Disclaimer: Hunger Games and the world of Panem do not belong to me, but their rightful owners, I just borrowed it and don't make any money from it.
Chapter 34: The arena – Three
Claudius Templesmith
Claudius watched with bated breath as the girl from District 11 came to a conclusion. He could barely refrain from whooping with joy and relief when he saw her draw the distinctive lines on her face that showed that she would be going on the warpath. When she had kept away from the Feast, fear had crept up on him. After all, he had been the one to suggest the Feast to be held comparatively early. Three injured tributes and another one lacking the essential water bottle made for a good cause. The growing paranoia of the fifth tribute had worked out wonderfully for their plans. The girl from District 11 however...
The President absolutely disliked Feasts in the games. He wanted the districts to suffer through the tributes. As such he accepted them only barely, but insisted that they only be held at a point were all tributes would come and a good fight was guaranteed, unless the missing tribute was already dying anyway. This year's Feast had had some good fights. The girl from District 2 had certainly known how to take out some competition. But the missing tribute... it could just as well have cost Gaius his head should the President decide so and maybe even his own should Gaius mention Claudius' involvement in the Feast. The whole day he had sat in the director's hub, fearing that any moment a messenger would burst through the door, delivering an 'invitation' from the most powerful man of Panem. Now though, with the girl from District 11 showing that she would join the action, they were safe again. After all, the Feast had triggered that action.
And also the latest figures from the sponsor hotlines showed that the audience was well satisfied with the entertainment of the games. This was not to be discounted, as of course the state received its share in form of certain taxes and the President likewise enjoyed the monetary power this gave him. Yes, there were only three tributes left, but they presented a nice mix of thoughtfulness, ruthlessness and resourcefulness to ensure that everyone in the Capitol found one to back with at least one call, even though the games were inevitably winding towards the end. If asked, Claudius would not have been able to predict the winner out of these three. As such, watching the live feeds kept interesting.
Griffin Doyle, D6, 18Y
Maarck was dead. It was hard to fathom that his friend was dead. They had made it so far together. They had figured out where to be for the Feast. They had boarded the ship, and there, in two small satchels, each bearing their district's number, had they found the cure to whatever was impairing them. But they had not been the only ones to figure out that the Feast would arrive on the lake rather than the shore. And of course the girl from District 2 had also boarded the ship. Yes, her breathing had been laboured, but altogether she had looked better than Griffin felt they did. Their only chance had been to head in different directions and make it impossible for her to target them both. So he had shouted for Maarck to get off the ship and then took the other direction. Even though the water made it difficult and Griffin was not a good swimmer to begin with he forced his head below the surface to stay out of sight. Knowing he could not stay under water for long, he made the split decision to stay as close as possible to the ship, figuring that the curved hull of the ship would give him additional cover from the girl from District 2. And if he paid close enough attention, he could even make out which side she would eventually get off the ship and ensure that he was on the other side, out of sight. Forcing himself even deeper under the water, he managed to duck underneath the ship and come up on the side the girl would not expect him, the side, Maarck had escaped to. Catching his breath as silently as he could, he waited.
The ship swayed slightly, but Griffin couldn't see the girl getting off board. He figured that yet another tribute had crossed the water to get his gift from the gamemakers. He strained his neck to catch a glimpse of the tribute, hoping deep down that it was Mary. He wanted to see her again, if only to be assured that she was really alive and well. But from his position he had no view of the deck. Then, two things happened almost simultaneously. A cannon sounded and a splash dangerously close to him could be heard. Were the cannon and the splash related? Had one of the tributes on deck been killed and dumped into the water? No, it was too dangerous to wait and see if just a floating body came up. Griffin dived again and managed to duck under the ship once more. It was the right decision as he heard a soft paddling noise, telling him that whoever had been thrown off the ship had not been killed but was now swimming away from him, towards the shore. Griffin allowed himself a small breath of relief, figuring that now he only had to wait for the departure of one more tribute, before he could attempt his own escape.
The ship swayed again, leaning to the side where Griffin was and for the third time he made his escape towards the other side. He felt himself getting tired by the accustomed exercise, as well as the lack of proper nourishment. His eyes were burning like mad despite the fact that he had always closed them when underwater and he could only hope that whatever medicine the gamemakers had packed for him also helped with that problem. His vision was slightly blurry and he had to resist the temptation to rub his eyes, knowing he would only worsen their state. Just then he saw a hovercraft descend from the sky and retrieve a limping wet body from the water. His heart clenched as he recognized the body as Maarck's.
