Maya Eberhart (16), District Six Female-POV
It's been five days since I've been on the outside, five days since I've been able to think of myself as not a killer. One of my traps evidently had killed someone; I'd made sure to check on each and every one of them. Still, the face of the victim remained shapeless, shifting and forming a dozen times into a dozen different horrifying possibilities. Ever since Cassius had died, around the time that my very first trap had been enacted, the horrible feeling of guilt had been plaguing at my mind, heart, and soul.
Had I murdered my District Partner? Could Cassius' blood be covering my hands? Quickly, I glance down at them, to make sure that it's not so, but only a faint covering of dirt is on them. Wiping it furiously off on my pants, the illusion of quiet footsteps greets my ears, but I don't pay attention to them at all. The Capitol, not to mention District Six, frowns upon killing your own District Partner. Each Tribute that has done it never left the arena alive, as there'd always been something that happened to take them out, obviously the work of the Capitol. They may like drama, but they also like to see some loyalty, since the Hunger Games would otherwise look like the blood fest that it clearly is. People would protest sending us into the arena each year, meaning the cancellation of the favorite pastime of the cruel Capitol officials.
Briefly, my mind drifts back to my family at home. Now and forever, Marco is safe from the Reaping, but that doesn't mean that Cat won't be Reaped next year. In fact, I ought to be extremely careful while here; if I upset the Capitol, they'll rig the odds to be against her. There's no way that my sister would have lasted in the arena, what with her being skittish and shy. Confidence is key to surviving here, needed to remember who you are, and required to remain the person that you were. Am I the same person? Pausing to think about this, the answer eludes my grasp, leaving myself feeling bewildered. Before, I wouldn't have even thought or considered killing someone; it's wrong, morally unsound, and not at all just. But now, I wouldn't think twice about not taking a life, caring more about my own survival than of theirs.
Is that really right? Should people really be thinking that way? No, people shouldn't be, but it happens each and every year. Nothing is going to stop it; the spark of Panem died out years ago. I sigh slightly, not even bothering to continue on walking down this tunnel, to check on another one of my traps. Only three of them had been operating in this arena, with now only two remaining; the hovercraft had snatched up the trap as well as the victim. This has motivated for me to remain nearby both of the two remaining ones, so the precious supplies wouldn't be lost forever, held so close but taken away so far. Rerunning that sentence through my head, it didn't sound as if it made sense, but it did to me. While it doesn't make me think that I've been changing, maybe that just means that I am. Probably each person in this arena is changing, the Careers becoming the Tributes and the Tributes becoming the Careers.
Fluttering down towards me, I would have smiled previously, but not anymore. Looking pure and innocent, crafted out of the finest silk, the white parachute truly is deception at its greatest. Whatever is inside of it, I doubt that it's anything that would benefit all of the Tributes as a whole; the motto of the Hunger Games truly is 'all for one and none for all.' Slowly reaching out my hand, it lands neatly into my grasp, my name written neatly on it, probably for whoever had to launch it out of the hovercraft.
It continues to amaze me how they're able to have the parachutes come down into here. Are they suspending the particles of dirt above temporarily? They must have been messing with some matter, as not a single smudge mars the pristine clothe. Well, besides the slight bit of dirt that had come off of my hands; they didn't exactly send in wet wipes to keep up looking nice whilst fighting to the death. And as no one died yesterday, leaving only thirteen of us left in the arena, they're probably going to be sending in some sort of mutation soon enough. Hopefully though, someone will have a huge fight somewhere else, keeping the Hunger Games from being boring, as well as keeping me alive and sane for a little longer. One of the things that always will run out in the Hunger Games is time; right now, I can't help but wish that someone could sponsor me some more of it.
Keep on going, Maya! We all believe in you! –Cassandra
The note from the Escort manages to pull out a small smile, though it's lopsided, as to not move the small bandage on my cheek, covering up the gash I'd received during the Bloodbath. Carefully folding the tiny piece of paper in two, and sticking it into my pocket, it feels as if it's a second token to me. With the little note of encouragement, alongside with my actual token, the locket with my family in it, strength to keep on going is renewed in me. I have to make it home; my family is counting on me to do so. Hopefully they're doing okay, not starving or anything akin to that; they need to stay alive long enough for me to come home. After I've gotten home, Cat won't have to take out any tesserae, as she'd have all the food that she would need provided for her in Victors Village.
"Thanks, guys," I whisper, just loud enough for the sponsors to hear me, but quiet enough so any Tributes nearby would remain oblivious to my presence
Finally opening up the package, an exquisite looking dagger is revealed. Way larger than my small knife, I can't help but grin slightly, knowing that this weapon would be all the better to use in the arena. Plus, now I could use the little knife in one of my traps; Cassandra really is just as good as a Mentor. Stuffing the white parachute in the neon pink bag, which I've begun to detest the longer that I'm in the arena, my odds feel like they've skyrocketed once again. With the death of two Careers, the chances of District Six winning the Hunger Games have raised tremendously, especially since my traps can now be deadlier than they had been before.
