tread toward the hole. At first the goal of making the ditch six feet deep seemed almost impossible, but now that I've reached five it sounds much more attainable.
Crawling down into the hole comes with the jolt of shock it always gives me. The thin wooden walls I've haphazardly built to keep the thing from collapsing tremble and shudder as the damp soil squishes under my feet.
It's only after I get to my knees that I realize I left my shovel at the tree trunk—but no matter. This deep a shovel is pretty much useless anyway.
My first scoop claws out about a cubic inch of dirt. Digging by hand is the only way to dig this deep down, and if it's this slow I'll surely be up all night…
A scream catches in my throat as the moonlight is suddenly blocked by something long and thin, casting its shadow on the bottom of the cylindrical hole.
I gasp and stare upward. Three nearby vines have come to life and are doing the impossible—wrapping and undulating with minds of their own, attempting to create an impenetrable seal over the top of the hole, trapping me inside.
The vines are growing fast. By the looks of things I have a few seconds to get out or else I'm in big trouble.
Claws of cold terror wrap themselves around me like ice water, but if I pride myself on anything it's my ability to think straight when I'm in a panic.
I repeat the words over and over in my head. I'm going to escape. Adelaide Hampton is not going to die today.
Grabbing onto a thick vine, I immediately recoil in disgust at the sensation of something wiggling under the surface of the vine.
Now that I think about it, the surface of the vines are pretty rough, almost scaly…
Snakes.
The jarring realization strikes me at the same moment the first hiss rises from above. I desperately make an attempt to struggle my way out of the hole, but it's no use. One of the three snakes is already rearing up to bite me. Its fangs glow silver in the moonlight.
Before I can flinch the snake buries its fangs into my pinky finger. The pain is unbearable, like a thousand red-hot knives being driven into the square centimeter of skin. I'm surely going to die from the agony… shrivel up… just dissolve right here… only my clothes will be left…
But the three snakes slither away, apparently content, and thoughts of home bring me the power I need to hoist myself out of the hole.
The venom is setting in. Dark purple lines spread through my pinky finger, evidently poison. My vision is already fading…
I rush toward my pack and riffle through my supplies before pulling out the silver pocketknife I grabbed from the cornucopia. I flip out the blade and extend my pinky finger. In minutes the venom will spread to my other fingers unless I can stop it.
Is it worth it?
How much will it hurt?
But it's too late. I've already buried the knife into my finger and begun sawing. The pain is like fire, even worse than the pain of being bitten. My screams pierce the night. I just hope there aren't any tributes in earshot.
A gasp escapes my lips as the severed finger falls to the forest floor. I don't bother to hide it; I have bigger fish to fry. I tear off a part of my shirt and bind it over the stump of my pinky finger, biting down on my lip to keep from screaming out from the searing pain.
Cleaning out the wound is clearly the next order of business. I haven't discovered any water sources yet but knowing how early it is in the games one can't be far. It's minutes before I come to a lazily flowing stream. Without hesitation, I dunk my finger under the surface.
Red-hot pain makes me whimper despite my best efforts to keep quiet, but after that something oddly soothing falls through my hand. The pain dissolves almost instantly. A quick look at my finger through the moonlit night air tells me that the bleeding has stopped almost completely. This is no ordinary river.
The river seems to flow with a kind of melodic tinkle like some eccentric percussion instrument. No river has ever made that sound, surely… and the wobbling surface has a kind of silver-ish glow that even the finest jewels in the nation couldn't recreate.
Needless to say, I'm more than a little excited that I've discovered a stream which can heal most any injury.
District 2: Nero Ryker (18) Pov-
I feel like two ropes have been tied to my neck, and they're tugging me in opposite directions. I can't move in either direction because the other one is holding me back. I can just sit there crying my ass off, hoping against hope that one of the ropes will loosen and I'll be allowed to pick a side.
I just killed a human being.
A living, breathing human being with a heart and a soul just like me.
I never knew her name but she probably had a family. Maybe even a sweetheart. People who loved her.
I know that remorse is the most shameful think a career can show in the games. But I can't hold the tears back. What the hell was I thinking volunteering into these games? Volunteering to end helpless lives with my sword?
I'm gladder than ever to have the cornucopia around me. There aren't any cameras to pick up on my tears.
District 4: Dory Krillgood (13) Pov-
There's an unpleasant rubbery squishing sound as my teeth slide against the meat of the weasel I killed yesterday morning. I managed to start a quick fire and cook the meat without anybody noticing. Even if I had left the fire burning for a long time I don't think any of the other tributes would have seen it; smaller fires don't give off nearly enough smoke for anyone to see them from more than a few dozen feet away.