Meanwhile the other tribute had gotten off the ship and was also paddling away from it. So only Griffin remained with the Feast. Should he try and enter the deck again to see if anything was left over? But no, most likely either of the other two tributes had already picked up the gifts meant for the two tributes, who had not shown up. And to be sure, just as he was contemplating his next move, Griffin felt the ship starting to move, the low hum and the soft vibration of a motor being restarted. Seconds later the ship began to move upwards, back into the sky from where it had come. Knowing that any cover he had gotten from the ship was about to vanish, Griffin hoped with all his might that all other tributes were already at a healthy distance from the lake so that he could make it to the shore alive.
Luck was on his side and he got out of the lake not too far from where Maarck and he had entered the water what by now seemed an eternity ago. Griffin was dead tired and a strange hollowness had settled in his stomach that was not connected to hunger, but he knew he could not rest. Not yet. First he had to retrieve their things which they had hidden in a cluster of reeds about half an hour from the lake and then put a good distance between himself and the lake and any other tribute. Scanning the landscape ahead of him as best he could, he was glad to see no signs of the others.
He had almost reached the hidden backpacks when another two cannons echoed through the arena. Another two tributes had died. His breath hitched as he anxiously looked around. In the distance he could see a single figure standing over a heap which could only be the two dead bodies. Griffin broke into a run. He didn't want the other to spot him and come after him. He knew should the other tribute pursue him now he would be as good as dead. He needed some rest, he needed time to take the precious medicine, he needed to regain a bit of strength before being forced into the next confrontation if he wanted to stand the least chance of surviving that encounter.
Reaching the spot in the reeds, he barely stopped to sling both backpacks on his shoulders before continuing to run as long as his lungs allowed him. Then, glancing back, he was relieved to see nobody behind him, as he was forced to slow down. Apparently he had made it. Eventually he stopped and opened the satchel. It contained a small, water-tight container which in return contained two pills. Searching through his pack to retrieve the water bottle, Griffin swallowed the two pills. Now all he had to do was wait for these to work the promised miracle.
By the time he was back at the shelter Maarck and he had built it was already mid-afternoon, but Griffin was almost sure he no longer had a fever. His infected eye still hurt a bit, though the burning sting caused by the salt water was gone. He certainly hoped he would be even better after a filling dinner and a good night's sleep.
Neither of them had felt like checking their fish traps more than once these past few days, simply lacking the energy, but on this day, despite all that had occurred, Griffin made himself take a look at the small river. He knew he needed the food any caught fish would provide and with so few tributes left he felt he could even risk the fire this late in the day. Indeed, about half the traps contained at least one fish, so Griffin selected one he felt would make a good dinner and set to preparing it.
The Capitol medicine was really fantastic, he mused, considering how it had not only rid him of the fever, but also of the lethargy.
Sleep however proved to be harder to come by than food. As the sun went down, Griffin extinguished the fire and lay down to rest. Yet as the minutes dragged on, his thoughts went back to all those nights shared with his allies. A lone tear trickled down his cheek as he realized that he missed Coralee almost as much as Maarck. Previously he had thought of the girl more in terms of an ally than a friend, someone he deep down knew he would outlive. And so he had thought he had kept a healthy mental distance from her. Now though he knew better. She, too, had been a friend. Perhaps not as close a friend as Maarck, but a friend nonetheless, whose quirks he liked and insights he respected. That her death had only been easier to bear because he had still had Maarck. Together they had helped each other to go on, to postpone any grief. Now that he was on his own though, Griffin was not so sure if he would manage to do that again. And yet, the rational part of him told him he had to do exactly that if he wanted to have the time to grieve his friends to his heart's desire as else he would join them in death all too soon.
Midnight came and told him that aside from Maarck, the boys from District 1 and District 5 had died that day. He wondered how much time the gamemakers would grant them to recuperate before forcing them into a final confrontation.
Abelia Shale, D2, 18Y
She was so close to getting home. Only two more tributes stood between her and the victor's crown. It was doable.
Abelia had been aware that the other boy, who had been in the lake, probably had been still close enough to hunt down after she had taken care of Marten, but her lungs were hurting like crazy. She had as of yet not taken the time to take the medicine and so she decided to let that one tribute escape. Besides, it would not do for her to take him down and expend the last of her strength on this, only to be ambushed by the remaining tribute, who had maybe laid in waiting, watching all of them carefully, ready to strike when the benefit was greatest. And which greater benefit than the victor's crown? No, it was better to wait, regain a bit of strength and then prepare for the final confrontation.