Reaching inside of the detested bag, the loaf of bread is the first thing my finger touches, sending a wave of hunger through me. So much do I just want to dig in and eat it, but I've been only allowing myself to consume three slices a day; no one knows how long this Hunger Games is going to last. It's harder than it sounds, but I manage to make myself not tear into the delicious loaf of bread I'd been sponsored, and from the taste of it, straight from the ovens of District Six. Eventually, my hand pulls out the rest of my twine; scarcely enough for this trap, but it should work well enough. After all, it's easier to build one with a knife swinging at them than a stalactite piece dropping on their head.
Knife and twine in hand, I sprint quickly down to the nearest door, the one without a trap set up onto it. Sure, it's going to leave me in this corridor, but if I need to get out for some reason, it'll be even faster to take them apart from my vantage point, unlike the unfortunate Tributes who spring them. My handiwork, as always, takes literally no time to assemble, the pressure of being in the arena actually helping me work faster. Helping me ensure that these traps won't aim to injure, but to kill; I grimace at the thought, thinking back to about how the arena changes us. About how a Victor truly never leaves the Hunger Games behind, as evidence from the stories of screaming coming from their beds in Victors Village, though all of them are vacant in District Six right now.
By the time that I've finished, my thoughts drift back to those soft footsteps. Someone's stepping extremely quietly, or they're very tiny and petite, probably not older than me in that case. Stepping back abruptly, knowing that they're coming my way, that unless they wise up and turn around, there's going to be only twelve Tributes left in the Hunger Games soon enough. There aren't many things to hide behind, with the exception of the rocks, so I just stand out in the middle of the area. Whoever it is, they won't have enough time to react; it may be better to let them see my face before they die. Would I want to know who killed me? Would I want to attach someone to blame? Thinking that through a good many times, I make my choice and step out of the line of sight, to eliminate any fear that they could possibly feel upon seeing me; all my traps were designed to be painless, if possible.
"Adia?" the soft voice of a girl calls out, leaving only five possibilities as to whom it could be, "Are you there?"
Part of me wants to blurt out, "Run away! I'm not Adia!" but I hold my tongue. No sound greets the girl's ears, and I don't dare to move a muscle. Guilt is already swirling through me, but it's entirely possible that I'm taking out a murderer, someone who had taken the life of young children. But then again, whoever took my own life could say the same exact thing. Morals have become infinitely confusing in the arena, making what is wrong seem right, and what is right even more difficult than it had ever been before.
Slowly, the brass handle begins to turn, and I silently countdown in my head. Time has run out for this girl, and I can already see the knife ready to move as the door is pushed open. It slams against the rocks, exposing the girl completely, and I sadly note that the Tribute is in the perfect place to fall. To make matters worse, the marks of angry hands are upon her, a faded look to them helping me tell how long she had had them. With fiery red hair, tangled and unkempt, the petite figure is easy to narrow down to one possibility.
Flying out towards her, Reina doesn't have the time to scream as the knife is embedded into her heart. In my mind, the death is replayed over and over again, each and every time looking more painful than the last. The District Five Tribute stumbles backwards, even though the life has already left her eyes; the cannon fires a second later. A corpse, a shell of the girl who had time moments ago, collapses to the ground. Crumpled like a ragdoll, I can't help but take pity onto the abused Tribute; angry hands are going to forever be marked upon her. Yanking the knife out of Reina's heart, blood flows out of the wound, covering her dead body.
"Sorry, Reina…," I mumble, picking her up awkwardly, "I just need to get home…For them…"
Blood begins to cover me, something that I can't help but be curious by. The girl is dead, life is out of her body, and her little screen in front of her Mentor would have gone black. Maybe this is my punishment, for adding another life that I had taken, for ruining another person's future. Guilt swirls through me again, but this time I can't quite bring myself to purge it, just letting it take hold of me. Dropping Reina in the middle of this little section, in between the two doors so that no other Tributes would see her there. Tears for the girl spill out of my eyes, blurring my vision as I go back to set up my trap again, doing it exactly the same as I had the time before.
"I'm sorry…," I whisper again, stepping back once more to examine the reconstructed killing machine.
Would someone else meet the same end as Reina today? Probably not, but then again, strange things can happen in the arena. With a jolt, I realize that Reina may have had supplies on her, supplies that I'll want to take before they lift her body out of the arena. Sprinting back over towards the corpse, trying to ignore the repulsiveness I felt towards my own actions, a backpack with supplies in it is my reward. I yanked it off of her body, thankful that it wasn't the same horrid pink color as my own; this one suited me a lot better.
Walking backwards once again, the odds of my survival increasing more and more, regret is the only thing I feel as I watch the Tribute return home to District Five; someone there will hopefully be mourning her. Someone out there must hate me, must hope that I'm dead, and it's a strangely comforting thought. That the things I've been doing haven't been going unnoticed, that not everyone is going to clap and cheer me on with each trap that I set. If anything, it's going to be the only punishment that I'll ever receive for killing two people, for ending two lives, for closing the book on two stories that had never gotten the chance to begin. After I won the Hunger Games, at least twenty five families are going to hate me as well; good, I want them to hate me.
