Day IV: Fall into the Abyss

Terra McIntosh, 18.

District Seven Female.

Sometimes in life, there are just things that can't be explained.

One of these things is that Eliora, even after all they've been through, is still following her as she walks through the desolate arena. She has no idea why. The two of them hate each other more than anything else in the world. Their last interaction ended in a fight full of hair-pulling and angry punching, both of them receiving their fair share of bruises and cuts. After scrambling around for upwards of an hour, they finally decided to agree to a truce and end it. But Terra didn't think the truce included Eliora following her for days on end.

Looking back over her shoulder, Terra winces as she sees that the redheaded girl is still trailing behind her, sluggishly keeping pace.

"Will you stop it?" Terra yells over her shoulder, not really caring at this point whether or not anyone else hears. In all honesty, she's kind of lost her will to go on. She knows the end is nearing for her—the numbers are whittling down, and she's no optimistic about her chances against the careers, Pilate, or even a stronger outlier like the boy from Ten. Plus, losing Lennox has left her kind of down. He was like a son to her for the short time she knew him, and because she left him with the irresponsible Eliora, he died. If she had been there things could have been different. Eliora wouldn't have fallen asleep and—

She stops herself. This is the new Terra, remember? No more regrets. No more blame. No more looking in the past. She's looking forward and only forward, toward the future. And if Daffodil keeps her promise, she's going to have a hell of a future to look forward too. But honestly, she's feeling a little bit down about that too. Back during training, her mentor promised that she'd send her a sign by the third day in the arena if the plan was still happening. But no sign has come, leading her to believe that either Daffodil got cold feet, or even worse, she was caught. And that means that Terra's probably going to die here. Alone. Or with Eliora, but that makes her feel even worse.

Suddenly, she comes up upon a giant crack in the ground. She's so deep in thought she almost doesn't notice it. She quickly stops herself with a squeak of surprise. Her eyes widen as she looks down, then outward at the black expanse. It seems to stretch on forever downward, toward the center of the earth.

Looking out, she notices that the cracked, brittle, dry ground seems to end suddenly too. A black abyss is all that stands before her, stretching on until it reaches the horizon. What she's standing at is the edge of the arena, but at this point, it feels like she might as well be standing at the end of the earth. Suddenly, she feels a pang of loneliness crash over her like a wave hitting the sand on a beach, and she steps backward, away from the edge.

The feeling is quickly gone though as she hears Eliora's annoying, high pitched voice squeak behind her.

"Congrats on finding a dead end, genius."

Whipping around, Terra squints her eyes at the redheaded girl. "Really? You follow me all this way just to make fun of me?"

"Yeah," the girl replies simply, giving Terra a sly smile. "It was worth it."

She rolls her eyes, growling. "Ugh. You're so infuriating."

"I try."

"Since when did you get so sassy?" Terra retorts.

Eliora purses her lips. "Since you killed Lennox."

"I did not—"

Terra decides not to finish her sentence. Instead, she just lets her mouth hang open, her tongue hanging motionlessly between her chapped lips.

"That's what I thought," Eliora mutters smugly in response.

She doesn't bother to answer her former ally's jeer. Maybe she's just exhausted. Or maybe she's just done stooping to that low level. Either way, she finds herself taking a seat on the ground. She then stares silently out into the abyss, ignoring Eliora and in turn, letting her thoughts drift into nothingness.

Eliora surprises her by taking a seat on the ground too, right next to her. Terra honestly thought that the girl from Nine would have taken this moment to push her right off the edge. After all that they've been through, that would have been the logical thing to do. But she doesn't. Instead, she leans herself back on her hands and stares out into the sea of blackness too, and for a moment, Terra decides that Eliora might not be as bad as she thought.

"It's kind of pretty if you squint your eyes," Eliora remarks.

Terra makes her eyes into small slits, causing the blackness of the abyss and the green on the sky to blur together into what looks somewhat like an abstract painting.

"Yeah," she agrees, "it kind of is."

"I wonder what's down there," Eliora murmurs, tilting her head in such a way so her chin now rests upon her neck.

"Nothing good, probably."

"Probably."

They're silent again for a while.

"You know," Eliora mutters quietly after some time, "I think we got off on the wrong foot."