As such she had not taken any part of the armour from the boy from District 5; instead she had collected her hidden backpack and walked along one of the rivers that came from the west, feeling most familiar with that part of the arena, gamemaker traps included. Once she could no longer see the lake, she decided to set up a temporary camp. By now her breathing had an unhealthy, uneven rattle to it. Yet she wanted to set up camp first, as she didn't know if the medicine came with any side effects. It wouldn't do to take the medicine only to discover that it made her drowsy and had her eventually fall asleep before she had set up a shelter to protect her from the sun which was still rather high up in the sky. Of course, Abelia didn't really expect this particular side effect, as it would have given other tributes an advantage over her and the gamemakers had to take into consideration that she might have taken the medicine as soon as possible, but she had learned too much about survival to now discount any possibility. And first aid had after all included a lesson on medicines and side effects and how to watch for symptoms of such.
Her satchel contained a dark bottle of thick glass with an oddly shaped plastic screw cap. Opening the bottle and sniffing at the content, Abelia found a syrup-like substance in there. Her mind recalled the little girl from District 9 and how she had told Caesar Flickerman that she had been promised some syrup for the first day in the arena. Was this maybe the same substance? It would soothe her throat, but not completely heal it. Most likely any medicine handed out in the arena was only a temporary fix with proper treatment available exclusively to the victor back at the Capitol. After all, why waste resources on tributes that didn't make it in the end? Yet, judging by the bottle, Abelia figured that she had been given enough of the syrup to last her the remaining days of the games, since the cap appeared to be intended for measuring out a daily dose. And there could be no more than five days. Even five days was already stretching things as it would mean that the audience would face four days of boredom with chances for fights being really low. So no more than three days was more realistic. Three days and she would be heading home!
Strange enough the next day nothing happened. Deep down she had expected that the gamemakers to force them into action again, as days of inaction were boring to the audience. Still, she was grateful for the reprieve. After all, unlike the girl from District 9, her respiratory system was still able to heal, so time and rest was the best medicine. More than a day of rest however they were not granted.
Abelia woke with a start as a detonation of so far unheard dimension echoed through the early morning. It was not a tribute's cannon, nor did it resemble the explosion they had learned told of a wreck being blown up. And yet, as she looked around, Abelia could see dust clouds rising up in various directions. Could it be...? Her eyes widened. Could it be that the gamemakers had blown up every ship wreck? Including the Cornucopia? It would explain the noise and the dust clouds, especially as the latter were stationary and not the chasing dust devils she had encountered a few days ago, when she had strayed too close to the edge of the arena.
So it had begun... The explosion clearly signalled that the gamemakers had decided that these games were to come to an end. But where to head? Which location had they chosen for the final fight? The Cornucopia was out as most likely it had just recently been blown up, which left the lake as only logical place, however the shoreline was rather long... The gamemakers had to have something else in place to get them together on the shore. Abelia didn't like the taste this thought left in her mind. If that was the plan, then she had better get to the lake first and ensure that the other two tributes were chased towards her as opposed to her being chased towards them. So she had better start moving.
Abelia got up and started to pack up her things. Halfway through stowing stuff in her backpack, she stopped, looked down at her pile of things and started to laugh. Why was she packing? This was to be the final fight; she wouldn't need the things afterwards. No need to burden herself with anything other than her weapons and maybe her bottle of water in case the others had a longer way to the lake. Still, it was hard to leave all her things behind unprotected and in an untidy heap. It went against her training as well as her experiences in the arena.
What if her conclusions were wrong and she needed to come back, only to find that in the meantime the gamemakers had made the small rivers swell and the flood carried her things away or at least spoiled them?
As these thoughts warred in her mind, Abelia became more and more aware that time was ticking. Eventually she just grabbed her knives as well as her bottle and started towards the lake.
She could already see the glittering of the large water body, when suddenly there were ominous sharp cries in the air. First one, then a second answering, and within mere seconds, the air seemed to be filled with these cries. Abelia had never heard such sounds, but they sounded fear instilling nevertheless. Risking a glance back over her shoulder, she could see the sky filled with white-feathered birds. At first she wanted to dismiss them as mere birds, but the avian cloud seemed to be following her, driving her on as the cries got louder. Abelia risked another glance and this time got the distinct impression of a white menace closing in on her. Eyes widening as she realized that these were not mere birds – sea gulls, she now recalled from some school lesson on endemic birds of Panem – but genetically altered versions. And as these were the gamemakers' edition of genetically altered birds, Abelia didn't dare linger on all the potential dangers these birds could mean to her for fear of her mind taking up too much energy and slowing down her body. Because by now she was running at full speed towards the lake. More and more birds joined the flock hunting her, but to her dismay, even more circled above the water.
