I do not own the Hunger Games. The tributes belong to their respective submitters.
Arena Day 7 - Morning Part II
Let the sky fall
Trance Berrill, District One Male
A few stray raindrops fall through the trees as I pick my way across the damp forest floor. I wipe my hand across my face in a pathetic attempt to dispel the merciless fatigue that's haunted me for the last two days. I'm pretty sure this is the most tired I've ever been.
The relative silence is broken by a cannon shot. I jump at the suddenness of the sound, and a few seconds later, Flavia's face takes up half the sky.
A deep, resonating voice immediately follows with, "Attention, tributes. As you are probably aware, only five of you remain."
I give an inward sigh, pulling my sponsor-gifted jacket closer around my shoulders. They're probably about to announce the feast, but there's no way I'm intentionally going out of my way to meet up with the other tributes. I'd rather starve alone and in peace, thank you very much.
"In lieu of the customary feast," the voice continues, "we've planned something much more... exciting. It would be pertinent of you to approach the Cornucopia immediately, unless you wish to spend the next five thousand feet in freefall. In any case, may the odds be ever in your favor!"
For a moment I remain completely still, not entirely sure how to interpret the announcement. If I go to the Cornucopia, I might run into the others, and that's the last thing I want. But what do they mean by freefall?
I'm answered by a deep, ugly grinding sound that emanates from the platform itself. Jarring vibrations run up through my feet, throwing me off-balance, and I let out a cry as the miniature forest starts to decend. My stomach drops, and I fumble to activate the hoverboard before I entirely lose my balance, but the board doesn't respond properly. It rises through the air, but only at a fraction of the normal speed.
Anxiously, I will the board to cross the wide chasm between the outer platform and the Cornucopia, though the speed at which I'm falling far surpasses that of the Cornucopia. My fingertips just barely miss the stone edge.
Out of the sky I fall, picking up speed as the hoverboard loses more and more power. Above me I hear a scream, and crane my neck just in time to watch Charcoal and Zeno leap from one of the other platforms. After a few seconds, Charcoal pulls a string from her backpack, and a black sheet flies out into the gusting wind, immediately picking up their weight and dragging them back to a safe rate of descent.
I, on the other hand, hurtle towards the choppy ocean at an increasingly terrifying pace. The freezing air digs deep into my face, stealing what little heat I have left. Fear leaches into my blood, and my heart hiccups with every beat. At this rate, my landing will be more of a splat than anything.
About three hundred feet above the water, though, the hoverboard remembers what it's supposed to be doing. A gradually increasing upward force slows my descent as the motor powers back up, and I narrowly avoid plunging below the icy surface.
I fly in low across the choppy waves as droplets of ocean brine pelt me in the face, swept up by the harsh storm winds. The rain intensifies, falling in thick, gray sheets, reducing visibility and chilling me to the bone.
The Cornucopia continues to fall through the air, though it slows immensely right before it hits the water. It smacks against the surface with a tremendous splash, bobbing up and down for a moment, but it eventually stabilizes and becomes still. The massive swells that crash against the stone edges seem to have no effect on the circular platform.
Across the roaring sea, a faint, delicate series of notes drifts from an odd, flower-shaped horn that sits in the Cornucopia. I've never heard the tune before, but the sheer dissonance between the elegant song and the violent, soon-to-be-bloody ocean is enough to make me nauseous.
High up in the now-empty sky, I watch a tiny black parachute fall from the clouds, thrashed about by the storm. Charcoal and Zeno probably aren't having a very fun time.
I catch sight of Waverly, her distant form cutting across the surface of the ocean. Ocean spray rises from the waves and shrouds her in a cloud of mist, but she continues on toward the center of the arena undaunted.
Birch stands next to the Cornucopia tree, watching Zeno and Charcoal erratically descend from the sky. It would make sense to hope that the two of them end up dying on their way down, either by losing the parachute or getting struck by lightning or simply drowning once they hit the water. But I can't bring myself to hope for such a horrible thing. I want Birch and Waverly and Zeno and Charcoal to all live and go home to their families and friends.
More than that, though, I want to live. And I suppose that's all that matters.
Two of my opponents are weak, one is exhausted, and the other is predictable.
This is it
Fight or die.
Zeno Atticus, District Three Male
Our landing is too survivable to be a mere coincidence.
Even though Charcoal and I spend the majority of the fall with out hearts in out throat, the parachute straining against the gale-force winds and threatening to rip in two, we somehow manage to circle around the main platform, all the while avoiding the inky black ocean water. Regardless, we hit the ground going way too fast. My grip around her neck loosens, my fingers slip, and she goes sprawling alongside me. I intentionally land on my stomach, careful to keep from jostling the bomb.
I lay on the ground, unmoving, as my senses crawl back to me. Slowly I inhale, allowing the air to completely fill my lungs. A pain jabs my chest, right below my collarbone. I exhale, pause for a moment, then inhale again. This time, the pain is gone.
"Let's never do that again," I mumble. A huge swathe of skin on my chin has been scraped away, damaged by the landing, but other than that, my injuries seem to be minimal.
Beside me, Charcoal draws her feet underneath her and shakily stands, letting the parachute straps fall from her shoulders. I struggle to rise on trembling legs, the sky overhead wavering with the movement. A powerful orchestral arrangement wafts through the air, though over the sound of the pouring rain, I can't tell what direction it's coming from. The elegance is ridiculously out of place here on the killing field.
Across the sea, one of the dead platforms crashes lengthwise into the water with a great splash, the impact forcing dirt and decrepit trees alike to slough off the stone and into the water. All around us, the same image repeats over and over. Save the Cornucopia, the entire arena is falling apart.