Terra blinks her eyes, confused. Did Eliora just... apologize to her?

"Yeah," Terra mutters. "I think we did."

And did she just... accept the apology?

Like she said, some things in life can't be explained.

"I mean, I don't really ever get off on a good foot with anyone," Eliora continues.

"Really?" Terra questions sarcastically. "I couldn't have guessed."

Eliora laughs. It's kind of awkward and forced, but it's still a laugh nonetheless, so Terra takes it as a peace offering of sorts. "I'm kind of a shitty person," Eliora continues. "I don't have a lot of friends back home."

"Me neither," Terra blurts, surprising herself. She thought Eliora would be the last person she'd be opening up to right now. But here they are, sitting at what feels like the edge of the universe, having an intimate chat like they've been friends for years. And Terra actually doesn't hate it.

"I'm a bit, well, abrasive," Eliora continues, "I'm not the friendliest person. And when I finally meet someone who doesn't hate me immediately, well—let's just say things usually go south quickly. Like they did with well, you know who. I won't say his name. I cling too hard, too fast."

"At least you didn't kill your son," Terra mutters, not realizing what's coming out of her mouth until it's too late. She quickly moves to cover her lips, but the words are already out and they sting as much as she remembered they do.

"You killed your son?" Eliora questions, her eyes widening into doe-like circles.

"I thought we were having a no judgment talk," Terra quips, narrowing her eyes at the redheaded girl.

Eliora nods her head slowly. "Yeah, we were. It's just, well—that's kind of a big bomb to drop."

"It was an accident if that makes it any better."

"Only a little bit."

"I was mad, angry, and irritated. My boyfriend just left me and I didn't know where to channel my anger to. The next thing I knew he was crying, and I was so annoyed and I needed silence so I just-"

"You just what?" Eliora asks, leaning in curiously.

"I threw him out the window. I didn't mean to. It just happened. I—"

"Wait, let me get this right. You threw a baby out a window?"

Terra gulps, smiling ashamedly. "Yes."

Eliora bursts out laughing, and Terra doesn't quite know why, but she finds herself nervously laughing along as well.

"Well, that makes me feel better about my shitty life," Eliora mutters. "I may be crazy and everyone I know may hate me, but I didn't throw my son out the window! Phew!"

She laughs again.

Terra blushes, embarrassed, but soon begins chuckling with Eliora too. She can't believe she just told her biggest, darkest secret to her sworn enemy, and now they're laughing about it like old friends. Eliora is the last person on earth who she ever would have thought she'd be here with. Eliora is the last person who she thought would have understood. But here they are, standing at what feels like the edge of the world, reconciling.

She gave herself a second chance after what she did to her son. Maybe Eliora deserves one too.

Valentine Holloway, 16.

District One Female.

The three of them stand at the edge of the cornucopia, watching as the pile of supplies inside burn to blackened dust.

Hana smiles as she watches the blaze. It was her idea, after all, to burn the supplies inside. In past games, after the careers have left to go hunting, tributes usually come and steel supplies that they otherwise wouldn't have had access to. By burning everything that they can't carry with them, the careers are making their job easier. They have what they need. No one else needs to have what they need too.

"Alright," Valentine murmurs after the blaze has begun to die down. She's getting a bit impatient, having waited for three more days then she expected to before setting out to kill Pilate. "Should we go?"

Clay looks a bit hesitant, but Hana nods her head quickly, and that's all the encouragement Valentine needs to get going. She heaves the bag onto her back and spins around, heading in the direction where they last saw the former career run off in. They have no idea where he is, so they're just going to walk until they find some clues. Hana jogs to catch up with her fast pace, while Clay lags slowly behind.

"I'm so excited," her ally squeals. "Finally we're going to get some real action!"

Valentine nods. "And some real revenge."

"That too," Hana chatters in a bubbly, peppy tone. "I can't wait to dig my sword through his soft, sticky flesh. Don't you love that moment when your weapon first enters your opponent's body and draws blood? Oh, that's just my favorite! I can picture it now. The warm, moist, sticky—"

Valentine nods her head at her ally, but in all honesty, has stopped listening. While she loves getting her revenge as much as the next person, Hana's a bit—well, too gory for her tastes. It's a little sickening that thinking about hurting someone makes her this eager and enthusiastic, but hey, whatever floats her boat.