No, wait, not above the water, but around someone else standing close to the water. So she had not been the only one urged on by these muttations. This meant she still had a chance, Abelia realized. With the appearance of the birds she had feared that she had puzzled too long over the question of whether or not to at least pack her things and as a consequence was the lone tribute to suffer the wrath of the gamemakers. But no, she was still the good little tribute, playing the game by its makers' book. She still had a chance. She urged her legs on to carry her faster towards the lake, but also towards the figure already surrounded by the birds. Just then, the first of her hunting flock darted down and its sharp beak snapped at her neck like it normally would at a fish. Abelia yelped as the pain from the bite shot through her body, but didn't stop. She knew that more birds would follow.
Ahead of her she could now see the boy from District 6 waving around a long stick, batting with it at the birds. The air was filled with angry cries, telling everyone that he was actually successful at hitting some of them.
Abelia felt her clothes on her back shred, as the birds kept attacking her. She raised her arms to protect her eyes as she raced on, even though it limited her view. Step by step she got closer to the other tribute. All she had to do was raise her weapon at the right moment and kill him, then it was only the girl from District 11 and the dreaded birds would disappear.
Unseen by her, the boy from District 6 had noticed her approaching and had, in return, decided to start moving again. As such she didn't see him so close to the spot she reached next, till it was too late. Whether he was aiming at her or the birds, Abelia never knew. The iron rod hit her temple, just as she was spotting the girl from District 11 come up from behind the boy, and she was immediately knocked unconscious, dropping to the ground. The birds though still kept on attacking her, mauling her already battered body. She never felt her own knife being taken from her, much less enter her body, ending her suffering.
Madeline Parker, D11, 18Y
Appearing to hunt down tributes without really killing anyone was rather easy when one did not encounter any tribute.
Sometime the next morning after decorating her face with the war paint, Maddy had reached the lake, having waited till the next dawn to set out. Slowly she wandered around the lake, looking for a trace of either tribute. Once or twice she thought she might have found one, but walking away from the lake saw her lose the trace latest after a few hundred meters. Most likely there were still tons of traces, but she wasn't a trained hunter, so didn't know how to detect the subtle signs left on this ground. She needed more obvious traces.
It was half way around the lake that she found such a trace. She was once more on the hilly side of the lake and there was still a visible line of trampled and broken reed grass. Following that trail, she soon came upon a spot which sported a large stain of blood on the ground. She had found one of the sites where a death had occurred the previous day. But in which direction had the triumphant tribute disappeared? To her the hills were the most obvious choice. They provided natural protection, and indeed as she walked further on, she found more and more traces, showing her that at least at some recent point a tribute had walked around here in a kind of frequent manner. So maybe she didn't even have to wait till the ultimate fight... Whichever tribute she encountered here she was bound to fight, and a fight meant a chance to show that she had tried – and unfortunately lost. By now Maddy felt pretty fatalistic about her situation. Yes, she had known from the very beginning that she would die in the arena, but somehow it had not felt real till the actual launch. And then she hadn't been able to die immediately. But the longer she survived in the arena, the harder it got to fight against the instinct that told her that she had the abilities to make it through yet another day. And another. And another. Till she actually was the lone survivor. The very thing she had to prevent.
But fighting against herself had proven quite difficult as she had learned, resulting ultimately in a panic attack. That attack more than anything had helped her to find the resolve she had lacked previously to seek out death. Not only did she want to prevent ever experiencing that feeling again, it had also shown her the priority of her goals. The way her subconscious had impressed upon her the need to die had told her that she had the strength to overcome the survival-instinct. She could do it. And maybe she would even get the chance to prove this to herself today.
Much to her dismay however, when she eventually found the surprisingly well-disguised hide-out, it was empty. Just to make sure that the tribute wasn't just down by the watercourse or gathering plants or lying in wait for her, Maddy carefully searched the surroundings, yet still came up empty-handed. A feeling of frustration threatened to overcome her, but she quickly quelled it. There had been no death that day, so she hadn't missed an opportunity, so that was actually okay with her. She had also shown the audience that she was trying her best to track down the other tributes. After all, she had found that hide-out. And since it was getting late in the day, she decided to stay in that shelter.