"Isn't that a sight," Charcoal murmurs, her eyes fixed on the miniature forests as they sink below the surface. "I guess we're really at the end, aren't we?"
I nod, wincing as I place weight on my left ankle. "I guess so."
Over the rainfall, an unfamiliar voice says, "Did you have fun on your trip down?"
Birch Styler leans against the mouth of the Cornucopia, staring grimly at me and Charcoal as he taps his knife against the palm of his hand. Waverly and Trance both approach from opposite sides of the platform, their faces set with fear and dismal expectations. The rain keeps falling harder and harder. I jump as twin bouts of lightning and thunder fly across the sky.
I don't know what to do.
The three of them draw nearer, exchanging awkward glances. I get the distinct feeling that none of them actually want to kill.
"So," Waverly says, her teeth chattering from the cold, "this is the way it's gonna be, huh?"
Birch sends her a deadpan glare. "Don't kid yourself. This is the way it's always been."
Even though they don't want to kill, they'll still do it if it works in their favor. Two of them are Careers, and the other is a fully-grown male who knows how to handle a knife. There's no way Charcoal or I can take them in a head-on fight.
The bomb weighs heavily in my backpack as their gazes rest upon Charcoal and me. Of course. We're the two easiest targets.
Birch takes a tentative step forward, but before he can get any closer, I reach into my backpack and withdraw my only weapon. Though I doubt any of them have ever seen a bomb before, they presumably arrive at proper conclusions concerning the identity of the weapon. A few feet away, Charcoal's mouth hangs open, and I feel bad for lying to her.
But this is our only hope.
"A bomb?" Birch sends me a doubtful look as he steps even closer. "You really planning on using that?"
"If I have to," I answer, nearly consumed by fear.
But can I bring myself to kill? To murder?
Charcoal Paxton, District Twelve Female
The metal rod looks so out of place in Zeno's hand as his eyes dart between Trance, Waverly, and Birch. I can almost hear his heart beating in his chest. His terror is real.
I can't believe that this person in front of me is the same thirteen-year-old boy I chose to ally with. He hid the bomb from me, and now he's threatening to kill people. He could even end up killing me, if he wanted to.
From the old gramophone, a horribly beautiful violin instrumental pours forth, the poor-quality record warbling with age. In spite of the beauty, I don't recognize the arrangement. The Capitol probably kept it for themselves after the Rebellion.
"Zeno," I say, keeping my tone careful and delicate, "think about what you're doing."
"This needs to be done." His words are anything but convincing. He's unsteady on his feet, swaying as if faint. "It's my only chance." The three other tributes hold their ground, though this only prompts Zeno to raise the weapon higher. He shakes his head, lips trembling. "If either of us are to go home, they have to die."
Even though he's right... this is wrong. He's only thirteen, and thirteen-year-olds shouldn't have to find a justification for murder.
As the violins crescendo, Zeno tenses his grasp.
Birch makes eye contact with me, his gaze harboring an unspoken apology. I stand rooted to the ground, unmoving, as the boy from Ten levels his knife with Zeno's neck. I want to scream, have to scream, but my tongue is held in place by a nauseating combination of fear, shock, disgust, and maybe even the far-off hope that I'll set foot in District Twelve once this is all over.
Zeno doesn't have time to react as Birch lunges forward, slipping the blade between his jaw and throat. My ally lets out a strangled gasp as single convulsion runs through his body, blood spurting from the tear in his flesh, and the explosive begins to slide out of his compromised grasp. The breath catches in my throat.
I'm not close enough to reliably prevent the explosion, and Birch is already pedaling backwards, away from the dying boy.
The blast will kill me if I don't do something.
I whip around and dig my feet into the platform, desperately hoping to gain as much traction as needed to escape. Clasping my hands over my ears, I dive against the wet stone, trying to keep my exposed surface area as small as possible. Please, no shrapnel. Please, no shrapnel.
An unbelievably powerful shockwave runs through the ground, rattling my teeth and ribs, and a solid wall of heat slams against my back. I let out an involuntary scream, horrified by the knowledge that...
Zeno just went up in smoke.
Rolling onto my side with a pitiful gasp, I drag my hands across the slick stone and prop myself up. Almost against my will, I rest my gaze upon Zeno's broken, bloody, half-burnt body. Steam slowly rises from the impact crater, rainwater superheated by the fire of the explosion. It's accompanied by a horrible, sickly sweet scent that dredges up an instinctual nausea, and I involuntarily wretch to dislodge the taste from the back of my throat.
My mind can't process this. I know he's dead. But it's like reading empty words on a page - the facts are there, but the understanding is not.
On the other side of the steaming circle, Birch picks himself up off the ground, shaking his head with disbelief. He clutches the knife to his chest, seemingly an act of self-comfort.
The Careers creep out of the Cornucopia, where they apparently took shelter. Waverly's expression borders on confusion, obviously surprised by Birch's display of callousness. Trance simply stares wide-eyed at Zeno's charred form.
And I have no words.
When it crumbles
We will stand tall
Face it all together
The lyrics are from the song "Skyfall", by Adele. (aha ha a ah aa geddit?)
The classical song (more accurately, series of concertos) playing over and over on the gramophone is - maybe you guessed it - "Four Seasons", composed by Vivaldi.
Zeno Atticus, District Three Male
Zeno was incredibly smart and he had a mature narrative voice, especially for one so young. His combination of brilliance and naivete made him one of my favorites, and I hope I did his character justice.
Stay tuned. The final arena chapter will be posted tomorrow!
Remaining tributes: Trance Berrill (1), Waverly Capri (4), Birch Styler (10), Charcoal Paxton (12)