I don't want to be celebrated for taking their lives. I don't want to be rewarded for it; I want someone to hate me. Because if someone hated me, then that means that someone cares; in the Capitol, it feels as if no one at all cares. And that may have been the worst thing in the Hunger Games, as no one cares when it strips the humanity of all those children away, as it takes away their voice and opinion in what happens to them. Right now, it's probably even taking mine away, and I hate the Capitol for what they're doing. Someone needs to end the Capitol now, someone needs to destroy each stone on their foundation, and throw away the keys to their precious hovercrafts. Grimacing, the cameras are probably zooming in on me right now, showing the world Maya Eberhart, the cold blooded killer of Reina Vane and one other.
Digging through the bag, Reina had a lot of sponsors, or had been a very good thief during her time in the arena. My entire collection now consisted of the following: One partially eaten loaf of bread, one dagger, two backpacks, two knives, one bottle of water, a couple apples, some meat, and two odd stick things. Through my actions, all of the rationing that I had been doing is now unneeded, which my grumbling stomach practically cheered at, but it still felt wrong. Even as I reached into the tiny red bag, pulling out a piece of meat and an apple, biting into each of them slowly, savoring the taste, I couldn't feel all too good about doing it. Be it a requirement for survival, but that didn't take away the fact that this food belonged to someone who had died. Someone who had their clock stop ticking because of my hands, and I felt horrible about it.
Reina Vane didn't have to die; I didn't have to kill. But I did it anyways…
A world of hope
A world of tears
Forever sentenced to your fears
People come
And people go
Yet the scars never do quite show
Deep down inside they hide
Helping the façade with each and every lie
Suspicion is lowered
Traces denied
Only you know what truly lies inside
Meek and scared
Brave and confident
Changes to you are always evident.
As you rose to the challenge
And faced the odds
The unsuspecting happened one day
Fate that others had been dealt
Befell you,
The frightened Reina Vane
Cashmere Combe: Skull shattered by a mace, throat stabbed and sliced with a rapier by Wednesday Vespers (D10)
Griffin Holloway:
Leah Dagger:
Jackson Leo Ross:
Malaya Finaca:
Jitz Low: Skull smashed and strangled by Griffin Holloway (D1)-BB
Fialla Howards: Electrocuted from a trap created by Reina Vane (D5)
Nicolas Riddle: Bleeding profusely from Fialla Howards (D4), suffered severe brain damage from a trap constructed by Maya Eberhart (D6)
Reina Vane: Knife flung into heart from a trap created by Maya Eberhart (D6)
Elezar Brewen:
Maya Eberhart:
Cassius Lisette: Shot with an arrow, then cut up into several pieces by Tetra Comn (D11)
Juniper Griffin: Stabbed with a dagger repeatedly by Willa Hellmans (D8)
Axel Treefall:
Willa Hellmans: Pummeled by Axel Treefall (D7), who left her to the Minotaur, which speared her heart with its horn (The Capitol)
Abe Mercer: Fell off his platform, his bad knee had given out (The Capitol)-BB
Cedar Tremaine: Throat slit with a silver dagger by Tetra Comn (D11)-BB
Ebon Furial: Skull cracked, dangled as he bleeds to death by Cashmere Combe (D1)-BB
Wednesday Vespers:
Ether Lessing: Tortured with stiletto knives by Leah Dagger (D2)-BB
Tetra Comn:
Persei Baxwoll:
Rocky Nightlock: Sword driven completely through upper body by Jackson Leo Ross (D2)
Josh Quick: Speared through the stomach by Reina Vane (D5)-BB
Adia Loya:
Jet Newton:
Reina Vane: You were one of the Tributes that grew on me over time, making it hard to write out your death with it finally did occur. Frightened of your uncle, unconfident, and not willing to stick up for yourself, we're probably polar opposites. Of course, that made you harder to write, but it made you all the more interesting to me. In your Tribute form, they requested romance for you, yet I found putting you in an alliance with Adia worked quite better. During the Hunger Games, you weren't able to find your ally, forcing you to make the choices and trust your instincts. Even if you ended up having blood on your hands, you developed into a strong character, something that I had been hoping for you to do. Don't be hard on yourself, Reina, be happy that you were able to overcome your struggle, and now are reunited with your family again. Adia and I will miss you, while your family will cherish your presence with them again; may you rest in peace.
First place: Copper Combe with five votes
Second place: Sapphire Riddle with four votes
Third Place: Alura Holloway with three votes
Fourth Place: Dragon Holloway, Matt Dagger, Trina Mercer, and Fabian Loya with two votes
Fifth Place: Sapphire Combe, Nimmo Finaca, Catalina "Cat" Eberhart, Lilac Griffin, Forest Treefall, Halo Lessing, Medea Lessing, and Miri Baxwoll with one vote
Sixth Place: Diamond Combe, Ruby Combe, Pearl Combe, Emerald Combe, Mariah Ross, Kallice Howards, Stuart Howards, Raff Brewen, Columbae Brewen, Majoris Brewen, Septimus Brewen, Skene Brewen, Scorpii Brewen, Muscida Brewen, Eta Brewen, Britzel Vane, Brylana Vane, Marco Eberhart, August Lisette, and Corvus Tremaine with no votes