The next morning she woke to the sound of a very loud explosion, louder than any before. Stumbling out of the hide-out and scaling the nearest hill, Maddy looked around. Dust rose up in several directions. Whatever it was, it didn't sound good. And what if it wasn't the only explosion to expect? What if it was more of a warning? What if the gamemakers were going to collapse those very hills? Maddy wasn't about to put anything past the gamemakers at this stage of the games. After all, they had already presented the tributes gifts by means of the Feast, so now they would sooner or later spring some traps to corral the remaining three together.
With these thoughts, Maddy gathered together her things and made her way once more back to the lake. It was after all the most prominent feature of the arena. And by skirting the hills, despite it being a slightly longer route, she was sure she could put enough distance between herself and the hills should the gamemakers opt for the collapse. Because in the end, she wanted to die in a fight and not in a stupid landscape trap.
Then the birds appeared. Never before in the arena had Maddy so longed for a light spear, even though she knew it were simply too many birds to chase them away with a single spear she'd have to retrieve over and over again. More so, because these were obviously genetically altered birds, released by the gamemakers with the sole purpose of hunting her instead of the other way round.
She broke out into a run, yet she could feel those birds closing in on her. However, she had one thing working in her favour: She had a good knowledge on general bird behaviour, so knew how to keep them at bay even without a suitable weapon. And she doubted the Capitol laboratories could alter the genetically make-up of animals so much as to have them ignore all instincts. Snatching her extra jacket from her pack she proceeded to wave it above her head, slapping it in the general direction of her avian attackers. And not a moment too soon as the angry cries from the birds let her know.
The lake glittered ahead of her and aside from the pile of rubble that once was the Cornucopia, she could see another two bird clouds chasing tributes towards the water. Her heart beat louder in her chest as Maddy realized that this was it. This would be the final confrontation – and she had not missed it.
Increasing her speed, she veered to the East as this seemed the shortest way around the lake to the point where she could see just now Griffin arrive. He was swinging a rod of some kind frantically to keep the birds away. Despite the situation, a small smile crept over Maddy's face as she realized how similar they were in that they both had found away to stave off the worst of the attack. The girl from District 2, it seemed, had not as much luck.
Still running, Maddy saw with shock, dismay, and growing determination Griffin's rod strike the other girl. Whether it was by accident or on purpose, she couldn't tell and frankly, she didn't care. These were the Hunger Games after all and the girl would not have hesitated to kill Griffin, had the positions been reversed. Using the girl's own weapon, Maddy was pleased to see that Griffin was ending her life quickly. It told her that the arena had not gotten the better of him, that he was still the same person, more or less, whom she had fallen for all those days ago in training.
Giving her determination the upper hand, Maddy let go off her jacket and pulled out the knife she had found in that lone backpack in the Cornucopia after Cassiopeia had been hit at the head. Rushing forward, she shouted to catch Griffin's attention. And just as she had planned, he turned around. His eyes widened and she detected a sliver of fear in his look as he spotted the knife.
Throwing herself at him, she turned the knife at the last moment so that the sharp tip now faced her, though this fact was concealed from the cameras' view. Looking up into his eyes with as much longing as she could, she leaned forward, twisting the knife home. "Someday," she whispered, "you'll understand."
Maddy could see the shock in his eyes as he realized what she had done, but she was glad. Glad that her final fight, though one could hardly call it that, had been with Griffin. That he was the last thing on Earth she would see.
"Mary!" he called hoarsely, though Maddy was relieved to hear that his shock had stolen volume from his voice. As such it could be as much interpreted as regret as actual shock and her deed a secret still.
She felt that he laid her down slowly, kneeling beside her. "Mary!" he whispered over and over again. "Oh Mary!"
The last thing she felt was his lips on hers as she slipped into blessed unconsciousness, never to wake up again.
Griffin Doyle, D6, 18Y
"And the winner of the 67th Hunger Games is Griffin Doyle!" The cheerful voice of Claudius Templesmith felt at the same time right and wrong. Wrong in that he was cheerful when close to Griffin were two dead bodies, the last of twenty-three to die in that arena. And right, because he was going home and that certainly was something to be cheerful about. Griffin felt utterly torn between grief, elation and exhaustion as the hover craft appeared above him and the ladder was dropped. Clutching one rung, Griffin allowed himself to be pulled up, glad that the ladder paralyzed him as else the exhaustion would have won at that moment. And dropping down from halfway up to the hover craft would have been unpleasant at least.