They walk for a while like this, Hana chirping on and on about how amazing it feels to kill someone while Valentine listens and Clay still drags behind. Every so often, she looks back to make sure he's there. After what happened last night, she doesn't trust him one bit and half-expects him to pull out a sword and stab her right in the back. But he doesn't, so for now, Valentine will give him the benefit of the doubt.

"Hey, guys!" Clay shouts up to them after some time. "I think I found something!"

She and Hana both whip around quickly, their eyes widening when they see footprints in the blackened dirt. They're large, about the size of what Valentine imagines Pilate's feet to be, and lead off toward a crumbling town in the distance.

Hana grins. "Nice job Clay!"

Valentine nods in approval. "Yeah, good—"

Suddenly, a giant gust of wind sweeps toward them, blowing Valentine's dark hair back. She stops talking, her senses all of a sudden heightened. Somethings going to happen. Turning toward the gust, she squints her eyes and blinks in the direction of the wind, suddenly seeing a giant, dark cloud fast approaching. It sweeps over the land toward them, enveloping everything in its black, murky fog.

Hana squeaks, her pretty brown eyes widening.

"What is th—" Valentine goes to ask, but she's cut off by Clay's loud yell.

"Just run!" Clay screams, and when Valentine turns around she realizes her ally is already almost a hundred feet in front of them. She sprints after him, not daring to look over her shoulder at whatever that thing is.

However, after about a minute or so she finds herself slowly falling behind. Her legs burn, and her head is throbbing harder than it ever has before. She knows she's not in a good enough shape to be doing this, but right now, it doesn't matter. The only thing propelling her forward is sheer adrenaline, her heart racing as fast as a galloping horse.

"Valentine, come on! Push it!" Hana yells as she sprints past her, but Valentine can't go any faster and finds herself falling further and further behind.

A minute later the black cloud sweeps over her, enveloping her in darkness. She takes one last look at Hana and Clay before they disappear forever, two small figures racing against time. It'll only be a short while before they're swallowed up too.

The wind whips around her, choking her as it swirls round and round. She finds herself coughing deeply, gasping for air, but her lungs don't absorb anything but the black gas. It feels like she's drowning in an ocean of darkness, falling deeper and deeper into the abyss. Her lungs keep filling up with whatever poison is in the air and her insides begin to burn.

Collapsing onto the ground, she continues to cough. By now, she's beginning to grow sleepy from the absence of oxygen. She can't see anything anyway, so the moment where she loses consciousness is unclear and fuzzy, a guess at best. But it happens, and the rest doesn't really matter, does it?

Marguerite Thorne, 12.

District Ten Female.

It's day three of being trapped up in the tree, and if they think she's coming down any time soon, they're sorely mistaken.

Pilate is bored, she can tell. He makes marks on the tree with his sword every so often, and when she yells down and asks him what they are, he replies that he's drawing what her body is going to look like once he's sliced her to pieces. It doesn't scare her though. Marguerite can tell he's insecure by the way he orders his ally around and talks down to her. He's trying to make himself seem like he's more powerful and in control of her even if he's not. And he's trying to intimate Marguerite too and make it seem like there's no way out rather than death. She knows better than that though. The games are unpredictable, and there will be plenty of chances for her to escape. They just haven't come yet.

"Pilate," Freyja whines, which Marguerite notices she does often. "Can we please go? It's evident she's not going anywhere."

Pilate hisses at his ally. "That's what she wants you to think, dummy. She's been up there for three days without any food or water. She's going to break soon."

Freyja growls in annoyance and rolls her eyes. "Don't call me a dummy."

"I'll call you whatever I want to call you."

"Whatever," Freyja mutters. "But I really think you're the dummy in this situation. We missed out on so many other people that we could have killed by waiting here for her to come down. Plus, she's twelve. I mean, she doesn't have any chance anyway. Why do you want to kill her so badly? Some mutt will probably kill her anyway."

"She spat on me during training. It's payback."