Look at me talking like some kind of nature expert. I've never started a fire in my entire life before now.
After crunching on the last few savory bits of weasel meat, I discard the bone and cover it with a bit of dirt to keep anyone from finding it and knowing I've been here.
That's when a feeling strikes me I've never imagined I could feel in the Hunger Games. Boredom. I have nothing to do. I'm full. The little stream I found a few hours ago could supply me with more water than I could ever drink in a year. I've got a sufficient albeit unstable branch shelter. What now? Do I sit around on my butt doodling in the dirt? Do I go hunting for other tributes, or for more food?
I eventually decide my best option is to move around. I won't actually be leaving my shelter; I'm planning to walk in the shape of a circle about a mile in diameter that'll lead me back to where I started. That's hopefully how it'll work anyway.
I haven't walked ten steps when a sound makes my heart skip a beat. The wave of relief when I turn around is invigorating. A silver parachute beeps slightly as it drifts down to the earth, eventually landing soundlessly about ten feet away.
Hardly daring to breathe, heart beating a mile a minute, I approach the metal tray. Inside is a piece of spun-silver cloth hardly larger than a pack of gum, with a small black button in the dead-center…
I press the button before I can stop myself. The thing produces a popping sound that gives me the impression some kind of tension has been released, and in a fraction of a second I'm holding a sleeping bag. I'm also holding a note that says,
Dory,
Stay warm.
~C
I lay the bag on the ground and slide inside. Despite the cold of the afternoon, I feel toasty warm.
I practice folding and unfolding it for a few moments before tucking it into my pocket to continue my circular journey.
It sure is hard to keep track of things like time in the Hunger Games. By the time I come to the silver-leafed tree bearing golden apples, I've completely lost track of the stuff. I could have left camp five minutes ago or five hours ago. Thinking about it, I can't remember what I was doing ten minutes ago, or even ten seconds ago.
I sit cross-legged next to the golden apple tree…
Golden apple tree?
Golden apple tree!
The jigsaw pieces all fall into place. Faster than I ever have in my life I jump to my feet and sprint away from the tree.
The legend of the golden apple tree is a creepy classic where I grew up in 4. We always told it at sleepovers over those supernatural communication boards for a scare. Now that we're older we realize the legend is pretty stupid, but it remains creepy nonetheless.
The story goes that a merchant and his wife once travelled to the beaches of 4 on vacation, and without warning the merchant suddenly grabbed a knife and killed himself. As he died, his wife swore she had seen two glowing white eyes peering at her from around the dark kitchen corner. When she left the house yelling for someone to call the police, she spotted the golden apple tree sitting in her lawn, as though it had always been there. As she approached it her memory began to fade, and in moments had fallen asleep, never to rise again. She was dead in moments more. Her neighbor, an eyewitness, later stated she had seen a pair of glowing white eyes from behind the tree as she watched her beloved neighbor crumple to the ground in death. From then on hundreds of stories sprouted up across Panem. Stories of glowing white eyes immediately preceding disaster.
The people who moved into the house next, an attractive young couple, began hearing strange scratching noises from outside their front door. Whenever they looked through the keyhole to see what was going on outside all they saw was white. The couple and their baby girl mysteriously disappeared the next day. And you can probably guess what had appeared in the middle of their sitting room, its golden apples and silver leaves killing anyone who came near.
The reason the legend is so scary is because it preys on humanity's greatest fear: the fear of the unknown. It leaves so much unexplained.
Whether the legend is true or not, I'm getting the hell away from that tree. It's giving me the creeps.
I pat my pocket to ensure I still have my fold-up tent. And before I can take a step in the other direction I feel a cold hand wrap around my ankle.
Alliances:
Careers: Declan, Nero, Jaehaera
Ooh, more allies: Pixel, Mavvi
Jack and Jill: Cerise, Erik
Loners (For Now): Dory, Adelaide, Lincoln, Luc, Orford
Dory's Pov was my first attempt at writing horror in my life. Was it at least a little scary? Just a little? No? Here's a little factoid. When I started the chapter it was going to be called "A Thousand Words" and the golden apple tree was just going to try and strangle Dory. But then I got this random idea and here we are! Thank you all for reading, and please consider leaving a review, I read them all :D
Question: If you were reaped for the Hunger Games, how would you act for your interview? (funny, mysterious, sexy?)