Inside the hover craft, he was instantly offered a ridiculously sweet thick fruit juice. Griffin had to consciously remind him that the games were over to keep himself from jerking back or attacking the person offering the drink. It was after all just juice. The games were over. No more danger.
He slowly sipped the beverage, knowing it was meant to give him back some energy immediately. The exhaustion though remained. A doctor appeared. Seeing Griffin awake he asked: "How are you?"
Griffin stared at the man blankly. Didn't he already know what he had been through? What injuries he had or not? He was instantly annoyed with the man. "What do you think?" he blurted out.
The man simply chuckled. "Vocal chords intact, that's good."
"Sense of humour – not so much!" Griffin added pointedly, hoping to shut the man up. Really, the last thing he wanted right now was someone making light-hearted small-talk or ask useless questions.
"I beg to differ, but I get the hint," the doctor answered. "According to my files you have no severe injuries that require immediate attention, much less sedation," he stated. "Unless we missed something during the last few seconds of the games."
Griffin shook his head. Other than being exhausted, malnourished and the problem with his eye, which still hurt a bit, he was rather fine. And despite all things, it was good to hear that whatever the problem with his eye was, it was not too severe. His eyelids drooped and he drifted off into a deep sleep.
He woke with a start and immediately groped around for his staff, eyes wildly darting from one side of the room to the other as if expecting either another tribute or a flock of mad seagulls to attack him.
"Easy there, Griffin," a voice said to his left. Griffin knew the voice, though he had troubles placing it. He did however recognize that he was no longer in the hover craft but some medical facility. Yet he did not know if it was a good thing he knew the voice. Griffin shook his head lightly. No, that was wrong. It was a good thing he knew the voice. He had never gotten to really know the voices of those who had been his enemies in the arena. His arms stilled and his heartbeat calmed. He focussed his gaze upon the speaker and found it to be Pancratius Serva, the escort.
"That's better," the man said with a smile. "I'm glad you made it back to us. Really glad."
His words echoed in Griffin's mind and he couldn't help but remember how many people would say those very same words or something similar to him in the upcoming days, and how many people would be denied those words. The mentors and escorts of all those that had died... their families, their friends... who all had hoped to be in Pancratius' place right now. Mary... she had had a twin sister... Maarck... Tears slipped down his cheek and he lifted his hand to brush them away.
Startled he felt a thick bandage covering his one eye, the bad eye. Thoughts of grief fled as he gasped in a slightly panicked voice: "What... what happened... my eye?"
"Was damaged beyond repair," Pancratius said calmly.
"But I could still see with it!" Griffin exclaimed, horror engulfing him.
The escort nodded. "Yes, however the nerve was infected. The medicine you got from the feast stopped the infection from spreading, but any damage done to the nerve till then was irreversible. Same for any skin or other part of your body that was affected by the infection. Which in your case meant your eyeball, particularly something called the cornea. Had your nerve been in a better condition, they could have tried for an artificial cornea, but as it was, the total damage would have only given you a constant headache," Pancratius explained.
It was then that Griffin noticed for the first time that indeed the lingering headache that had accompanied him over the last few days of the games was gone. However, had he noticed it earlier he would most likely have attributed the lack of it to the medication.
"They will be fitting you with an artificial eye. You won't be able to see with it, but it will move along with your other eye as the muscles in the socket are still intact enough for that," Pancratius went on. "People will not even notice. That is unless you choose to go for an eye that is a completely different colour than you other one." He grimaced slightly. Obviously, despite being an escort and as such a fashion addict to a certain degree, he eschewed things that looked too bizarre.
Griffin merely nodded. He had never thought himself vain, but he found it hard to stomach that he had lost his eye. That Maarck would have lost his hand and maybe part of his arm had he survived. Because the medicine had only been a stop-gap. As the feeling of loss became overwhelming, Griffin readily let sleep claim him once again.
Days passed and he was able to stay awake for longer as he got stronger. He was able to stomach solid food and though he felt guilty at times when thinking about his friends, who would never again taste such dishes, he enjoyed every bite of it.
Pancratius visited him every day, Farouk and Mya not once. But Griffin was okay with this. He would not have known what to make of them, had they come to see him. As such, at least one thing in his life fitted the black-and-white-theme, allowing him to openly acknowledge that whichever tiny amount of respect he might have had for them for having lived through their games before was now shattered. He had after all lived through his own games now, yet for all the scars he had, visible and invisible, he could not imagine ever turning to drugs. It would deride the memory of those he had come to care for in the arena, those he had had to leave behind. He was the only one left to tell their story and drugs certainly weren't good listeners.