"Now you're sounding like Valentine," Freyja chuckles, then proceeds to wail and imitate the girl from One. "Revenge! Oh, sweet, sweet revenge! Everything needs to be equal! Equality for all!"

"I do not sound like that weak, little, ignorant, naive girl," Pilate spits. "We are nothing alike."

Marguerite chuckles from her perch up in the tree. For once, Pilate's right. They're not alike at all.

Pilate lurches his gaze upward, glaring at Marguerite. "Would you stop laughing?" Pilate hisses.

"I can't help myself," Marguerite giggles, "you two are so humorous. You're like imbecile children bickering over a toy."

"I do have to admit," Freyja mutters, "she does have a good vocabulary. Better than yours, Pilate. All you do is drop f-bombs and swear."

He growls at her, then they're back at it, fighting like silly little children. They're too busy to notice the black cloud emerging from the west, sweeping over the land like a blanket of darkness. She instantly recognizes what it is: gas. When she was young, her mother described it to her. It was what the Capitol used on the rebels, including her mother, during the rebellion to subdue them. It's a poisonous substance that if inhaled, causes one to pass out. It also stings. A lot. The name of the chemical is escaping her now, but she knows it's not deadly. The Capitol wouldn't kill them that fast. They want a show after all. She guesses the gas is just to spice up the games a little, add some drama into the mix.

Freyja's the first of the pair to notice the approaching storm. When she spots it, her eyes widen suddenly and she lets out a short squeak of surprise.

"Pilate," she mutters quietly, almost too soft to hear.

"What?" he barks at her, obviously annoyed. "What is it?"

She just points at the cloud wordlessly.

Pilate swivels around, his eyes widening when he sees the cloud too. However, he quickly suppresses his reaction. Marguerite notices this. He's probably trying to make himself look like he's not scared, even if he is.

"We should run," Freyja squeaks. "Like, now."

Pilate shakes his head. "We're not leaving her."

"What?" Freyja gawks, turning toward him. "That thing looks like it's going swallow us whole, and you're concerned about her?"

Pilate nods. "Yes. Whatever that is, it's not deadly, I know it. It's probably just what they did on the first day with the sand. You know, when you killed your district partner and I had to come save your ass?"

She growls at him. Marguerite finds it funny that every time they talk, they always end up fighting. Even at a time like this when they should be taking action. They're simply wasting precious time.

"I thought we weren't going to mention him," she hisses at Pilate. "You promised."

"Promises mean nothing to me."

She grunts in frustration. "You're an idiot."

"Well you're listening to me, are you not? I don't see you running. If I'm an idiot, you're an even bigger one."

She growls at him again, but this time doesn't interject. The cloud grows closer.

Pilate looks up at her, grinning widely.

"You better not think about trying to use this as an escape. I've trained with a blindfold. I don't need to be able to see to kill you."

And then a second later, the cloud swallows them whole, enveloping them in a blanket of black.

She holds her breath and starts down the tree, feeling out each branch with her feet as she steps downward. She can sense Pilate standing below her, sword ready to slash at her flesh when she's close enough. She needs to be careful about this.

Meanwhile, she can hear Freyja cough violently. Pilate's started to cough too, which is a good sign because it means while he knows the gas won't kill him, he doesn't know that he can't inhale it. She's got the edge here.

She waits 30 seconds, then leaps from the tree and onto the ground. She can feel Pilate's sword slash at her back, drawing blood. She doesn't let herself yelp or inhale the air, and sprints forward. Pilate's fast on her trail though, and she can sense where he is from his loud coughs. He slashes at her again and narrowly misses her shoulder, nicking the skin but not cutting through.

She's starting to get lightheaded, but she can't stop running. She knows she can't. She runs through the pain and discomfort. A minute later she hears Pilate's coughs stop and she knows he has probably passed out. Freyja's stopped a long time ago. Yet, she keeps running, toward the black abyss that lays ahead of her.

She can't stop.

She won't stop.

She's stronger than they all think she is, and she's going to show them.

She's going to show them all.

Mortimer Maximus, 16.

District Twelve Male.

North narrows her eyes as she watches the black birds all jump off a building at once, forming a giant black swarm in the air as they soar away.

"Something is wrong," she mutters, looking around warily.