Everything else though, seemed rather grey. With his upbringing, Griffin was able to see both sides of the coin, the good and the bad, and he knew he was becoming rather philosophical about things when he asked himself if he did not enjoy the mere feeling of being alive more because he had encountered death in such a harsh way. That he cherished what he had more because of what he had lost. That he saw certain things clearer because of the artificial eye. That he paid more attention to his surroundings because the arena had taught him that, but it also made him detect more beautiful things than he might have otherwise noticed.
How he longed to get home and discuss all this with Moses. His father surely would be able to make him understand these new thoughts, where, left to himself, Griffin was often close to tying his brain in knots.
At least this new philosophy helped him through the recaps of the games during the victory ceremony. He was able to admire Abelia's skills for all that she was a deadly tribute and had killed Maarck. He was able to smile at the fun the two fourteen-year-old boys had had, even though he had killed one of them in the end. He was able to delight at the compassion apparent in tributes such as the boy from District 5 – Evan, and the girl from District 8 – Chalen, after the explosion had injured their allies, but also in Mary as she cared for Cassiopeia. Mary...
"Tell us about that last fight," Caesar interrupted his thoughts. "It seemed for a while that there was something special going on between you and that girl, yet in the end..."
The screen showed the scene where he had laid her down and kissed her goodbye as she was dying. Griffin closed his eyes for a moment. Mary... he might have never met her but for the games. "She was special, never doubt that," he said, turning his attention towards Caesar. "But in the end... some things are just not meant to be." Could he have killed her had she not turned the knife on herself, something that was not visible on the screen? Did anyone here know that he had not killed her? Apparently not, as none of Caesar's questions took that direction. And maybe this was one of the things meant to be that way. Whatever Mary's reasons had been... Someday you'll understand, she had said. Griffin wondered when that might be. Yet he already understood that his life was richer for having known her. And Maarck. And Coralee.
It was this particular sequence of thoughts that made him remain impassive as the President informed him later that evening at the party of what was expected of him, though there was part of him that longed to smash the champagne flute and use the jagged stem as dagger to the man's throat. How dare this man... how dare he corrupt an already unbearable system even further? Thankfully the President was in high demand and as such had no more than a few moments to spare on this matter before he moved to the next group of people.
"You are taking it better than I did," a voice suddenly said beside Griffin and when he turned, he noticed Finnick Odair standing there. "Cheer up though. It's only a couple of days a year. At least that's what I'm telling myself. And most of the Capitolites are not that bad. Exhausting? Yes. Annoying? Certainly so. But deep down, they are also just people." He flashed Griffin one of the charming grins that had won him sponsors two years ago and now made a lot of the women close by blush and smile in return.
Just people... The words echoed through Griffin's mind while he watched Finnick weave his way through the crowd. A woman stopped by his side. Griffin noticed the rose pinned to her dress and knew who she was.
Just people... "Good evening," he said in what he hoped was a neutral, yet polite tone.
"Good evening," she returned with a smile, but when she caught sight of his face, her smile faltered and she looked slightly irritated. "I thought they had fitted you with an artificial eye..."
Griffin felt close to smirking at the remark aiming at the eye patch he was wearing, but the awkwardness of the situation ultimately prevented it, though he was willing to share his reason for his choice of accessory. "Oh yes, they did. And they did a fantastic job about it. But it did not feel right to hide my scars from the arena in such a way. After all they show that I'm a survivor. And my stylist assured me that I have a rather handsome roguish appearance this way. I might even set a fashion trend, in which case I might expect a shipment with new eye patches from my stylist every month. You are not by chance working for the fashion industry, are you?" Griffin asked with an attempt at humour.
"No, I'm a gamemaker," was the reply.
This startled him. "Do gamemakers usually try for such a night?" he couldn't help but ask.
She laughed lightly and shook her head. "No. But I had always been curious. And as you won on my birthday my colleagues thought it a fitting present."
"Then... a happy belated birthday." Griffin actually managed to smile. She was nice, in her own way. And apparently, like him, a bit uncomfortable about the situation. After all, she was one of the very people who had made him live through the nightmares of the arena. Who was maybe even responsible for the loss of his eye. But she was also one, who had made it possible for him to meet some very special people, which, Griffin decided, he just had to let her know. "And thank you...?" he added therefore, looking at her, asking for her name.
"Cassandra."
"Thank you Cassandra."
Gertrude Spar, D2
"You'll be in so much trouble when they find out," Anya whispered anxiously as Gertrude slipped through the small window into the storage room that held the local Peacekeeper garrison's weapons.
"What for?" Donny next to her asked as he positioned himself to receive whichever items Gertrude found convenient to nick. "For missing the victor's ceremony broadcast or for stealing?"
"Both!" Anya hissed.
From the inside of the room, they heard a small chuckle. "Actually, I'll not even be suspected as thief. Because who in their right mind would think that a mentor's pet was a secret rebel?" Though only fifteen, Gertrude knew that her path would be different from that of her sister, even though Ophelia unknowingly had given her an edge in achieving her very own goals. She was not deluded by the relative peace and prosperity of her district, relative being the key word. Because how could there be peace when every year two young people were forced to fight for their lives und lost more often than they won? How could there be prosperity, when most of the goods generated in the district were claimed by the Capitol? Gertrude had been one year shy of Reaping Age, when she had realized that every other district must feel the same, if not even more so. And if so, surely there were those who were secretly working towards changing things. It had taken time, good observation skills and some cunning, but eventually she had found likeminded people, because of course she had been right. Even in District 2 there was a secret chapter of rebels. Rebels she was just now stealing weapons for.
"You? The next mentor's pet?" Donny said derisively. "Your best training subject is archery and even there you are only fifth in your year."
Gertrude shrugged unseen by her two friends. She knew her performance in training was anything but stellar. "Sure, my weapon skills could be better. But weapon skills are not everything." This was her secret weapon, handed to her by her mainstream, overachieving sister, when Ophelia had forced Abelia to reveal her strategy after the Reaping. 'Know what the mentor is looking for in a tribute.' Those had been Abelia's words, and while rather cryptic, Gertrude had had no problem to figure out their meaning during the ensuing Hunger Games. She had been certain that the tribute would actually display the very skills which had caused Lyme to pick her over Ophelia in the arena and she had been right. Others might have missed it, but Gertrude had noticed Abelia squirrel away her rations of trail mix for later while contenting herself with the edible plants gathered earlier. She had observed Marinus' gratefulness when Abelia had bandaged up his leg so that he could at least make his way back to the Cornucopia. And she had seen how other tributes had fared, who had neglected the most obvious of survival skills. Abelia would never have been caught without her water bottle like the boy from District 4 had. So survival skills were the key to attract the mentors' notice, or at least Lyme's. And then, all Gertrude had to do was to be a marginally less promising tribute candidate than someone else, so that she would not be chosen as volunteer. She would be walking a fine line with this, but then again she had kept her rebellious part from her family for a good four years now. She would also manage to do that, and take Abelia's strategy to the next level.
A/N: And there you have it (except for a short epilogue that will be up next week). I hope you don't dislike my choice of victor too much, but even if so and as always, thanks for reading.
Dead tributes:
Tourmaline Rosenberg, D1 – killed by Marten Cooper, D1
Jace Swallow, D7 – killed by Connor Tobin, D4
Tracey Chios, D10 – killed by Marinus Bolen, D2
Rodi Kozen, D8 – killed by Abelia Shale, D2
Joseph Franks, D12 – killed by Abelia Shale, D2
Linley Johnson, D12 – killed by Marten Cooper, D1
Fancy Yeo, D3 – killed by Abelia Shale, D2
Kersia McKenna, D9 – killed by Rufa Coley, D4
Cory Hershel, D11 – killed by Marten Cooper, D1
Marinus Bolen, D2 – killed by Tybor Rejewski, D3
Tybor Rejewski, D3 – killed by Griffin Doyle, D6
Haden Steinmetz, D9 – killed by Abelia Shale, D2
Alicia Quinn, D5 – killed by Marten Cooper, D1
Coralee Lume, D7 – killed by Madeline Parker, D11
Chalen Nimara, D8 – killed by Connor Tobin, D4
Connor Tobin, D4 – killed by Evan Harris, D5
Cassiopeia Jansen, D6 – killed by Marten Cooper, D1
Rufa Coley, D4 – killed by Abelia Shale, D2
Maarck Wijngaard, D10 – killed by Abelia Shale, D2
Marten Cooper, D1 – killed by Abelia Shale, D2
Evan Harris, D5 – killed by Marten Cooper, D1
Abelia Shale, D2 – killed by Griffin Doyle, D6
Madeline Parker, D11 – killed by herself though attributed to Griffin Doyle, D6