"What do you mean?" he asks, tilting his head in confusion at her.

"Something is coming. Something bad."

Mortimer snorts. "North, this is the Hunger Games. Of course, something bad is coming."

She shakes her head. "No. I mean something really bad is going to come."

Then they see it, a giant black cloud on the horizon. It's dark and swirling and menacing, hurtling toward them faster than a steam train.

Oh. That is bad.

Neither one of them speaks, but they don't have to. There's a mutual understanding between them that doesn't need words: run. They both grab their stuff and break into a sprint, racing down the crumbling streets of the city. They weave in between large, looming buildings that all look like they're going to collapse any minute now, and whatever that ominous cloud was is going to be the thing that tips them over.

"We need to get out of here!" he yells to her. "The buildings are going to come down and bury us!"

She screams back. "Yeah, I can see that!"

They turn down an alley that leads out of the city. However, the street is very bumpy and North trips over a raised piece of concrete. She yelps as she falls, scraping her knees on the hard concrete.

"MORTY!" she screeches desperately, "MORTY, HELP!"

He instantly whips around, not even thinking twice. He thought his brain would have screamed for him to get out of there, to save himself, but instead is screaming for him to help his ally, to save her. His older brother instinct has kicked in, and he hates himself for it, but there's nothing he can do.

Rushing to her aid, he helps her to her feet.

"Are you alright?" he questions frantically, searching her over.

"I-I think I twisted my ankle."

"I'll carry you then," he suggests.

She shakes her head. "No, you can't. You're smaller than me, and I doubt you can support the weight of me on your back, let alone run with me."

"I'll try."

North shakes her head again, then turns toward the quickly approaching cloud. Sniffing the air, she scrunches her nose in disgust. She then looks upward, at the shaking buildings, then she whips back around to face him.

"Hold your breath," she instructs, looking him dead in the eyes. "And don't move."

He narrows his eyes at her in confusion. Shouldn't they be trying to get out of here? And why should he hold his breath?

He opens his mouth to ask her, but then the cloud sweeps over him, obstructing his vision. He can't see even an inch in front of him. Wind whips around him, sending his hair into a fit. However, he does as North said, holding his breath and not daring to move.

Meanwhile, North grips his hand tightly, squeezing it harder than he thought possible.

The buildings squeak around him, shifting with the wind. He expects any minute now for them to fall and bury them under a thick layer of rubble, but they don't. They stay right where they are, cemented into the ground.

He doesn't know how long they stand like that, paralyzed with fear, but it feels like an eternity. However, he knows it's only minutes, maybe even seconds, because he's able to hold his breath for the entire time.

Then suddenly, he's able to see again. The black fog is gone, disappearing in the opposite direction as fast as it came. North stands in front of him, gasping for air.

"How-how—did—you—know—that—would—work?" he asks in between his own gasps.

North shrugs. "I didn't."

"But-the—part—about—holding—your—breath?"

"I knew the smell. It's a gas that is poisonous. It makes your lungs burn and usually makes you pass out."

"How do you know that?" Mortimer questions.

"Don't ask," North mutters.

"And how did you know the buildings wouldn't collapse on us?"

North shrugs. "I just hoped they wouldn't."

Mortimer shakes his head in disbelief. "You are one of the luckiest people alive, North. I swear."

A/N: Another day, another disaster! Hope everyone liked this chapter, and for the people we didn't see, we'll catch up with them next time and see how they're doing and what happened to them.

Anyway, the poll on my profile is still up. Go vote, and this time, I'm telling you, it might make a difference. Unlike Crimson, I actually have no idea who is going to win this thing. I have a few people in mind, but at this point, it's really anyone's game. Except for a few people, whose deaths I've had planned for a while. I'd say there's 6-7 people still left who I'm seriously considering for victor, and I really didn't think that'd be the case this late! Kudos to you guys for making awesome tributes!

Alliances:

Careers: Clay, Val, Hana

Anti-Careers: Pilate, Freyja

Twins: Sol, Luna

Enemies turned, kind of friends? Huh?: Terra, Eliora

D11: Takei, Manisha

D12: Mortimer, North

Loners: Tyrell, Marguerite, Braxton

See you for night 4!

paper :)